"Good! Our address in New York is the Outlook Hotel," said Dick.
The boys saw nobody around the dock, whick was in the rear of a small lumber yard. They walked through the yard to an office in front. A road ran out of the side of the yard and the boys wondered if the men they were after had taken that.
Nobody but a boy of fifteen was in the office, clicking out a letter on an old typewriter.
"The boss ain't around—he had to go to New York on business," he announced, as soon as the boys appeared. "Want to leave an order for anything?"
"We are looking for some men who came ashore a while ago," said Dick. "Did you see 'em?"
The boy shook his head.
"Ain't nobody been here all afternoon," he said.
"Do you know anything of a place called the Blue Horseshoe Tavern?"
"Sure I do. It's up on the post road—the place where all the auto parties stop," was the knowing reply.
"How far from here?"
"Not over a quarter of a mile."
"Which way?"
