The assertions of Phœnix in regard to the side of a ship which he had found when he made his last dive from the scow were very positive.

“I had an idea,” he said, “that Frenchman was studying out something. I knew he didn’t dive in and swim ever so far under water for nothing, and when he came out he wanted us all to go home as fast as we could. That looked like a trick, and I thought I’d just dive in and see what he had been after; and as sure as I’m born, there is a side of a ship down there! I swam right up to it, and it’s straight up and down like the wall of a house. As I came up I put my foot against it, and pushed off towards the scow.”

This report filled Chap with joy, which was somewhat dampened by the thought that Emile had also found the sunken ship.

“But we needn’t trouble ourselves about that,” said Phil; “he can’t dig it up.”

“But he thinks he can,” said Chap. “If he didn’t he wouldn’t have kept so quiet about it; giving us good advice about being drowned; trying to pull wool over our eyes,—the bullfrog!”

The boys were of the opinion that the wreck must have parted somewhere about the middle, and that the stern, or after-portion, which extended out into deep water, had been gradually forced by the heavy spring tides a short distance farther down the river.

It was agreed that surveys and examinations should be made as soon as they could do so without the company of the French boy.

“I’m going to keep an eye on him,” said Chap, “to see that he don’t do anything on his own account. It would be just like him to get a lot of nitro-glycerine and an electric battery and blow the whole thing up without letting us know anything about it.”

“I guess we’d know it when she blew up,” said Phil, “and then we could go down and rake up the golden guineas that would be scattered along the shore.”

“You are always making fun,” said Chap. “Now, I am in earnest about this thing!”

“You’ll find me in earnest, too,” said Phil, “if the time ever comes to do anything.”

The Webster family now considered it proper for Chap’s visit at Hyson Hall to come to an end, but there was no objection to his spending as much of his vacation time there as he chose, provided he came home to eat and sleep.

This interfered somewhat with his intended watch over Emile, but in spite of obstacles he kept a constant eye, if not upon the French boy, at least upon the scene of his expected operations.

Very often, when he was at home, Chap would go out on the porch, and with a long spy-glass carefully scan the river-shore in the vicinity of the wreck.

Phil’s mind was too full of other things to allow him to give much thought to the sunken ship, although he would have been delighted to have a pile of golden guineas just at this time. He had thought at first that it would be a capital thing to be, for a time, the master of Hyson Hall, but now he was heartily sick of it, and wished most earnestly that his uncle would come home and relieve him of his anxieties and responsibilities.

Sometimes he began to think his uncle had not done right in going off in this peculiar way, and leaving his money affairs in such a bad condition. But Phil quickly put such ideas from his mind. He had always known his uncle as an honorable man, and if he left but little money behind him, it was because he had forgotten the large claim which Mr. Welford said he had paid out of the funds in his hands.

But money affairs were not the only things which troubled Phil. Day by day Emile Touron made himself more disagreeable. He pried into everything that was going on, even spending a good deal of time with Joel, endeavoring to find out from him everything he could in regard to the probable value of the little wheat crop, which was nearly ready to be harvested. But Joel had taken a dislike to the youth, and gave him very little satisfaction, vexing him besides by his noncommittal answers.

“What will be planted in zat field,” asked Emile of Phil, one afternoon, “when ze wheat is gone?”

“We shan’t plant anything,” said Phil; “we’ll let it come up in grass.”

“No more grass is wanted,” said Emile.

At first Phil was inclined to make no answer to this remark, but as the French boy continued to talk on the subject, Phil told him that it was intended, in the fall, to plough up the pasture-field by the river and to put that in wheat for the next season.

“Plough up zat beautiful plain!” cried Emile. “It zall never be done.”

“What have you got to say about it?” cried Phil, turning angrily upon him. “You talk too much about things on this place!”

“I will talk more when it is mine,” said Emile, with a little grin.

“What do you mean by that?” cried Phil.

“What do I mean?” said Emile, turning around and staring fixedly at Phil. “What I mean is zis. Just you listen and you will hear what I mean! Before you know it, zis place will belong to my father, which is ze same zing as mine. Before ze old man Berkeley died, and your good uncle was spending ever so much, and getting nothing, he borrowed, and borrowed, and borrowed money from my father; and when he came here, and had all this property, he was to pay it; but he wait, and wait, and he never pays it. And now my father he hears zat Mr. Godfrey is gone away, nobody knows where, and everybody zinks he will never come back——”

“That is a lie!” cried Phil. “His friends all know he will come back.”

“My father does not know it. He says he will never come back, and he sends me here to see, and I say he will never come back. We have a mortgage on zis place, and we will have it sold, and we zall buy it, and zall come here to live. And zose bells—zose angel bells—zall be put once more upon ze roof to dingle-dangle in ze wind. What do you zink of zat, Master Pheel?”

“I don’t believe one word of it!” cried Phil.

“You will believe it soon enough,” said Emile.

And turning away, he went up-stairs, leaving poor Phil in a state of excited misery.

In spite of his effort to convince himself that what the French boy had told him was merely an invention to annoy him, he could not help believing that the story was true.

He now saw the meaning of Emile’s interest in the place. He had been sent here to find out about everything, because he and his father expected to own everything. And he, Phil, could do nothing. If his uncle would only come back, and come quickly!

While our young friend was walking up and down the hall, torturing his mind with thoughts of the great impending evil, Emile came down the stairway. Phil did not speak to him, nor did he pay any attention to him till he reached the front door, then, to his utter amazement, he perceived that Emile carried Old Bruden under his arm. In an instant Phil sprang towards him.

“What are you doing with that gun?” he said.

“I am going to zoot two little birds,” said Emile, quietly. “It is a long time since I haf zoots ze little birds. Ze gun was loaded already, but I put on two—what you call zem?—caps.”

“Put down that gun!” roared Phil. “You shall not use it! How did you dare to take it?”

At this moment Susan appeared in the hall.

“Susan, did you give him that gun?” cried Phil.

“No, I didn’t!” exclaimed Susan, who was evidently in a state of high excitement. “He sneaked into my room and took it. That’s the way he got it! Catch me giving it to him! He has been prying all over the house, and he saw it there.”

“Put that gun down instantly!” said Phil, stepping close to Emile.

The latter fell back a little.

“Very well,” said he, “I will do zat,” and walking deliberately to a corner of the hall, he stood the gun carefully against the wall. “Now, zen,” said he, returning to Phil, “let me say somezing. All zat is in zis house is ze same zing as mine. If I want to use a gun, or any ozer zing, I use it; but if you had been amiable, I would haf been amiable. But you choose your own way. Now, zen, I say to you, Zere is zat gun. Let me see you dare to touch it!”

In an instant Phil sprang towards the gun, but before he reached it, Emile seized him by the shoulder and rudely pulled him back. Phil turned savagely, but before he could strike the French boy the latter clinched him, and a violent struggle ensued.

Jenny had now arrived on the scene, and she and Susan stood back, almost dumb with terror.

“Where is Joel?” gasped Susan.

“He has gone to the woods,” replied Jenny, with tears in her eyes.

Emile was taller and stronger than Phil, and in a contest of this kind he had greatly the advantage. His method of fighting was very peculiar. He seemed intent upon pushing his antagonist backward and jamming him against chairs and the corners of tables.

Two or three times it looked as if Phil’s back would be broken, but he always managed to twist himself out of his awkward positions.

At last Emile thrust him violently away from him and sent him staggering backward across the hall. At that moment Susan rushed forward. Snatching Old Bruden from the corner where it stood, she ran to Phil and put the gun in his hand.

“Here,” she cried, “take it and kill him!”

Phil mechanically took the gun, but he did not raise it nor try to carry out Susan’s blood-thirsty instructions. Emile, however, thought he was going to be shot.

Turning pale, he hesitated for a moment, and then dashed up-stairs, where he rushed into his room and slammed the door after him.

“There, now,” said Susan, as Philip stood, still panting, and holding Old Bruden in his hands, “just you keep that gun and be master of this house!”