CHAPTER XVIII--THE MESSAGE UNDER THE ROCK
"And so you've gained until another day, anyway, sir," Tom wound up hisaccount of the "accident" to the "Meteor's" motor.
"I fear it will do us but little good," sighed Horace Dunstan. "I feelthat possibility in the way of search has been exhausted. It looks asthough we were doomed to defeat."
"I don't like to think, Mr. Dunstan, that any such thing as defeat ispossible as long as there's more time left us," was Halstead's answer.
"I trust, my young friend, that your faith will be justified."
"Any instructions for to-night, sir?"
"No; nothing remains to be done and you young men deserve your rest atlast."
"Then Joe and I may stretch our legs on shore."
"That will be all right, as long as Jed Prentiss and Bouncer remainaboard to watch the boat."
Joe started first that night, hurrying away before Gambon had left hiscottage. Tom remained behind, in hiding near the gate, to follow theFrenchman. Gambon came out, half an hour after dark, armed with the sameheavy walking stick. As before, he turned straight in the direction ofNantucket the young skipper following just out of sight.
To-night there seemed to be more need of caution. Several times theFrenchman turned or halted and listened, but each time the young skipperwas not to be seen.
Just before Gambon reached the grove where the rock lay Joe stepped upbeside his chum.
"There's a message there and I read it," whispered Joe.
"What was it?" Tom eagerly demanded.
"Simply this: 'Oceanside, 332.'"
"What do you make of that, Joe?"
"Telephone number is my guess."
"It must be. You put the message back under the rock?"
"Yes, indeed."
"Then, see here, Joe. I'm going to slip into the woods and hurry onahead to Nantucket. I'll find out where 'Oceanside, 332,' is. You followGambon, and see if he goes to a telephone. If he does, try to hearwhat's said. Whatever you do to-night, though, Joe, don't let Gambon getout of your sight. Remember, slim as it is, it's our last chance!"
"And you?"
"All I can say," Tom replied, "is that you'll see me again, old fellow,whenever and wherever we happen to meet. Good-by, now, and be sharpto-night."
"Good luck to you, Tom."
Moving through the woods, Halstead was quickly in Nantucket. In a drugstore he picked up the telephone directory, scanning the pages until helocated "Oceanside, 332." He could have jumped from sheer excitement. Itwas the telephone number of the farmer, Sanderson, on the east side ofthe island. Sanderson was the man who had been receiving so many casesof "machinery" from the mainland.
Slipping out of the drug store, Halstead went swiftly down one of theside streets. He did not want to run any risk of encountering Gambon.
"So the scene shifts back to Sanderson's?" thought the young skipperexcitedly. "Then if Don Emilio's crowd isn't there, there must at leastbe some one there who has authority to telephone orders to Gambon.Whatever those orders are Joe will have to find out--if he can."
Down at the further end of this side street, as Captain Tom knew, was ashop where a bicycle could be rented. Within two minutes the boy feltthe saddle of a wheel under him. He pedaled fast, yet he did not takethe principal highway that led past Sanderson's.
"There's too much chance of being seen by the wrong folks if I go openlyon the main road," Tom told himself.
From Jed he had learned the lay of the roads in that part of the island.Well trained to sailing by chart, Halstead found that he could pick hisroads and paths, even at night, from the mental map of the east side ofthe island that Jed had supplied him.
When he dismounted it was on a side road, at a distance of a quarter ofa mile from Sanderson's house. Most of the land between was covered byyoung woods.
First of all, Halstead looked about for a thicket that offered a securehiding place for his rented wheel. When that had been stowed away theyoung skipper secured his bearings once more.
"And now to see what's going on at Sanderson's to-night, and who'sthere," Halstead told himself, as he plunged through the woods in whathe knew must be the right direction.
After a few minutes he came out in the open. Ahead the well-rememberedold farmhouse showed dimly in the darkness.
The night was so dark that Tom could easily approach the house, thoughhe kept a keen lookout against running unexpectedly into anyone.Cautiously he surveyed the house from all sides. The two lower floorswere in darkness and had a closed-up appearance. Through one of the rearattic windows, however, a bright light shone and the sash was raised.
"Sanderson, Don Emilio and some of the others may be meeting up there,"thought Halstead with a sudden thrill of wonder. "Oh, if I can only finda way to get up there and listen!"
As he stood, well in the shadow of a carriage shed, staring up at thatlighted window, a hum of low voices came to his ears.
"Gracious!" muttered the young skipper, stepping further back into theshadow. "There's crowd enough down here on the ground."
On came a group of men, trudging like laborers going to their toil. Darkas the night was, not one of them carried a lantern. From their courseit looked as though they came up from the shore. In his eagerness Tombent forward more, that he might scan them. His eyes were keen-sightedin the dark.
"There's Don Emilio," Halstead told himself. "I'd know him by his sizeand his walk. And there's Jonas French. There's the little brown chap, Ithink, who helped to capture Joe the other night. And that stoopingfigure at the rear is Sanderson. But there are four others."
"I am not used to this hard work, but I will do all I can," Tom heardDon Emilio complain, as the group stopped before one of the largeroutbuildings, while Sanderson drew out a key and unfastened a padlock.
"Whew!" Tom Halstead thrilled more intensely than before when he saw themen come out of the other building, two and two, each pair carrying along box. "This must be one of their big nights. Yet what on earth isup?"
He was destined, soon, to be able to make a good guess.