he treasurer cordially. "Reade, I give you
my word that we won't intentionally follow on your trail."

At a nod from Tom, Dick was at his side. The two high school chums started
off with brisk steps.

"Which way are you going?" whispered Dick.

"Let's go down to the breakwater," suggested Tom. "I really ought to visit
it once in the night, despite the fact that Corbett is a wholly reliable
foreman, and that he has his own pick of workmen on patrol duty there."

As the chums stepped out from under the trees in full view of the
breakwater site they beheld the lanterns of the patrol, like so many
fireflies, twinkling and bobbing here and there along the narrow-topped
retaining wall.

Tom and Dick went out on the wall until they encountered the first workman
on patrol. Tom took this man's lantern and signaled the motor boat as it
stood in shore.

"All going right, Corbett?" the young engineer hailed, as soon as the
"Morton" had come up alongside.

"As far as I can see, Mr. Reade, there's not a sign of the enemy to-night.
But of course you know, sir, that we've been just as sure on other nights,
only to have a large part of the wall blown clean out of the water."

"All I can say," Tom nodded, "is to go on keeping your eyes and ears open."

"Yes, sir; you may be sure I'll do that," nodded the foreman.

Then Reade and his army chum returned to the shore.

"I guess it will be a wholly blind hunt," Tom laughed, "but I've a notion
for returning to the spot where we encountered Sambo Ebony before this
night."

After they had left the beach well behind, the chums strolled in under the
trees of a rather sparse grove.

Well in toward the center of the grove stood one tree larger than the rest.

From behind this Sambo Ebony swiftly appeared, just at the right instant
for surprise. In each hand the negro held a huge automatic revolver.

"Gemmen," chuckled the negro coolly, "Ah jess be nacherally obliged to yo'
both if yo'll stick yo' hands ez high up in de air ez yo' can h'ist 'em.
It am a long worm dat nebber turns, an' Ah'se done reckon dat Ah'se de
tu'ning worm to-night! Thumbs up, gemmen!"

Despite Sambo's bantering tone there could be no doubt that to fail to obey
him would be to invite a swift fusillade.

Reluctantly Tom Reade thrust his hands up skyward. Nor did Dick Prescott
hesitate to follow so prompt an example.

CHAPTER XXIV

CONCLUSION

"Now Ah reckon Ah'se done got yo'," laughed the