“Quite an idea,” commented Jimsy, regarding the wall safe.  “I suppose you have quite a lot of money on hand at times, and it is safest to keep it so,” he added, addressing the farmer’s wife.

“Yep,” was the rejoinder; “Ike got his money fer his corn crop ther other day—­two thousand dollars, what with ther corn and ther early apples.  It’s all in thar, except what he’s jes’ took out.”

“Aren’t you afraid of burglars coming and blowing the door of the safe off?” asked Peggy.

“Lands sakes, no.  We’d hear ’em.  Besides, that’s a patent safe, an’ if it is opened without a knowledge of the combination, it would take a plaguey long time to do.”

Just then the farmer came back, and after some more general conversation the whir of an approaching automobile announced the arrival of Roy.  The lad was naturally much interested in the doings of the afternoon, as excitedly related to him by everybody at once, and was favorably impressed with the young naval officer.  Of course, he did not ask him his opinion of the Prescott aeroplane, but from remarks Lieut.  Bradbury dropped, Roy gathered that he was much pleased with its performance.

Soon afterward Jess and Jimsy shot skyward, in the now still air, in their red aeroplane—­the Red Dragon Fly, as it had been christened, and amid warm farewells from the farmer and his wife, the auto buzzed off.

They had traversed a mile or more, when, on rounding a corner at a narrow part of the road, they came almost head-on against another machine coming in the opposite direction.

Both cars were compelled to slow down, so that the occupants had a good view of each other.  Both Roy and Peggy were considerably astonished to see that the oncoming auto was occupied by old Mr. Harding, and that by his side was seated none other than the blue-chinned man, known as Eugene Mortlake.

“Where can they be going?” wondered Roy, as old man Harding favored them with a scowl in passing, and then both cars resumed their normal speed.

“I noticed that this is a private road leading only to that farm,” rejoined Peggy; “the right-of-way ends there.”

“Then that must be their destination, for there are no other houses on this road.”

“Looks that way,” assented Roy.  “Queer, isn’t it?”

“Very,” responded Peggy.  For some inexplicable reason, as the girl spoke, a chill ran through her.  She felt a dull sense of foreboding.  But the next minute she shook it off.  After all, why shouldn’t Mr. Harding and Mortlake be driving to the farm?  Mr. Harding’s financial dealings comprised mortgages in every part of the island.  It was quite probable that the farmer was in some way involved in the old man’s nets.  Possibly that was the reason of all that money being stored in the wall safe.

Refusing courteously an invitation extended by Miss Prescott to spend the night at the homestead, Lieut.  Bradbury was driven to the station by Roy, after they had dropped Peggy, and just managed to make a New York train.