"Couldn't it be relocated and dug out?"

"Probably, if anyone wanted to go to that much work. It would be a big job shifting so much sand even if the entranceway could be found. I don't suppose Mr. Manheim ever was interested."

"He owns the entire island, doesn't he?" Brad asked thoughtfully. Picking up a piece of driftwood, he fed it to the dying embers of the fire.

"That's right," the Cub leader agreed. "The Scouts have been d.i.c.kering with him for nearly six months to purchase a stretch of beach for their permanent camp. They're also considering a site two miles farther down river."

"Which will they take?" Chips asked. "I should think Skeleton Island would be better, because it's closer to Webster City."

"So far, Mr. Manheim has asked a fairly steep price and doesn't seem inclined to come down," the Cub leader replied. "The Scout director has made two inspection trips and is well satisfied. Now he wants me to make my recommendation."

"You said the Cubs might go there on an over-night camping trip," Red reminded him.

All the Cubs waited expectantly for the answer.

"Yes, if plans work out, we'll make it next weekend," Mr. Hatfield answered. "The Den fathers are planning the trip."

The Cubs began to talk about the proposed excursion, discussing what they would take with them to camp.

"Maybe we'll see the ghost of Skeleton Island while we're there!" Chips declared hopefully. "Or find the entrance to the old tunnel!"

The Cub meeting broke up shortly after nine o'clock. Dan and Brad remained a few minutes after the others had gone to make certain that the last embers of the beach fire had been extinguished.

Then together, they started home, selecting a route which took them along the deserted waterfront.

At Clinton Street, the boys turned at the corner, pa.s.sing a cafe from which issued the discordant notes of a player piano.

On the curb outside the restaurant stood a short little man, who was munching popcorn from a paper bag. His face was sharp and weasel-like, his eyes darting and shrewd.

The Cubs might have pa.s.sed him with scarcely a second glance, had he not been talking to another man who looked faintly familiar to Dan. The fellow plainly was a sailor, dark of hair and with st.u.r.dy body build.

"That fellow looks like one of the men who were in the motorboat that struck the Holloway sailboat!" Dan said in an undertone to Brad.

"Not the little one with the paper bag?"

"No, the other. I'm sure I've seen him somewhere. Let's watch for a minute."

Sliding into a shadowy doorway, Brad and Dan kept their eyes on the pair.

However, they were too far away to hear the conversation. A newsboy noticed their interest.

"Know those guys?" he asked, sidling up to them.

Dan shook his head, hoping that the boy would move on.

"See that guy with the paper sack," the lad continued, eager to impart information. "Know who he is?"

Dan shook his head.

"That's the one they call 'Paper Bag Eddie,'" the boy said, awe in his voice. "He's a bad one."

"Paper Bag Eddie?" Dan repeated, keeping his voice low. "Never heard of him."

"You never heard of Paper Bag Eddie? Why, he's known to every cop in town, but they never get much on him."

"He's a crook then?" Brad interposed.

"Sure, they say he's the brains of a waterfront gang. Guess what he carries around in those paper bags of his'n?"

"Popcorn," said Dan.

"Guess again. He packs a revolver. Eddie loafs around the waterfront and you hardly ever see him without his little paper bag."

"I should think the police would pick him up for carrying a concealed weapon," Brad said.

"Oh, Eddie ain't dumb enough to go around with the revolver all the time.

Mostly you'll see him munching peanuts or popcorn, and if the cops search him that's what they find. But if he pulls a job, he slips the revolver into the sack. The cops figure he only has a bag of popcorn."

"Eddie never has been arrested?" Brad inquired.

"Oh, the cops run him in regular, but they've never dug up enough evidence to convict him. Eddie's a slick one."

"Who is his companion?" Dan asked.

"Never saw him before," the newsboy said indifferently. "Some sailor, I guess."

Apparently aware that they were under scrutiny, Paper Bag Eddie and his company glanced briefly at the Cubs and sauntered on down the street. A few doors farther on they entered the Green Parrot Cafe.

"Let's get on home," Brad urged.

Dan, however, had another idea.

"Brad, I'm dead certain that sailor with Paper Bag Eddie is the one who was operating the motorboat when it crashed into Mr. Holloway's sailboat," he insisted. "I'd like to try to pin it on him."

"And end up in plenty of trouble. You know Mr. Holloway advised that the entire matter be dropped."

"Sure, I know. But that was mostly because Mr. Manheim is well known at the club. I have a hunch he didn't know anything about the boat accident.

And it may not have been his speed craft either."

"Even so, I say we're asking for trouble if we try striking up an acquaintance with that pair!"

"We don't have to speak to them," Dan argued. "Why not follow them into the cafe and take a table nearby? We might hear something interesting."

"W-e-ll," Brad hesitated, "I suppose it wouldn't do any harm. Okay."

Feeling somewhat ill at ease, the two boys entered the Green Parrot. The room was dingy and dimly lighted, its plaster walls streaked with smoke.

Only a few customers were visible.

Brad and Dan slipped into a booth diagonally opposite a table where Paper Bag Eddie and his companion sat.