“But you haven’t told us yet what you had done,” Spike remarked, “did you break into Littlefield’s house?”

So I gave them the whole story, beginning with Tuesday afternoon, when we left Captain Bannister on the “Hoppergrass” at Bailey’s Harbor.  I told them how we came back there and found our boat gone, how we blundered into Littlefield’s house in the fog, how we were caught, how we escaped from jail, and all the rest of it.  Then I told about my trip to Rogers’s Island, how I saw the Professor and Mr. Snider under the wharf, and how they suspected me of spying on them, and tried to keep me on the Island.

“It was about the first lucky thing that has happened,” I said, “when I found you.  Snider could run pretty well, and the Professor was there, too, to head me off,—­and I couldn’t keep running around that island forever.”

“S-Say,” said Spook, “l-l-let’s have some g-g-grub.  T-Take the wheel, will you, S-Spike?”

He and I went below, and brought up some things to eat.  We were well out in the Bay now,—­Rogers’s Island was only a dim blue spot astern.  We ate luncheon, and discussed where we should go.  I was trying to make them see that it would be safe enough to sail over to Lanesport, when Spook paused, with a banana raised toward his mouth.

“W-W-What’s that b-boat?” he asked.

He was looking straight ahead.  Both Spike and I looked under the boom and saw the sail of a yacht about a mile away.  She was headed directly for us.

“Oh, some boat,—­or other,” said Spike, nibbling at a jam-covered cracker, which Spook had fixed for him.

“L-L-Let’s ch-change our c-course a b-bit,—­she m-may be f-full of p-p-persons with pup-pup-pitchforks.”

“Rats!” remarked Spike.

But he shifted the course, just the same.  We drew away from the strange yacht for about three minutes, and then,—­

“Sh-She’s c-coming about!” shouted Spook.

She certainly was coming about.  In a few seconds she was headed for us once again.

“I d-don’t know about you f-fellows, b-but I’ll never b-be t-taken alive.  It’s those d-d-d-duffers from B-Bailey’s Harbor again,—­ they’ve p-probably got c-c-cannon on b-board this t-time!”

Spike sat in silence, looking back at the stranger now and then.  After about five minutes he said: 

“They’re not gaining on us much.”

It was hard to tell whether they gained or not.  As far as I could see there had not been any change in the distance between us since the other boat came about.  There was a good breeze and both boats were now running before it.

“L-Let’s c-clear away this g-g-grub,—­we want r-room to r-repel b-b-boarders.”

“We won’t have to repel them,” said I, “they can’t catch us.”

“If they do,” replied Spike, “they’ll only get aboard this boat through a perfectly murderous fire of raspberry jam.”

“R-Raspberry j-j-jam d-doesn’t r-repel b-b-boarders,” said Spook, hustling the dishes below, “h-h-half as m-m-much as s-s-stewed p-p-prunes.”  He stopped, with his head out of the cabin door.