Harriet led the way to the forward deck of the "Red Rover," pointing to a hard wood cleat.
"I made a loop in the rope and slipped it over the cleat, drawing it tight. I do not see how it would be possible for the loop to slip off, nor, in fact, for the rope to break."
"Hm-m-m-m!" pondered George, feeling the cleat with critical fingers. "Smooth. No chance for it to have worn through. There is something to be explained in this affair, Miss Burrell."
Harriet gazed searchingly at him, but said nothing.
"I wish you would have a look at the rope. It's there on the shore. Then, after you have examined it, tell me what you think about the matter, but tell me just whatever you wish to. I'm not going to question you about something you don't wish me to know."
"What do you mean, Captain?"
"Have you any enemies up here?"
"I do not know of any. I have a rival here, though."
"Eh? Who?"
"You," answered Harriet, with a smile.