ch.

The light of lanterns showed that the men of one gang were searching
thoroughly all along the top of the wall. Once in a while a man belonging
to the beach patrol passed the chief engineer and the superintendent,
reporting only that no signs of Harry had been found.

An hour thus passed. Then, from over the water, as the lantern-bearing
searchers were returning, a dull explosion boomed across the water.

"Great Scott!" quivered Tom. "There they go at it again, Mr. Renshaw!
Another section of the retaining wall has gone---blown up!"

CHAPTER V

WANTED---DAYLIGHT AND DIVERS

In a trice the foreman of the gang on the wall wheeled his men about,
running them out seaward toward the scene of the latest explosion. That
much was plain from the twinkling of the rapidly-moving lanterns.

"Come on, Renshaw!" Tom shouted. "You, too, Nicolas. You can pull an
oar."

Reade was already racing out on to the small dock. He all but threw
himself into a rowboat that lay tied alongside.

"Cast off and get in," Tom ordered his companions, as he pushed out a pair
of oars. "Nicolas, you're also good with a pair of oars. Mr. Renshaw,
you take the tiller. Inform me instantly when you see the first gleam of
the 'Morton's' search-light. Evarts ought to have caught the scoundrels
this time. Evidently he's been cruising softly without showing a light."

Mr. Renshaw gathered up the tiller ropes as Tom pushed off from the dock.
Then the chief engineer addressed himself to the task of rowing. His firm
muscles, working at their best, shot the little craft ahead. Nicolas, at
the bow oars, did his best to keep up with his chief in the matter of
rowing, though the Mexican was neither an oarsman nor an athlete.

"Don't you make out the motor boat's lights yet?" Tom asked impatiently,
after the first long spurt of rowing.

"Not yet, sir," replied the superintendent. "I shan't miss the light when
it shows."

A few minutes later the superintendent announced in a low voice:

"There's some craft, motionless, just a bit ahead."

Tom, without stopping his work at the oars, turned enough to glance
forward.

"Why, it's---it's the 'Morton'!" he gasped.

"I believe it is," declared the superintendent, staring keenly at the
nearly shapeless black mass ahead.

Tom, with his jaws set close, bent harder than ever at the oars.

"Senor!" wailed Nicolas, gaspingly. "If you do not go more easily I shall
expire for lack of br