ther's printed name and address
pasted on it just as it came through the post-office."

Fred gasped audibly this time. Driggs surveyed his face with
a keen, tantalizing gaze.

"Mebbe 'twas your father, then, who was in the yard last night,
and who refused to answer the policeman's hail," suggested the
boat builder. "I'd better go up to his office and show him these
things and ask him, I guess."

"But I don't believe my father will know anything about it," spoke
young Ripley huskily.

"Then your father will want to know something about it," Driggs
went on. "He's a man of an inquiring turn of mind. Let's run
up to his office together and ask him."

"No, no, no!" urged Fred, his face growing paler.

"Then why were you here last night?"

"I wasn't here," protested the boy.

"Perhaps I can tell you why you were here," Driggs went on, never
losing his affable smile. "You don't like Dick Prescott, and
you don't like his boy friends. Prescott has been too many for
you on more than one occasion. But that is no reason why you
should enter my yard after midnight. That is no reason why you
should want to do harm to a war canoe or to any other property
that happens to be in my yard. I really don't know whether you're
to be blamed for being a glib liar, Ripley. You've never given
yourself much practice at telling the truth, you know. But I
have this to say: If anything happens to that canoe, or to anything
else here, I shall make it my business to get hold of Officer
Curtis, and he and I will drop in and show your father this chisel,
and this piece of paper that it was wrapped in. As you will see,
Curtis has written his signature on the paper and on the handle
of the chisel, so that he may identify them again at any time.
Now, Ripley, I won't look for you to pay this yard any more visits
except in a proper way and during regular business hours. Good
morning!"

Hiram Driggs held out his hand as smilingly as ever, and Fred
took it in a flabby grasp, feeling as though he were going to
faint. Then without a word Ripley slunk out of the office, while
Driggs gazed after him still smiling.

"The mean scoundrel!" panted Fred, as he hurried away, his knees
trembling under him. "There isn't a meaner fellow in town than
Hiram Driggs, and some day he'll go and tell my father just for
spite. I know he will! Now, I've got to find some good way
to account for that paper and chisel I'll put in the day thinking
up my