“But why?” persisted the professor. “He has been my steward off and on for many years, and he has always been faithful and honest.”
“Maybe he has,” persisted Tom. “But still I don’t trust him.”
“All right, Tom,” replied the professor, laughingly, “keep your eye on him, but still I think he is all right.”
“I say, Tom,” broke in Jo, who had climbed down into the small boat, “if you are coming you had better make a start and hurry up Berwick. It will be night before we get away. Say, what did you do with the rowlocks?”
“What would I do with them,” retorted Tom. “Left them in their place, of course.”
“Well, they are not there now,” grumbled Jo. “How do you think we are going to row without any rowlocks?”
“What is that?” asked the professor.
“Somebody has taken the rowlocks out of the boat,” complained Tom, “and Jo seems to think I did it.”
“Perhaps some of the crew took them out when they were unloading it last,” suggested the professor. But a hasty questioning of the men who had hoisted out the filled casks showed that they had not removed them.
“It is certainly strange,” admitted the professor. “Are they all gone?”