The G-man's son at Porpoise Island

THE Staghound sailed away from the wharf at Zenith Village a very few minutes after the boy detectives had secured the fingerprints and the beer bottle, wrapped lightly in cloth, had been stored away in the secret compartment of the sloop. They headed for the Lighthouse at once while Stan looked up, on the chart, the compass course for Porpoise Island.

Off the Lighthouse, as they trimmed the new sails and bowled merrily along, they talked of many things, chiefly of what lay ahead.

“I’m satisfied that Hegarty and his men did not recognize us, Stan,” John said. “They could only have had a look at us through binoculars in the cove and hardly a good look at that! And they paid no attention to us in the restaurant.”

“I think you’re right, John. At any rate we’re on our way for Porpoise Island again and here’s hoping we can get plenty of dope to salt away for the F. B. I. The more I think about it the more I am sure that ‘Gallagher’ is Dad and, if he is, we ought to be able to help him some.”

“Perhaps he’ll give us clues to carry back to Main Haven to that fellow ‘John’ that he spoke of. Sweeping fields of delicious corn—I hope luck is with us!”

Down along the southwestern horizon fog was looming, distant but distinct, and the wind was strong, raising good-sized rollers up the stretch of the bay. The Staghound dipped her lee rail in white water as she eased along with queenly grace, and the boys were jubilant. Disguised in far different clothes from their customary apparel, and aboard a boat so disguised that it appeared like an entirely new craft, they felt certain they could get into the cove on the southwest part of the island without trouble and do some scouting ashore.

“Let’s hit for Main Haven first, Stan,” John suggested, “and look up John. After all, we ought to know him at least by sight.”

“That’s all right with me, John, but I think we ought to sail along the sea side of the island as we go and perhaps we’ll pick up a clue or two while passing.”

“O.k., Skipper!”

At the wheel John held the sloop closer to the wind, laying a course to take them off the western end of the island and round into the ocean side. It was nearing dinner time and John was hollow inside.

He was glad when Stan’s trick at the wheel came round. Grinning, John went below to stir up a meal. Shortly, the smell of hot coffee came up from the cabin and snatches of song, mingled with suspicious munching sounds. Stan chuckled. John would have eaten in any kind of weather, at sea or ashore, and alive or dying. Outside of sleuthing the lanky one enjoyed eating best!

He brought coffee up to his friend and big club-sandwiches, for Stan did not like to leave the wheel with the new sail as yet not fully tested and especially in the rather heavy waves making up the bay.

They were thus engaged in sailing and eating when the Sea Hawk hove into view astern, overhauling them rapidly. John was sitting, facing aft, and saw her first.

“Great heaps of dangle-berries!” said he. “The Sea Hawk is after us! Let’s run off before the wind!”

“Where you going to run to, John, under sail, and against the power of that yacht?” queried Stan, quietly. “And have you forgotten that we are just a couple of boys out for pleasure?”

“You’re right! If we turn tail and run the Sea Hawk would suppose us suspicious characters providing anybody aboard suspected our identities.”

The white and fast yacht overtook the sloop rapidly and both boys had sinking feelings in their stomachs. John insisted on going below and digging out their bows and arrows from a narrow slit under the bunks and bringing them into the cockpit. If the men on the Sea Hawk closed in it would be a warm reception at any rate!

Closer and closer came the big craft but, as she neared the sloop the Sea Hawk veered away a little and then held her course again taking her across the bows of the sailing boat a hundred yards distant. Hegarty, easily distinguished by his height and build was standing on the bridge.

Stan took one hand from the wheel and waved a greeting. Hegarty and another man nearby returned the wave and shouted something which could not be made out because of the distance.

“And that’s that, John!” grunted Stan, breathing freely as the yacht drew off round the island.

It was Stan, facing forward, who first saw the gray motorboat which came humming round the island and began circling the Sea Hawk. The binoculars showed a fat and dumpy fellow standing in the rear cockpit of the speedboat.

Dago appeared to be shouting back and forth at Hegarty and the Sea Hawk was moving slower now while the gray boat circled about her. The speedboat was making heavy weather of it, splashing about in white water among the waves and Dago appeared very angry. As the Staghound began to overtake the white yacht, the gray boat drew off and started down toward the sloop.

“Now,” said Stan, “will Dago know us in our disguise?”

It seemed more than likely that the strapping henchman of Nevens would know them as the two boys who had wounded him a few nights before and whom he had encountered on the island and they were not sure whether or not to let fly with the arrows again before he could do anything, or chance an interview. They had not long to decide for the speedboat hummed and splashed down towards them at a fast clip, and it was clear that Dago was looking the sloop over with a jaundiced eye.

Stan’s cap covered his yellow hair very well and he had on a dark sweater and John was likewise attired. Would Dago penetrate that mask? He drove down towards them, looking hard at them and they remained low in the cockpit, apparently at ease—two boys having the time of their lives sailing in the bay!

“Nice-a day, boys,” yelled Dago showing his teeth.

“Yeh, swell, mister!” John rejoined, half covering his face with a sandwich as he spoke. John winked at Stan.

Stan, his mouth full of food which served to make his cheeks rounder than they really were, waved to Dago. And the gray boat swept past, ran once round the sloop, and went zipping back to Porpoise Island around whose western end the Sea Hawk had now disappeared. The fog was closing up some, and the wind was rising.

They had gone through several tests successfully and they were elated. The Staghound curved round the end of the island, and the sheets were eased for the run to Main Haven. Late in the afternoon the white sloop rippled into the quieter waters of Main Haven harbor and up to the town pier where it tied up to the wharf.

“Now, Mate,” said Stan, “we’ve got to find your ‘namesake’!”

“I guess they picked a swell name for a G-man when they chose mine,” said John, grinning.

They located the grocery store without undue trouble and strolled in as casually as possible. As they actually needed a few staples such as sugar, butter, and bread, their manner was convincing. A few customers were there but were shortly waited on by the good-looking youngish man who seemed to run the place and the boys were alone with him.

He came towards them and offered to wait on them.

Stan was thrilled. This was almost like some of the detective stories he had read! And this was real! Here was an actual Federal special agent of the F. B. I. posing as a grocery man!

“Any idea who I am?” queried Stan, quietly.

The grocer began looking over his lettuce as if picking one out for them.

“Who are you, then?” he asked.

“The name’s ‘Sandborn’ and my friend is ‘Tallman.’”

The grocer handed Stan a lettuce head.

Outside, anyone would have supposed the conversation to have been about that lettuce head.

“Any news, Sandborn?” asked John, softly.

“Nothing yet, John,” Stan said. “But we’re going to the island to-night and hope to get something in the way of clues. I suppose you’d call fingerprints of Hegarty news, though——?”

“You’ve got Hegarty’s fingerprints, Sandborn?” asked John, eagerly.

“On a beer bottle. Shall I bring them in to you?”

“You bet. Bring it back in one of these bags as if it was some vegetables being returned. I’ll see that it’s well taken care of.”

“Oh, and Hegarty is planning a raid on Porpoise Island for Thursday at midnight, I believe.”

“And you said there was no news!” groaned John. “Come on, now, before some one comes in, let me have the whole story.”

They told the G-man everything they had learned in the last twenty-four hours or so and he seemed pleased.

“Now go back and keep up the good work and we’ll have something to show for our round-up of these criminals, boys,” said the man. “You’re doing fine!”

They went back to the yacht and brought the beer bottle, in a bag, to the store. Customers were there as they entered.

“Say,” said Stan, abruptly, “that bunch of carrots you just sold me wasn’t so hot, Mister.”

He handed John the bag. The G-man smiled.

“All right. I’ll take it back gladly. Anything you want in its place?”

Back again at the yacht, the boys hugged each other with delight. Then they hauled up the sails and started for Porpoise Island. They had to tack back and forth a mile or so at a stretch to reach the cove, and the last part of the way fog threatened to close in any moment. Both boys were glad when the anchor was dropped in South Cove, on the western tip of the island. There had been no sign of life on the island as they beat down its shores and the fog was now rolling in heavily.

They had supper, listening to the lonely drone of fog signals from steamers out on the nearby sea and the faint, faint echo of Zenith signal.

“A fine night for murder!” John commented, glad of the lighted lamp and the table of good things to eat. “If it weren’t necessary, I’d say don’t go out—lie in our bunks and read! Pass the cake, old boy, I’ve a little more room left yet!”

The dishes washed and put away, they got out the bows and arrows which had been returned to the hiding place, adjusted flashlights, and dark clothes, and made ready to go ashore.

“At a time like this, I wish we had a rowboat to take us back and forth,” sighed John. “How’re we going to get ashore in these togs without getting soaked?”

It was Stan who had insisted on regular clothing and now he explained that there was a natural landing rock on the inner curve of the cove where the Staghound could be moored. Stumpy cedar trees would serve as mooring bitts and the boys could step ashore dryly and quickly.

In the fog they had some difficulty finding the spot, but they did in spite of fog and night and moored the sloop securely. Then they stepped ashore by way of the rocks and searched for the end of the path which would lead inland to the lair of the super-criminal, Nevens.

After overrunning the spot twice they found the narrow cleft through thick bushes and were soon padding softly uphill and along the ridge towards their destination. They had to move slowly, feeling their way along, for they dared not use the lights without dire need.

An hour must have passed before Stan, in the lead, pressed back a warning hand.

“Listen!” he cautioned.

Sounds of men’s voices drifted through the black fog.

“The boss must be nuts, stringing us out on a night like this, Butch!” said one voice. “Whose gonna raid us in this kind of weather?”

“Ain’t nobody going to raid us, says I. Cowboy’s scared Hegarty so much I guess we ain’t likely to have no trouble.”

“And with Gallagher along, I guess we can hold our own!” the first speaker said. “That guy’s a honey with a tommy-gun!”

“His fists ain’t too bad, either, Butch,” some third voice said.

“Say, Dago makes me laugh,” Butch commented. “He’s scared stiff of them kids! You know the ones I mean!”

“Sure the two what got their maps in the paper!”

The voices were drawing near now and both boys slipped back from the trail. Even as they did so the men almost stumbled upon them and John lay prone at once, scared. Some one stepped on his right hand, his flashlight blinked as his squeezed fingers pressed the trigger and the light flared its betrayal.

His yell of pain and the bright light came at once!

“Run, John! Run!” yelled Stan and his feet could be heard scurrying away.

Obeying, instinctively, John rolled to his feet, thrashed off through the bushes and began to run. Behind him came thundering feet, and shouting voices. If the men had been surprised and startled by the flare of light and John’s yell they had soon gotten over that and had spread out to capture the boys. John stumbled through bushes, crashed headlong into a tree trunk, saw stars and zooming comets flare through his mind, and went sprawling backwards! Even as he fell and heard the overtaking pursuers, he had a feeling all was over!