"Captain Halstead," went on Ted's father, "my son's statement is so extraordinary that I don't pretend to fathom it. But I give you my word, as a man of honor, that I am as much at sea in this matter as anyone could be. But I must get in touch with Wood's Hole at once."

There was a telephone instrument in the room that speedily put the distracted father in communication with one of his detectives over on the mainland. A long talk followed, the upshot of it being that the detective in charge of the search asked that the "Meteor" be sent over to Wood's Hole at once, that she might be ready for any sea-going following-up of clues that might be necessary.

"For, of course, we've got to find that cabin sloop," finished Detective Musgrave. "If the sloop isn't at sea, then the chase undoubtedly must be followed on the mainland. If we have the 'Meteor' here we can do quickly anything that may appear necessary."

So Tom received his instant sailing orders. As he hurried from the house, down through the grounds, the young skipper felt relieved at one point. With his belief in Ted's honesty he had been inclined to suspect that Horace Dunstan, for some unknown reasons of his own, such, for instance, as a distaste for having his son go into the Army, might have brought about a pretended disappearance.

"But now I know," muttered Tom, "that Mr. Dunstan is just as honest in his declarations as Ted appeared to be in saying the opposite. If Horace Dunstan has been lying to me just now, I'd have very little further faith in human honesty."

The "Meteor" was speedily on her way. First Joe, and then Tom, was served in the little galley, Jed getting in his mouthfuls as best he could before the motor boat was tied up at Wood's Hole.

Before Tom had time to land a keen-eyed, smooth-faced man of thirty-five, broad-shouldered and a little above medium height, stepped forward out of the darkness and over the rail.

"Do you know me, Captain Halstead?" he asked, in a low voice.

"Yes, I think so," Tom answered. "You're Mr. Musgrave, one of the detectives sent down from New York at Mr. Dunstan's request."

"I am in charge of the case at this point," said Musgrave. "Lead me below."

Tom conducted his caller down into the engine-room, thence through the pa.s.sageway into the cabin.

"Now, tell me all you can of this affair, and talk as quickly as you can," directed the detective.

Tom told his brief but potent narrative without pausing for breath.

"I have telegraphed or telephoned men from our agency, so that many points are covered for some distance north along the coast," murmured Mr. Musgrave. "We are also having the islands watched as far around as Block Island. But, since the launch was found running wild and the cabin sloop was not sighted, I am inclined to believe that the trail runs somewhere on the mainland. If you'll take your friend, Joe Dawson, along with you, I'll send also one of the Wood's Hole constables, a man named Jennison. If you run into any of that crew, Jennison has power to make arrests, and he's the sort of man who wouldn't back down before a cannon. I have an automobile ready, and Jennison knows what's expected of him. You're to search up along the coast, to see if you can find any trace of that cabin sloop."

"Do you think Jed Prentiss will be sufficient guard to leave with the boat?" questioned Halstead. "The Alvarez crowd would like nothing better than to disable this fine craft if they got a chance to sneak aboard."

"I'll send down one of the hotel employes to keep Prentiss company, then. Now come along, Halstead. Jennison and the automobile are waiting."

Two minutes later Tom and Joe found themselves speeding along a road that led up along the coast.

"There's no use stopping the first mile or so," explained Constable Jennison, a slight but wiry-looking man of rustic type. "We've been over the near ground already. But we'll go forty miles or more before we give up the search for the home berth of that sloop."

Just below Falmouth the auto-car turned from the road to run down to a cove where several sailing craft and two launches were at anchor. The owner was found. He did not own or know of any such sloop as Halstead described.

On again they went. There was a chauffeur on the front seat The constable and the boys were in the tonneau. Two more boat-letting resorts were visited, but without success. The constable, however, far from being depressed, became jovial.

"Are you armed, Halstead?" he inquired, a twinkle in his eyes.

"No; I have no use for boys that carry guns," replied Tom.

"You're sensible enough," responded the constable seriously. Then, resuming his bantering tone, he went on:

"But you ought to be ready for anything to-night. Here, put this in your pocket."

"What's this thing supposed to be good for?" Tom demanded dryly, as he took from the officer a cheap little bronze toy pistol. It was modeled after a business-like revolver, but a glance showed that it was meant only to explode paper caps.

"It belongs to my five-year-old boy," laughed Jennison. "He knows that I often carry a pistol and he doesn't know the difference between a real one and his Fourth of July toy. So to-night, when I was leaving the house, he insisted on my taking his pistol and I had to in order to keep him quiet."

"It looks dangerous enough in the dark," remarked Joe, bending over and taking the "weapon" with a laugh. He looked it over, then returned it to Tom, who, in turn, offered it to the officer.

"Drop it in your pocket," said the latter. "It ought to make you feel braver to feel such a thing next to your body."

With a laugh Tom did as urged. The automobile soon made another stop at a boatyard. Here, again, the search was useless, so they kept on. A fourth was visited with no better result. They were now ten miles from Wood's Hole, but they kept on. A mile further on the car descended a low hill, toward the water, then turned almost at right angles. Just as they rounded this bend in the road Halstead leaned suddenly forward.

"Stop!" he called to the chauffeur.

"What's the matter?" asked Jennison, as the car halted.

"As we came around the bend the searchlight threw a ray between the trees, and I'm sure I saw a cabin sloop down in the offing," Tom explained.

"_I_ didn't see it."

"And I got only a brief glimpse," Halstead rejoined. "But don't you think it's worth our while to get out and go down to the water's edge?"

"Of course," nodded the constable. The three piled out of the tonneau, leaving the chauffeur alone. Tom led the way, going straight between the trees down to the water.

"That's the very sloop, I'd almost swear," whispered Tom, pointing to a craft at anchor a hundred yards or so from sh.o.r.e. A small boat lay hauled up on the beach. Not far from where the three stood was a ramshackle little shanty from which no light shone.

"We'll give our attention to the house, first," declared the constable.

Accordingly they stepped up to the door, Jennison knocking loudly. From inside came a snore. The summons had to be repeated before a voice inside demanded:

"Who's there? What's wanted?"

"A traveler who wants to speak with you," replied the officer.

There were sounds inside. Then the door opened. They were confronted by a white-haired old man, partly dressed and holding a lighted lantern. He made a venerable picture as he stood there in the doorway.

"Well?" he asked.

"That's your sloop out in the offing?" Jennison asked.

"Yes."

"Did you use her to-day?"

"No; I rented her to a stranger, who wanted to go fishing. I didn't know he had returned. Said he might be out most of the night, and the sloop wasn't back when I turned in at dark."

"Wasn't, eh?" asked the constable, with quick interest. "Now will you tell me what the stranger looked like?"

"Why, he was about forty-five, I guess. Rather heavily built. His skin was well-bronzed--"

"That's the man, French," whispered Tom, nudging the officer. "His face had been stained a good bronze color."

"Did the stranger give any word about coming back at some other time?"

asked Jennison.