"What do you mean?" he asked, in a hesitating voice.
"That two men on a small steamboat kept track of them," replied Mr. Somers, calmly; "and when an opportunity presented itself, destroyed a valuable motor boat."
"Is it possible!" gasped the agent, whose face plainly revealed the state of his feelings.
"And not only that," went on Mr. Somers, "but when it was found that they had the courage to continue, they were marooned on an island. Afterward, at Clair Bay, an effort was made to induce them to return home. Can you blame me for changing my mind?"
"Most astonishing. But what has it got to do with me?" asked the agent, with a desperate effort to retain his composure.
"Do you know Mr. Parsons Wingate?" demanded Mr. Somers, abruptly.
"Mr. Parsons Wingate?—er—slightly," admitted the agent, in a low voice; "but why—I ask you again—"
"Because there are several matters which must be cleared up. On Chelten Road there is a house with green shutters. You, Mr. Wingate, and the two men who destroyed my son's motor boat have been meeting there."
Pale and agitated, Mr. Jenkins sprang to his feet. His lips quivered. He stood with trembling hand resting upon the arm of the chair.
"What is all this rubbish?" he gasped. "I—I won't be insulted! Who dares to accuse me?"