It hardly deserved the name of wharf, for it was merely two planks supported on poles sunk in the sand, with a home-made ladder descending to the water. A rusty chain and padlock hung from one of the poles. The Corsair stopped its sober chugging and Jack guided it up to the ladder. The wharf jutted out some six feet from the bank into what was practically a tiny basin. Beyond it the stream narrowed again and went twisting off out of sight behind low banks covered with grasses and rushes. Just at the turn a few cattails showed that the little basin was probably the limit of tide-water and that beyond the stream was fresh. The boys made fast the launch and quietly climbed the ladder to the rickety landing. There was an old anchor up there and a battered tin can showing the remains of one or two defunct clams. A dozen feet from the bank stood the cabin, a small affair of drift-wood and old lumber, with a sagging door half open on its leather hinges, one small window and a roof variously covered with pieces of tin, sheet iron and tarred paper, from which a foot or so of stove pipe protruded. A few feet distant at the left was a still smaller structure, half hen-house and half shed. A few thin, wiry looking hens and a ridiculously long-legged rooster scratched about in the dirt outside. The shed open in front, held a motley collection of broken lobster-pots, spars, rigging and canvas. There was a chopping block there, with a hatchet sticking into it, and a pile of wood broken into stove lengths was stored in a corner. Between wharf and house lay a litter of planks, a lobster-pot, a rotting fish-net draped over a carpenter’s horse, a number of cork floats, some empty tin cans, a pot of blue paint and a paint brush and, supported between the lobster-pot and the carpenter’s horse, a pair of oars, painted blue and still sticky to the touch.

“There they are!” exclaimed Hal triumphantly. “What did I tell you? He’s gone and painted them blue!”

“Hm,” said Jack, “It would be pretty hard to identify them, wouldn’t it?”

“They’re just the same length and everything,” asserted Hal stoutly. “Of course they’re mine!”

“They’re yours if you say so and they’re his if he says so,” said Bee judicially. “I guess he’s got ahead of us here, Hal. I don’t believe we’d have any right to take them. We never could prove they were the oars that were stolen from us.”

“But—but—” began Hal excitedly.

“Let’s just look around a bit,” said Jack, “and see if we can find anything else that belongs to you. We’d better not waste too much time, either. It’s probable, Honest William is off for the day, but there’s no telling.” He pushed open the door and stepped inside the cabin and the others followed. It was so dark in there that for a moment they could see nothing clearly and while they waited to accustom their eyes to the gloom there was a sudden clamor that sent their hearts into their throats and sent them tumbling over each other’s back through the doorway.

Ding-ding, ding-ding, ding! Dong-dong, dong-dong, dong! Tink-tink, tink-tink, tink! Ding-dang, ding-dang, ding!

“Ship’s-clocks,” laughed Jack, “and dozens of them, from the noise! I guess they won’t hurt us. Come on.”

They stepped inside again just as the last clang died away, and Jack opened the door as far as it would go to afford more light. When they could finally see each of the boys gave expression to his astonishment.

“Gee!” exclaimed Bee.

“Well!” cried Jack.

Hal grunted. “It’s a regular robber’s den,” he said.

The cabin was perhaps fourteen feet one way by twelve the other. Under the window was a small table with the remains of a meal on it. In one corner was a cook-stove, with a cupboard above it in which stood cooking utensils and a few groceries. In another corner was a bed. Perhaps bunk would describe it better, for it was built against the two walls for all the world like a ship’s berth. There was a seaman’s chest near the stove, a rocking chair near the door and a stool by the table. The floor was partly hidden by pieces of oilcloth and scraps of carpets. The walls had been at some time covered with paper, wrapping paper, newspaper, colored pictures, but over the paper hung as remarkable a collection of objects as one is likely to find outside a museum. Ship’s-clocks—Bee counted fourteen of them later—and sextants, quadrants, spy-glasses, lanterns, barometers, log-lines, rusty cutlasses and swords, a carbine or two and a flint lock musket, pictures of sailing vessels, flags and signals, brass rowlocks in bunches, a ship’s name-board bearing in faded gilt letters the inscription Susan T. Moody, the model of a full-rigged five-master in a glass case and, last of all, a parrot in a cage. It was Bee who first spied the parrot and tiptoed up to it.

“Hello, Polly,” he said softly. But Polly refused to even wink. “Pretty Poll! Polly want a cracker?” The parrot regarded him fixedly with glassy eyes.

“What’s the matter with you? Can’t you talk?” asked Jack. “You look—Oh, shucks, fellows, it’s only a stuffed parrot!”

“Wonder where he stole it,” said Hal, prodding it through the bars of the cage to make certain that it was really not alive. Just then there was a noise behind them and the three turned startledly to see a big yellow cat emerge from beneath the stove, arching his back and blinking gravely across at them.

“Gee, you scared me, pussy,” said Bee.

“What’s your name? Come over here and have your back rubbed, you old rascal.” The cat accepted the invitation, crossing the room to rub against their legs and purr ecstatically.

“Nice old kitty,” murmured Bee, scratching the cat’s neck. “Isn’t he a dandy, Hal?”

“Yes, I wonder where he stole him,” replied Hal darkly. Jack laughed.

“Hal, you haven’t a very good opinion of our friend Bill, have you? Well, there’s plenty of truck here, fellows, but I don’t see any compasses or fog-horns, although there’s a brass trumpet up there. If those are your oars out there, Hal, what do you suppose he did with the boat-hook?”

“And that new rope,” added Bee.

“They’re here somewhere, I guess,” answered Hal, surveying the room again. “Maybe the rope’s in the shed. There was a lot there.”

The cat leaped to the table and began to lick one of the dishes. “That’s the way Bill gets his things washed up, I suppose,” said Bee. “I wonder if we couldn’t get a cat, fellows. It would save us a lot of bother!”

“I’ll bet anything my compass and fog-horn are in that chest,” said Hal, eyeing it suspiciously. “I guess I’ll have a look.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Jack. “We haven’t any right in here really, and it wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do, Hal.”

“But he stole my things!” Hal objected.

“Maybe he did; I think so too; but I don’t like the idea of sneaking into a man’s house while he’s away and prying into his chest. We’ll have a look in the shed. Just hear those clocks tick. Funny we didn’t notice them at first. He’s got some dandies here, too. Look at this one, Hal. That must have cost sixty or seventy dollars.”

“Wonder where he—”

“If you say that again,” warned Bee, “I’ll beat you. You’re worse than a parrot! Come on out to the shed and let’s see if we can’t find the boat-hook.”

“All right,” said Jack. “Old Bill may be back soon and we might as well get away before he comes.”

“Wait a minute,” exclaimed Hal. “Look up there, fellows!”

They followed the direction of Hal’s finger and saw a trap door that evidently opened into a space between the ceiling and the roof.

“I’ll bet you anything,” said Hal eagerly, “that that’s where he hides his loot.”

“What makes you think he plays a lute?” asked Bee flippantly.

“I’m going up there,” asserted Hal resolutely.

“Better not,” counselled Jack. “Anyway, I don’t see how you can. There’s no ladder in sight.”

“I don’t need any ladder. You fellows lift me up and I can push off that hatch and get through. I don’t believe it’s locked.”

“I don’t like it,” said Jack. “After all, the things didn’t cost very much, and you’ve bought new oars and—”

“I don’t care if they only cost ten cents,” replied Hal doggedly. “They’re mine and I mean to have them if they’re there. If you fellows won’t help me I’ll go out and find a ladder; or I’ll move the table under here and—”

“Don’t be a silly goat,” pleaded Bee. “If your things are up there the hatch is sure to be locked. Come on and be sensible.”

“It can’t be locked. There’s no lock there. Look for yourself.” Hal measured the distance from floor to ceiling with his eye and looked speculatively at the table on which the yellow cat had curled himself up and was washing his face. “Anyhow, I mean to have a try at it and I think you fellows might give me a lift. If they were your things that were stolen I’d try to help you get them instead of siding with the thief!”

“Well—” began Bee irresolutely.

But just then a shadow darkened the doorway and,

“Ho, mates,” said a deep gruff voice, “makin’ yourselves to home I see!”