a little heed to the laws of the land, even if you
fellows don't. What I want is this: At about two in the morning, when,
most likely, everyone will be asleep except the one who is nursing the
fellow Clodis, it is my plan to run in at Lonely Island's dock. We'll
get quietly up to the house, suddenly force the door, and rush in.
But, mind you all, there's to be no riot. Your numbers, and your
rough appearance, will be enough to scare the folks of the bungalow.
The two of you that I've already picked out will rush in with a
stateroom door and one of the stateroom mattresses. With this for a
stretcher, you two will get Clodis carefully and gently down to this
boat. Then we'll sail away, and I'll tell you what to do next. But
remember, no violent assault on anyone--no lawlessness, no hurting
anyone badly. Trust to your numbers and suddenness. There's some
baggage, too, in the bungalow, that I mean to bring away with me. I'll
make off with it in the confusion."

"Oh, will you?" wondered Captain Tom Halstead, his jaw settling
squarely.

Then, tiptoeing softly over to where Hank waited, the young skipper
whispered something in that youth's ear. Hank fled quietly forward,
but returned with a snap-padlock, the ring of which was open. With
this in his hands Tom stole back aft, this time going close, indeed,
to the hatchway.

"Hey! Someone on deck," roared an excited voice below.

There was an instant babel of voices, a rushing of feet and a general
rumpus below. Two men in the van raced for the hatchway.

Slam! snap! click! Tom Halstead swung the hatchway door shut, forced
the stout hasp over the staple and fastened the padlock in place!

CHAPTER VI

CARRYING DANGEROUS LIVE "FREIGHT"

"Cooped!" chuckled Joe Dawson, jubilantly.

Yet his voice could not much more than be heard above the racket that
sounded below. Anson Dalton and his seven rough men were raising a
hubbub, indeed.

"Smash the door down!" roared Dalton.

"Maybe we kin do it, boss, but the hatch is a stout one, and we ain't
jest 'zactly fixed for tools," replied another voice.

After a few moments the fruitless hammering with mere fists subsided.
In that time Hank Butts had raced forward, and now was back again with
a prize that he had caught up from a locker near the motors. This was
nothing more nor less than the hitching weight that Hank had once made
very nearly famous, as described in the preceding volume, "THE MOTOR
BOAT CLUB OFF LONG ISL