through with the
business. But, Alvin, all the time that man was talking I felt a curious
distrust of him. He said he is a detective, but I'm not sure of it."

"Suppose he belongs to the gang that is playing the mischief with Uncle
Sam's post offices in this part of the Union?"

"If that were so, what in the world can he want of you and your boat?"

"Because of its fleetness it may serve him when he needs it. However, I
don't see that any harm can come to it or to us. He can't pick up the
launch and run away with it and he would find it hard to do so with us."

"Not forgetting Mike Murphy."

"Then you accept his proposal?"

"Not I, but we together."

"All right; it's a go."

CHAPTER II

THE SCOUT OF THE KENNEBEC

AT nine o'clock on a bright sunshiny morning in August the usual group
were gathered on the dock at Squirrel Island. Some were watching the
arrival and departure of the different steamers, not forgetting the
little _Nellie G._, plying between that summer resort and Boothbay
Harbor, some three miles distant, with calls at other islands as the
passengers wished. Sailboats were getting ready to take parties out, some
to fish, while others sought only the pleasure of the cruise itself.
Small launches came up to the low-lying float for men and women to get on
board, while others were rowed out in small boats to the anchored craft.

By and by the attention of most of the spectators was fixed upon the
beautiful _Deerfoot_, which, putting out from the lower end of Southport
Island opposite, was heading toward Squirrel. The picture had become
familiar to all and they admired the grace and symmetry of the launch
which had won the reputation of being the swiftest of its kind in those
waters. It was known that she was owned by Alvin Landon, the son of a
millionaire who had built a handsome bungalow on Southport, where he was
expected to spend his vacation days, though, as we know, he passed
precious few of them there. Alvin was holding the wheel of his boat,
while directly behind him sat his chum, Chester Haynes, calmly watching
their approach to the floating dock.

The third member of the crew was our old friend Mike Murphy, whose
official rank was first mate. Instead of sitting among his companions,
the Irish lad had gone to the stern, where he sat with his legs curled up
under him tailor fashion. He could not get much farther in that direction
without slipping overboard. The figure of Mike was so s