The men who had chartered the craft were two in number. Both were strangers in Bellport, having driven over there that afternoon from the adjacent railway station of Farmington. One was an old man, stoop-shouldered and bleary-eyed. The other was an individual of about thirty, tall, emaciated, and with a wild light dancing in his crafty eyes, which darted back and forth as if constantly on the lookout for something. Going directly to the Bellport Hotel, they had inquired of Enos Hardcastle, the proprietor, where they could hire a motor boat. "A fast one?" croaked the old man. "The faster the better," supplemented his companion, in a queer, rasping voice. Enos scratched his head. "Wa'al, motor boat's is scarce around here, though some of ther boys uses 'em in fishing," he said finally. "Good!" exclaimed the younger of the pair of strangers. "Direct us to the man who has the fastest one." "That's Lem Higgins; but Lem drives a hard bargain. It'll cost ye----" "Never mind the cost; never mind the cost," croaked the old man impatiently. "Come, Ivan, let's find this Higgins." "You go ter ther foot of this street and you'll find Lem down on ther wharf," directed the landlord of the Bellport Hotel, whose curiosity was by this time aroused. There was something odd about the two strangers, almost as odd as the large black bag the younger one carried. This receptacle he held as gingerly as if it contained some article of the most fragile description. "Beg pardon, strangers," spoke up Enos, "but what might you be after havin' in that bag?" The slender man turned a pair of blazing orbs on him. "What business is that of yours?" he snapped out, his queer eyes appearing to emit sparks of malignant fury. Enos hastened to extend the olive branch. "Oh, no harm, no harm," he hurriedly exclaimed. "I thought thet you two might be sellin' suthin' the wife 'ud have a use fer, thet's all. Wanted to give you a chancet ter drive a trade." "I reckon your wife wouldn't care much for what's in this bag," snarled the old man viciously; "and let me give you a bit of advice, my friend: Don't ask questions and you'll be told no lies." So saying, the two oddly assorted strangers made off down the street, the tall one still carrying the black bag with precise care. Enos reëntered his hotel, wagging his head sententiously. "Suthin' queer about them two fellers," he muttered to himself; "ain't sellin' nuthin' an' they don't look as if they was on a pleasure trip. Wa'al, it's none of my business, but if Lem makes a dicker with 'em he'll hev ter come across to me with a commission, an' that's all I care about." Lem Higgins was sitting on the wharf, swinging his legs and regarding with interest an imminent fight between two dogs of the "yaller" variety, when the old man and his tall companion came up. "Your name is Lem Higgins?" asked the old man sharply. "That's what they usually say when they want me," responded Lem. "Do you want me?" "We want your boat."