“I say, Jim, that was a queer thing for Corso to do!” The two were putting the finishing touches on their toilet. From the dining room came the voice of the man called Burnam, who seemed to do considerable talking while he ate, but if his companion spoke again, his words were inaudible.

“Yes. Listen, Buddy, I think Corso knows that lad down there.”

“Maybe he does,” Bob agreed, but that hadn’t occurred to him.

“Maybe we can help those two. Come on down, and if the bounders show a disposition to pump us, let’s give them an earful.”

“Great guns, we don’t want to tell him they are here—”

“Of course not, you nut. We’ll see what they lead up to. You follow my lead. Come along.” They raced down stairs quietly and into the dining room. Mrs. Fenton had finished serving the travelers and had gone to the cellar where she was rescuing preserves.

“Good car you have,” Jim remarked, and Burnam glanced at him.

“Pretty good,” he admitted. “Know anything about cars?”

“Enough to run a flivver,” Jim answered modestly. Burnam sized them up as a pair of country hicks and smiled broadly.

“Interesting neighborhood around here,” he ventured.

“Oh, fair,” Jim drawled.

“Not many strangers,” Burnam went on.

“A sprinklin’, but nobody wants them,” Jim volunteered.

“Exclusive community. What do you do with strangers?”

“Leave ’em alone. There’s a colony further up. Summer people, most from cities, come every year.”

“Same ones all the time?”

“Sure. Fellow who owns the land won’t let ’em bring outsiders,” the boy explained taking a chair. “Enjoy your dinner?”

“Fine. Ever have any southern people—”

“Few,” Jim admitted.

“Chap I know and his nephew came around here for the fishing. He liked the place. Perhaps you know him.”

“How long has he been coming?” Jim asked.

“I understand last fall was the first time, come to think of it.”

“Nobody was here last fall,” Jim declared positively. “What sort of chap is he, about your size?”

“No, very slender fellow, dark skin and eyes, rather good looking.” Jim looked at Bob.

“Maybe it’s those ginks,” he said scornfully.

“Sounds like them,” Bob admitted.

“Where they stopping?” Burnam asked, eagerly.

“They ain’t,” Jim grinned, then added, “They tried this neighborhood for a week, then went on into Canada. The station agent said their luggage was shipped to Toronto.”

“You don’t say.” The big man seemed disappointed and the little one smiled behind his napkin.

“Chap like that wouldn’t stay in so small a place,” he remarked.

“No, I suppose not. Well, can I pay you—”

“Pay my brother,” Jim answered, and strolled out of the house. In the soft earth he had no difficulty in trailing Corso’s foot prints and a few minutes later saw the man and the boy crouched in the garden where they were completely hidden from the road. “Hello,” he said softly. “I told those fellows that you two went to Toronto. Know where that is?”

“I do,” Corso answered.

“I let them ask me questions, then told them you stayed here a week. They are so disgusted with the place I don’t think they’ll hang around, but you better keep out of sight. I’m going to escort them off the island, but they don’t know that.”

“Much in your debt we are, Sir,” Corso said quietly. “We shall not forget, Sir.” His eyes turned toward the road. “Bad men, Sir. Very, very bad men.”

“They don’t look any too good,” Jim admitted. “You stay here until one of us comes and tells you they are gone.” Jim strode quickly back toward the house and as he crossed the road he saw Burnam getting into the limousine.

“Get a move on, Dyke,” he growled, and the smaller chap hastily took his place. Motioning to his step-brother to keep quiet, Jim stepped behind the huge maple, and when the car hacked into the road, he hopped onto the spare tires, caught the strap and threw his legs over, ducking his head so that if the men should either of them glance through the window, he would not be seem. The car raced off carrying the stow-a-way. “I told you those lads were in this part of the country,” Burnam said shrilly when they had gone some distance from Stumble Inn. “I know just how to handle natives, and I got exactly the information we want.”

“Yes, but how the blazes do you expect to pick up the trail in Canada?” Dyke demanded in a lower tone.

“It’ll be easier than in the United States,” the big fellow replied, and after that he seemed to concentrate his whole attention on driving, for the road was rough from the rains and the boy in the back was soon splashed thickly with mud. Presently they came to the bridge which connected North Hero with Isle La Motte. Jim could see that the water had risen until it was splashing through the planking, and dozens of men were working hard to keep it from being washed away. They were bringing the biggest rocks they could haul and were distributing them in piles from one end to the other. Young Austin hoped anxiously that none of the workmen would call Burnam’s attention to the extra passenger he was carrying, but they passed over quickly, and if anyone noticed the boy, nothing was done about it. They probably thought him a hiker tired of walking and unable to get a lift on his way. The car sped on to the station, but it was deserted, and Jim was mighty thankful that no agent was there to answer inquiries regarding the travelers who were supposed to have gone on to Toronto. Half a mile ahead the machine had to slow up for a sharp curve, so feeling confident that the pair were really headed for Canada, the boy dropped off and started to trudge home. A good-natured farmer gave him a lift, and at last he saw Bob anxiously scanning the road.

“Gosh all hemlock, I was going into the air to look for you. Say, come on, quick.” He led the way to the water’s edge, and far across the thrashing lake Jim saw a tiny boat, with an outboard motor on the stern, chugging valiantly against the waves and making for Fisher’s Island.

“Who is it?” Jim demanded.

“Corso and the boy. I saw them a few minutes after they left the shore. They have a load of stuff aboard as if they intend to hide over there,” Bob explained.

“Gee, I wonder if it’s safe!” Jim said anxiously.

“I asked Uncle Norman and he said the greater part of the land is under water now, but there are high spots that may serve them. Let’s keep an eye on the place, Jim. I think that pair is all right, and gosh, I’d hate like fury to have them carried away in this. Just look at it.” Jim didn’t need to look any more than he had for as far as he could see, the wreckage, large and small, was being tossed and dashed to splinters.

“So should I. We’ll keep watch, then if it looks bad we’ll go after them in Her Highness. I say, did you happen to notice the number of that limousine? I, like a dub, forgot to look at it.”

“I wrote it down,” Bob answered proudly, and he produced the figures.

“Good work. I’m going to call up Ruhel and tell him to be on the look-out for that pair. They’re no good and the Mounties will keep them under observation.” He hurried into the house, called long distance, and in five minutes was telling the story to the chief, who listened with interest.

“Thanks no end, Old Man. I take it you’d like us to let them roam around here for a while and give your friends a chance.”

“That’s the idea.”

“We’ll keep them hunting. It will do them good. Oh, by the wa............