“Warmed up, yes.” “That’s right. See here, Rod, don’t get so squeamish.” “Tim, I’m scared,” confessed Rodney candidly. Tim laughed derisively. “What at?” he demanded. “At getting caught.” “Who by?” “The--the police.” “What for?” “For--for burning the boat.” “Did you burn it?” “No.” “Did you see anyone burn it?” “No.” “Then, don’t worry. All you have to do is to keep your mouth shut. My pals won’t squeal--never fear. The job is done. Just exactly all you have to do about it is to be friendly to me. Your father hired me to burn the _Spray_.” Rodney felt a thrill of horror and dread. He and his father were both in this unscrupulous boy’s power completely. “There’s no use to squeal now. The job was done mighty cheap. Yer father’s got no rival now. And I’ve got rid of the meanest enemy a boy ever had.” Tim’s manner seemed to express more than his words, so that Rodney hastened to ask for an explanation. “I don’t mind telling ye, seeing ye and yer dad are ’s deep in the mud ’s I am in the mire. I hain’t afreed ye’ll blow on me, ’cos if yer do, I’ll drag yer into the muddle. When the _Spray_ went up in smoke last night, it carried Dean Mercer with it!” Rodney was truly frightened by this statement, made in the coolest tone imaginable. “Yes,” Tim went on; “my men were not only to go aboard the boat and leave some cotton saturated with oil to be ignited at the proper time, but they were to chloroform Dean Mercer and leave him helpless. The fire would be set in his cabin, so there would be no chance to get him out. Oh, I’m a deep one. ’Twas a big job at a mighty cheap price--two hundred dollars.” Again Rodney Darringford shivered. Then a new thought came into his muddled brain. “What if it is known that Dean Mercer was killed in that fire? How can I get that check cashed?” For the first time Tim Downey showed fear. “They will not know it--so soon. How can they? The bank opens at nine. It is now almost that. You must hurry. To fail in this part will be worse than ’s if we had not undertaken it at all. Hurry, Rod, or you will be too late.” Liquor had overcome the conscientious scruples of Colonel Darringford sufficiently to induce him to pay Tim Downey to burn the new lake steamer, the _Spray_. Liquor also brought the courage of his unworthy son to a point where he finally agreed to personate Dean Mercer at the bank. “There’s no risk,” affirmed Tim Downey. “I’d go myself, only I look so ragged and rough. See here, Rod, no one knows of the burning of the _Spray_, or the disappearance of Dean Mercer at Millville yet. Get the money quick. Leave the rest to me.” “But search will be made for him?” “As a thief, yes.” Rodney started. “Oh! that’s it,” he cried, a new light breaking on his mind. “Yes. He disappears. They will probably say that he burned the boat. He got the check from the judge cashed and sloped with that, too. See?”