"I'll make sure of the one we have, first," returned the constable, going toward the prostrate negro. "My man, put your hands behind you, and be quick about it."

Pedro obeyed without a murmur, the constable snapping handcuffs on him without loss of an instant. "Now, help me lift him into the auto-front seat," directed the officer. But Pedro, seemingly afraid of the consequences of any stubbornness, aided his captors.

"Can you keep him, Jack?" asked the constable of the man at the steering wheel.

"I can bring him down, if he tries to bolt," came the quick retort from the chauffeur.

"'Fore hebben, Ah won't try nothing funny," protested Pedro, solemnly.

He was seemingly still afraid that the slightest defiance would cost him his life.

"See that this fellow is locked up, Jack," commanded Jennison, in a low voice. "Speed some, too, and get back here as fast as you can with some more men. It may be that there's going to be a fight."

Just as the car started two sharp reports rang out from the hillside above. There were two flashes, and bullets whizzed ominously over the road. One of them pierced Tom's uniform cap, carrying it from his head.

There being nothing he could do, Dawson threw himself to the ground, out of harm's way. Tom, crouching low, darted across the road after his hat.

But Jennison leaped forward, weapon in hand, letting three shots fly back to answer the defiance from under the trees.

"Come on! We'll close in on 'em and mow 'em down if they don't surrender!" shouted the officer.

His call to the boys was intended for the hearing of those above. He had no notion that the boys, unarmed, would accompany him. Yet, as Jennison bounded over the wall, the two young motor boat boys were behind him on either side.

"Now, then, you fellows up there, throw down your shooting irons and prepare to give yourselves up," called the doughty constable. "If you don't--"

Four shots answered this demand, the bullets clipping off leaves so close to the trio that the boys crouched lower almost instinctively.

"All right, then, I'm coming up to get you!" shouted the constable running forward, weapon in hand. But he halted at length, well away from the road, uncertain which way to turn.

"What are you boys doing here, unarmed?" he whispered, facing them in surprise.

"We're as safe here as we'd be anywhere else hereabouts," Tom whispered back.

"Yes, I don't know but that's so. But where can the scoundrels be? Do you know anything about the lay of the land here?"

"I think we can find the ravine where they took us," suggested Joe.

"Try to, then."

Both boys now went a bit in advance of the officer, but he kept close to them, in order to be on hand if they ran into any danger.

The ravine proved to be empty, however. Tom pointed out where he had slashed Joe's bonds away. "And over yonder," he added, "I guess I can show you the rope I worked my own wrists out of. Once I worked my hands free it didn't take me long to cut away the rest of the tackle."

Though they searched for upwards of an hour, they were unable to find any further trace of the scoundrels. Nor did they come upon any place that looked as though it had been used as a hiding place for the missing Dunstan heir.

Then a loud honking from the road recalled them. The chauffeur was there with the machine, from which were alighting four deputies whom he had brought out with him from Wood's Hole.

"I'm going to leave you men here to carry on the search," explained Mr.

Jennison. "Keep it up all through the night, and through the daylight, too, if you run across anything that looks like a trail. These young men will describe to you the fellows you're expected to find. I'll be back bye and bye, but don't wait for me."

Tom and Joe quickly described the three fugitives from justice. Then Jennison turned to the chauffeur to inquire:

"Could you work any information out of that black man?"

"Not a word," came the grumbling reply. "After a few minutes he got over being so scared, but he couldn't be made to say a word about his crowd.

Just closed his mouth, and wouldn't talk. Musgrave has him in hand now, at the station house, but not a word can the fellow be made to say."

"I'm going back with you, now," proposed Jennison, "to see what I can get out of him. You boys may as well come with me. It looks like a losing chase here. If we can get something out of the chap, Pedro, we'll have something real to come back with."

So Tom and Joe piled in with their new friend. In less than half an hour they had entered the little guard-room of the police station at Wood's Hole. Pedro, still manacled, was seated in a hard wooden armchair between two constables, while Detective Musgrave paced the floor before him.

"He's trying a crafty game," smiled Musgrave, as the newcomers entered.

"Once in a while the prisoner talks, but when he does it's to shake his head and mutter a string in Spanish."

"He understands English well enough," answered Tom. "He has talked a whole lot of it to me."

"Of course he understands English," laughed Mr. Musgrave. "I know his type of colored man well. He's a Jamaica negro, born and brought up with English spoken around him. Afterwards he went over to Central America and picked up Spanish."

"_No sabe_," broke in the negro, looking blankly at those who surrounded him.

"Oh, you savvy plenty well enough," Tom retorted tartly. "And see here, Pedro, you're a pretty cheap sort of rascal anyway. You remember how Joe and I caught you, and how I scared you cold? Do you know what it was that scared your grit away from you? Just a plain, ordinary, every-day joke of a cap pistol!"

Pedro started, his lips opening in a gasp at that information.

"Oh, of course you understand, just as well as anyone else in the room,"

Halstead went on. "And here's the young cannon that made you lie so still in the road."

With a short laugh Tom produced the cap pistol, holding it before the astonished black man's face. Pedro's disgusted expression was enough to make them all laugh.

"He can't even pretend he doesn't understand English now," snorted Mr.

Musgrave. "Come now, my man, open your mouth and talk to us. It may help _you_ out a bit when you come to be tried."

Still, however, the black man refused to say a word. Constable Jennison tried his hand at making the fellow speak, but without success. At last they gave it up. The negro was taken to a cell, left under watch, and the others went outside.

"I'm going back up the road," Jennison announced. "Want to come with me, boys?"

"I think they'd better stay by the boat, in case anything turns up that we want the craft," Musgrave broke in.

So Tom and Joe struck out for the pier, finding Jed mighty glad to have them back once more. For an hour the three boys sat on the "Meteor's"

deckhouse and talked. After that the time began to hang heavily on their hands.

Broad daylight came with still no word from the seekers, nor from any other point. At a little after four o'clock Mr. Musgrave came down to tell them that they might as well return to Nantucket.

It was six o'clock when the "Meteor" berthed at the island. Jed had served a breakfast on the trip over. As soon as the boat was docked Jed hurried into the broad bunk off the cabin pa.s.sageway, while Tom and Joe, yawning with weariness, lay down on the engine-room lockers.

"This is Sunday morning and to-morrow morning Ted Dunstan must be in court with his father or lose a tremendously big fortune," groaned Tom.

"Oh, when we've been so near to rescuing him, why can't we have him safely home under his father's roof?"

"Maybe I'll have the answer thought out by the time I wake up," gaped Joe Dawson. "But just at this present moment I'm so tired I don't know whether I'm an imitation engineer or a clambake."