ould hit upon no
plausible explanation for it.

It was a little over half an hour before they reached the dilapidated
hut where old Handcraft, a beach-comber, made his dwelling place. A
short distance off the shore they could see by the moon, which had now
risen, that his crazy old motor boat lay at anchor. This was a sign
that Hank was at home. Lest it be wondered that such a character could
have owned a motor boat, it may be explained here that the engine of
Hank's old oyster skiff had been given him by a summer resident who
despaired of making it work. Hank, however, who was quite handy with
tools, had fixed it up and managed to make it drive his patched old
craft at quite a fair speed--sometimes. When it broke down, as it
frequently did, Hank, who was a philosopher in his way, simply got out
his oars and rowed his heavy craft.

As an additional indication that the hut was occupied, light shone
through several of its numerous chinks and crannies, and a knock at the
door brought forth a low growl of: "Who's there?"

"We want to see you," said Rob.

"This is no time of night to call on a gentleman; come to-morrow and
leave your cards," rumbled the gruff voice from inside the hut.

"This is serious business," urged Rob. "Come on, open that door, Hank.
This is Rob Blake, the banker's son."

"Oh, it is, is it?" grumbled the voice, as the clank of the door-chains
being taken off was heard from within. "Well, I ain't had much
business deals with your father lately, my private fortune being
somewhat shrunk."

With a muffled chuckle from the speaker, the door slowly opened, and
Hank, a ragged figure, with an immense matted beard, long tangled hair
and dim blue eyes, that blinked like a rat's, stood revealed.

"Come in, come in, gentlemen," he bowed, with mock politeness. "I'm
glad to see such a numerous and representative party. Now, what kin I
do you for?"

He chuckled once more at his little jest, and the boys involuntarily
shrank from him.

There was nothing to do, however, but enter the hut, and Hank
accommodated his guests with a cracker box apiece as chairs. On a
table, roughly built out of similar boxes, a battered old stable lamp
smoked and flared. A more miserable human habitation could not be
imagined.

"Hank," began the captain, "speak me fair and above board, mate--who
give yer that letter ter bring ter me ter-night?"

"What letter?" blankly responded Hank, a look of vacancy in his shifty