ue now lay on his back, while Jacob Farnum sat
astride of him. The boatbuilder felt carefully over the outside of the
clothing of his captive, until his hands encountered the feel of paper.

"I guess this is what I'm looking for," muttered the "Pollard's" builder,
thrusting his hand into a pocket and pulling out an envelope. "This
looks like the envelope Don Melville handed you, back there up the road.
Let us see how much you got for your rascality to-night."

Striking a match, Mr. Farnum drew some banknotes from the envelope,
counting them.

"Twenty dollars, for all that dirty work," sneered the boatbuilder.
"Young man, you sell yourself too cheaply. It ought to be worth more
than twenty dollars, just to have to be found with the Melvilles."

Hearing that, Don gnashed his teeth. Like many another rascal, Don
wanted people to think well of him.

"Jack," called out the boatbuilder, "see if young Melville has a long,
white envelope anywhere about him. In the inside coat pocket, if I
remember rightly."

"Don't you dare!" challenged young Melville. But Jack glanced down at
him with contempt, retorting:

"I follow only Mr. Farnum's orders. People who follow your orders take
too big a risk of having to go to jail."

In Don's inner coat pocket rested a long, white envelope. Jack fished
it out with a cry of triumph.

"Got it, Jack?" hailed the boatbuilder.

"Yes, sir."

"Then hold on to that envelope until we have a good chance to look it
over. It's supposed to contain plans, or some sort of information, that
you were supposed to be selling the Melvilles to-night."

"What?" gasped Captain Jack.

"Oh, there's a lot to the affair, and some of it needs unraveling, but
we'll get to the bottom of it yet."

"I should say we'd have to!"

"This young hoodlum that I'm holding down is dressed in a uniform just
like yours."

"I noticed that, sir."

"He's your figure, and complexion, and doesn't look a whole lot unlike
you, Jack. I was fooled to-night, from the distance, when he
impersonated you. But, now I have a closer look, this young fellow
looks more like a thug, and he's slightly cross-eyed, too."

"I hear voices, so they must be over this way," sounded the tones of
Broughton Emerson, between the trees. Then he and George Melville came
upon the scene.

The elder Melville stared incredulously, with a startled gasp, when he
got close enough to make out what had happened.

"Benson," blurted the cap