“That Mortlake,” she cried, “I’d like to scratch his eyes out.”

The proceedings in Sandy Beach before the local magistrate, Ephraim Gray, were brief.  Isaac Galloway, the farmer, told of the robbery and of his knowledge that the marked bill was among the money.  He followed this up by relating the fact that Roy had been in the house in the afternoon and had seen the safe.

Then came Fanning, and to the girl’s astonishment, Regina Mortlake, both of whom swore to finding the marked bill in the wallet in the road.

“Do you deny that this was your wallet?” asked the magistrate, holding up the leather case after he had examined the marked bill.

“I do,” declared Roy in a firm voice.

“What! you did not drop it?”

“I dropped it, but it is not mine,” was the stout reply.

“Then what was it doing in your possession?”

“Do I have to answer that question, now?”

“It will be better to—­yes.”

“Well, then, I found it in the cellar of a house to which I was lured by two men whom I am confident were employed by this hound Mortlake.”

“Be careful,” warned the magistrate, “Mr. Mortlake is a respected member of this community.  Your display of ill-will does you no good.  As for your story of how you found the wallet you can tell that to a jury later on.  My present duty is to hold you in bonds of $2,500 for trial.”

A deep breath, like a sigh, went through the courtroom.  In the midst of it an active, upright figure stepped forward.  It was Lieut.  Bradbury, who had arrived in the courtroom just in time to hear the concluding words.  But he had already been informed of the facts, for the story was on every tongue in the village.

“I am prepared to offer that bail,” he said.

But Peggy had been before him.  With her mine shares she had a good bank account and was able to offer cash security.  This was accepted almost before the young officer reached the judge’s desk.  Peggy thanked the lieutenant with a look.  She could not trust herself to speak.

“Of course,” said the magistrate, “the fact that the defendant is under bonds will prohibit his leaving the state.  That is understood.”

Mortlake nudged Fanning Harding.  This was what they had cunningly calculated on.  With Roy safely bottled up in New York state, it would be manifestly impossible for him to take part in the contests at Hampton in Virginia.  While they conversed in low, eager tones, Peggy and Lieutenant Bradbury could be seen talking in another corner.  Court had been adjourned, but the curious crowd still lingered.  Jess and Jimsy stood by Roy, fencing off the inquisitive villagers and would-be sympathizers.  The whole thing had taken place so rapidly that they all felt dazed and bewildered.  Suddenly the thought of what his detention meant dawned upon Roy.

“We’ll be out of the race for the naval contracts,” he almost moaned.