As he spoke the Spaniard's head turned in such a way as to show that he was looking up into the tree in which Tom stood. It was becoming a truly bad quarter of an hour for the boy.

"I heard nothing," said the other one gruffly. "Leastways, nothing more than some night animal stirring, maybe."

"Let's make a search of these trees," proposed the Spaniard.

Tom shivered. Danger was again coming much too close to please him.

"Come along," rejoined the florid-faced one impatiently. "We're wasting too much time, listening to the whisperings of the wind. Come along, Alvarez."

After a brief objection the one addressed as Alvarez turned and stepped off with his friend. They had not gone far when Tom Halstead slipped down the tree trunk. Alarmed as he had been when danger threatened most, he now knew that he must follow them.

"For they may lead me straight to Ted Dunstan," he thought eagerly.

Naturally he did not think it wise to get too close to the pair.

Captured again, Tom Halstead knew that he was not likely to be able to be of any further service to his employer. Besides, in escaping and leaving his coat in the hands of the enemy he now remembered how his white shirt might betray him if he got too close to them.

"It's a wonder they didn't see all this white when I was up in the tree," he muttered, as he stole along in pursuit. "The leaves must have covered me mighty well."

For perhaps five minutes Halstead kept steadily behind the pair, guiding himself by the distant sound of their steps, for they did not keep to any path. Then suddenly the boy halted. The noise of footsteps ahead had died out. Tom stood, silent, expectant, but no sound came to his ears in the next two or three minutes. Then a disagreeable conclusion forced itself on the young skipper's mind.

"Gracious! They've slipped away from me or else they're at the end of their tramp."

Again Halstead stole forward on tiptoe. But, though he spent nearly the next half-hour in exploring, he found nothing to reward his search. He came at last to a road which he judged to be the same one along which he had started with the Spaniard. Taking his course from the stars, seaman fashion, Halstead kept along. Within ten minutes he was upon a road that looked like a highway.

"Say, but how good that sounds!" he thrilled, suddenly halting. He had the presence of mind next to slip behind the trunk of a big tree.

A horse was moving lazily along the road. There was the sound of wheels, too, though above all rose a cheery whistling, as though the owner of that pair of lips were the happiest mortal alive. It was a good, contented whistling. It had about it, too, the ring of honesty. The cheery sound made Tom Halstead feel faith at once in the owner of that whistle.

Then there came into sight a plain, much-worn open buggy, drawn by a sleek-looking gray horse. Seated in the vehicle was a youngster of about Tom's own age, who looked much like a farmer's boy. He had no coat on, his suspenders being much in evidence. On his head he wore a nondescript, broad-brimmed straw hat of the kind used by haymakers. At least it looked as though it might once have been that sort of a hat, but its shape was gone. From where Halstead stood not much of a glimpse could be had of the boy's face.

"Good evening, friend," Tom hailed, stepping out from behind the tree.

"Evening! Who-o-oa!" The other boy reined up, peering down through the semidarkness. "Want a lift?"

"Just what, if it happens that you're headed toward the town of Nantucket," Tom replied.

"That's just where I'm headed. But hold on-gracious! I came within an ace of forgetting. I've got to turn back and drive to Sanderson's for a basket of eggs. Won't take me long, though. Pile in."

Tom gladly accepted the invitation. After his late experiences it seemed good to be again with some one who appeared to be wholesome and friendly. The other boy turned about, laying the whip lightly over the horse.

"Look as if you were off of some yacht," commented the other boy, noting Halstead's blue trousers and cap.

"I'm the skipper at present on Mr. Dunstan's 'Meteor,'" Tom explained.

"Say, that's the man whose son disappeared to-day," exclaimed the other boy.

"Then you've heard about it?"

"Yep; it's all over the island now, I guess. Constables been going everywhere and asking a heap of questions. Have they found young Ted?"

"I'm afraid not," sighed Tom.

"Too bad. But who could have wanted him to disappear?"

"That's a long story," Tom answered discreetly. "But say, where are you going?"

For the young driver was turning off the road to go to the very farmhouse to which the pier seemed to belong.

"To Sanderson's, as I told you," replied the other boy.

"Does that pier down at the water front belong to him?"

"Yep, though I guess he don't have much use for it."

"What sort of man is Sanderson?"

"Good enough sort, I guess."

"What does he do for a living?"

"He farms some, but I guess that don't amount to a lot," replied the young driver. "I hear he's going into some new kind of business this fall. Some kind of a factory he's going to build on the place. I know he's been having a lot of cases of machinery come over on the boat from Wood's Hole lately."

"Machinery?" echoed Halstead. Somehow, from the first, that word struck a strange note within him.

"There's Sanderson, now," continued the young driver, pointing toward the house with his whip.

Then the buggy drew up alongside the back porch. Halstead had plenty of chance to study this farmer as he greeted the young driver:

"Hullo, Jed Prentiss. After them eggs?"

"Yes; and nearly forgot 'em."

"I reckoned you'd be along about now. Well, I'll get 'em."

Farmer Sanderson appeared to be about fifty years of age. He would have been rather tall if so much of his lanky height had not been turned over in a decided stoop of the shoulders. He had a rough, weather-beaten skin that seemed to match his rough jean overalls and flannel shirt. The most noticeable thing about this man was the keenness of his eyes. As the farmer came out again to put the basket of eggs in the back of the buggy Tom Halstead asked suddenly:

"Do you know a man who looks like a Spaniard and wears brown striped trousers and a black coat?"

Farmer Sanderson, so the young captain thought, gave a slight start.

Then he unconcernedly placed the basket in the buggy before he answered:

"Can't say as I _know_ such a party. But I've seen a fellow that answered that description."

"When, if I may ask, and where?"

"Why, late this afternoon I saw such a party hanging around my pier. I s'posed he was fishing, but I didn't go down to ask any questions."

Tom put a few more queries, though without betraying too deep an interest. Farmer Sanderson answered with an appearance of utter frankness, but Tom learned nothing from the replies.