"You're not asleep, old chap," laughed Matt, "if that's what you mean by 'doing a caulk.' Where did you come from?"
"Denver. I'm on my way to Quebec. Heard you were anchored in Chicago and stopped off there to see you. Couldn't find you at home, but I did find Carl."
"How in the world did you and Carl happen to be on that sailboat?" went on Matt. "And why did you jump overboard?"
"Carl pulled me overboard," replied Ferral.
"It vas healthier for us in der vater dan it vas on der poat," put in Carl, slapping at his wet clothes. "Aber I vouldn't haf pulled Verral oferboardt oof I hatn't seen der Hawk skyhootin' along toward us. Ach, dot vas pully! How you habben to be vere you vas schust ven ve needet you, bard?"
"Mr. Jameson"—and Matt nodded toward the passenger forward with the officer—"is thinking of buying the Hawk, but he wanted to try her out with a good long flight and to see if she would be perfectly safe over water. So we sailed over Chicago and headed into the lake. We saw that sailboat, but didn't pay much attention to her until Harris saw some one waving something on her deck. Then, thinking we were being hailed, we laid a course for her. As we came closer, we saw two persons jump into the water. That was our cue to get closer to the lake and pick you up. But what was the matter on that boat? You haven't told me yet."
Ferral ran one hand into the front of his shirt and fished out his water-soaked roll of greenbacks.
"That's what caused the trouble," said he. "Brady wanted the money."
"Brady?" Motor Matt looked questioningly at Carl.
"Yah, so," spoke up Carl. "It iss der same Prady vat you hat sooch a time mit, ofer py Villoughpy's svamp."