er changed.

"Don't look round, George," he whispered; "for Heaven's sake keep to
the ropes or you are lost. Slip the pocket-book in my hand, and I will
try and get the detective out of the boat."

"Would it be penal servitude, Maurice?" muttered the lad, and his face
turned a ghastly hue at the thought of the human blood-hound behind
him.

"Five or ten years at least," returned Maurice. "Were you mad, George?
Give it to me--quick--quick! and I will put him on the wrong scent.
That's right," as the shaking hands pushed a heavy brown pocket-book
toward him. "Good-by, George; say your prayers to-night, and thank God
that you are saved."

"Staunton," he said, aloud, as the detective approached him, "we are
wrong; he is in the bow of the 'Brown Bess,' and he sails in the
'Prairie Flower;'" and as he uttered the first lie that he had ever
told in his guileless young life Maurice looked full in the
detective's face and led him quietly away.

But a couple of hours later--when Staunton was losing his temper over
their want of success, and the "Washington" was steaming out of the
dock--Maurice suddenly produced the pocket-book, and proposed that
they should take the next train back for London. "For I am very
tired," finished Maurice, with provoking good-humor; "and Mr.
Huntingdon will sleep better to-night if we give him back his five
thousand pounds."

"You let the rogue go!" exclaimed Staunton, and he swore savagely.
"You have cheated justice and connived at his escape."

"Yes," answered Maurice, calmly. "Don't put yourself out, my good
fellow. I will take all the blame. He sailed in the 'Washington,' and
there she goes like a bird. You are out of temper because I was too
sharp for you. Evil communications corrupt good manners, Staunton. I
have taken a leaf out of your book--don't you think I should make a
splendid detective?" continued Maurice, rattling on in pure boyish
fun. "I got up the little fiction about the 'Brown Bess' and the
'Prairie Flower' when I saw him dressed like a sailor, with a patch
over his eye, hauling in the ropes."

Then, as Staunton uttered another oath:

"Why, did you expect me to bring back my old chum, when I knew they
would give him five or ten years of penal servitude? Do you think I am
flesh and blood and could do it? No! I have kept my promise, and
brought back the five thousand pounds, and not a farthing of it would
he or you have seen but for me."

Perhaps Staunton was not as har