"Why, it's gone, and I have called you up to ask if some of you boys carried it away in the night; because you see, I'm responsible for that boat, and if anything happened to it I might get in a peck of trouble," came the reply.
Frank shook as he held the receiver closer.
"What do you mean, Mr. Brierly—the boat was there last evening all right, for one of my chums saw it? Do you intend to say that it has been taken away during the night, sir?" he demanded, anxiously.
"That's just what I'm saying. It was gone when I came here just now, and nobody knows a thing about it—crate and all disappeared in a mighty mysterious way. If some of your boys carried it off I'd like to know it right away. They'll have to sign a receipt for it."
"Wait a minute, Mr. Brierly; I'll get the boathouse and ask. Some of them are sure to be down there, even if it is early."
Frank soon had connection with one of the high school lads at the club. When he put the question with regard to the boat he was horrified to hear that the craft was not there, and that no one knew anything about it.
There seemed but one solution of the mystery. Some dark work had been going on while the honest town people slept. The precious new shell had been stolen by some mean schemers, who did not want Columbia High School to win the boat race.
"I'm coming right down, Buster; wait for me," Frank said, as he rang off.
Snatching up his cap he bolted from the house, and ran at top sped over to the railroad station.
"The boat isn't at the clubhouse, Mr. Brierly," he said, as he hastened into the office of the freight agent, and found the latter at the 'phone excitedly trying to get connection once again with the Allen house.