Tom Topover was walking about the point, apparently engaged in a very minute inspection of the locality. Paul saw him looking at the former site of the cottage, and then he disappeared in the woods. The owner of the Dragon drew his boat a little farther up on the beach, but he continued to watch the movements of the steamer; and he was so absorbed in the effort to fathom her strange behavior that he was in danger of again forgetting the treasure in the tin box. From his position on the point Paul could see the steamboat wharf at Westport, or, rather, he could see where it was, for it was over two miles distant. But the steam yacht did not go to it; and for a short time she disappeared from his view behind the trees on the lower arm of the point. But he knew she must come in sight again soon, for there was no landing-place above the wharf, and the water was shoal. In a few minutes she did reappear, and now she was close inshore, following the southern trend of the bay. She had reduced her speed somewhat, but she was still sailing faster than her standard rate. Paul watched her till she reached Barber's Point, behind which she again went out of sight. He could make nothing of her erratic movements, and he was forced to the conclusion that Tom was right, and that the fellows were taking a little turn in her while waiting for the cargo of the gundalow to be discharged, or for the iron shoe for the keel of the Lily. By this time Tom Topover appeared to have completed his survey of the locality of the cottage, and joined Paul on the beach. The cunning fellow seemed to be somewhat uneasy and excited, though his companion was too much absorbed in the wonder of the steam yacht to notice it. "Be you about ready to start on?" asked Tom, after he had looked about him for a few minutes. "I guess I've seen the whole thing now." "I can't make out what the Sylph is doing," said Paul, still perplexed by the problem, though there wasn't the least reason why he should bother his head at all about her strange movements; but, like the average boy of intelligence, he desired to know what everything meant. "She's only cruising about for the fun on't," grinned Tom. "I guess I don't want to stop no longer." That cunning reprobate had arranged his plan of operations. In the darkness of the woods he had examined the tarred spun-yarn which filled one of his trousers pockets. He had taken it from a new building on the back road, where it had been used to secure bundles of laths. He had coiled up the single lengths in such a way that they would be ready for use when wanted. With these he intended to bind his victim hand and foot, and then tie him to a sapling, which he had selected for the purpose, in the woods back of the cottage site, where the prisoner could not be seen or heard from the lake.