"To what, if you please?" I demanded, beginning to stiffen. "I've a right to know, because this is our boat. If you're a newspaper reporter, or anything of that sort, please go away; but if you have business——"
"No, it was only pleasure," said the young man, his eyes like black diamonds. "I didn't know the boat was yours."
"Whose did you think it was?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, I—er—thought it was mine."
"What do you mean?" I cried, while Phil threw a wild, questioning look at the shirts, and dropped the blue silk jacket.
"That is, temporarily. But there must be some mistake."
"There must—a big mistake. Where's the caretaker? He came on board with us."
The young man's eyes twinkled even more. "Did he know it was your boat?"
"Why, of course, we told him. It was left to us in a will. We've just come to claim it."
"Oh, I think I begin to see. I shouldn't wonder if Paasma has now taken to his bed with a sudden attack of—whatever the Dutch have instead of nervous prostration. He didn't know you were coming?"