[CHAPTER II.]
ANOTHER END OF THE YARN.
On the same night this Oriental treachery manifested itself aboard the train bound north through the Catskills, a power yacht dropped anchor below the town of Catskill.
There was something suspicious about this motor yacht. She carried no running lights, and her cabin ports were dark as Erebus. She came to a halt silently—almost sullenly—and her anchor dropped with hardly a splash. A tender was heaved over the side, and four men got into it and were rowed ashore by one of their number. When the tender grounded, three of the passengers got out. One of them turned to speak to the man who remained in the boat.
"Leave the tender in the water, when you get back to the Iris, Pierson. If the tender is wanted here, a light will be shown."
"All right, Grattan," answered the man in the boat, shoving off and rowing noiselessly back to the yacht.
"Hide the lantern in that clump of bushes, Bunce," went on Grattan.
"Ay, ay, messmate," answered the person addressed as Bunce.
"Look here, Grattan," grumbled the third member of the party, "Motor Matt has cooked our goose for us, and I'll be hanged if I can see the use of knocking around the town of Catskill."
"There are a lot of things in this world, Pardo," returned Grattan dryly, "that are advisable and that you haven't sense enough to see."