hin forty yards of the stern of the drab boat, yet not
a single human being appeared on that mysterious craft.

Having put Hepton on shore, Halstead rowed back for Mr. Seaton.
Embarking this second passenger, Tom, this time, rowed a little closer
to the seventy-footer lying at anchor in the river's mouth. Now, the
head of a man unknown to either of them showed aft.

"Where you-all goin' with so many guns?" this man asked, in a
half-jeering tone.

"Night hunting," retorted Tom, dryly, not feeling guilty of a lie
since he was certain the other would not believe him.

Landing Mr. Seaton on the other river bank, the young captain of the
"Restless" returned to his craft.

By now it was nearly dark.

"We may as well see how the searchlight is working," Joe Dawson
suggested.

"Turn it on them, and sweep it around," responded Halstead.

The strong glare of light was found to be working satisfactorily. Dark
came on quickly, still without any more signs of life aboard the Drab
than had already been observed.

"Supper time, surely," announced Hank, in a glum voice.

"Don't bother about that to-night," objected the young skipper. "Slip
down into the galley and make sandwiches enough for all hands. We can
eat and watch--_must_, in fact, if we eat at all."

After the sandwiches had been made and disposed of the Motor Boat Club
boys began to find the swinging of the light on the drab boat, on the
water and on either river bank, to be growing rather monotonous.

"I wish something would happen," grumbled Hank.

"Now, don't start a fuss about that," yawned Joe. "Something is likely
enough to start up at any second."

"It has started," whispered Tom Halstead, swinging the searchlight,
just then, across the Drab's hull. "Look there!"

Two much-muffled figures, looking nearly identical, and each of the
pair carrying a bag, appeared on deck amidships, one standing on each
side of the deck-house. Then, as quickly, by their sides stood two
other men who sprang to lower the two small boats that hung at davits.
One muffled man and one helper embarked in each boat, the helper in
each case rowing swiftly to either bank of the river.

"That's a queer game, but a clever one," muttered Captain Tom,
swinging the glaring searchlight and watching.

"It'll mix up Mr. Seaton and Hepton all right," grimaced Joe Dawson.
"Each will wonder whether _he_ has Dalton on his side of the river, to
follow."

Now, as quickly, the two boat-tende