“But why should he do that––”
“Oh, think, Pete, think! Don’t you remember? He’s one of the men I went up to Castalia to get, the time that lawyer came to Freekirk Head. And he’s the only man in the whole crew I don’t know well. I see it all now. He sent me a note the night before asking to ship on the Lass, and I went to get him before any of the other skippers got wind of it. You don’t suppose he did this thing on his own account, do you?”
“Easy, skipper, easy! What’s he got against you?”
“He’s got nothing against me!” cried Code passionately. “But he is working for the man who has. Do you think that stupid ox would have sense enough to work a scheme like this? Never! Nat Burns is behind this, and I’ll bet my schooner on it!”
Schofield dumped the bait-tub over the deck and rolled it around, examining it. Suddenly he stopped and peered closely.
“Look here!” he cried. “Here’s proof!”
With a splitting knife that he snatched out of a cleat he pried loose a tiny plug in one of the bottom 157 boards that had been replaced so carefully that it almost defied detection.
“The whole thing is simple enough. He turned the tub upside down, cut out this plug, and inserted the acid. Then he refitted the plug and set it right side up again. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”
“By thunder, I believe you’re right, skipper!” said Ellinwood solemnly. “The dirty dog! Cookee, run that tub up to the truck again. We’ll have to call the men in on this.”
“Oh, he was foxy, that one!” said Code bitterly. “Going out in the fog that way so all hands would think he was lost! I never remembered until this minute that the motor-dory could be run. I guess she went, all right, and that scoundrel is ashore by this time.”