motor boat boy steadied his nerves and muscles in order to see through to the end this mysterious thing coming out of space.

While this was going on, Joe Dawson did not call out to either of his comrades. With an instinct that worked as fast as the wireless messages themselves, young Dawson chose to put off calling the other motor boat boys until he had the whole startling tale to tell them—until he had in complete form the coming orders that would send all three of them and the “Restless” on a tireless sea-chase.

While this flood of dots and dashes is coming in from seaward, and from landward, it is well that the reader be put in possession of some information that will make clearer to him the nature of the dramatic events that followed this sudden in-pouring of wireless messages to the 12 little “CBA” bungalow station on this island off the North Carolina coast.

Readers of the preceding volume of this series, “The Motor Boat Club Off Long Island,” will at once recall that story, throbbing with the interest of human life—will remember how faithfully and wisely Tom Halstead, Joe Dawson and Hank Butts, all members of the Motor Boat Club, served that leader in Wall Street finance, Francis Delavan, and the latter’s nervous, wavering friend, Eben Moddridge. To such former readers the tale is familiar of how the Motor Boat Club boys aided materially in frustrating a great conspiracy in finance, aimed against their employer. Saved from ruin by the grit, keenness and loyalty of these three members of the Motor Boat Club, Messrs. Delavan and Moddridge had handsomely rewarded the boys for their signal services.

As Hank Butts preferred, for family reasons, to spend his summers, and much of his other time, on Long Island, he had been presented with a thirty-foot launch, a shore lot at East Hampton, and a “shack” and pier. Tom Halstead and Joe Dawson, fast friends and both from the same little Kennebec River village, preferring always the broad ocean, had been made the owners of the “Soudan,” a fine, sea-going, fifty-five foot motor cruising yacht built 13 for deep sea work. Though the “Soudan” had a very comfortable beam of fifteen feet, she was nevertheless equipped with twin gasoline motors that could send her over the waters at some twenty-five or twenty-six miles an hour.

With the gift of the boat to Tom and Joe came also a present of money enough to make the two new young owners able to put her in commission and keep her going for awhile.

It was not intended by Messrs. Delavan and Moddridge that Tom Halstead and Joe Dawson should be able to keep their new prize and property running for their own pleasure. On the contrary the givers of this splendid present believed that the two boys would ply under charter for wealthy pleasure seekers, thus making a splendid living. In summer there were the northern waters; in winter the southern waters. Thus it was believed that Captain Tom Halstead and Engineer Joe Dawson would be in a position to earn a handsome income from their boat the year around. At any time, should they so choose, they could sell the boat.

Sell her? It would almost have broken honest, impulsive, loyal Tom Halstead’s heart to sell this precious boat! Joe Dawson, quiet though he was, would have flown into a rage at any suggestion of his parting with his interest in the handsome, capable little craft! 14

The owners had re-christened the boat the “Restless.” Within ten days after the boys had left the employ of Mr. Delavan, Captain Tom had encountered Mr. Powell Seaton in New York. A few hours after that meeting the boys had had their boat chartered for at least the month of September. Then, after receiving their orders, they proceeded south to their present location on Lonely Island, five miles off the mainland. They were accompanied by Hank Butts, who had left his small boat in other hands and accepted temporary employment on the “Restless.”

The island possessed an area of about half a square mile. The bungalow itself, a shed that was used as an electric power station, and a third building that contained a telescope and some other astronomical apparatus were the sole interesting features of this island.

After the chartering, and the payment of half the hire-money in advance for the month, not one of these Motor Boat Club boys had laid eyes on Mr. Powell Seaton. After cruising down from New York, and taking possession of the bungalow, as ordered, they had remained there ten whole days, idle and wondering. Idle, that is, except for running the electric power plant as much as was needed, making their own beds and doing their own cooking. 15

For what purpose had Powell Seaton wanted them and the “Restless”? Now, as Dawson’s active fingers pushed the pencil through the mazes of recorded messages, that active-minded young man began to get a glimpse.

“Sounds like something big, Joe,” smiled Captain Tom, his eyes twinkling under the visor of his uniform cap as he thrust his head in through the doorway.

“It is,” muttered Joe, in a low but tense voice. “Just wait. I’ve got one to send.”

His fingers moved busily at the key for a little while. Then, snatching up the sheets of paper on which he had written, Joe Dawson leaped to his feet in such haste that he sent the chair spinning across the room.

Such impulsiveness in Dawson was so utterly unusual that Captain Tom Halstead gasped.

“Come on!” called Joe, darting to the door. “Down to the boat!”

“Where––?” began Tom Halstead, but he got only as far as that word, for Joe shot back:

“To sea!”

“How––” again essayed Halstead.

“At full speed—the fastest we can travel!” called back Joe, who was leaping down the porch steps.

“Any time to lock up?” demanded Tom, half-laughingly. 16

“Yes—but hustle! I’ll get the motor started and be waiting.”

Hank Butts was leaning indolently against one of the porch posts.

“Look at old Joe sailing before a fair wind,” he laughed, admiringly.

“Turn to, Hank! Help lock the windows and the doors—full speed ahead!” directed Captain Tom, with vigor. “Joe Dawson never goes off at racing speed like that unless he has his orders and knows what he’s doing.”

“I thought you were the captain,” grinned Hank, as he sprang to obey.

“So I am,” Halstead shot at the other boy. “But, just as it happens, Joe has the sailing orders—and he can be trusted with ’em. Now—everything is tight and the keys in my pocket. For the dock, on the run!”

Chug-chug! Joe had surely been moving, for, by the time the other boys reached the dock, Dawson had the hatchway of the motor room open and the twin motors had begun to move. The young engineer, an oil-can in hand, was watching the revolutions of the two handsome machines.

“Stand by the stern-line to throw off, Hank,” called Captain Tom, as he raced out onto the dock and made a plunge for the bow hawser. With this in hand he sprang aboard. 17

“How soon, Joe?” called the young skipper, throwing the canvas cover from the wheel down onto the bridge deck.

“As soon as you like,” was Joe’s answer, as he threw more speed into the twin motors.

Hank had the stern hawser in his hands by this time. Halstead threw the wheel over slightly, warping the boat’s graceful bow away from the dock under just a touch of speed ahead.

“Come aboard, Hank!” called the young skipper. As soon as Butts had obeyed with a flying leap, Tom rang for half speed ahead, moving smoothly out of the little sand-bound harbor.

“Coil the