He disappeared down toward the shore of the harbor while the others prodded me along.

. . . . . . .

Down near the Dodge dock, along the shore, walked a man wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a plain suit of duck.  His prim collar and tie comported well with his smoked glasses.  Instinctively one would have called him “Professor”, though whether naturalist, geologist, or plain “bugologist”, one would have had difficulty in determining.

He seemed, as a matter-of-fact, to be a naturalist, for he was engrossed in picking up specimens.  But he was not so much engrossed as to fail to hear the approach of footsteps down the gravel walk from Dodge Hall to the dock.  He looked up in time to see Del Mar coming, and quietly slipped into the shrubbery up on the shore.

On the dock, Del Mar stood for some minutes, waiting.  Finally, along the shore came another figure.  It was the emissary to whom Del Mar had telephoned and who had searched me.  The naturalist drew back into his hiding-place, peering out keenly.

“Well?” demanded Del Mar.  “What luck?”

“We’ve got him,” returned the man with brief satisfaction.  “Here’s the letter she was sending to the Secret Service.”

Del Mar seized the note which the man handed to him and read it eagerly.  “Good,” he exclaimed.  “That would have put an end to the whole operations about here.  Come on.  Get into the boat.”

For some reason best known to himself, the naturalist seemed to have lost all interest in his specimens and to have a sudden curiosity about Del Mar’s affairs.  As the motor-boat sped off, he came slowly and cautiously out of his hiding-place and gazed fixedly at Del Mar.

No sooner had Del Mar’s boat got a little distance out into the harbor than the naturalist hurried down the Dodge dock.  There was tied Elaine’s own fast little runabout.  He jumped into it and started the engine, following quickly in Del Mar’s wake.

“Look,” called the emissary to Del Mar, spying the Dodge boat with the naturalist in it, skimming rapidly after them.

Del Mar strained his eyes back through his glass at the pursuing boat.  But the naturalist, in spite of his smoked glasses, seemed not to have impaired his eyesight by his studies.  He caught the glint of the sun on the lens at Del Mar’s eye and dropped down into the bottom of his own boat where he was at least safe from scrutiny, if his boat were not.

Del Mar lowered his glass.  “That’s the Dodge boat,” he said thoughtfully.  “I don’t like the looks of that fellow.  Give her more speed.”

. . . . . . .

Del Mar had not been gone long before Elaine decided to take a ride herself.  She ordered her horse around from the stables while she donned her neat little riding-habit.  A few minutes later, as the groom held the horse, she mounted and rode away, choosing the road by which I had gone, expecting to meet me on the return from town.