"There's something fishy about this," muttered Frank. "I don't know of any train leaving Bayport at this hour of the day."
"Neither do I," his brother replied, in a low voice.
"Those men on the shore seem mighty agitated over something or other. If it was a practical joke they'd just give up and go back to the village."
"It's a pretty queer story. He seemed in an awful hurry to get away from Barmet."
"I have a good mind to turn back. We may be getting ourselves into trouble."
"He'll be as mad as hops if we do. Tell him we don't want his money, and take him back to Barmet."
The more Frank considered the situation the more he felt that the wisest course would be to turn back to Barmet and wash his hands of the whole affair. The stranger's story about an approaching wedding might be true and it might not, but there was the fact of which he was certain, that there was no train leaving Bayport at that hour of the day. He turned to the passenger.
"What time is your train leaving?"
"About ten-thirty."
"There's no train leaving Bayport at that time," said Frank flatly.
"That's the time my train leaves," insisted
