o stop the motor for a moment," whispered Dickie Lang.

When Bronson complied, the silence for the space of a few minutes was
unbroken. Then from the little cove came the muffled cough of a
high-speed motor.

"All right. Head out."

The _Richard_ sped on her way at Gregory's command. Then he asked: "What
did that sound like to you, Bronson?"

The boatman answered promptly: "That was the bird you're looking for.
I've heard the _Fuor d'Italia's_ exhaust too many times to guess wrong."

Dickie Lang nodded sagely in the darkness, while Bronson volunteered:

"I think I know the one that nearly run us down too. Running dark's her
long suit." For a moment he hesitated, then he added: "She looked a
whole lot like the _Gray Ghost_."

"Interesting, if true," muttered Hawkins, sliding nearer to the
operator. Then he asked aloud: "Who's the _Gray Ghost_?"

Bronson noted the suppressed eagerness of the man's tone. Then he
remembered that Hawkins was a newspaperman. Reporters were a nosey class
as a rule. Perhaps it would be as well to keep still. After all, what
did he, Bronson, know about the _Gray Ghost_? What did anybody really
know about her, for that matter?

"The _Gray Ghost_ is a fishing-boat," he said quietly, "that was built
by Al Stevenson. She's bigger and quieter than the average. She's
supposed to be about as fast for her size as any of them. I heard the
other day she was owned by a fellow by the name of----" He stopped
abruptly. "I can't remember the man's name," he concluded.

Hawkins knew Bronson was lying. Straightway he decided to find out what
he could about the ownership of the _Gray Ghost_. Of the vessel herself,
he had some knowledge though he gave no intimation that he had ever
heard the name before.

"Mascola must own the _Gray Ghost_ himself, the way he's sticking around
her," observed Dickie Lang. "He must have been waiting in there for her
or he'd have been scouting around before this."

Gregory agreed.

"Tom said they were pretty well fished out down below," he contributed,
"and Mascola hadn't given them a new location. He's evidently got
something on his mind that's more important to him than fishing."

Bronson said nothing but smiled grimly in the darkness. Perhaps that
wasn't such a wild guess, at that. But it was none of his business. His
firm was building boats for the Italian, so why should he say anything?

The sky was dark overhead and a freshening breeze sprang up when they
reac