"He's up to some mischief or I'm much mistaken," said Jack, as he drew his companions back further into a patch of black shadow cast by some ornamental shrubs.
"Let's trail him and see what he's up to," said Noddy.
"Gracious, you're a regular Sherlock Holmes at the drop of the hat," laughed Billy. "What do you think, Jack?"
"I don't know. He's going toward the wharf and I don't see just what he could steal there."
"Look at him stop and glance all around him as if he was afraid of being followed," whispered Billy.
"That doesn't look like an honest man's action, certainly," agreed Jack. "Come on, boys; we'll see what's in the wind. Do you know, somehow I've got an idea that we've seen that fellow somewhere before."
"What gives you that impression?" asked Billy.
"I can't say--it's just a feeling I've got. An instinct I guess you might call it."
The three boys moved forward as stealthily as did the man whose actions had aroused their suspicions. Presently they saw him cut across a small patch of lawn and strike into a narrow path which led among some trees.
With every care to avoid making any noise, the three boys followed. The path led to the edge of a cliff, down the face of which a flight of stone steps ran down to the water's edge. The man descended these.
"What can he be? A smuggler," suggested Billy.
"I don't see any boat down there, if he is," rejoined Jack in low tones.
Suddenly a sharp, low exclamation came from Noddy, who had been looking out over the lake.
"Heading in this way, too," rejoined Jack. "It looks like--but no, it cannot be."
"Cannot be what?" asked Billy, caught by something in his companion's voice.
"Judson's craft, the one that ran us down? Nonsense, you've got Judson on the brain, Jack."
"Have I? Well, it's an odd coincidence, then, that the yacht yonder has a tear in her foresail exactly where our bowsprit tore the _Speedaway's_ jib this afternoon."
"By hookey, you're right, Jack!" cried Noddy. "There may be more to this than we think."
Billy was peering from behind a bush over the edge of the cliff, which was not very high.
He could see below, the dark figure of a man making a black patch in the gloom upon the white beach. He was moving about and pacing nervously to and fro on the shingle as if awaiting something or somebody.