"Yes—I thought so," Minot replied. "I'm mighty glad you've come. A Mr. Martin Wall is posing as the owner just at present."
"So I learned from Thacker. Nervy lad, this Wall. I live in Chicago myself—left my boat—Lady Evelyn, I called her—in the North River for the winter in charge of a caretaker. This Wall, it seems, needed a boat for a month and took a fancy to mine. And since my caretaker was evidently a crook, it was a simple matter to rent it. Never would have found it out except for you people. Too busy. Really ought not to have taken this trip—business needs me every minute—but I've got sort of a hankering to meet Mr. Martin Wall."
"Shall we go out to the boat right away?"
"No need of that. We'll run out in the morning with the proper authorities." The stranger leaned across the table, and something in his blue eyes startled Minot. "In the meantime," he said, "I happen to be interested in another matter. What's all this talk about George Harrowby coming back to life?"
