“Now, it was mere coincidence that made me figure back there at Port Washington. I didn’t even know Pawlinson then.” “I have had enough whirls with coincidence to credit improbability on that score. Well?” He was attention itself, and, had I resolved upon a lie, I might well have feared the brain behind those eyes. But truth is deliciously easy. So I continued quietly: “So when I returned to Chief Garth’s house that night I found that Pawlinson had asked him for a man upon a difficult case, and that----” “Yes, yes. I’ve got you. The same case. Coincidence again, and, as I say, I believe you. You left Portland with what plan?” “Simply to spot you,” I replied. “You see, I read the steamer’s name on the stern out there in the Sound when you boarded her. I knew her port, for I have sailed on her myself.” There was a short interval of silence, during which he fitted things together. Then he came out with: “So Pawlinson followed you to Portland, made his authority known to you, and you worked together after your meeting there?” “Exactly!” “But come, finish it! What was the meaning of that disagreement between you alongside the hydroplane?” “You didn’t catch the motive, then?” I queried. “Not at all. I was called to the deck only in time to see him lift you clear of the punt, and hurl you overboard. And,” he added, with a smile, “old Steve’s boat hook did the rest.” “So you haven’t yet tumbled to the reason for quitting the speed boat?” “No; though I did understand that there wasn’t time for you to connect with the police launch.” “Well,” said I, “granting a fiend’s viewpoint, the plan was not so bad, for it certainly would have stopped you. That craft was built stancher than most hydroplanes, and carried a terrible way on her. She’d have made a nasty-enough hole----” “What!” He sprang erect in the sudden mount of fury at the full realization. “Do you mean to tell me that the scoundrel actually meditated----” “Not only meditated,” I interrupted coolly. “He’d already ordered me into the punt, and set the rudder before I myself could----” His tone lowered as he broke in on my explanation: “So that was the reason for the fight?” “Naturally,” I replied. “Much as my ways lie in dark places, I am not taken with such methods; where women are concerned especially.” “Then you knew that my daughter was aboard with me?” “I didn’t know till this minute that the young lady was your daughter,” said I. “But the inference that she was on the vessel was natural enough after I had chased you pretty well over Portland.” Stroth made no direct reply to this. He seemed rather to be settling some course. Then he shot out abruptly: “What did Pawlinson tell you he was after my scalp for? Did he let you that far into his confidence?” Now, it’s no easy matter to tell a man of Stroth’s type that he’s a thief, and in spite of me I couldn’t word Pawlinson’s revelations into much softer phrase. He noted my hesitation, but didn’t spare me a whit.