bt that their
demands for a large ransom would be more fruitful after the chances of
legitimate rescue had been exhausted. The great fortune of Anthony
Harrington of Wall Street was quite useless until a couple of ruffians
chose to say the word. And meanwhile, Master Anthony, Jr., might be
hacking himself all to pieces with a horrible jack-knife.

It was just when matters were at that stage that Pee-wee Harris, Elk
Patrol, First Bridgeboro Troop, went in swimming for the last time that
summer in the cooling water of Black Lake. He gave a terrific cry,
jumped on the springboard, howled for everybody to look, turned two
complete somersaults and went kerplunk into the water with a mighty
splash.

CHAPTER XXVIII

WATCHFUL WAITING

In a minute he came up sputtering and shouting.

"What's that? A hunk of candy?" a scout sitting on the springboard
called. For Pee-wee seldom returned from any adventure empty handed.

"A tu-shh-sphh----" Scout Harris answered.

"A which?"

"A turtshplsh--can't you hearshsph?"

"A what?"

"A turtlsh."

"A turtle?"

"Cantshunderstand Englsphish?"

He dragged himself up on the springboard dripping and spluttering, and
clutching this latest memento of his submarine explorations.

"It's a turtle--t-u-r-t-e-l--I mean l-e--can't you understand English?"
Pee-wee demanded as soon as the water was out of his mouth and nose.

"Not submarine English," his companion retorted. "You can't keep your
mouth shut even under water."

It was indeed a turtle, which had already adopted tactics for a
prolonged siege, its head, tail and four little stubby legs being drawn
quite within its shell. Nor was it tempted out of this posture of
defense when Pee-wee hurled it at Tom Slade who was standing near the
mooring float, watching the diving.

"There's a souvenir for you, Tomasso," Pee-wee called.

Tom caught the turtle and was about to hurl it at another scout who
stood a few yards distant, when he noticed something carved on the upper
surface of the turtle's shell. He pulled up a tuft of grass, rubbing the
shell to clean it, and as he did so, the carving came out clearly,
showing the letters T. H.

The scout who had been ready to catch the missile now stepped over to
look at it, and in ten seconds a dozen scouts were crowding around Tom
and craning their necks over his shoulders.

"Somebody's initials," Tom said without any suggestion of excitement.

"Maybe--maybe it was that kid who