Though Reade remained up until broad daylight no further sign of the
unknown enemies was seen. Through the night, had it not been for the
patrols walking up and down the line of wall with lanterns, it would have
been hard to realize that the big breakwater was haunted by any such
desperately practical group of "ghosts."
"I guess we've heard the last of the rascals," suggested Harry Hazelton one
night at supper. Messrs. Bascomb and Prenter had returned to Mobile, so
that the young engineers and their superintendent were the only men at
table.
"My guess is about the same," drawled Mr. Renshaw.
"Yes?" queried Reade. "Guess again!"
"Oh, I believe they've quit," argued Mr. Renshaw. "For one thing, the
scoundrels probably have discovered that detectives from Mobile are down
here trying to run 'em to earth. That has scared the rascals away."
"What are the detectives doing, anyway?" asked Harry.
"Blessed if I know," Tom yawned. "I believe there are three of them here
or over in Blixton, but I wouldn't know one of them, if I fell over him.
The detectives came, secured their orders from Mr. Prenter, and went to
work---or pretended to go to work. I'm glad that I'm not responsible for
the detectives.
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