in part of this newspaper."

Driggs brought forth from one of the drawers of his desk the newspaper
in question.

"What has that scrap of paper to do with it?" asked Fred, speaking
as coolly as he could.

"Why," explained Driggs, turning the paper over, "here's the mail
sticker on this side, with your father's printed name and address
pasted on it just as it came through the post-office."

Fred gasped audibly this time. Driggs surveyed his face with
a keen, tantalizing gaze.

"Mebbe 'twas your father, then, who was in the yard last night,
and who refused to answer the policeman's hail," suggested the
boat builder. "I'd better go up to his office and show him these
things and ask him, I guess."

"But I don't believe my father will know anything about it," spoke
young Ripley huskily.

"Then your father will want to know something about it," Driggs
went on. "He's a man of an inquiring turn of mind. Let's run
up to his office together and ask him."

"No, no, no!" urged Fred, his face growing paler.

"Then why were you here last night?"