LITMIR.BIZ

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left about half an hour ago,” was the answer. “He and his friend went away in an auto, but I think they went only for a short spin to get the air. If you wish to wait, captain, make yourself at home here.”

      “Thank you,” nodded Tom, courteously. “I believe I will wait.”

      Passing out onto the porch the young skipper seated himself near the railing. Wind, fog and sunshine had all left their impress of drowsiness on Halstead. Before long he sat with half-closed eyes, thinking slowly of the events of the day, and wondering not a little what unusual business it could be that Messrs. Delavan and Moddridge were pursuing. Back of the young captain men and women were strolling up and down the veranda in little groups, laughing and chatting.

      Half sleepily Tom felt a paper touch against his hand. More or less instinctively his fingers closed upon it. Then, with something of a start he sat more upright, bringing that hand from his side to his lap.

      It was a single, small sheet, folded once. Opening it, Captain Tom read these typewritten words:

      As a most important matter of business take a walk at once, out over the Bridge Road. Continue walking, perhaps for a quarter of a mile, until you are accosted. Remember that Fortune rarely knocks at any man’s door. This is your opportunity to line your pockets with greenbacks of large denominations. Come and meet one who truly enjoys seeing a young man prosper, and who will take pleasure in showing you how you may soon have a fine bank account. But come at once, as your well-wisher’s time is very limited.

      “Arabian Nights! Fairy tales!” smiled Captain Tom Halstead, showing his teeth. “Who is putting this up on me, and what is the joke, I wonder?”

      He was about to toss away the piece of paper, after tearing it up, when a new thought stayed him.

      “There may be something real in this,” thought the boy. “Mr. Delavan and his friend certainly appeared a bit worried over that racing craft. If there’s anything behind this note Mr. Delavan will want to know what it’s about, and so shall I.”

      Young Captain Halstead was already on his feet, his shrewd, keen eyes looking over the veranda crowd. Yet he saw no one upon whom he could settle as a likely suspect. He could only conclude that whoever had casually slipped the paper into his hand had already purposely disappeared.

      “I believe I’ll accept this invitation to take a walk,” mused the young skipper. “If there’s anything real behind the note I may as well find out what it is. If there’s nothing but a hoax in it I’ll be willing to admit that I snapped at it.”

      There was plenty of time to take the walk and be back before Mr. Delavan’s return was looked for. Asking one of the hotel employes where to find the Bridge Road, young Captain Halstead set out briskly. Nor did he have to go far before he came to the bridge that gave the road its name. A little way past the bridge in question the road became more lonely. Then Halstead came to the edge of a forest, though a thin one of rather recent growth.

      “I’ll walk on for five minutes, anyway,” decided Captain Tom. “After that, if nothing happens, it’ll be time to think of turning back.”

      “Hist!” That sound came so sharply out of the dark depths that the boy started, then halted abruptly.

      “Halstead! Captain Halstead!” hailed a voice.

      “Where are you?” Tom asked, in a louder tone than that which greeted him.

      “You’re Captain Halstead, are you?” insisted a voice, not much above a whisper, which the young skipper now located in a clump of bushes between two tall spruce trees.

      “Yes; I’m Halstead. Who wants me?”

      “Step in this way, please.”

      So Tom stepped unhesitatingly from the road, and walked toward the voice, at the same time demanding:

      “Are you the one who handed me a note?”

      “Yes, but not quite so loudly, please.”

      “Why not?” challenged Halstead, simply.

      “Well, because our business is to be – er – well, confidential.”

      Tom Halstead found himself standing before a tall, slim, well-dressed young man. More than that he could not see in the partial darkness, so the young skipper struck a match and held it up.

      “Here,” exclaimed the stranger, hastily, “what are you doing?”

      “Trying to get a better idea of you, and whether you are in the least ashamed of your business with me,” Tom replied, quietly.

      The stranger, who proved to be red-haired, stood more quietly, gazing intently at this composed young motor boat boy.

      “Well,” inquired the stranger, at last, and speaking more pleasantly, “are you satisfied with my appearance?”

      “I’ll admit being curious to know what your business with me can be,” Halstead replied.

      “You read my note through?”

      “Yes, of course. But that did not tell me your business, or your name,” Tom answered.

      “Oh, I can tell you all about my business with you, in a few minutes,” the other assured the young skipper.

      “And your name, too?”

      “Why are you so particular about my name?”

      “Why, you see,” smiled Captain Tom, “down in our little country town, the place where I was raised, we always rather wondered at any man who seemed ashamed or reluctant to give his name.”

      “Oh, I see,” laughed the other. “And, on the whole, captain, I think your point is rather well taken. So, to begin with, my name is Calvin Rexford. Now, as to my business, you are willing to make a little money now, and a great deal more later on, are you not?”

      “How much money?” asked Tom Halstead, bluntly.

      “Can you guess how much there is here?” inquired Rexford. He took from one of his pockets and held out a small, compact roll of bills. Tom coolly struck another match, scanning the roll, and discovering that there was a twenty-dollar bill on the outside of it.

      “There’s five hundred in this little pile,” observed Mr. Rexford. “Half a thousand dollars. That’s just the starter, you understand. If you obey certain orders you’ll get another little lump of money like this. In the end there’ll be a sum big enough for you to live on the rest of your days. Like the sound of it? And this half thousand goes to you at once, in return for a promise or two. Now, can we undertake business together?”

      Though Captain Tom Halstead’s eyes had momentarily glistened at the tempting sight of so much money, he now asked, composedly:

      “What’s the business?”

      “You’re skipper of Francis Delavan’s ‘Rocket,’ aren’t you?”

      “Yes.”

      “You expect to continue to hold the position?”

      “Probably all through this summer.”

      “Then see here, Captain Halstead, all you have to do is to follow certain orders. One of them, for instance, is, whenever you see another craft near that hoists a red pennant, crossed diagonally by a single white stripe, you’re to have something happen to your boat so that you can’t proceed for some time. You can make believe something happens to the boat, you know.”

      “You’ve got hold of the wrong party, my friend,” answered the young skipper, as quietly as ever. “The fellow you want is my chum, Joe Dawson, the ‘Rocket’s’ engineer.”

      Rexford looked Tom Halstead over as keenly as was possible in the darkness.

      “Do you mean, captain,” he demanded, finally, “that we’ll have to let your friend in on this?”

      “Of course,” Tom nodded, “if there’s really anything to be done along the lines you’re describing.”

      “What kind of a fellow is this Joe Dawson?”

      “Well,”

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