Briefly Dixon thought of the possibility of being able to bribe Halstead with a substantial portion of the stolen money. But the rascal shook his head. Much as he disliked the young motor boat captain, the thief was bound to admit to himself that the boy would probably prove incorruptible.
“Especially, if he’s under the witchery of Ida’s eyes!” thought Dixon, with another burst of miserable jealousy.
“I wonder if it would be safe to steal upon him, down in the arbor, and——”
Oliver Dixon shuddered at the thought that surged up in his mind. Bad though the fellow was, his rascality had its limits.
“I’ll wait and see what I can do,” thought the wretched one, finally. “At the worst, I imagine I could bluff it out, for a day or so, anyway, by claiming that Halstead had put up a job to have that letter mailed to him. By Jove, I’ll stay and fight it out, whatever happens, until I find I’m floored past help. With Ida Silsbee’s fortune in sight, and Tremaine appearing to like me, the stakes are high enough for a really brave, desperate fight. That’s it—fight! Against any odds!”
Tossing away his cigarette into the growing darkness outdoors, and forcing himself to appear wholly at ease, Dixon stepped inside, greeting the group in the living room with one of his pleasantest smiles.
Being rather crudely equipped, the bungalow possessed an old-fashioned wash-room.
Just as Halstead entered, the men-folks were starting for this wash-room, as Ham had announced that supper would be ready in a few minutes. Here Tremaine and Dixon removed their coats, the two Motor Boat Club boys and Jeff slipping off theirs at the same time. There being but two basins, some waiting had to be done. When Mr. Tremaine and Dixon started back to the living room, Tom nudged his chum, whispering:
“Wait a moment, Joe. I’ve something to show you.”
Presently Jeff Randolph, having finished washing and combing his hair, sauntered slowly out. Then the young skipper thrust a hand into his inner coat pocket.