“That’s right, and I’m going to fuge just as quick as I can.  Come out from under the tent, Lord Chief Justice, or you’ll get a blow on the cocoanut that will damage that legal mind of yours.  These are my friends and fellow-criminals, the alleged burglars. ...  All right there?  Everything clear? ...  I fear they are innocent, however, just as I am guilty,—­of banjo-playing.”

“No, but listen a minute—­”

At this moment the other man snatched down the tent pole and the whole thing fell on the “Lord Chief Justice,” leaving him floundering under waves of canvas, and tangles of rope.  “Never mind him,” said Sprague, “two of you hustle down and push off the boat,—­it will take us three trips to get the tent and everything on board.”

Jimmy Toppan and one of the other men (the second one to wake up, —­they called him “Pete”) hurried down to the water’s edge.  The “Lord Chief Justice” (whom they called “Chief,” for short) crawled out from under the canvas, and we began to fold up the tent.  It was a small one, and they had nothing in it except their blankets and some cushions and pillows from the yacht.

The Chief, still muttering and complaining, was sent out on the first trip, with Jimmy Toppan and Ed Mason.  He and Jimmy were commanded to get up the sails, while Ed brought back the boat.  This time he carried the tent, and then came back for the pillows, blankets and cushions.  All this took more or less time,—­fifteen or twenty minutes, perhaps.  Mr. Daddles and Sprague kept their eyes on the little street nearby, to make sure that we were not observed.

Just as Mr. Daddles and I were getting into the boat, someone spoke from the shadow of a building.

“Aha!” said a voice.

Then a man stepped out into the moonlight, and advanced a little toward us.

“Leavin’ kinder sudden, aint yer?”

It was Gregory the Gauger.  He walked still nearer.  Then he recognized Mr. Daddles and me.

“What’s this?  What’s this?” he snapped, “got out, didger?  Thought yer was escapin’, didger?  Consider yerselves under arrest.  I apprehend yer in the name of the Commonwealth.  Stay right where yer be.  I’ll go an’ get Eb.”

“No, you won’t, either,” said Mr. Daddles.

He and Sprague darted forward at the same moment.  They grabbed the little man, each by an arm, and commenced walking him rapidly toward the boat.

“Here, here!  Whatcher doin’?  Lemme be!  Lemme be!  This is assault!  Lemme be, I tell yer!”

They led him, still chattering and protesting, right to the boat.

“We don’t want you with us,—­not a little bit.  But you’ll have to come, if you don’t keep quiet.  Then you’ll have a beautiful case against us.”

“Help!  Help!” he squealed.

Mr. Daddles clapped a hand over his mouth, and they lifted him off his feet into the boat.  Pete jumped in beside him, and smothered his cries with a pillow.  Ed and I pushed off, and climbed in over the bows.  In a minute we were alongside the yacht.  Mr. Daddles and Sprague jumped on board, and Pete handed Gregory the Gauger up to them.  He had to drop the pillow to do this, and as soon as the little man’s mouth was uncovered he began his protests right where he had left off.