The delay was shorter than he anticipated.  There was a sharp ringing of the bell, the police operator responding quickly.

“Police Headquarters.  What’s wanted?  McAdams; no he is not in just now.  Who is calling him?  Harbour Master’s office; all right; hold the wire a minute.”

He turned his head around.

“Must be your case, Captain; better hear what they have to say.”

West grasped the receiver eagerly.

“Is this the Seminole matter?” he asked swiftly.  “Certainly, I understand about it.  What’s that.  Oh, Winchell told you to call up if you learned anything.  Of course; what is it?  Yes, I hear; just found her tied up at north side of Municipal Pier.  What’s the trouble?  Engine working bad, and had to come in, hey?  All right—­thanks; I’ll go straight over and see them.”

This was great luck, yet there was very little he could hope to accomplish alone, without the help and authority of McAdams.  Even if the vessel had been stolen—­which was probably not true—­he possessed no power of arrest.  All he could hope to do would be to keep the fellows in sight until Mac showed up, and, if possible, prevent them from putting out into the lake again.  Even in that he needs must be cautious not to be seen by any of the gang who might recognize him.  An alarm, proving they were being followed, would doubtless send them scattering instantly.  If they were to be trapped, no suspicion could be aroused.

West thought of all these things as a taxi bore him across the city to the pier, and acted accordingly.  The open air restaurant accorded him every reasonable opportunity for concealment, while affording ample view of whatever was going on.  It was a bright, sunshiny day, the waters of the lake a deep blue.  No crowd was present, yet enough people were at the tables, or lounging about the pier, to make his presence unnoticeable.  The pleasure boat for Lincoln Park, a band aboard, and with a barker industriously busy, was close by, surrounded by a bevy of women and children.  Beyond these, on the same side, snuggled close against the cement wall, lay the yacht.  West ordered a drink, and sat down at a table within easy view, although partially concealed himself by a pillar supporting the roof.

The Seminole was a much larger boat than he had anticipated seeing, yet he could not doubt her being the vessel sought.  The name was plainly stencilled on the bow, as well as upon the dingy towing astern.  Her deck lay almost even with the promenade, and he was able to trace her lines clearly from where he sat.  The craft had evidently been constructed for comfort as well as speed.  He noted two short masts unrigged, a bridge forward of the wheel-house, together with a decidedly commodious cabin aft.  The deck space between was clear, except for the hatchway leading down to the engine.  The planking was clean, as though newly scrubbed, while every handrail glistened in the sun.  The cabin appeared tightly