Four days after the meeting between Carlos and Leonard, the latter was seated with Mr.Stark, the detective, in his office in Boston. They were reviewing the measures that had thus far been taken, and discussing plans for future action. Leonard still retained his disguise, and we shall know him, for the present, as the Reverend Mr.Withers.

“There is no mistake about Haywood being the man who claimed the yacht?” said Stark.

“No,” replied Mr.Withers. “Irecognized him from my post of observation instantly. And the man you left in charge of the boat was positive that he took the cards from the locker, and put them in his pocket.”

“Well, that is something. And he claimed that the yacht belonged to some poor devil at Rocky Beach, who makes a living by letting boats?”

“Yes. He took a very compassionate interest in his affairs, saying that, being in Boston, on a business trip, he had consented to perform the errand.”

“All this is suggestive, but not conclusive,” said Mr.Stark. “Ihave found out that Jacob Rush, No. 99 —— street, Jersey City, is a wholesale dealer, in a small way, in imported goods. If there is anything wrong about him, Ihave failed to discover it. However, a watch shall be kept on his establishment, and, if he has any connection with Haywood, or with the smugglers, we will know it.”

“Do you hope to accomplish anything speedily?”

“No; to tell the truth, Ido not. It is going to take time. This ‘Boss,’ of whom Snags spoke, will, of course, keep himself in the dark, and to discover him must be one of our main purposes.”

“With that discovery,” said Mr.Withers, “the secret of Colonel Conrad’s murder will be brought to light.”

“Undoubtedly—if we ascertain the whole truth.”

“And the meaning of the words ‘seven o’clock.’”

“Yes, if they have any meaning.”

“What shall be the first step?” inquired Mr.Withers.

“Ihave decided,” replied Mr.Stark, “to adopt the plan you suggested, of getting possession of the deaf mute who is employed at Rocky Beach. Iwill lay before you my manner of accomplishing it.”

The mode of operation described by Mr.Stark shall be made known by relating how it was carried out. The two remained in consultation for some time; and two days afterward a stranger appeared in Dalton, registering his name in the hotel as the Reverend Mr.Withers. He represented himself to be in pursuit of recreation and health.

He took pedestrian excursions about the surrounding country, and was enthusiastic in his praises of the beauties of the scenery. In his meanderings through the streets of Dalton he met Haywood a few times, who seemed the embodiment of respectability and serenity. One of his excursions on foot led him past Elm Grove; and, on inquiring at the hotel concerning the ownership of that elegant residence, he was regaled with a full account of the murder of Colonel Conrad, and the attendant circumstances.

He gave polite attention to the story, and expressed a hope that the murderer would be brought to justice.

Finally, one pleasant afternoon, he walked to Rocky Beach, remarking, on starting, that the exercise of making the journey on foot would be agreeable and beneficial to him.

On arriving at his destination, he took note of the peculiarities of the place. There was a long stretch of sandy beach, with rocks scattered about and rising from the water. Afew yards back the rocks rose abruptly in high crags, forming bluffs majestic and inaccessible in appearance. He was not long in discovering the entrance to the cavern, and, approaching it, he stood for some moments regarding the dark opening in apparent curiosity and surprise. His movements were deliberate, like those of one seeking novel sights and new pleasures, and would not have betrayed, even to a close observer, the intense interest he felt in the place.

In the door of a dilapidated cottage, situated by the side of an immense pile of rocks, stood the deaf mute.

Mr.Withers approached him, and spoke to him. The mute indicated his condition by signs. Mr.Withers appeared surprised and pained.

Apainted board nailed to the side of the cottage set forth the terms for boats, fishing tackle, and sailing excursions.

While Mr.Withers was explaining to the mute by signs that he desired the use of a boat, with hook, line, and bait, a man emerged from the cavern and sauntered toward the spot. Mr.Withers felt a thrill as he beheld him, but calmly awaited his approach.

It was Roake.

“Iam trying to make this unfortunately afflicted person understand that Idesire to try my luck at fishing,” said Mr.Withers. “Iam moved with pity as Ilook on him, for it is painful to witness such deprivations of the natural faculties.”

“Yes, Dummy knows what you want,” said Roake. “He’ll fix you out in a minute.”

“How quick of perception he seems to be,” said Mr.Withers. “Oftentimes the absence of one faculty lends additional keenness to the others.”

“Oh, he’s smart enough around his business,” replied Roake. “He has worked for me here these five years.”

“Is this a good day for fishing?”

“Pretty fair. Iguess you won’t come in without catching some.”

Roake was the personification of indolence. Awide-brimmed straw hat shaded his face, which had a sleepy, listless look. No one would have dreamed, from his appearance, or from any observable surroundings, that Rocky Beach was devoted to any other purposes than fishing and sailing.

“What is this unfortunate man’s name?” inquired Mr.Withers.

“His name is Luke Felton, but we call him ‘Dummy’ around here.”

“That would seem to me too much like mocking his infirmity,” rejoined Mr.Withers, in a solemn tone.

Everything now being in readiness, Luke Felton motioned to Mr.Withers to enter the boat. The mute followed, and took the oars.

They were soon some distance from the shore, and dropped anchor. The fishing was good, and apparently afforded great excitement and delight to the Reverend Mr.Withers.

The pleasure was prolonged until evening, when they returned to the shore. Roake was awaiting them.

“There appears to be a natural cave in the bluff yonder,” said Mr.Withers. “Is it open for exploration?”

“Yes,” replied Roake. “Ican take you through it, if you wish.”

They entered the cavern. Mr.Withers was only too familiar with the place. They went over the route he had twice traversed before. There were the same tortuous passage-ways, dimly lighted by hanging lamps. Roake said:

“We keep these lamps here in the summer and early fall, when there are a good many visitors about. It saves the trouble of carrying torches.”

“Avery good arrangement,” commented Mr.Withers.

They soon came to the termination of the cavern. Afoaming cataract of falling water greeted their vision.

The visitor regarded it silently, and was apparently lost in admiration.

“Awonderful freak of nature,” he observed. “The water, Isuppose, comes from some subterranean spring, and continues its course through that opening below our feet. Does the supply never fail and leave the rocks behind the cataract bare?”

“No,” was the reply. “It flows the year round.”

Roake betrayed no surprise or uneasiness at the question, and delivered his answer in a careless tone. Why should he feel concern? Hundreds of tourists had made the same inquiry, and received the same reply. And nothing could have been further from his thoughts than that his companion was the escaped captive, who knew the secret of the room behind the splashing waterfall.

But the eyes of the Reverend Mr.Withers were busy, and his thoughts active.

“They manage things well,” he thought. “Nothing could be more unsuspicious in appearance than this place and everything connected with it. They select favorable nights to run in their goods, and have sentinels stationed, probably, to give notice of unwelcome approaches.”

After a time they returned to the open air again, and, as he stood on the beach gazing out on the moonlit ocean, Mr.Withers expressed a desire to take a sail. The night was lovely, there was a bracing breeze, and the prospect, he declared, was enticing.

“Can you not loan me a sailing boat,” he asked, “with the mute—Luke Felton Ithink you said was his name—to manage it?”

An affirmative reply was given, and forthwith Mr.Withers was seated in the Fleetwing with “Dummy,” as Roake persisted in calling him.

The sail caught the wind, and the light craft darted rapidly over the blue waters. Mr.Withers made known by expressive pantomime that he was thrilled with pleasure, and Luke Felton guided the yacht with skillful hands.

The land was left half a mile behind, and still Mr.Withers was not satisfied. He indicated to his companion a circular course that would take them first past a point that projected from the shore, and then back to Rocky Beach by a circular course. The mute bowed assent, and proceeded accordingly.

Now was the time for an action determined upon by Mr.Withers. After the point was passed, he intimated a desire to try his hand at managing the yacht. This was at first opposed smilingly by Luke Felton, but his opposition was overruled.

And as soon as Mr.Withers obtained control of the sail and tiller, he ran the boat directly toward the shore. He guided it skillfully into a little cove, bordered on two sides with rocks.

Luke Felton rose to his feet in alarm, and pointed out the danger of striking on dangerous points. But Mr.Withers smiled. His pedestrian excursion about the environs of Dalton had not been made in vain. He had visited the spot and taken careful note of its peculiarities.

But Luke Felton remonstrated by an impressive gesture, and carried his objections to such a point that the Reverend Mr.Withers was obliged to display a pistol to reduce him to quietude.

He had risen to his feet, and was uttering that peculiar nondescript cry with which mutes give vent to alarm or surprise.

They were now within twenty feet of the shore. The water was not more than four feet deep. Mr.Withers discerned a carriage on the shore, and two men standing close to the water’s edge.

“All ready!” he cried.

“All ready,” was responded.

Then he suddenly gave a twist to the tiller and a pull to the rope controlling the sail, and the yacht wheeled violently around. The following instant Luke Felton felt himself precipitated forward by a violent push, and in a second he was struggling in the water. But it was not deep enough to drown him, and one of the men quickly waded out and caught him by the collar.

Mr.Withers saw this, as his yacht glided swiftly seaward. Passing safely out of the cove, he guided the boat in good style around the point and into the open sea opposite Rocky Beach.

“Now, Mr.Luke Felton,” he soliloquized, “you think you are the victim of some conspiracy, and so you are, but you are in good hands, and will be well treated. If you have any education, well and good, but if you have not, you will be taught enough to enable you to communicate what you know about this nest of villains who make Rocky Beach a place for their secret iniquities.”

He made steadily for the shore, but on arriving at a point so near that the moonlight would enable Roake to discern the yacht, he began to feign the most gross ignorance of its management. He allowed it to be driven hither and thither with the sail flapping in the breeze, the tiller at times disregarded, and was apparently in imminent danger of being capsized.

Still he controlled it, although in a bungling manner, so that its general course was toward the shore.

As he drew near Roake ran up and down the beach, shouting, wildly:

“What’s the matter?” he roared. “Curse that dummy! Has he lost his wits?”

Finally the yacht came drifting with the waves, the sail hanging loose, and grounded with a crunching sound on the gravelly bottom.

The Reverend Mr.Withers was standing in the bow, grasping the mast, his hat gone, his hair flying in the wind, and his face expressing the utmost terror. Luke Felton was not to be seen.

In answer to a loud demand for explanation, mingled with many oaths, Mr.Withers replied:

“Oh, my dear sir, the most terrible catastrophe has happened! While off the point yonder a terrific squall, or something, came up, and the boat wheeled around in a most unaccountable way. Poor Mr.Felton was struck by this projecting piece of timber—yard-arm, do you call it?—and knocked into the water.”

“The blundering hound!” ejaculated Roake. “What was he about?”

“Indeed Icannot tell, sir. He seemed to be possessed of great skill——”

“Blast his skill! Was he drowned? Couldn’t you pick him up?”

“Do not ask me that. The boat was driven along with frightful velocity, and the poor, unfortunate creature has, Ifear, met his fate——”

Roake interrupted the speaker with another volley of oaths, for which he received a mild reproof.

Mr.Withers picked up his hat from the bottom of the boat and leaped ashore, with pale face and trembling limbs.

“Amost dreadful experience!” he gasped; “most dreadful!”

“Well, you needn’t take on so,” said Roake, roughly, whose wrath began presently to subside. “It’s no great loss.”

“Sir?”

“It’s no great loss, Isay. He was in his own way, and everybody else’s. Being a kind of good-for-nothing, and unable to do anything for himself, Idare say he’s better off where he is.”

“Poor man!” sighed Mr.Withers. “It must be nearly morning now, is it not?”

“Ishould judge so,” responded Roake. “You were gone a duse of a while with your mischief.”

“Ican never forgive myself. But, as Ican be of no service here, Iwill walk back to Dalton. Ibecame chilled while sitting in the boat so long, and the exercise will arouse the circulation of my blood. Good-night, sir.”

And the Reverend Mr.Withers started toward Dalton, uttering exclamations of regret as long as he was within hearing distance of Roake.

He arrived at the hotel just as the inmates of that establishment were rising. He gave a sorrowful account of his adventure, and early in the forenoon left Dalton by rail.

At a point agreed upon, he met two men, having in charge Luke Felton, arrayed in a new suit of clothing, and on that evening the unfortunate mute of Rocky Beach was placed in an asylum for the education of the deaf and dumb.