"Will you be kind enough to tell me what steamer this is?" Paul began, in his efforts to solve the mystery. "The Undine, of Westport," replied the pilot, for such he undoubtedly was. "I never heard of her before," added Paul, overwhelmed to find that she was not the Sylph. "As she came into the lake for the first time this morning, you were not in the way of hearing of her," answered the man, rather stiffly. "But she looks exactly like the Sylph, which belongs to the Beech Hill Industrial School," said Paul, trying to get a sight of the persons on the sofa of the room. But the pilot kept himself directly in front of him, and he was unable to gratify his curiosity. "The builder has sent out at least half a dozen steam yachts of the hundred-feet order which are so near like this one that you could not tell the difference in them," added the pilot in answer to his remark. "If this is not the Sylph, I have no business on board of her," continued Paul. "I shall be very much obliged to you if you will put me on shore, or pick up my boat for me, though I am very sorry to trouble you." "You were not invited on board, and you must look out for yourself." "Why did you cast off the painter of my boat?" asked Paul, not pleased with the situation. "I obey my orders." "Who gave the order, if you please?" "The owner," replied the pilot. "Something was going on ashore there just before we came over here. It looked like a very hard fight between two fellows." "It was a hard fight," answered Paul. "And you were one of the fellows in it?" "I was; and the other fellow is tied to a tree on shore," replied Paul, pointing in the direction of the tree, which he could see from his position on the hurricane deck. "What was it all about? Speak up a little louder, for I am rather deaf," added the pilot, as he glanced behind him. "Who was the other fellow?" And the last question seemed to be prompted by the person on the sofa. "It was Tom Topover," answered Paul; and in answer to questions put by the pilot, he told the whole story of his affair that day with the brilliant strategist, from the time he had appeared in the creek on his queer-looking craft. The pilot occasionally told him to speak louder, and at last he concluded that he was giving the narrative for the benefit of the concealed listeners. "But what made Tom Topover attack you?" asked the man at the wheel. "He was hired to do it by Major Billcord's son, Walk Billcord," replied Paul bluntly. "Do you mean to say that my son hired that rough to attack you?" demanded the magnate of Westport, suddenly rushing to the door of the pilot-house, and throwing it wide open. Close behind him was Walk himself. "I didn't know you were here!" exclaimed Paul, starting back with astonishment when he saw the major; and he had not had the remotest suspicion that he was the owner of the steam yacht, for the pilot had prevented him from asking who owned the craft.