o the Plimsoll mark when she passed us," Torry said.
"What could she have done with her cargo in so short a time?"

"I'd like to know," agreed Whistler thoughtfully.

"We ought to tell somebody," declared Frenchy.

"Let's be sure we tell the right person," Whistler advised. "Come on now
and get some supper. We've an hour to wait for a train to Seacove."

They marched up the main street of the port. The fog was not so thick
inshore here. Just before they reached the restaurant they usually
patronized when they were in the town, Whistler uttered an exclamation
and held his friends back.

"See those two men going into Yancey's Restaurant?" he queried.

"What about 'em?" Frenchy asked.

"The fellow ahead," said Whistler Morgan deeply in earnest, "is that man
Blake. The other I bet is the captain of the _Sarah Coville_."

"Well," asked Torry, after a moment, "what are you waiting for? Their
eating at Yancey's won't stop us from going there too, will it?"

CHAPTER VIII

PUZZLED

Whistler Morgan's three chums had by this time become somewhat
interested in the bearded man, who called himself Blake and who worked
in the laboratory of the Elmvale munition factory.

They were not at all as sure as Whistler seemed to be that the man was
an alien enemy, and dangerous; for one reason they did not know all that
Whistler had discovered up by the dam. It was only to Ensign MacMasters
that their leader had told of the water wheel under the rock.

Frenchy began to grin when he saw how Whistler hesitated about entering
the restaurant in Rivermouth.

"What's the matter? You so mad with that fellow that you won't eat at
Yancey's because he does?" he asked.

"I'd like to get in there," said Whistler, "without attracting his
attention and that of the man with him. I know he's the skipper of that
oil boat."

"How are you going to do that?" demanded Torry. "They'll spot our
blouses and caps in a minute."

"That's just it. Wish we didn't have 'em on," grumbled his friend.

"Good-_night_! We'd make a nice fumble, wouldn't we, if we didn't wear
the uniform? What would it be--a month in the brig on hard tack and
water?"

"Say!" murmured the eager Ikey Rosenmeyer, "there's a side door. I'll
call Abe, the waiter, out there and tell him. If those fellows have gone
into one of the booths----"

"Bully!" cried Torry. "Maybe he can sneak us into one next to 'em. How
about it, Whistler?"

"Just the thing," agreed Morgan, n