A twig snapped beneath Piper’s feet as he stepped out of the pines and straightened up, the gun lifted to his shoulder and levelled, although it trembled and wavered in his grasp. Both man and dog heard that faint snapping sound. The former whirled quickly, while the latter bristled and growled. “Stand still!” cried Sleuth chokingly. “Stand where you are, or I’ll shoot! Keep your dog off, if you don’t want him riddled!” Growling, with its teeth exposed, the dog seemed ready to spring at the boy, but instantly the creature’s master spoke. “Here, Bob,” he said sharply. “Steady, sir! Down! down!” The creature obeying its master’s commands, Sleuth felt his courage rise with a sudden bound, although his tremendous excitement was not in the least abated. With an air of perplexed dismay the man remained standing at the water’s edge, his eyes fastened on the threatening figure of the boy. In that manner they gazed at each other for a few moments of intense, nerve-tingling silence. Presently the man spoke. “Put down that gun,” he said. “If it’s loaded, you’re liable to make a mistake and shoot me.” Exultantly Piper retorted: “If you’re a ghost, it won’t hurt you to be shot; and if you’re not a ghost, you’d better explain your actions mighty quick.” “Put down the gun,” repeated the man angrily. “I’m no ghost.” “Ah!” breathed Sleuth in tremendous satisfaction; and he lowered the gun. “What are you doing here?” questioned the person in white. “Perhaps I was looking for you,” was the answer. Beneath his breath the man muttered a word or two, smothered, but expressive of great annoyance and anger. The dog whined questioningly. Master of the situation, Piper waited, all the chill having gone from his body. “I suspected you, you young rascal—I suspected you when you came prowling around my cabin,” said the man. “You were rather clever with your excuses and your pretence of great interest in my literary work, but I couldn’t help feeling that you had a hidden design.” “Your premonition was correct, Mr. Granger,” said Sleuth. “Your glibness, when you visited us at Pleasant Point, in spinning the romantic story of Lovers’ Leap and the fantastic tale of the haunted island aroused my suspicions. You told those yarns altogether too well. That’s a beautiful Santa Claus set of whiskers you’re wearing.” The man stroked his beard and laughed shortly, in spite of himself. “Up to date they have served my purpose very well,” he returned; “but henceforth, as your remarkable cleverness has led you to catch on to the little game, I suppose I’ll have little use for them.”