“I know one man who won’t turn you out-of-doors, when you produce those diamonds,” answered George. “Well, George,” returned the other, “you mustn’t lose sight of this stranger, although I almost know he won’t attempt to leave the island for several days. I remember that yesterday he got a letter, and I have no doubt it was from his confederates, saying when they would arrive. They are coming in a sailboat, for he has said so. Now, if they were coming to-night or to-morrow, he would not have hidden that box over there in the old house. You may be sure he did not expect them for a day or two,—but still you boys must keep him in sight, for one never knows what is going to happen. “If he goes over to the bluff, you know what to do. You must get Captain Sam, the constable, to have him arrested at once. By to-morrow night I’ll be back with everything arranged to capture the whole three. I think you and I will see lively times around this harbour before many days are over.” “Speak of the evil one and he appears,” said George Warren. “And, as true as I live, here comes Mr. Kemble. You do the talking, Henry, for I feel as though I should give him cause for suspicion if I said a single word to him.” “Leave him to me,” replied Henry Burns. “He’s playing a bold game, and so must we;” and, as the stranger guest hobbled down to the wharf, groaning and wincing, as though racked with pain, Henry Burns gave him a cheery greeting. “Good morning, Mr. Kemble,” said he. “I see you’re out bright and early. I declare, you have begun to look better already than you did the night you arrived.” “Oh, I’m very miserable—very miserable,” answered Mr. Kemble, most dejectedly. “My rheumatism is something awful. I’d give everything I possess in the world if I could run around and be as active as you young men.” “You will, I’m sure, in a few days,” answered Henry Burns. “How’s that?” asked the man, turning upon Henry Bums sharply, while a strange look, that he could not conceal, stole over his face. George Warren turned away precipitately, and, taking a fishing-reel from his pocket, dropped a line over the side of the wharf. “There’s something peculiar in this island air,” continued Henry Burns, looking Mr. Kemble full in the eye, with the most innocent expression on his face. “No matter how bad a person feels when he first comes here, it puts new life into him. The first thing he knows he begins to feel like rowing boats, and going fishing, and all that sort of thing. I come here sick every summer, and I go away feeling strong.” “Well,” replied Mr. Kemble, uneasily, but looking relieved, “I hope it may do as much for me. If it does, I’ll buy a cottage here.” “You won’t find any cottages to sell, I’m afraid,” said Henry Burns. “But there are several old farmhouses that could be bought cheap, and they make over as good as new.”