During the following morning the river was very quiet.  Through the binocular we were able to see Mr. McDonald standing on the shore of his island and looking intently in our direction, but naturally we paid no attention to him.

The red-haired man went in swimming that day and necessitated our retiring to the tent for an hour and a half; but at noon Aggie’s naturally soft heart began to assert itself.

“Spy or no spy,” she said to Tish, “we ought to feed him.”

“Huh!” was Tish’s rejoinder.  “There is no sense is wasting good food on a man whose hours are numbered.”

We were surprised, however, to find that Hutchins, who had detested Mr. McDonald, was rather on Aggie’s side.

“The fact that he has but a few more hours,” she said to Tish, “is an excellent reason for making those hours as little wretched as possible.”

It was really due to Hutchins, therefore, that Mr. McDonald had a luncheon.  The problem of how to get it to him was a troublesome one, but Tish solved it with her customary sagacity.

“We can make a raft,” she said, “a small one, large enough to hold a tray.  By stopping the launch some yards above the island we can float his luncheon to him quite safely.”

That was the method we ultimately pursued and it worked most satisfactorily.

Hutchins baked hot biscuits; and, by putting a cover over the pan, we were enabled to get them to him before they cooled.

We prepared a really appetizing luncheon of hot biscuits, broiled ham, marmalade, and tea, adding, at Aggie’s instructions, a jar of preserved peaches, which she herself had put up.

Tish made the raft while we prepared the food, and at exactly half-past twelve o’clock we left the house.  Mr. McDonald saw us coming and was waiting smilingly at the upper end of the island.

“Great Scott!” he said.  “I thought you were never going to hear me.  Another hour and I’d have made a swim for it, though it’s suicidal with this current.  I’ll show you where you can come in so you won’t hit a rock.”

Hutchins had stopped the engine of the motor boat and we threw out the anchor at a safe distance from the shore.

“We are not going to land,” said Tish, “and I think you know perfectly well the reason why.”

“Oh, now,” he protested; “surely you are going to land!  I’ve had an awfully uncomfortable accident—­my canoe’s gone.”

“We know that,” Tish said calmly.  “As a matter of fact, we took it.”

Mr. McDonald sat down suddenly on a log at the water’s edge and looked at us.

“Oh!” he said.

“You may not believe it,” Tish said, “but we know everything—­your dastardly plot, who the red-haired man is, and all the destruction and wretchedness you are about to cause.”

“Oh, I say!” he said feebly.  “I wouldn’t go as far as that.  I’m—­I’m not such a bad sort.”

“That depends on the point of view,” said Tish grimly.