“Let’s get going,” said Kitty, picking up her oar. “You’d better hide your tobacco and new pipe, Uncle Mose.” “Yas’m, sho will.” The old man’s sunken eyes turned toward the inlet. “You kin hear de motorboat a long time ’fore she come in sight.” “I’m glad you told us what you did, Uncle Mose,” said Kitty. “Don’t you worry. Mr. Beeson will never buy this island.” “T’ank de Lawd! You tell young Massa I keep de trus’ an’ look atter de place like he ask me to.” Brad was impatient to be off, and Kitty bent her back to the oar as he pulled away from the little harbor. Glancing at Uncle Mose before they turned a point in the shore, she saw him waving his battered felt hat at them and pointing straight across the marsh. Instead of turning north by the way they had come they headed for the tide-filled creeks that cut the marshy wastelands into jig-saw patterns. They could have used the motor for greater speed, but Kitty knew the noise would carry for quite a distance across the empty wastes. Not until they had gone almost a mile up one of the winding creeks did they pause behind the shelter of some tall marsh grass. “Hope we don’t get stuck in here,” said Brad. “Tide’s so low.” “But it’s already turned. That’s a help.” She rubbed her tired hands together a moment and said, “Uncle Mose gave us an earful, didn’t he?” “I’ll say!” “Looks as though that’s the final piece to complete the puzzle.” “Maybe and maybe not, Kit. We’ve got to catch ’em with the goods before we can really bring conviction.” “Sure is risky for that poor old negro. Beeson doesn’t look like the kind of man who would hesitate to put the old man out of the way if he interferes with his plans.” “You’re right.” “Maybe we should have brought him away with us just now.” “Oh no, that would never do. Beeson would be sure you were responsible—after what happened at the troop train the other day.” “I guess you’re right. That would make him cut off his traffic with the Germans till suspicion dies down.” “Kit, it’s come to the point where we no longer have a right to keep all this to ourselves.” “You mean the FBI should know?” “Certainly. It’s not mere surmise now. What Uncle Mose told us bears out accurately the theories we’ve been forming.” “You’re right, Brad.” Even though they had prided themselves on their discoveries so far, Kitty had to admit that the affair was now too dangerous for them to handle. She could never forgive herself if, through their bungling, Uncle Mose lost his life. “But we’ve got to get out of here first,” said Brad. “It’s beginning to look as though we’re in for a real blow, Kit.” “A real sou’easter.” Suddenly Brad half rose and peered above the strip of marsh grass behind which they were hiding. “Listen, Kit, sounds like Beeson’s boat is coming right in here.” “Good heavens! What’ll we do?”