“So the squire’s got the boat,” he murmured. “I wish it was I that had her. I was a fool to start off so soon down this way, and not see Chambers, myself. It’s funny, too, about that secret drawer with the money. There wasn’t any when Chambers and I and French owned her. But it must be there, for Chambers’s friend, Will Edwards, told me about it in Portland. And didn’t he write me from Boston that Chambers says it is still there? And isn’t it queer, and lucky, too, that there’s only Chambers and I left to share it, since Will Edwards has been put where he won’t need money for ten long years?” Mr. Carleton arose and paced the veranda, still talking to himself. “He said I was the one to get it, did Will Edwards, because I appear like a gentleman, and can meet people—and, besides, I had the money to spend. But there’s little enough of that left. I’ve spent a lot. Somebody’s got to pay me. It’s the last chance, and I’ll have the boat if—” Mr. Carleton did not finish the sentence. But behind the heavy moustache, that had seemed like a disguise, almost, to Henry Burns, Mr. Carleton’s teeth were clenched tight; and his eyes looked away across the bay to Grand Island, with an expression in them that was cold and resolute. Harry Brackett got an answer to his letter, next morning, and the secret it contained filled him with expectation and excitement. “A capital scheme for us, he says,” exclaimed Harry Brackett, tearing the letter into little pieces and casting them to the winds. “I wonder what it is? I’m to meet him in the pasture to-morrow night. Cracky! but I guess something’s going to happen. I’d like to get even with Jack Harvey and Henry Burns for once. I’ll dare to do anything that Mr. Carleton will, too; for he’ll get the blame, if there’s any trouble, because he’s a man.” Thus it happened that Captain Sam Curtis had not been mistaken when, on Friday night, he thought he saw his former lodger, Mr. Carleton, stealing through the bushes in the pasture, as he was coming from the post-office. Indeed, Captain Sam might have seen more, if he had been sharper-eyed. He might have seen Harry Brackett dodge quickly out of sight at the sound of his voice, then throw himself on the ground and lie still until he had passed. What took place between Harry Brackett and Mr. Carleton, on this Friday night, was an agreement, merely, to meet there again on the succeeding night; after which, Mr. Carleton proceeded some three miles down the island, where he had engaged a room at a farmhouse. “And what’s the joke?” Harry Brackett had asked, eagerly. “Leave that to me,” Mr. Carleton had replied. “It won’t hurt the boat any; I promise you that. But they may have to mend their sail a little after it. You know what that means, eh, you young rascal?” Mr. Carleton chuckled. “Keep watch for the _Viking_,” were his parting words.