Part 7 (1/2)

”Gr-r-r-r!” sounded Tom suddenly from behind the bush. ”Gr-r-r-r! Woof!

Woof!”

It was a splendid imitation of the growl and bark of a bulldog. At the same instant Tom made a semi-spring through the bush.

The ”pirate” uttered a wordless howl of fright. He lurched, attempted to recover himself and leap at the same instant, and--

Splas.h.!.+ There was another howl of terror as the man slipped over backward, then, head-first, struck the water at the side of the pier.

”Help! I drown!” came in a m.u.f.fled voice, and a new note of terror sounded on the night.

Now drowning anyone was as far from Tom Halstead's mind as could be.

With an upward bound he sprinted out onto the pier, bending under the rail close to where the frightened one was making huge rings on the water in his struggle to keep up.

In his efforts the fellow reached one of the piles of the pier, hanging to it in mortal terror.

”Help, help, kind sir!” he pleaded hoa.r.s.ely. ”Not a stroke do I swim.

Pull me out before I drown.”

Throwing himself upon the pier, Tom bent down with both hands.

”Here, catch hold,” he hailed. ”You're in no danger. I'll pull you out all right.”

It was some moments before Tom could persuade his ”pirate” to let go that frantic clutch at the pile. But at length Halstead drew his dripping suspect up onto the boards of the pier.

”Where is that terrible, that miser-r-rable dog!” panted the swarthy one, glaring about him.

”That's all right,” Tom answered composedly. ”There isn't any dog.”

”But-but I heard him,” protested the other, still nervous, as he stared suspiciously around him. ”The wr-r-retched animal sprang for me. His teeth almost grazed my leg.”

Such was the power of imagination-a fine tribute to Tom's skill as a mimic.

”Aren't you thinking of the other night, over at Wood's Hole, when you tried to get aboard the 'Meteor' to wreck the engine?”

Halstead shot this question out with disconcerting suddenness. The young skipper looked straight, keenly, into the other's eyes, standing so that he could prevent the stranger's sudden bolt from the pier.

”I? What do you talk about?” demanded the foreigner, pretending astonishment.

”Oh, I know all about you,” nodded Tom. ”You're the party.”

”Be careful, boy! You insult me!” cried the other angrily.

”That's all right, then,” Tom went on coolly. ”Now maybe I'm going to insult you a little more. The trouble is, I need information, and you're the best one to give it to me. Where's Ted Dunstan?”

”I-I-you--” stammered the foreigner. ”What do I know about Ted Dunstan?

No, no, no! You are wrong. I have not seen the boy-do not know him.”

”Yet you appear to know that he is a boy,” insisted Tom sternly. ”Come, now, if you won't talk with me you'd better walk along with me, and we'll find some one you'll be more willing to answer.”