A hurried search brought forth Ed Sanders and John Hart, who stoutly protested the yacht had been left as fast as human hands could tie her. Moreover, they intimated, in no uncertain language, that the yacht had been turned over to the possession of the owners, according to agreement; and that, if they had not seen fit to look after their own property, it was not the fault of John Hart or Ed Sanders or Squire Brackett. And the yachtsmen realized there was no answer to this. “Jack,” said Henry Burns, as they hurried back again to the shore, “there’s no use trying to fool ourselves with false hopes. The _Viking’s_ stolen—and you and I know who took her. He came back for the treasure in the cabin.” In the same breath, they uttered the name of Mr. Carleton. Then, to their amazement, George Warren gave an exclamation of dismay and self-reproach; for there had come back to him again, for the first time, the memory of that rainy night down the island, and of the envelope he had found in the fireplace, with the name of Mr. Carleton upon it. He told them now of the discovery he had made. “Oh, if I’d only thought of it last night,” he cried, “I shouldn’t have urged you to stay at the cottage. You see, the cruise we’ve been on put the thing clean out of my mind. I hadn’t thought of Carleton since that night. Hang it! I feel as though I was to blame—and you’d have gone aboard last night if it hadn’t been for me.” Poor George Warren looked the picture of dismay. “There’s nothing for you to blame yourself about,” said Henry Burns. “You couldn’t suspect Carleton was coming back.” They had been running all the while, and had come by this time to Captain Sam’s door. “Now,” said Henry Burns, quick and sharp, “we’ve got to jump lively and be off. You fellows will all help, of course. Tom, you and Bob have got to go to Bellport. The canoe will do it twice as quick as any boat could beat up around the head of the island and sail over.” “We’re off,” replied Tom Harris. Without another word, he and Bob dashed for the shore, had their sweaters off, in a twinkling, snatched up the canoe as though it were a feather’s weight, launched it, and started down along the island for the Narrows. The light craft darted ahead swiftly, impelled by bronzed and muscular arms. The boys were trained to hard work, in rough water and smooth; and they wasted no effort now in starting off at any frenzied pace, under the excitement. They set, from the first, a strong, steady, even stroke, that could be sustained for hours if need be, knowing, as does a trained athlete, that the long distance race is to the man that sustains, and does not exhaust, his strength in useless haste.