“Nothing doing below,” he announced.  “I guess they took him ashore.”

“We might as well go ashore, too, then,” said his brother.  “We are wasting valuable time here.”  He turned to the mate.  “Will you tell us where they went?  It will be to your interest to open your mouth.”

“They mentioned the old Blue Horseshoe Tavern,” growled the burly mate.  “But I don’t know if they went there.”

Dick said no more, but hurried over the side, followed by Tom.  As he left the schooner the fun-loving Rover could not help but bring from his hip pocket an extra handkerchief and flourish it at the mate.

“There’s my gun, how do you like it?” he cried, with a grin.

“Go to grass!” grunted the burly fellow, and scowled deeply.

In a few words the pair told Sam what they had learned.  The motor-boat was headed for a nearby dock, and a few minutes later the Rovers leaped ashore.

“I don’t know if I will need you again or not,” said Dick to John Slater.

“If it wasn’t for watching my boat I’d go along,” said the motor-boat youth.  “I am interested in this case.”

“Here is your money.  But I wish you would hang around a while,” went on Dick, paying him.

“I sure will hang around, and I’ll watch that schooner.”

“Good!  Our address in New York is the Outlook Hotel,” said Dick.

The boys saw nobody around the dock, which was in the rear of a small lumber yard.  They walked through the yard to an office in front.  A road ran out of the side of the yard and the boys wondered if the men they were after had taken that.

Nobody but a boy of fifteen was in the office, clicking out a letter on an old typewriter.

“The boss ain’t around—­ he had to go to New York on business,” he announced, as soon as the boys appeared.  “Want to leave an order for anything?”

“We are looking for some men who came ashore a while ago,” said Dick.  “Did you see ’em?”

The boy shook his head.

“Ain’t nobody been here all afternoon,” he said.

“Do you know anything of a place called the Blue Horseshoe Tavern?”

“Sure I do.  It’s up on the post road—­ the place where all the auto parties stop,” was the knowing reply.

“How far from here?”

“Not over a quarter of a mile.”

“Which way?”

“I’ll show you,” and the boy reached for his cap.  Going outside, he led them from the yard to a road running up a hill.

“Keep right on that till you get to the Blue Horseshoe,” he said.  “You can’t miss it, because it’s the only place around here.”

They thanked the lad and hurried on.  By this time it was quite dark and a few drops of rain had begun to fall.

“The Blue Horseshoe Tavern must be one of the old-time roadhouses that has had a revival of business since auto parties became popular,” said Dick, as he and his brothers trudged along.  “I wonder what those rascals will tell the proprietor?”