“Ay, ay, sir,” said Mitchell.
“Say, do you know who this belongs to?” said the warden. “Do you really know who’s been tampering with your lobster traps?”
“Why, ’im as says ’is ’nitials is J. S.,” said the lobsterman, pointing with his thumb to Jack.
“Pshaw, no. That watch belongs to John Salmon—Salmon Jack, you know him. The cutthroat over at Frenchman’s Point. Why, I’ve been trying to get some evidence on him for the last six months and this is the best we’ve found yet. This is his watch all right. I’ve seen it before and so has many another man.”
“Eh, what, blime me? Then ’e mean t’ say these ’ere lads ain’t lobster piruts?” demanded Mitchell incredulously.
“Why, I don’t believe they are. They look like honest lads,” said the warden.
“Well, keel ’aul me, now I come t’ think on’t they do that. My mistake, lads, axin’ yer parding, my mistake,” said the old man, quite put out at the turn affairs had taken. “I ’opes ye’ll excuse an hole sea-dog as is on’y got one leg. I ax yer parding, I does.”
“Tut, tut, don’t mention it,” said Jack and Ray together, as they shook the old fellow’s hand. “We only hope you’ll take us back to Hood Island with you.”
“I’d be ’onored, lads, ’onored. I on’y wish I ’adn’t brung ’e awi.”
“I’m mighty glad you did,” said the warden, “for you’ve brought the best piece of evidence I’ve ever been able to get against the worst lobster pirate on the Maine coast. The lobster patrol has been looking to get something on him for a long time and now, by George, if you’ll help me get out a warrant against him, we’ll arrest him. We’ll raid Frenchman’s Point this very night and arrest him and two or three others I have warrants for.”