"You'll find him out on the porch, I think, Mr. Dawley," answered the clerk.

"Oh, thank you, I'm sure," replied the soft-voiced one. As though he were walking on eggs young Mr. Dawley turned, going toward the porch door.

"Oh, good morning, Dalton, dear fellow," cried the fair-haired dandy, in the same soft voice, as he came upon Seaton's enemy, who was walking up and down the porch utterly ignoring Hank b.u.t.ts.

"Good morning, Dawley," replied Dalton, looking more than a little bored by the interruption.

"Now, who and what, in the game, is Dalton's Elizabeth-boy friend?"

wondered Hank, eying the latest arrival.

"Have a cigarette, Dawley?" asked Dalton, in a voice almost of irritation, as he held out his case.

"Charming of you, indeed," declared Dawley, helping himself to a cigarette and lighting it.

"Look out the tobacco doesn't make you sick, babe," muttered Hank b.u.t.ts under his breath.

"Now, my dear Dalton, about the business we were discussing here last evening----" began the soft-voiced one, but the other broke in on him with:

"If you don't mind, Dawley, I want to think a bit now."

"Oh, that will be quite all right, I am sure," agreed the soft-voiced one. "Then I'll just stroll down the street a bit and be back in time to breakfast with you."

Dalton nodded and the fair-haired fashion plate stepped down into the path and strolled away.

"All of which tells us," reflected Hank, "that our friend Dalton has been here at least since yesterday, and that he and the Elizabeth-boy dude are not very well acquainted."

b.u.t.ts looked up, almost with a start, to find Dalton close at hand, scowling into the boy's face.

"I suppose you're out here to watch me," growled Dalton, glaring.

"If I am, you wouldn't expect me to grow confidential about it, would you?" asked Hank, grinning into the other's face.

"Oh, I don't want any of your impudence," snapped the rascal.

"I wouldn't give you any, or anything else belonging to me," clicked Hank b.u.t.ts, decisively.

"If you're standing out here to watch me," continued Dalton, "I am willing to tell you that I am not leaving the hotel for the present."

"That, or any other information you are willing to offer me, will be treated in the utmost confidence, I a.s.sure you," promised Hank.

"Don't be too frolicsome with me!" warned Dalton, wrathily.

"I?" echoed Hank, looking astonished. "Why, I didn't say anything until you spoke to me."

With a snort Anson Dalton strolled away to a chair, seating himself and blowing out great clouds of smoke.

"He isn't exactly glad to see us here--I can guess that much," thought Hank. "But I wish I could guess how Anson Dalton comes to be here. I didn't see anything of his drab boat in the river."

In the meantime Tom Halstead and Powell Seaton, after dropping into chairs in the office, were talking most earnestly in undertones. From where they sat they could see Dalton's red bag resting on a shelf in the coat-room.

"I'd give the world to know whether the rascal has the stolen papers still in that bag!" cried Seaton, anxiously.

"Would he be likely to leave the bag around the hotel carelessly, if it contained anything so important?" asked Tom.

"He might have been willing to do so before he knew we were about here," replied the charter-man.

"But even when he knows we're here the fellow doesn't seem anxious about the matter."

"Because the clerk is behind the desk, where he can see everything,"

hinted Mr. Seaton.

"Yet, for all Dalton knows, the clerk might leave the room for a minute and give us our chance."

"I've an idea," muttered Mr. Seaton, rising so quickly that Tom stood up with him. "You keep the best eye possible over the rascal. Don't go in to breakfast unless he goes. Never mind whether I come to breakfast or not."

"All right, sir," nodded Halstead.

As Powell Seaton crossed the porch without even looking in Dalton's direction, the young motor boat captain also stepped outside, going over to Hank.

"Watch that fellow, Hank," whispered Tom. "Don't let him get away from you."

"Not if I have to steal his cigarettes," promised b.u.t.ts, with vim.

Then Skipper Tom vanished, though not for long. He merely went to find Joe Dawson, at the opposite side of the building. The two chums returned together.

"Now," said Tom, in a chuckling whisper, "if Anse Dalton wants to get away from us, he'll have to run in four different directions at the same time."

"But did you see the nice plush boy that's with Dalton?" asked Hank, dryly. b.u.t.ts, more than any of the others of the party, had taken a great dislike to the soft-voiced one.

Dalton turned, once in a while, to scowl in the direction of the three motor boat boys. That, however, was all the attention he gave them. A little later Dawley returned and seated himself beside his friend.

"Breakfast is ready, gentlemen," called the clerk, opening the door.

Not one of the Motor Boat Club boys stirred until after Dalton rose and stepped inside. Then they followed, close in the rear.

Dalton and his companion stepped into the dining room, installing themselves at a table not far from the door. Tom led the way for his party at the second table beyond. Two waiters appeared, one attending to each of the tables.

Dawley was evidently in bubbling spirits. He insisted on talking much, in his soft voice, to Anson Dalton, who was plainly annoyed. Tom Halstead glanced over at his enemy with an amused smile.

Yet no word pa.s.sed between the tables. Food and coffee were brought, after some minutes, and at both tables the meal was disposed of slowly, excellent appet.i.tes being the rule.

Powell Seaton, in the meantime, had hastened to the telegraph office.

From there he wired, "rush," to the chief of police at Beaufort, advising the latter that Anson Dalton was in Mocalee, and asking whether Dalton was wanted by the United States or state authorities on any charges growing out of the seizure of the schooner "Black Betty."

This dispatch sent off, Mr. Seaton, though remaining at the telegraph office, sent a messenger in haste for James Hunter, who represented Mocalee as chief of police and the entire police force.

"Jim Hunter," as he was locally called, a raw-boned, taciturn man, came speedily to the telegraph office. He was in his shirt-sleeves, chewing a straw, but he wore his police badge on his coat, while a short "billy" appeared in a hip pocket. Jim Hunter listened quietly while the operator, at Seaton's request, displayed the original of the telegram that had been sent to Beaufort.