Out into the little dynamo shed he darted, followed by Powell Seaton and by Tom. The doctor was dozing in an arm-chair.

Joe gave two or three swift looks at the dynamo, the storage battery connections and other parts of the apparatus. Then his face went white with rage.

"Look here, Mr. Seaton," he panted, hoa.r.s.ely. "There's been some infernal work here--someone else has been on the island, for none of our crowd would do such a trick! Not even in fun! Look, sir, at where the parts have been tampered with. Look where pliers have been used to cut the wire connections. See where these two bolts have been neatly removed with the help of wrenches. Look at----"

Joe paused, then glanced wildly around.

"Great Scott!" he groaned. "Just the parts removed that can't be replaced. The whole generating plant crippled! Mr. Seaton, until we get in touch with the mainland, and get some needed supplies there, we can't use this wireless plant again. We can receive messages--yes, up to any limit, but not a word can we send away from here."

"But who can have done this trick?" gasped Powell Seaton, looking as though amazement had numbed him, as, indeed, it almost had.

"Someone has landed here, since dark," broke in Tom Halstead, all a-quiver with dismay. "While we were at supper some sneak or sneaks have landed on this island. They have pried their way in here, and they've crippled our connection with the outside world."

"They could do it all easily enough, without making any noise,"

confirmed Joe. "Yes--they've done a splendid job, from a scoundrel's point of view!"

"Then you can't make this apparatus work for the sending of even a single message?" demanded Mr. Seaton.

"Not until we've landed some necessary repair and replacement materials from the mainland," replied Joe, with a disgusted shake of his head.

"But you can still send messages from the 'Restless,'" hinted Powell Seaton.

Tom Halstead bounded for the door of the dynamo shed with a sudden exclamation of dread.

"We can use the boat's wireless," nodded Joe, following, and speaking over his shoulder, "unless the same crowd of rascals have broken into the boat's motor room or cabin and played us the same trick there."

In the big sitting room, beside the large open fire-place, was a pile of long sticks of firewood. Tom Halstead stopped to s.n.a.t.c.h up one of these, and Joe quickly followed suit.

"I'll go down to the boat with you, boys," said Mr. Seaton, who had followed them. "If there's anyone around to put up a fight you'll want some help."

But Captain Tom, acting, for the moment, as though he were aboard the yacht, suddenly took command.

"Mr. Seaton," he said, "you'd better remain here to guard your unconscious friend. Doctor, wake up! Better go in and send Hank b.u.t.ts out on the trot. We'll take him with us."

Dr. Cosgrove, awaking and realizing that something important was happening, swiftly moved off to the sick-room. Hank was speedily out with his comrades.

"If there are rascals on this island, who have designs against you, Mr. Seaton, then mount guard over your friend," Tom added. "Better be in the sick-room at any moment when Dr. Cosgrove leaves there. Hank, get a club from that pile. Now, come along, fellows, and we'll see what infernal mischief may have been done to the 'Restless.'"

With that, the young skipper bounded out onto the porch, thence running down the board walk toward the dock.

Tom Halstead had some vague but highly uneasy notions as to the safety of his beloved boat. Yet, alarmed as he was, he was hardly prepared for the shock that met him when he arrived at the edge of the little wharf.

"Say, can you beat that?" panted young Halstead, halting, thunderstruck, and gazing back at his stupefied comrades. "The rascals--whoever they are--have stolen the 'Restless.' Joe, our splendid boat is gone!"

CHAPTER IV

TAKING A GREAT CHANCE

Joe, with a voiceless gulp, sprang forward once more, pausing at the string-piece only, and peering hard out into the black, wet night.

Hank b.u.t.ts brought his club down over a snubbing post with such force as to shatter the weapon.

For a few moments Tom Halstead stood looking about him in an uncertain way, as though trying to arouse himself from a hideous nightmare.

"They've stolen our boat!" he gasped.

Whoever had done this deed might almost as well have taken the young captain's life. The "Restless" was a big part of that life.

"Oh, well," muttered Hank, thickly, "whoever took the yacht must leave it somewhere. You can't hide a craft of that size. We'll hear from the 'Restless' all right, in a day or two--or in a week, anyway."

"Whoever took the yacht away from here may know next to nothing about handling a boat," choked Tom, hoa.r.s.ely. "We may find the dear old craft again--yes--but perhaps wedged on the rocks somewhere,--a hopeless wreck. O-o-oh! It makes me feel ugly and heartsick, all in one!"

"The 'Restless' can't have broken loose during the storm, can it?"

asked Hank b.u.t.ts.

"No," retorted Tom and Joe in the same breath, and with the utmost positiveness.

"Well, what are we going to do?" asked Hank.

The answer to the question was hard to find. Lonely Island lay five miles off the sh.o.r.e. Wireless communication was out of the question.

They were out of the track of pa.s.sing vessels, nor was any stray, friendly craft at all likely to show up on this dark, forbidding night.

"Come on back, fellows," said Tom, chokingly. "There's nothing we can do here, and Mr. Seaton must know the whole situation."

The owner of the bungalow listened to them with a blank face when the Motor Boat Club boys again stood before him.

"I can't even guess what to make out of this," he confessed.

"It would help Dalton greatly if Mr. Clodis died to-night, wouldn't it, sir?" inquired the young skipper.

"It would help Dalton much, and be of still greater value to the wretches behind Dalton," replied Mr. Seaton, grinding his teeth.

"Then, sir, as the tug went back to mainland with two of the doctors, isn't it possible that some spy may have concluded that _all_ the doctors had returned until summoned again?"

"That seems very likely," nodded the owner of the bungalow.

"Then perhaps Dalton--and those behind him--hope that Mr. Clodis will become much worse, and die before you can again summon help from the mainland."

"That looks more likely than any other explanation of these strange happenings," agreed Mr. Seaton, studying the floor, while the frown on his face deepened.

"And the scoundrels," quavered Tom, "may even come back during the night and try to make _sure_ that Mr. Clodis dies without ever becoming conscious."

"I don't quite see why they need care so much," replied Mr. Seaton, slowly. "Dalton got all of Clodis's papers--the ones that I wanted preserved from the wretches back of Dalton."

"Are you sure they have _all_?" propounded Captain Halstead.