The other woman turned, giving a quick, startled glance toward the water.

“I—–­I don’t know how it happened,” gasped the loser.  “There it is, away down the stream, floating toward that boathouse.  Oh, Master Prescott, do you feel able to go and get it for me?”

“I’ll do it with pleasure, madam,” Dick nodded.  He looked for a moment.  Then, seeing a black floating object, he started after it, his stroke apparently none the weaker after his swift race.

It had floated nearly under the boathouse at the water end.  The building in question belonged to the estate next to that from which the swimming contests had been conducted.  This boathouse was closed, for the owners had not yet come to Gridley for the summer.  The windows of the little green building were shuttered from the inside.  Over the water the walls came down to within six inches of the present level of water.

Keeping his eyes turned toward the black, floating object, Dick swam easily to the spot.  The black object floated under the open sidewall into the boathouse.  Just as Dick got there he dived, duck fashion, head first, and passed to the interior of the boathouse at the river end.

As he came up inside Dick’s first discovery was that of artificial light in the boathouse.  Then his gaze rested on the platform end over the land.

“Amos Garwood here, of all places!” gasped the astonished Grammar School boy.

Chapter XXIV

CONCLUSION

The mentally queer inventor had rigged up a bench just under shelves on which rested tools and boat supplies.

Just at the moment the inventor had his back turned to the water as he stood working at his bench.  Dick was able to look at him while not in immediate danger of being seen himself.

How quietly the Grammar School boy trod water!  He hardly dared breathe, for fear of giving an alarm.

Yet, even in all his astonishment, Prescott did not forget to let one hand close over the handle of the black bag whose recovery had brought him here.

“I can’t do anything with Garwood alone,” reflected Dick swiftly.  “I must get out, if I can, without making a noise, and then give the hurry alarm.  That fellow is mixing something, and, if he isn’t stopped soon, he’s quite likely to blow up the boathouse, himself included.”

Fortunately there was sufficient depth of water at this outer end of the boathouse.  Prescott let himself sink so quietly that there was barely a ripple above his head.  Next, with a few cautious strokes, he carried himself past the hanging side wall and into the open upstream.

“Gracious, but no wonder Garwood has been able to keep away from pursuers,” thought the boy excitedly, as he swam steadily up toward the other pier.  “He has a place where not even a Sherlock Holmes would ever think of looking for him.  Why, he could work, sleep and eat there and never give a sign of his presence!”