MORE SUSPICIONS
Cora Kimball well knew the capabilities of the Chelton. She had steered other motor craft in many races, and was aware, almost to a revolution, just how much speed was available in a boat of this kind. And while she did not know what the rival boat could do, she was too expert at water sports to use up her last reserve of speed.
So, even while she watched the other boat creep up on her, she did not open the throttle to its fullest extent, nor did she advance the timer, which controlled the spark, to the limit.
“I’m going to be in shape to spurt if I have to,” reasoned Cora.
Foot by foot the other boat crept on.
“He’s going to win!” exclaimed Bess, in disappointed tones.
“Don’t be so sure,” laughed Cora. “Remember, we have been in races before, and in many a seeming hopeless one we have come out ahead.”
“You girls are just—wonderful!” breathed Marita, as she crouched on the seat she had taken.
“You don’t know us yet,” laughed Bess. “Wait until you see some of the things Cora can do.”
“Don’t believe her!” exclaimed Cora, turning for an instant to smile at the girl who always seemed to be effacing herself for others. Then as she saw the spray coming up against the bows, and dashing over Marita, she added:
“Oh, you poor child! Why didn’t you say you were getting wet?”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” was the brave answer.
“But you must,” insisted Cora. “Here, put this on,” and from a forward locker she pulled an oilskin coat, flinging it back to Marita, as at that moment the boat yawed when a big wave hit the bows, necessitating a firm hand on the wheel.
“Oh, it’s getting rough!” exclaimed Lottie, apprehensively.
“Put away your nail-buffer and hang on,” advised Bess. “It may be rougher before it’s calmer.”
“I—I wish I hadn’t come,” mourned Lottie.
“You aren’t going to be ill, I hope,” said Cora, quickly.
“No, but my dress may be all spotted——”
“Here, take this,” offered Marita.
“No, indeed, you keep that,” said Cora, quickly. “There are more in the lockers. Belle, will you get them out? It is a bit rough out here.”
They had gotten beyond the protection of the arm of land that enclosed the bay, and with a strong tide running there were more waves than there had been at first.
But the girls did not mind, save perhaps Lottie, and her chief anxiety was for her dress. An oilskin coat, however, averted this danger, and she settled back in her place.
Cora looked back at the oncoming boat of the young man. It was within ten feet of her now, and as she opened the throttle of the Chelton a trifle more, she tried to get a glimpse of the controlling mechanism of her rival’s craft.
She stood up to do this, and, as she did so there came a slapping wave against the bow of her boat. Cora staggered at the wheel, and Lottie screamed.
“Be quiet!” commanded Cora. “It’s all right.”
“But we roll so!”
“There is a bit of a sea on,” admitted Cora, calmly. “It will be over in a few minutes, though. I’ll have to tell him we’re close to the danger point, and will have to slow down.”
Determining to end the race in good style, Cora opened up the throttle full, and advanced the spark to the limit. The Chelton responded with a sudden burst of speed that carried her some distance ahead of the rival craft.
But the young man was evidently not going to take his defeat easily. The louder exhaust from his engine told that he, too, had put on more power.
But it was not enough, for as Cora raised her hand, in automobile-signal fashion, to warn her follower of an impending stop, the end of the impromptu race course was reached.
The girls had won.
“What is it?” called the young man as he stood up at his wheel.
“The rocks,” answered Cora. “We can’t race any more.”
“We don’t need to,” he replied. “You won. I congratulate you!”
His tone was sincere, his manner courteous, but, as Cora looked into his boat, when it rushed up alongside her slowed-down craft, she noted that his throttle was still partly closed.
Instantly a suspicion came to her.
“He did not try to win!” was the suggestion that flashed to her mind. “He didn’t try!”
For a moment her brain was in a whirl, and she had an idea that she ought to tell her chums what she had in mind. Then she decided to be cautious—to wait and watch a little longer. She wanted to find out his reason.
Who was this strange young man who seemed so friendly? What did he want in Bayhead? Why had he proposed a race? And then, after proposing it, why had he not won it when, clearly, he might have done so?
These were the questions that Cora asked herself as she slowed down her motor.
She had used up her limit of power in an honest endeavor to win, but the young man had not. He had held back purposely.
Why had he done it?