This was as far as Phil read, but the list covered the entire page, being condensed, with the lines very close together, at the bottom, evidently in order to get everything on that side of the sheet. Springer's eyes threatened to pop out of his head and his under jaw sagged. "Great snakes!" he gasped. "These are our playing signals!" For a short time he stood there dazed, unconscious of the excitement near at hand, deaf to the cheering of the crowd. He had thought at first that the paper, like the notebook, must be the property of one of those boys who had occupied the automobile, but, with the discovery of what was written on that paper, he slowly arrived at the conclusion that his original conviction was erroneous. The writing looked familiar, too, although at that time he could not seem to recall the person whose chirography it resembled. "The notebook," he finally decided; "that may tell who it belongs to, for doubtless the same chap dropped both." On the fly leaf of the notebook he found the name of Dade Newbert. He had refolded the paper, and was still staring at the name written in the notebook when Newbert himself, greatly excited, rushed toward him, crying: "I say, that's mine! Dropped it out of my coat pocket when I pulled the coat off. Give it to me." He was still carrying his coat in his hand. "Then you're Nun-Newbert, are you?" questioned Springer, who until this day had never set eyes on the chap. "Yes, yes. Gimme that! The paper, too. Have you----" "Just picked them up," said Springer coolly, as he surrendered the folded paper. "Lul-looked in the book to see who it belonged to, that's all." Newbert seemed to take a breath of relief. "I didn't know but you had been---- Oh, fudge! I dropped them only a minute ago. Say, we've kicked up a rumpus around here, haven't we? That fellow who pulled Rack out of the drink saved me from getting a soaking, as I was just going overboard after Herb. Rack thought he wouldn't take a bath this morning, but he did, just the same. Ho! ho! ho!" The cause for the laugh seemed to be nervousness and excitement rather than mirth. "Rackliff!" muttered Springer, struck by sudden conviction. "Old chum of mine. Don't suppose this little experience will do his cold any good, I got Orv Foxhall to come over here for Herb this morning with old man Foxy's bubble that's down there at the bottom of the canal, where it's liable to stay for some time. I reckon we'll all travel back to Wyndham by steam cars." He turned and ran toward the crowd that was coming up from the scene of the rescue. "Rackliff!" muttered Springer once more. He knew now who had written those signals on that sheet of paper. CHAPTER XXVII. A REBELLIOUS CONSCIENCE.