“Well, she may be the one—most likely she is. I am only afraid of one thing.”

“What’s that?” asked Tom.

“That by some means old Crabtree will force Mrs. Stanhope to marry him before we can rescue her.”

“I wonder why she doesn’t try to run away,” came from Sam.

“Probably she has tried, Sam; but they watch her too closely.”

“If they went to Boston, what will they do there?” queried Tom.

“I don’t know—maybe take a liner for Europe, or to some other part of the earth. You must remember, they are playing for a big stake.”

The touring car that Spud brought around the next morning was certainly an elegant affair. It seated five and was of sixty-horse power. Spud quickly demonstrated that he knew how to run the machine, so Dick did not offer to do so.

“Now you do the bossing,” said Spud. “I’ll run her anywhere you please, even if you want to go to the top of Mount Washington.”

“We are going after that other auto, that’s all,” answered Dick, grimly.

The weather was ideal for touring and had they not been under such a mental strain the Rover boys would have enjoyed riding greatly. But they could think of nothing but Mrs. Stanhope and the missing fortune.

“I suppose Dora is waiting every hour to hear from us,” said Dick.

“Yes, and the Lanings are waiting, too,” added Tom.

“And dad, and the folks at home,” supplemented Sam.

They had sent a number of messages to Cedarville and now sent another, telling of their plans, and mentioning some towns at which they expected to stop. To this message no answer was returned until they reached Worcester, on the afternoon of the following day.

“Hello, here’s news!” cried Dick. “Say, we want to get to Boston just as soon as we can!”

“What is it?” asked the others, quickly.

“Father has received a postal card, mailed from Boston. It is signed by Mrs. Stanhope, and asked for help.”

“Does she give any address?” asked Tom.

“He says all there is of the address is 234 Carm. He says the rest is rubbed out.”

“Maybe we can find out in a directory what Carm stands for,” suggested Spud.

“Exactly, Spud. Say, will you get us to Boston just as soon as possible?”

“I sure will.”

“How far is it?”

“About thirty-five miles.”

“Then you can make it in an hour.”

“Yes, if——” And Spud closed one eye suggestively.

“If what?”

“If they don’t arrest us for speeding. It’s against the law to run fast, you know.”

“Oh, well, we’ll have to take a chance,” declared Tom. “It’s a case of necessity.”

As soon as they were outside of the city limits, Spud turned on the gasolene and advanced the spark, until the touring car was making forty and then forty-five miles per hour. On they tore, through Westboro and other places, and then on towards Wellesley.

“Look out, here, that you don’t run down any college girls!” warned Dick, as they came in sight of Wellesley College.

“Oh, I wouldn’t run down any girls for the world!” answered Spud, as he slowed down a bit. Soon the main street of Wellesley was left behind and on they sped for Newton and the Hub.

“Hi! hi!” came a sudden call from the roadway, and a policeman appeared, waving his hand frantically.

“Sorry, but we can’t stop to talk!” flung back Spud, and in a minute the officer of the law became a mere speck in the distance. He had not gotten their number, so could do nothing.

They were just entering Boston proper when a loud report came from one of the rear tires. The car swerved to one side, and Spud had all he could do to keep it from going into a hitching post. Then he shut off the power.

“A blow-out!” announced Tom, as he leaped to the ground.

“That ends running for the present,” said Sam.

“So it does,” agreed Spud, mournfully.

CHAPTER XX
AN ADVENTURE IN BOSTON

The Rover boys looked at each other inquiringly. They wanted to go on, but did not know what to do about the stalled automobile.

“You go ahead,” said Spud, reading their thoughts. “I’ll fix the tire, or have it done by some garage man, and I’ll see you later.”

“Where?” asked Dick.

“I’ll go to the Parker House—that is where my uncle always goes,” answered Spud.

“Very well—we’ll call for you or send a message,” said Tom. “Come on, here is a trolley!” And he ran to stop the car. Soon he and his brothers were on board and bound for the heart of the city.

“Say, do you know any street in town that begins with Carm?” questioned Dick, of the car conductor.

“Carm?” repeated the man, slowly. “No, I don’t. I don’t believe there is such a street.”

“Do you know the streets pretty well?”

“I ought to—I drove an express wagon for four years.”

“That looks as if we were up against it,” said Dick, to his brothers.

“We’ll go in a drug store and consult a city directory,” answered Sam. “He may think he knows all the streets, but every city has a lot of places even the oldest inhabitant doesn’t know.”

They rode on a few blocks further and then, seeing a large drug store, alighted from the car and entered the place. A directory was handy, on a stand, and they asked for permission to consult it.

“Nothing like Carm here,” said Tom, after they had looked at the alphabetical list of streets. “We are stumped, sure enough.”

“Hello! I’ve got it—I think!” burst out Sam, so loudly that the attention of several persons in the store was attracted to him. “Here is a Varmolet street. Maybe Mrs. Stanhope only heard the name, and thought it was Carmolet. She wrote that down, and the end became rubbed off.”

“You may be right, Sam,” answered Dick. “Anyway, I guess your idea is worth looking into. I wonder where Varmolet street is?”

They made several inquiries, and at last learned that the street was a narrow and exceedingly crooked affair about half a mile away. They boarded another street car to visit the neighborhood.

“Look who is here!” ejaculated Tom, as he and his brothers sat down.

“Well, I never!” cried Sam.

“Jerry Koswell and Bart Larkspur!” murmured Dick.

It was indeed the two former students of Brill—the lads who had run away after causing the Rovers and some others so much trouble. Both were loudly dressed in summer outing flannels, and each carried an unlighted cigarette in his hand.

“Huh!” grunted Jerry Koswell, as he glared at the Rovers. “Where did you come from?”

“Perhaps we might ask the same question,” returned Dick, coldly.

This meeting was not at all to his taste, especially when he and his brothers wished to turn their whole attention to locating Mrs. Stanhope and her enemies.

“Have you been following us?” demanded Bart Larkspur.

“No, Larkspur, we have something of more importance to do,” answered Tom.

“Huh! you needn’t get gay, Rover!”

“I’ll get gay if I wish,” retorted Tom, sharply.

“You had better not follow us,” came in ugly tones from Jerry Koswell. “If you do you’ll get yourselves in hot water.”

“See here, Koswell, and you too, Larkspur,” said Dick, in a low but distinct tone. “We know all about what you did at Brill—and so do the authorities know it. Just at present we haven’t time to bother with you. But some day we may get after you.”

“Bah! you can’t scare me!” snorted Koswell. Yet his face showed that he was disturbed.

“Are you staying in Boston?” asked Sam, somewhat curiously.

“No, we are bound for a trip up the coast to——”

“Shut up, Jerry, don’t tell ’em where we are going,” interrupted Larkspur. “It’s none of their business.”

“Some day we’ll get after you,” said Dick. “Now we’ve got to leave you,” he added, as the car conductor called out the name of Varmolet street, as Dick had requested him to do.

“You keep your distance!” shouted Koswell after the Rover boys.

“We are not afraid of you!” added Larkspur, and then the car went on again, and the two former students of Brill were lost to view.

“They are off on some kind of a trip,” said Sam. “Evidently they have quite some money.”

“More money than brains,” returned Tom, bluntly. “If their folks don’t take ’em in hand, they’ll both end up in prison some day.”

“Koswell mentioned a trip up the coast,” said Dick. “They must be going up to Portland and Casco Bay, or further.”

“I’d like to go to Casco Bay myself,” said Sam. “It’s a beautiful spot, with its islands. Tom Favor was telling me all about it. He spent three summers there.”

They had alighted at the corner of Varmolet street and now started to look for No. 234. They had to walk two blocks, past houses that were disreputable in the extreme.

“I don’t like the look of this neighborhood,” remarked Sam, as they hurried along. “I’d hate to visit it after dark.”

“Think of what Mrs. Stanhope must be suffering, if they brought her to such a spot,” returned Dick, and could not help shuddering.

Presently they reached No. 234, an old three-storied house, with a dingy front porch, and with solid wooden shutters, the majority of which were tightly closed. Not a soul was in sight around the place.

“Don’t ring any bell,” warned Sam. “If those rascals are here they may take the alarm and skip out.”

“There isn’t any bell to ring,” answered Tom, grimly. “There was once an old-fashioned knocker, but it has been broken off.”

“I think one of us ought to try to get around to the back,” said Dick. “If those rascals are here they may try to escape that way.”

“That is true,” returned Tom. “But let us make sure first that we have the right place. The folks living here may be all-right people, and they’d think it strange to see us spying around.”

Dick looked up and down the street and saw a girl eight or nine years old sitting on a porch some distance away, minding a baby.

“Will you tell me who lives in that house?” he asked, of the girl.

“Why, old Mr. Mason lives there,” was the answer.

“Mr. Mason?”

“Yes. He’s a very old man—’most ninety years old, so they say.”

“Does he live there alone?”

“Yes—that is, all the rest of his family are dead. He has a housekeeper, Mrs. Sobber.”

“Mrs. Sobber!” exclaimed Dick.

“Yes, sir.”

“How old is she?”

“Oh, I don’t know—maybe forty or fifty. She’s been Mr. Mason’s housekeeper for three or four years. If you call on her, you want to look out. She don’t buy from agents.”

“Why?” asked Dick, innocently. He did not mind that the little girl took him to be an agent.

“Oh, she is too sharp and miserly, I guess. She used to get me to do her errands for her—but she never paid me even a cent for it.”

“Anybody else in the house?”

“Not regular. Once in a while a young man comes to see Mrs. Sobber. He ain’t her son, but he’s some kind of a relation. I think she’s his aunt, or great aunt.”

“Haven’t you seen anybody else coming lately?”

“I’ve been away lately—down to my grandfather’s farm. I came back last night. I wish I was back on the farm,” added the little girl, wistfully.

“Never mind, maybe you’ll get back some day,” said Dick, cheerily. “Here’s something for you,” and he dropped a silver dime in her lap, something that pleased her greatly.

“It’s the place!” cried the eldest Rover boy, on rejoining his brothers. “An old man lives here, and a Mrs. Sobber is his housekeeper. She is some relation to Tad, I feel sure. Maybe she is the one who advanced him some money.”

“And maybe she is the woman seen in the auto with Mrs. Stanhope,” added Tom, quickly.

“I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“If you are sure of all this, hadn’t we better notify the police?” came from Sam. “Remember, we have not only Tad Sobber against us, but also old Crabtree, and one or two unknown men. In a hand-to-hand fight we might get the worst of it.”

“That’s a good idea, Sam. Run up to the corner and see if you can find a policeman,” said Dick.

“I guess I know how to get to the rear of that building,” mused Tom. “I’ll go through that alleyway and jump the fences,” and he pointed to an alleyway several houses away.

“All right, Tom. You do that, and I’ll get in the front way somehow. I’m not going to wait another minute. They may have seen us already, and be getting out by some way of which we know nothing.”

Thus speaking, Dick mounted the porch and rapped loudly on the door with his bare knuckles. Tom ran off and disappeared down the alleyway he had pointed out.

Dick listened and then rapped again, this time louder than before. Then he heard a movement inside the house, but nobody came to answer his summons. He tried the door, to find it locked.

“Mrs. Sobber, who is that?” asked a trembling and high-pitched voice—the voice of the old man who owned the building.

“Oh, it’s only a peddler; don’t go to the door,” answered a woman.

“I am not a peddler!” cried Dick. “I have business in this house, and I want to come in.”

“You go away, or I’ll set the dog on you!” cried the woman, and now Dick heard her moving around at the back of the hall.

“Mrs. Sobber, I want you to open this door!” went on Dick, sharply. “If you don’t you’ll get yourself into serious trouble.”

“Want to be bit by the dog?”

“No, I don’t want to be bit by a dog,” answered Dick. He listened but heard nothing of such an animal. “I don’t believe you have a dog. Will you open, or shall I bring a policeman.”

“Mercy on us, a policeman!” gasped the woman. “No, no, don’t do that!”

“What does this mean?” demanded the old man. “Open that door, Mrs. Sobber, and let me see who is there. I don’t understand this. Day before yesterday you brought those strange folks, and now——”

“Hush! hush!” interrupted the woman, in agitated tones. “Not another word, Mr. Mason. You are too old to understand. Leave it all to me. I will soon send that fellow outside about his business.”

“This is my house, and I want to know what is going on here!” shrilled the old man, and Dick heard him tottering across the floor. “I’ll open the door myself.”

“No! no! not yet!” answered the woman.

“Mr. Mason, I want to come in!” cried Dick loudly. “There has been a crime committed. If you don’t want to be a party to it, open the door.”

“A crime,” faltered the old man.

“Yes, a crime. Open the door at once!”

“No, no, you—er—you shall not!” stormed the woman, and Dick heard her shove the old man back.

“Mr. Mason, for the last time, will you let me in?” shouted Dick.

“Yes! yes!” answered the old man. “But Mrs. Sobber won’t let me open the door.”

“Then I’ll open it myself,” answered Dick, and hurled his weight against the barrier. It was old and dilapidated and gave way with ease; and a moment later Dick stepped into the hallway of the old house.

CHAPTER XXI
FROM ONE CLUE TO ANOTHER

“Now, what do you want?” asked the old man, as he eyed Dick, curiously.

“I want to talk to that woman, first of all,” cried Dick, and he pointed to Mrs. Sobber, who was just disappearing through a door in the rear of the hallway.

“But what does this mean?” went on Mr. Mason, in a faint voice. “I have done nothing wrong.” And now he sank on a rush-bottomed chair, all out of breath. He was very old, and his hair and his face were exceedingly white.

“I’ll be back and tell you,” went on Dick. He could see at a glance that the old owner of the building had had nothing to do with the stealing of the fortune or the abduction of Mrs. Stanhope.

Dick ran to the door at the back of the hallway, to find it locked. He threw his weight against it, but it did not give way.

He was on the point of pushing on the door again, when a cry from the yard reached his ears.

“Dick! Dick! Come and stop them!” It was Tom who was calling.

“I’m coming, Tom!” he yelled back. And then he landed on the door with all his might.

“Don’t br—break the door!” gasped the old man. “If you want to get out to the back, go up and down the stairs,” and he pointed a trembling finger upward.

Dick understood, and ran up the front stairs three steps at a time. He passed through a short hallway and then reached a stairs, running down to a back entry way. As he went down these stairs there came another cry from Tom.

“Dick! Dick! they are getting away!”

As fast as he could, Dick reached the entryway and threw open the outer door. He came out in a small yard, surrounded on three sides by a high board fence. At the rear was a gate, and this was wide open.

“Tom! you are hurt!” exclaimed Dick, as he caught sight of his brother flat on his back, and with the blood oozing from a cut on his forehead.

“Yes, the rascal hit me in the head with a club!” gasped poor Tom.

“What rascal?”

“Tad Sobber!”

“Where is he now?”

“Ran out of the gate—and a woman just followed him.”

“Did you see anybody else?”

“No. Go after ’em,” added the injured youth, pluckily.

“Are you badly hurt?”

“I—I guess not. But he gave me an awful crack!” And pulling himself up, Tom staggered to a wood-chopping block and sat down.

Dick waited to hear no more, but made for the gate and ran into an alleyway beyond. This made a turn and came out on a street behind that upon which the house was located. Dick looked up and down the crooked thoroughfare, but could see no signs of Tad Sobber or the woman.

“Did you see a young man and a woman come out of here?” asked Dick, of a boy who was playing with a ball.

“Sure I did,” answered the lad.

“Where did they go?”

“Took the auto and went that way.”

“An auto?”

“Yes.”

“Was it waiting here?”

“Sure.”

“Somebody in it?”

“A man was running it. He was here yesterday, too.”

“Did you see who he took out yesterday?” went on Dick, growing interested.

“He came twice. Once he had a lady and a gent for passengers. They came out of that alleyway, just as you did.”

“When was this?”

“Just about supper time.”

Dick ran down the street in the direction the automobile had taken. He could see no signs of the machine, and presently returned to the back yard where he had left Tom. There the pair were joined by Sam.

“We were too late—they got away!” said Dick, with something like a groan in his voice.

“But not too late for Tad Sobber to leave me his card!” muttered Tom, putting his hand to the cut on his forehead.

“We’ll have to have that tended to, Tom,” said Dick, kindly.

“Oh, it isn’t so bad. I’ll put some court-plaster on it, after I’ve washed it.”

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t locate a policeman anywhere,” said Sam.

“Never mind, I guess a policeman would only be in the way,” returned his oldest brother. “He’d ask a lot of questions, and let it go at that. I’m going into the house, and see if I can find out anything.”

“Maybe Mrs. Stanhope is in there,” cried Sam.

“No—they have taken her off in an auto, I am almost sure of it, Sam.”

The three Rover boys entered the old house, to find Mr. Mason walking nervously up and down in the parlor.

“Where is Mrs. Sobber?” he asked anxiously.

“I imagine she has run away,” answered Dick. He drew a long breath. “Mr. Mason, I am going to ask you some questions. If you wish to avoid trouble with the authorities, you will answer me directly and truthfully.”

“Yes! Yes! I felt that something was wrong!” cried the old man. “I want no trouble, I am too old and respectable. What is it all about?”

“Briefly, a lady has been abducted and a fortune has been stolen.”

“Oh, then the lady they said was—er—insane, was not insane at all.”

“Did they tell you she was insane?”

“Yes, that is what Mrs. Sobber and one of the men said. They said they were going to take her to a private asylum.”

“The villains!” burst out Tom.

“What asylum?”

“I don’t know that. But I overheard them talking about taking a boat to Portland.”

“Portland?” repeated Dick. “Are you sure they were bound for that city?”

“Oh, I am not sure of anything—I am only telling you what I overheard.”

“Please tell us all about those men who came here, and about the lady, and about Mrs. Sobber,” pursued Dick.

“Hadn’t we better get after the auto?” asked Tom, who believed in action.

“You and Sam can try to hunt it up,” answered the elder Rover. “I’ll hear all Mr. Mason can tell first. It may give us a direct clue. I’ll meet you later at the Parker House.”

Sam and Tom went off, and then Dick listened patiently to the rather rambling tale Oliver Mason had to tell. The old man said that he had known Mrs. Sobber when her husband was alive and had hired her to be his housekeeper after the death of his three sisters and his wife.

“She was all alone in the world excepting for a young man named Tad Sobber, who came to see her once in a while,” said Oliver Mason. “I didn’t like the young man much, but the two had quite some business together.”

The old man then told how Mrs. Sobber had gone away for several days, stating she must look after a lady friend who had become insane. She stated that possibly she would bring the lady to the house for a day or two, but that if she did, Mr. Mason need not be afraid, for a doctor and a nurse would come along. Then the lady had arrived, in company with Tad Sobber and two men. He had not been allowed to talk to the woman, the others saying she might become violent in the presence of strangers. Then the lady had been taken away by the men and Tad Sobber the night before, and Tad Sobber had come back for Mrs. Sobber just about the time the Rovers tried to get into the house.

The story was told with such simpleness that Dick felt bound to believe it, and consequently he saw no reason for blaming Oliver Mason, who was, in truth, on the verge of second childhood.

“I must look around and see if those scamps left anything behind,” said Dick. “You won’t object to that, will you?”

“No! no!” cried the old man. “Only please do not take any of my few belongings.”

“I’ll not take anything, sir, you can trust me absolutely,” answered Dick, readily.

He made a search of the rooms, and especially the apartments occupied by Mrs. Stanhope and her abductors. At first he found little of value, although he picked up a handkerchief that had Mrs. Stanhope’s initials embroidered in the corner.

“That is proof positive that she was here,” he thought grimly.

In one of the fireplaces he came across some half-burnt letters. He looked them over with care and caught the post-mark, Portland, Me. On one slip he read the following:

“Humph! this may prove of value,” murmured Dick to himself, and placed the bit of letter in his pocket. Then he hunted around the rooms again, but nothing more came to light.

“Will Mrs. Sobber come back?” asked the old man, when Dick went below.

“I doubt it, sir.”

“She must be an awful woman, if what you say is true.”

“She is a criminal, Mr. Mason, and so is that Tad Sobber. I would advise you to have nothing more to do with them.”

“I must have a housekeeper,” whined the old man.

“Then hire somebody you are sure is honest,” returned Dick; and a few minutes later he quitted the house.

On his way to the hotel he met Sam and Tom, who had looked in vain for the automobile. In as few words as possible he told his brothers about what Oliver Mason had said, and of the finding of the slip of paper.

“What do you make of it?” asked Sam.

“I think they are going to Portland, either by auto or in a boat,” answered Dick.

“That’s just what I think,” added Tom. “But we may be mistaken.”

“Before we go any further, I am going to have that house watched,” went on Dick. “I’ll hire a first-class detective, and then, if Mrs. Sobber or any of the others come back, we’ll have ’em arrested.”

They visited a detective agency, and a man was put on the case without delay. Then the Rovers hurried down to the water front, to see if they could get any trace of Mrs. Stanhope there.

An hour’s tramping produced no results, and somewhat discouraged, they were on the point of going to the hotel, to meet Spud, when they saw an old sailor come from a restaurant close by.

“My friend,” said Dick, addressing the old tar, “I’d like to get some information. Did you ever hear of a schooner in these parts that was called the Mary Del something or other?”

“Mary Del?” repeated the old sailor, twisting his forelock. “Oh, I reckon you mean the Mary Delaway!” he cried. “Sure, I know her. Didn’t I see her sail for Portland less than an hour ago!”

CHAPTER XXII
A CHASE UP THE COAST

“You saw her sail for Portland!” cried Sam.

“Less than an hour ago?” exclaimed Tom.

“Where from?” queried Dick, quickly. “Hurry up and tell me—it will be money in your pocket.”

“The Mary Delaway sailed from Cruser’s dock,” answered the old sailor. “That’s about four blocks from here. I can show you the place. But you can’t get aboard, messmates—she’s gone.”

“We must catch her!” ejaculated Dick. “No matter at what cost, we must catch her. How can we do it?”

“Can’t we follow her in a motor boat, or a steam launch?” asked Tom.

“You can follow her in a tug,” said the old tar. “But she is out of sight now.”

“Do you know where she is going to land in Portland?” asked Sam.

“No.”

“Do you know anybody on board?”

“I know Jack Crumpet. He sailed in the old Resolute with me. I went to see him—that’s how I know the Mary Delaway sailed.”

“You were on board?” asked Dick.

“No, I wasn’t—I saw Jack on the dock. He said as how the cap’n had given orders for nobuddy to come aboard—why, I don’t know.”

“Well, I know,” muttered Dick. “It was to keep their villainous doings secret. Who did you see on the schooner?”

“I saw several men and two ladies. One lady looked kind of excited.”

“It must have been Mrs. Stanhope!” murmured Dick. “Come!” he cried. “Let us get some kind of a boat and follow that schooner.”

The Rover boys were accustomed to quick action, and they had supplied themselves with plenty of ready cash to use in case of emergency. Consequently, it was an easy matter for them to pick up a steam tug at one of the docks. The captain said he would willingly follow up the Mary Delaway and try to overtake her if he was paid for it.

“Will you go along?” asked Dick, of the old tar. “I want you to aid in picking up that schooner. You know her by sight. I will pay you good wages.”

“I’ve signed articles for a trip to Africy, starting next week Thursday,” answered Larry Dixon, for such was the sailor’s name.

“We’ll get you back long before that time,” answered Dick. “And pay you a nice salary in the bargain.”

“Then I’m your man, messmate,” responded Larry Dixon.

While the steam tug was getting ready to leave, Dick called up Spud on the telephone and acquainted their college chum with what had occurred.

“When will you be back?” asked Spud.

“I don’t know,” replied Dick. “Better not wait for us. This may prove a long chase.”

“Well, I hope you rescue the lady, get back the fortune, and land those rascals in jail,” said Spud.

The steam tug carried a crew of six, all good, strong, hearty fellows. In a few brief words Dick and his brothers explained to the captain how matters stood, and Captain Wells promised to aid them all he could in thwarting the plans of the evildoers. He was armed, and said he could lend the Rovers some pistols if they wanted them.

“I reckon the Mary Delaway will take the regular route to Portland—that is, so far as the wind will allow,” said the owner of the tug. “We’ll follow that route just as fast as our steam will permit. But let me give you a tip. Perhaps it will be better for you to merely follow ’em to Portland, and have them locked up when they reach that place. If you tackle ’em on the high seas they may show fight and get the best of you.”

“I’ll think that over,” answered Dick, slowly. “But meanwhile crowd on all steam and get after them. Never mind using up your coal—we’ll pay for it.”

The docks were soon left behind, and the black smoke pouring from the funnel told how the fireman was doing his best to make steam. But it was now late, and it would soon become a problem, as to whether it would be advisable to run so fast during the night. They might pass the schooner without knowing it.

“I’ll leave the matter to you, Captain Wells,” said Dick, after talking the matter over with his brothers. “I’ll pay you your regular price for chartering the tug, and one hundred dollars additional if we succeed in rescuing Mrs. Stanhope.”

“I’ll do my level best for you, Mr. Rover,” responded the captain. “I’ll talk to my crew.” And he did, promising each man an extra five dollars if they succeeded in doing what the Rovers desired. As a consequence every man, including Larry Dixon, was constantly on the lookout for the Mary Delaway.

Inside of an hour Boston Harbor had been left well behind, and then the bow of the steam tug was turned up the coast in the direction of Portland, about a hundred miles distance. The day was now over and the lights on the tug were lit.

“Don’t see anything of the Mary Delaway yet,” remarked Larry Dixon. “I’m afraid we’ll have to shut up shop till mornin’.”

“Could the schooner reach Portland by that time?” asked Sam.

“She’d be there early in the morning,” answered the old sailor.

“Then we had better run for Portland, too,” said Tom. “We might hang around outside the harbor on the watch.”

It was a clear night, with no moon, but with countless stars bespangling the heavens. The boys and some of the others remained on the watch, although they could see but little.

“It would be great if we had a searchlight,” said Sam.

“Just the thing!” cried Tom. “But we haven’t any, so what’s the use of talking about it?”

“Might as well try to get some sleep,” said Captain Wells, about nine o’clock. “I can call you if anything turns up.”

“We’ll stay up a couple of hours yet,” answered Dick, although the excitement of the day had worn him out.

But not a sight of the schooner was seen, and one after another the Rover boys laid down to get a few hours’ sleep. Captain Wells allowed them to rest until six o’clock. By that time they were standing around near the entrance to Portland harbor.

“See anything yet?” asked Dick, as he sprang up from the berth upon which he had been resting.

“Not yet,” answered the captain of the tug.

“You don’t think they got here ahead of us?”

“No, for we have been here for several hours.”

The boys got up and washed, and then had breakfast. In the meantime the steam tug cruised around, and those on board watched eagerly for a sign of the Mary Delaway.

Thus two hours passed. As the time went by the three Rovers grew more anxious than ever.

“What do you make of this, Dick?” asked Tom.

“I don’t know what to make of it, Tom.”

“It looks to me as if they had given us the slip,” said Sam.

“If they didn’t come here, where did they go to?”

“I don’t know. What did that scrap of paper say?”

“That spoke of Slay’s Island. But none of the men on this tug ever heard of such a place.”

“That is not to be wondered at, Dick,” went on Sam. “I understand there are scores of islands in Casco Bay. It isn’t likely these men from Boston would know the names of all of ’em.”

They remained around the entrance to Portland harbor until noon and then Dick ordered the captain to run in and land them.

“You might go up and down the docks a bit,” he said. “They might have slipped us after all.” They entered the harbor, passing the old lighthouse, and soon were within easy reach of the docks. They looked on all sides for the Mary Delaway, but in vain.

“We have missed her!” groaned Dick.

“What are you going to do next?” questioned Tom.

“See if I can’t find out in some way where the schooner went to—and also find out where Slay’s Island is located.”

“We might get a map of Casco Bay. That would have the names of the islands on it,” suggested Sam. “I know there are a great many of ’em, some of ’em quite small and others very large.”

At last they started to go ashore. They ran up to a dock where the tug was in the habit of landing when at Portland, and the boys walked to the gangplank that was put out for them.

“Look! look!” cried Tom, suddenly, and pointed to a motor boat lying alongside the steam tug.

“Well, I never!” gasped Sam.

The motor boat was a craft of fair size, and very gaudily painted, in red, blue and yellow. It was piled high with suit-cases, bundles and fishing outfits. At the wheel was a tall young man, smoking a cigarette—a stranger to the Rovers. In the bow, also smoking, were two other young men, Jerry Koswell and Bart Larkspur.

CHAPTER XXIII
ABOARD THE MARY DELAWAY

“Hold on there, you!” bawled Jerry Koswell.

“Why, it’s the Rovers!” ejaculated Bart Larkspur. “How did they get here?”

“They are following us, that’s what!” stormed Koswell. “And I won’t have it!”

“What do you want?” asked Dick, as he walked to the end of the tug nearest to the motor boat.

“I want to know what right you’ve got to follow us?” returned Jerry Koswell, sourly.

“Who said we were following you?”

“Oh, I know you are. Didn’t you follow us to Boston, too? I want to know what it means?”

“Maybe it means that we are going to have you arrested,” put in Tom, with a side wink at his brothers.

“Arrested!” gasped Larkspur, and turned pale. “You shan’t do it!”

“I want you to stop following us,” went on Koswell.