“There he swings up an’ is off–a slick jump, b’lieve me an’ that guy’s some square shooter in the bargain–knows his business okay anyway. But Jack, tell me, you don’t think he’s got our man alongside him, do you?”
“Well, one thing seems to tell me that isn’t a fact, Perk.”
“Yeah, an’ what might that be?” demanded the other quickly.
“Notice that he’s already banking, so as to lay his course toward Cape Sable–square in the south–get that, don’t you Perk?”
“I swan, but you’re right there, Jack–which looks kinder like he didn’t mean to strike out for Miami, don’t it?”
“More than likely he’s hitting out for Cuba, or if he veers to the west, it’s Mexico or Honduras he means to head for.”
Perk heaved a big sigh of relief.
“Hot ziggetty! but that sounds good to me, partner,” he observed with renewed animation as hope again sang a sweet song in his heart. “Then there’s a real chance he ain’t got our man alongside.”
They stood there and continued to listen as the sounds made by the flight of the retreating seaplane gradually grew fainter and even for brief spells died out altogether.
“He’s out o’ the pictur’ anyhow,” Perk finally commented when they could no longer catch the least thud of the working motor–only a more pleasing sound in the shape of gentle wavelets running up the shore of the great lake being borne to their ears.