“Well sir, Flannery, seeing a chance to squeeze in some extra money, took him up, and, leaving the boat there in his stable yard, went off with his truck and horses, expecting to be back and start for the lake about one o’clock, Dabney telling him that his job wouldn’t take more than that long. What with one thing and another, though, he didn’t get back until the six-o’clock whistles were blowing, and then, according to the kid, he sure turned the air blue. Somebody had borrowed the motor boat during his absence, for a joy ride--his yard is only a stone’s throw from the river--and it was a sight to look at, all covered with river mud and grease, and dripping wet inside and out. He was in an awful sweat for fear Schilder would find out about it, and he worked like a nailer for over two hours, cleaning it up and polishing the brasswork, before he dared set out with it for the lake. Funny thing, though,” Cato concluded, “he doesn’t suspect this man Dabney in the matter at all. He blames a gang of young roughs who live in the neighborhood.” Grail smiled. “As you infer, sergeant, it was Dabney, all right,” he said. “He had need for a swift boat on the river last night, and he didn’t want the hiring of one to be traced to him. Consequently, he adopted this rather elaborate ruse to get hold of the one in Flannery’s care. Dabney, although passing himself off as an Englishman, and ostensibly conducting a real-estate office, is, I may as well tell you, the man tipped off to me by Sasaku as a Russian spy, and the leader of the operations to which Colonel Vedant has fallen victim.” “Then you think,” Cato inquired quickly, “that the colonel was carried off in this motor boat?” “Assuredly,” Grail answered, and briefly explained his theory of the seizure, and the employment of the electric crane to convey the prisoner and his captors outside of the inclosure. “The next thing, of course,” he concluded, “was to get their man away as quickly and quietly as possible, and, naturally, the river suggested itself as the most convenient avenue.” “That sounds plausible enough.” Cato thoughtfully scratched his head. “But what gets me, captain, is how did they know so much about the motor boat, and just how to get hold of it? Is this Dabney-ovitch, or whatever his real name is, a pal of Mr. Schilder’s?” “No,” the adjutant admitted. “On the other hand, I think he has taken especial pains to avoid meeting Schilder, or coming under his eye. But”--he hesitated slightly--“the point you raise offers no difficulty. Take my word for it, sergeant, there was a way for Dabney to find out with absolute certainty anything he wanted.” “And now,” he broke off, rather abruptly, “tell me what you discovered in regard to the cigarette?”