"What do you think of that, Harris?" cried Matt, looking at the officer.
"If Brady is on that boat," returned Harris, showing a good deal of excitement, "we ought to tip somebody off and have him captured."
"We'll turn back toward Chicago," said Matt. "Meantime, Carl, you and Dick tell us all about how you got into that fix. Hurry up with the yarn. If we're to do anything toward capturing Brady, we haven't much time to lose."
Carl and Ferral went over their recent experiences. Matt's wonder grew as he listened. It was strange the way events had fallen out and brought the three chums together just in time to avert a robbery—perhaps a tragedy.
"It's main queer, mate, don't you think?" queried Ferral, when the details had all been given.
"Queerest thing I ever heard of!" avowed Harris. "I knew Brady had a son, but I hadn't a notion where he was, or what he was doing. Looks as though young Brady was a chip off the old block."
"It's a lesson for me," remarked Ferral ruefully, "never to pick up a fellow on his own showing. The queerest part of the whole business was my meeting young Brady on the train, walking right into the trap he had set for me and his father was going to help him spring, and towing Carl along."
"We're coming close to the shore, King," called Jameson.
Matt stole a look over the side.
"Take out your notebook and pencil, Harris," said he, drawing back, "and write a note. Address the memorandum to the police department and say that Hector Brady and his son are off the government pier in a sailboat called the Christina, and that if the scoundrels are captured, a tug better put off at once."