“I _think_ that, but I'm not sure. Supposing they have--then you've lost them anyhow. Don't you see? But suppose there was a delay in getting away there,--it's more than likely McGlory and Spencer wouldn't agree. McGlory isn't the agreeing kind, and I don't think Spencer is either. It will be daylight before so very long, and with this wind they can't get here, if they're coming here at all, without our sighting them on the way over. And there is just a fighting chance of catching them there before they make for Georgian Bay, or some other place we don't know of.” Beveridge thought a moment. “There is something in that. We 'll do it.” At mid-morning the _Foote_ stopped her engines abreast of False Middle Island, and Captain Sullivan sent for Beveridge. “You tell me there is a harbor in there?” “That's what I understand. But it won't be necessary to take the steamer in.” The Captain's expression showed that he had not the slightest notion of taking her in. “I think,” Beveridge went on, “that you had better put me ashore with a few men in there north of the island. I 'll go around behind the sand-dunes and come on the place from the woods. Then if they should be there, and if they should try to run out, you can stop them. I 'll have Smiley guide me.” “You're going to take him ashore with you? “That's what I'm going to do.” “I don't believe in this!” Beveridge said nothing. “Oh, very well. I 'll have a boat ready.” Smiley was called, and Beveridge drew him aside and outlined his plan. Shortly Wilson joined them, and a half-dozen sailors were picked from the crew. Then, all but Smiley armed with rifles and revolvers, they descended to the small boat and were brought rapidly to the shore. “Which way?” asked Beveridge, sticking close at Smiley's elbow. “I 'll show you; come along.” He led the way back among the pines and made a circuit, bringing up squarely on the landward side of the settlement. “Where is it now, Smiley?” “Right there.” Beveridge peered out through the trees, then beckoned his men together. “Come in close, boys, and pick your trees. Keep out of sight--and quiet. Take my rifle, one of you.” “Shall we go in?” asked Wilson. “You stay here, Bert.” “Hadn't you better take your rifle?” “No, I don't want it. Quiet now.” The men spread out, taking places where they could command the outbuildings. “Smiley?” “Yes.” “Which is Spencer's house--where he lives himself?” “The biggest one. You can see the roof over that shed there.” “All right. Much obliged.” Beveridge walked rapidly out into the clearing and disappeared around the shed. They heard him mount Spencer's front steps and knock. “He's plucky enough,” muttered Dick. “Oh, don't you worry about Bill Beveridge,” said Wilson. “Why, I've seen him--” But Beveridge was calling for them to join him. “Nobody here?” asked Wilson. “Not a soul. I took a look around the house. They left in a hurry. See there.”