How could Bart consent to take Dave Fletcher down from that high pedestal to which he had elevated him? How could he believe that his marble statue was after all only common clay, and even of an inferior earth?
"I won't believe it till it is proved," said Bart stoutly, "nor of you either, father."
This relieved Thomas Trafton.
"Bart, you see if I don't turn this rascally thing over and get at the truth! I'll find the mischief-maker; yes, I will."
Thomas Trafton was by nature a detective. He put himself on the trail of this mystery, and if a trained hound he could not have followed the track more keenly and resolutely. He announced his purpose to Dave, and the latter would ask him occasionally if he had any clue.
"I am at work on it, still running. The scent is good, and I have something of a trail. I'll tell you when I get through," was one reply he made.
XVIII.
INTO A TRAP.
"Cap'n Sinclair!" called out a voice. The man projecting the voice stood up in a boat rocking gently in the harbour. The man addressed stood in a small black steamer, the Spitfire, employed in conveying supplies to the lighthouses. He leaned over the steamer's rail and asked, "What is it?"
"I suppose you remember me, Timothy Waters?"