or four weeks, in order
to hide himself from people who know him well. Then he came down here
to Blair's Cove and rented a house so he could watch things. He had a
tip that the instruction cruise would center around this little bay."

"So, acting for Tip Gaynor, you undertook to ruin us all, and the good
name of our boats?" asked Jack. "And you even met Dave Pollard, and got
him to take you on as a machinist for our boats?"

"Yes; Tip knew a man who was willing to introduce me to Pollard."

"It was just like simple, unsuspicious, bighearted Dave Pollard to be
taken in by a rascal like that," muttered Jack, to himself. "But, oh,
will Pollard ever forgive himself when he hears all this?"

Sam Truax added a few more details to his confession, but they were
unimportant.

"I couldn't die without telling you all this, Benson," he added. "I
hope you forgive me."

Ere Jack could reply Lieutenant Commander Mayhew stepped forward.

"Truax, I wish to ask you if every word you have uttered is the solemn
truth?"

"It is; yes," admitted the sick man.

"Why have you made this confession?"

"Because I feel that I am going to die, and I don't want all this evil
charged up against me."

"And you thought it would not be hard to get the better of a boy like
Jack Benson?"

"I thought it would be easy enough," admitted Truax. "So did Tip
Gaynor."

"Then it shows you, Truax," broke in Doctor McCrea, now laughing, "how
far below the mark you shot in guessing at Jack Benson's ingenuity and
brains. For it was he showed me how to induce you to make this
confession, voluntarily, after having refused to answer any of the
lieutenant commander's questions."

"What do you mean?" demanded Sam Truax, quickly, a queer look creeping
into his face.

"Why, my man, I mean," grinned the naval surgeon, "that, when I was first
called in to you, you were no more sick than I was. You were scared,
first of all, by the remarks of others. Then, after we got you to bed
in here, we dosed you with ippecac a few times. That started your
stomach to moving up and down until you were convinced that you were a
very sick man."

"What!" now roared Sam Truax, sitting up in the berth and staring
angrily.

"Oh, the ippecac was my own choice," nodded the doctor, "but the general
idea was Mr. Benson's. My man, with a lad like him you haven't a
one-in-ten chance."

"So, to work a confession out of me, you've poisoned me?" gasped Sam
Truax.

"O