Supper was eaten and still the fishermen had not returned.

“Let’s turn off the lights and maybe that watchman will think we have gone uptown if we are quiet,” suggested Jack.

“All right,” agreed Tom.  “Can we keep Rowdy quiet, too?

“Sure you’ll be quiet, won’t you, old chap?”

Rowdy’s answer was an attempt to “kiss” his friend.

For some time the boys sat in silence, hoping every moment for the return of their friends.  It was growing dusk and Jack was becoming anxious.  Just as he was about to speak, Rowdy seemed to stiffen as if pointing something.  The hair on his shoulders rose on end, while a scarcely audible growl escaped from his throat.

Although the boys sat in the shadow of the pilot house and were indistinguishable to anyone below in the shipyard, they could still see each other.  Jack touched Frank and Tom lightly and then using the sign language employed by mutes he said to them: 

“Rowdy sees or smells something he doesn’t like.”

“I see it, too,” signaled Tom.  “It’s that watchman friend of yours.  He’s coming back to see if we left some of our supper.”

“He was a hungry looking chap,” wigwagged Frank.  “I’d like to feed him up a little and put some fat on his ribs once.”

“It would take a mint of money to buy the grub,” Tom’s fingers spelled out.  “He’s what the livery stable owner would call a hard keeper.  He needs a dose of something.  I don’t like him.”

“Rowdy doesn’t like him either,” Jack’s fingers were working.  “But who is that other chap beside him?  Hush!  They’re coming this way as sure as I’m alive.  Is he bringing the family?”

“Wait a minute,” spelled out Frank.  “I wish I could talk.”

“Why?” asked Jack.  “Aren’t you talking?”

“Yes, after a fashion, but those chaps can’t understand this.  I’d like to tell the watchman what a liar he is and to ask Wyckoff where my chum Charley Burnett is.  If he didn’t answer, I’d make him.”

“I see,” Jack replied.  “But have patience.  We’ll get him.”

“Here they come,” announced Tom.  “Both of ’em, hungry hounds.”

“Listen,” signaled Frank.  “Get this if you can.”

The watchman and Wyckoff, for it was he, were talking in low tones.  Only an occasional word was audible to the three watchers on the motor boat.  It was evident that Wyckoff had been drinking and was inclined to be a trifle quarrelsome.  The watchman was doing his best to restrain Wyckoff from some act upon which he seemed determined.  They were using harsh words but still talked in a low tone.

Finally Wyckoff turned and left the yard, followed by the protesting watchman who slammed the gate after the retreating figure.

“There, that’s over,” sighed Tom.  “What did you get out of it?”

“Just this,” stated Jack.  “The watchman is a liar and Wyckoff was not here for any good.  He intends mischief of some sort.”