"'Cub friendships, pure and deep, We promise we will keep Our pledge to thee; We will honor and obey Akela all the way And on that twelfth birthday Good Scouts we'll be!'"

At the end of the song, all the Cubs gave the salute, two fingers raised to their foreheads. Then the meeting began to break up.

"Brad, if you and Dan will stay here with Jacques, I'll go home for my car," the Cub leader said. "Then we can get him down the stairs and directly into the automobile. It shouldn't take me long."

"We'll be glad to wait," Dan offered eagerly.

After Mr. Hatfield had gone, the Cubs and their fathers began to drift off home. Soon only Mrs. Holloway, her son Midge, Brad and Dan remained.

"I'll wait for Mr. Hatfield," the Den Mother said. "He should be coming soon."

"I see a car parking now on the road across from the beach," Brad observed. From where he stood near the Cave doorway, he could view the entire river front.

"Then I'll run along," Mrs. Holloway said, gathering up hamper and thermos bottles. "Good-bye, Jacques. I'll certainly see you tomorrow."

"_Merci_," he mumbled, using the French word for expressing thanks.

The Cave became deeply silent after Mrs. Holloway had gone. Brad and Dan moved close to the couch, studying their guest with curiosity.

"Jacques, can't you speak English, or don't you want to?" Brad asked presently. "You're trying to hide something-isn't that it?"

Again the boy on the couch flashed them an inscrutable smile. But with a gesture which plainly bespoke grat.i.tude, he reached out to grasp Dan's hand.

His next act was deliberate. With two fingers extended along Dan's wrist, he squeezed the hand with a grip which unmistakably was the official Cub handclasp.

"Gosh all fish hooks!" Dan exclaimed, staring down at the boy in astonishment. "You're a Cub too! And you never let out a hint of it when the others were here."

Jacques allowed the boy's hand to slip from his own. With a slight shrug and another mysterious smile, he closed his eyes and pretended to drowse.

CHAPTER 3 Stolen Furs

On the morrow, Dan and Brad called early at Mr. Hatfield's home to inquire as to the condition of Jacques.

They found the boy up and dressed, eating a late breakfast with Mr. and Mrs. Hatfield and Fred. Apparently none the worse for his river adventure of the previous night, the lad seemed in fairly good spirits.

Taking Brad and Dan aside, Fred reported to them that absolutely no progress had been made in learning the boy's ident.i.ty or anything about his past.

"Just as soon as one asks him a direct question, he pretends not to understand," Fred complained. "It's all a pose."

"What does your father plan to do with him?" Brad asked.

"He hasn't decided yet. This afternoon we're going down to the Cave to clean up after last night's meeting. We'll probably take Jacques with us."

"You know he's a Cub, I suppose," Dan remarked.

"A Cub!" Fred was astonished. "Why, no! He didn't give us a hint of it.

What makes you think so?"

Dan and Brad related how Jacques had grasped the former's hand in the official Cub handclasp, mute evidence that he once had been a member of the international organization.

"He's a queer duck," Fred declared. "I'm sure he didn't mention to Dad that he ever had been a Cub. Fact is, he's kept mum about everything.

Won't peep a word as to his folks or where he came from."

The Cubs discussed Jacques a little longer, and then Brad and Dan left, but not before promising Fred they would drop around at the Cave later to help with the cleaning.

Anxious to learn how much damage had been done the previous night to Mr.

Holloway's sailboat, the boys next stopped at the Webster City Yacht Club. From Midge, who loitered on the dock, they learned that the sailing craft already had been hauled to a nearby boat yard to be repaired.

"The job will cost at least forty dollars," Midge reported. "What's worse, the boat will be out of water for at least two or three days. It makes me sick!"

"Did your father learn if it was Manheim's boat that struck us last night?" Dan questioned.

"Not yet. We inquired around the clubhouse, but no one has seen the Manheim speedboat the last couple of days."

Brad had noticed a mahogany speedcraft which was plowing up the channel at half-speed. "Isn't that Manheim's boat coming now?" he demanded. "It looks like it to me."

"Likewise the same one that struck us last night," Midge muttered, shading his eyes as he gazed toward the sun.

As the three Cubs watched, the boat drew closer until they could read the license numbers-D 351, and see the bright gleam of her bra.s.swork.

"The boat that hit us had no visible license," Dan said, a little troubled. "If it weren't for that, I'd say it was Manheim's craft that smashed into us."

"Who's at the wheel?" Brad demanded. "Not Manheim."

The operator of the boat wore a striped red and blue jersey and soiled brown trousers. His square jaw and grizzled sun-brown face of set expression marked him as a man of surly temper.

As the boat slid along toward the Manheim berth, he glanced briefly at the Cubs. Then deliberately he looked away.

"Wonder who he is?" Midge muttered. "He doesn't resemble anyone in that boat last night."

"Not the operator anyway," Dan agreed. "Actually, we didn't see the other two fellows well enough to recognize them again."

The Cubs kept the boat in view as it maneuvered into a reserved s.p.a.ce at the far end of the dock. Midge asked a club member, who loitered nearby, if the speedboat belonged to Mr. Manheim.

"Yes, that's his boat," the club member identified it.

"But that isn't Mr. Manheim at the wheel?"

"No, the pilot is a fellow who works for him at Skeleton Island. A new man he hired a few months ago. I've heard him called Wilson Jabowski."

After the club member had moved on, the three Cubs watched the Manheim boat fill its gas tank at a private pump.

"Notice her stern," Dan whispered to his companions. "Can you see any scratches?"