This astounding cry awoke Judge Oglesby from a sound sleep. When he finally reached the pier the ill-fated steamer was beyond hope of being saved. “Where is Dean--Captain Mercer?” he asked, excitedly, as he looked upon the doomed boat which had held out so much promise to him. “He can’t be found!” replied a bystander. “He has been burned with the steamer.” “Shiver yer toplight! Let go the anchor there. I’ll find the lad if I die in the flames.” It took four strong men to hold Jack Carboy from rushing to what must have proved certain death. “Be calm, Jack,” admonished the judge. “We shall find the boy safe and sound. No doubt he has done his best----” “See him coming ashore,” said a bystander. “He ’peared to be running away like a sneak thief.” “He fired the boat and then skipped,” declared some one else. But many believed that the missing youth had perished in the fire. The _Spray_ burned to the water’s edge, and the following morning only the charred and dismantled hulk was left of the proud steamer. A search failed to reveal any trace of Dean Mercer. One man alone believed fully in the innocence of Dean. That was Jack Carboy. Filled with the wild hope that “his lad” had somehow, and he could not have explained how, gone home, he started for Millville. Judge Oglesby telephoned home, but, as he had expected, nothing had been seen or heard of Dean. Judge Oglesby arrived at a definite conclusion soon. The _Spray_ had been burned by an incendiary. Who? Where was Dean Mercer? By nightfall a terrible suspicion assailed the judge’s mind. On the morning of the third day after the fire, all Millville knew that Dean Mercer had disappeared, taking with him, it was believed, nine thousand dollars in stolen money. On the morning of the fourth day, officers representing the judge’s interests, started out to scour the country around in an endeavor to secure some trace of the fugitive. A reward of a thousand dollars was offered for the arrest of Dean, and two thousand for the recovery of the money. It took hours, weary and torturing, to fully convince Judge Oglesby that his young protege, the boy he had so completely trusted, had proven an ingrate and a criminal. Evaline was dumbfounded--crushed. “Oh, papa! it cannot be true!” she had gasped, pale with horror. “He never did it,” affirmed Lawyer Montague stanchly. But clue by clue fastened the network of guilt more completely around Dean. The judge’s mind passed through all the graduations of stupefaction, alarm, grief, and finally, stern, unrelenting justice. Even Lawyer Montague at last agreed that the temptation of money had been too much for Dean Mercer. He had been dazzled with the glare of wealth--he had sold honor and respectability for a fortune, and forgetting home and friends, had fled to some remote place to enjoy his stolen plunder. “But what did he burn the _Spray_ for?” muttered the perplexed Montague. “I can’t understand that, judge?” “Maybe he was hired.”