soon, he's quite likely to blow up the boathouse,
himself included."

Fortunately there was sufficient depth of water at this outer
end of the boathouse. Prescott let himself sink so quietly that
there was barely a ripple above his head. Next, with a few cautious
strokes, he carried himself past the hanging side wall and into
the open upstream.

"Gracious, but no wonder Garwood has been able to keep away from
pursuers," thought the boy excitedly, as he swam steadily up toward
the other pier. "He has a place where not even a Sherlock Holmes
would ever think of looking for him. Why, he could work, sleep
and eat there and never give a sign of his presence!"

"Did you get it?" called the owner of the handbag eagerly.

"Yes, ma'am," Dick replied.

"The bag wasn't open, was it?"

"No, ma'am."

"Let me have it quickly, please. Oh, I'm so thankful! Here is
my purse with all the money safe and sound. Wait, Master Prescott,
I must reward you suitably."

"No; I thank you," Dick replied, his color rising. "Your thanks
are enough. I've been taught that courtesy can't be repaid with
cash. You are very, very welcome to any service that I was able
to do you."

As Dick hurried into the Central Grammar "dressing room" he found
all five of his chums waiting to rub him down and help him dress.

"Here, give me that towel, and get out on other business in a
hurry!" begged Dick. "Dave! Tom! Amos Garwood is in the boathouse
below here, working at a bench. Get some of the men and rush
down there to make a capture. Greg, run and see to it that a
launch moves down to the river end of the boathouse in case Garwood
tries to get out that way when he hears the alarm!"

Prescott's chums darted out in a hurry. Dick half dried himself
in a few frenzied dabs with the towel. Then he pulled on his clothing
faster than ever before.

He got outside on the pier just in time to see Dave and Tom leading
a dozen men stealthily toward the door of the boathouse. Out
on the water Len Spencer's launch, with half a dozen men in it,
stood as river sentinel.

While those approaching the boathouse door were still more than
a score of feet away there came a startling interruption.

Bang! sounded inside. The door of the building strained an instant,
but did not give way.

"That's our old friend, Amos bang-bang, to a dot," muttered Tom
dryly, as the advancing party of men and boys halted.

"I don't care about fooling with a dynamite factory," remarke