Bruce and Hans were at the wharf to see the party off. It had cost the big Yale man a mighty effort to get out of bed and come down there at that hour, but now he was angry to think Frank intended to leave him behind. “What have I done to be left?” he demanded. “I am sure that if there is to be any fighting, I might do my part on this trip.” “I can take you, Bruce,” said Frank, “and I will, if you are determined to go; but I thought you might be able to help me some by staying home.” “How?” “I want you to do a little detective work. It is possible I may not succeed in finding the _White Wings_. While I am away, I wish you to do your best to learn who had a hand in stealing the yacht. If I do not succeed in running down the rascals who have the yacht, you may be able to put me on the right track when I return.” “I’ll make a mighty poor detective,” grumbled Bruce. “I don’t know about that. You can do it as well as any of the others, and this launch is so small that I do not wish to take the whole party.” “All right,” said the big fellow, somewhat pacified. “I’ll do what I can, but I never was cut out for a detective.” “Mart Woodock may be able to help you. Find him—watch him.” “All ready, Mr. Merriwell.” The call came from Howard Dustan, and Frank stepped aboard the _Fox_. The lines were cast off, and, with an oar, Browning thrust the prow of the craft away from the wharf. “Goot-py, Vrankie,” called Hans, sadly. “I vos sorry you vasn’t goin’ mit me. If you catch up mit der vellers vat stole dot yotch, gif them der tyfil.” The propeller began to churn the water. Dustan was at the wheel, and the _Fox_ soon headed down the harbor. As long as the wharf could be seen, Hans was visible, alternately waving a bandanna handkerchief and blowing his nose. Out into the morning sunshine that was tinting the rippling water with pink and gold danced the little launch. She ran smoothly and swiftly. “Which way, Mr. Merriwell?” asked Dustan. “I believe we had better run over to Searsport first,” said Frank. Diamond looked surprised. “Why should we go there?” he asked. “It strikes me that we will be going out of our way by doing so?” “Why do you think that?” “Searsport is to the eastward. It is away over in that direction.” “Yes.” “We should go directly down the bay.” “Why?” “To overtake the yacht, if it was stolen by Parker Flynn.” “But I fail to understand your reasons.” “Why, of course Flynn will make an effort to get out of Penobscot waters as soon as possible. He belongs in Boston, and——” “For that very reason he will not sail that way. If he has the yacht, he is just foxy enough to know we may think he will head for Boston, and so he will choose another course.” “You may be right,” admitted Diamond, “but still I have my doubts about it. I do not believe Flynn is as shrewd as all that.” “Well, there is another reason why he would not run down the bay.” “What is it?”