“At any rate,” I said, with a laugh, “the Celebrity has got himself into no end of a predicament now.  He may go back to New York in custody.”

“I thought you incapable of resentment, Mr. Crocker.  How mean of you to deny him!”

“It can do no harm,” I answered; “a little lesson in the dangers of incognito may be salutary.  I wish it were a little lesson in the dangers of something else.”

The color mounted to her face as she resumed her occupation.

“I am afraid you are a very wicked man,” she said.

Before I could reply there came a scuffling sound from the bank above us, and the snapping of branches and twigs.  It was Mr. Cooke.  His descent, the personal conduction of which he lost half-way down, was irregular and spasmodic, and a rude concussion at the bottom knocked off a choice bit of profanity which was balanced on the tip of his tongue.

“Tobogganing is a little out of season,” said his niece, laughing heartily.

Mr. Cooke brushed himself off, picked up the glasses which he had dropped in his flight and pushed them into my hands.  Then he pointed lakeward with bulging eyes.

“Crocker, old man,” he said in a loud whisper, “they tell me that is an Asquith cat-boat.”

I followed his finger and saw for the first time a sail-boat headed for the island, then about two miles off shore.  I raised the glasses.

“Yes,” I said, “the Scimitar.”

“That’s what Farrar said,” cried he.

“And what about it?” I asked.

“What about it?” he ejaculated.  “Why, it’s a detective come for Allen.  I knew sure as hell if they got as far as Asquith they wouldn’t stop there.  And that’s the fastest sail-boat he could hire there, isn’t it?”

I replied that it was.  He seized me by the shoulder and began dragging me up the bank.

“What are you going to do?” I cried, shaking myself loose.

“We’ve got to get on the Maria and run for it,” he panted.  “There is no time to be lost.”

He had reached the top of the bank and was running towards the group at the tents.  And he actually infused me with some of his red-hot enthusiasm, for I hastened after him.

“But you can’t begin to get the Maria out before they will be in here,” I shouted.

He stopped short, gazed at the approaching boat, and then at me.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, of course,” said I, “they will be here in ten minutes.”

The Celebrity stood in the midst of the excited Four.  His hair was parted precisely, and he had induced a monocle to remain in his eye long enough to examine the Scimitar, his nose at the critical elevation.  This unruffled exterior made a deep impression on the Four.  Was the Celebrity not undergoing the crucial test of a true sport?  He was an example alike to criminals and philosophers.

Mr. Cooke hurried into the group, which divided respectfully for him, and grasped the Celebrity by the hand.