. I have a better way of keeping you off the premises."

"You would not dare do what you threatened last night, Clinton Webb," he
said, his voice shaking with anger.

"You pass me and go up to that door, and see whether I dare or not," I
returned, my eyes flashing. "Paul tried to stab me. I'll have him
arrested if he is in Bolderhead still, and if he has run away I'll find
means of having him brought back here to stand trial."

I was just as earnest as ever I was about anything in my life, and I
guess Mr. Chester Downes realized it. He had gone away the night before
in haste; but after thinking over the situation he believed that I could
be browbeaten and my will set aside. He stared at me, with his dark,
Indian-looking face reddening under the skin, and Paul had not looked at
me more murderously the night before when we quarreled aboard the
Wavecrest, than his father did now!

"Why, sir," said Mr. Downes at last, "this is a most ridiculous thing
for you to do. I can write to your mother--and I shall. She will demand
that I attend her----"

"Until she does so, just take notice that you're not to come here," I
interrupted. "That is, if you want Paul to stay out of jail."

I turned on my heel then and walked back to the house, and he--after
hesitating a half minute or so--turned likewise and stalked down the
hill. I was pretty sure he would not come back--not in that tall hat,
anyway--for before luncheon was over it had begun to rain and rained
hard. There was a sharp wind from the northwest--nor'--nor'--west, to be
exact--and everybody within a hundred miles of Cape Ann knows what that
means. In all probability we were in for a long offshore gale.

So I risked going over the ferry that afternoon on an errand. I did not
propose to get caught out on the Wavecrest again without provisions,
and I purchased half a boat load of canned goods and the like, and a
couple of cases of spring water. While I was hunting for a boat and a
man to take my purchases aboard the sloop I ran against my cousin Paul.

He was not alone, and the instant I spied him with two hang-dog fellows,
I knew he was--like the hen in the story--"laying for me!" Paul Downes
knew half the riff-raff of Bolderhead which, like most small seaports,
boasted more than a sufficient quantity of wharf-rats. Mr. Downes had
been wont to expatiate to my mother on my taste for low company; but he
must have had his own son in mind. Paul certainly picked sour fruit wh