How simple, when you line it up:  The country house and the garden hose; the detective, with no camp equipment; Mr. McDonald and the green canoe; the letter on the train; the red flag; the girl in the pink tam-o’-shanter—­who has not yet appeared, but will shortly; Mr. McDonald’s incriminating list—­also not yet, but soon.

How inevitably they led to what Charlie Sands has called our crime!

The detective, who was evidently very strong, only glared at her.  Then he swung the canoe up on his head and, turning about, started back the way we had come.  Though Hutchins and Aggie were raging, I was resigned.  My neck was stiff and my shoulders ached.  We finished our tea in silence and then made our way back to the river.

I have now reached Tish’s adventure.  It is not my intention in this record to defend Tish.  She thought her conclusions were correct.  Charlie Sands says she is like Shaw—­she has got a crooked point of view, but she believes she is seeing straight.  And, after a while, if you look her way long enough you get a sort of mental astigmatism.

So I shall confess at once that, at the time, I saw nothing immoral in what she did that afternoon while we were having our adventure in the swamp.

I was putting cloths wrung out of arnica and hot water on my neck when she came home, and Hutchins was baking biscuit—­she was a marvelous cook, though Aggie, who washed the dishes, objected to the number of pans she used.

Tish ignored both my neck and the biscuits, and, marching up the bank, got her shotgun from the tent and loaded it.

“We may be attacked at any time,” she said briefly; and, getting the binocular, she searched the river with a splendid sweeping glance.  “At any time.  Hutchins, take these glasses, please, and watch that we are not disturbed.”

“I’m baking biscuit, Miss Letitia.”

“Biscuit!” said Tish scornfully.  “Biscuit in times like these?”

She walked up to the camp stove and threw the oven door open; but, though I believe she had meant to fling them into the river, she changed her mind when she saw them.

“Open a jar of honey, Hutchins,” she said, and closed the oven; but her voice was abstracted.  “You can watch the river from the stove, Hutchins,” she went on.  “Miss Aggie and Miss Lizzie and I must confer together.”

So we went into the tent, and Tish closed and fastened it.

“Now,” she said, “I’ve got the papers.”

“Papers?”

“The ones Mr. McDonald gave that Indian this morning.  I had an idea he’d still have them.  You can’t hurry an Indian.  I waited in the bushes until he went in swimming.  Then I went through his pockets.”

“Tish Carberry!” cried Aggie.

“These are not times to be squeamish,” Tish said loftily.  “I’m neutral; of course; but Great Britain has had this war forced on her and I’m going to see that she has a fair show.  I’ve ordered all my stockings from the same shop in London, for twenty years, and squarer people never lived.  Look at these—­how innocent they look, until one knows!”