“Towing?” repeated Dick in bewilderment.

“That’s what I asked,” repeated the referee.  “When you came down on this last spurt I’m sure that at one moment I saw a length of line rise above the water astern of you.  Then, further back, I saw something else jerked to the surface.”

“Why, we can’t be towing anything,” Dick insisted.  “You saw our canoe launched.”

“Late start, if you don’t line the canoes up at once, referee,” warned the time-keeper.

But Mr. Tyndall had his own views.

“The starting time will be delayed,” he announced sharply.  “Captain Prescott, take your canoe to the landing stage.”

“All right, sir.”

“Captain Hartwell you will follow.”

“Very good, sir.”

Going in to the landing stage Dick gave his crew an easy pace, yet they were soon alongside the float.

“Now, take your canoe out of water, Gridley,” commanded the referee, stepping ashore from the launch.  “I want a look at the craft.”

Dick & Co. lifted the war canoe to the float bow first.  Just as the stern cleared the water a cry went up from scores of throats.

For the referee had grasped a line made fast to the bottom of the canoe near the stern.

Hauling on that line he brought in several yards of it—–­then, at the outer end of the line came a light blanket, dripping.  Through the middle of the blanket the end of the line had been secured.

Dick Prescott gasped.  His chums rubbed their eyes.  Bob Hartwell, who had landed, looked on in utter consternation.

“For the love of decency!” gasped Referee Tyndall.  “Who rigged on a drag like that.”

The blanket, towing below the surface, was a drag that could be depended upon, perhaps, to delay the canoe at least one length in every dozen that her crew could put her through the water.

“None of our fellows did that trick,” Dick declared hotly.  “You saw us launch our canoe, Mr. Referee, and she was clear when we launched her.”

“I naturally wouldn’t suspect the Gridley crew of rigging a drag on the Gridley canoe,” remarked the referee dryly, as he followed the line back to the canoe.  “See!  Some scoundrel managed to twist a screw-eye into one of your frame timbers underneath.  The line is made fast to the screw-eye.  Captain Prescott, that could have been done by someone hidden under this float while your craft lay alongside.  He could bring his mouth above water, under the timbers of this float.  Then, with his hand and arm hidden under water the same rascal could easily reach out and fasten in the screw-eye.”

“Prescott,” gasped Bob Hartwell, in a disgusted voice, “I hope you don’t believe that any of our fellows, or their friends, could be guilty of such contemptible work!”

“Hartwell,” Dick answered promptly, resting a hand on the arm of the Preston High School boy, “I am offended that you should believe us capable of suspecting Preston High School of anything as mean as this.  Of course we don’t suspect Preston High School!”