Wyn darted a glance over her shoulder. There, looming gray and ghostly, was the tall sail they had seen once before. The strange, square-nosed bateau was drifting by, but at some distance. Evidently the catboat was well hidden in the shadow of the island.
Suddenly Polly reached over the edge of the boat and seized Wyn’s shoulders. “Don’t try to climb in,” she whispered. “They’ll see or hear the splash.”
“All right,” breathed back the captain of the Go-Aheads.
“It’s Eb Lornigan and some of his friends. Eb is a disgrace to the lake. He’s been in jail more than once,” whispered Polly.
But Wyn’s shoulders began to feel cold. The night air, after all, was not really warm. “I’m going down again,” she whispered.
“Did–did you find it?” queried Polly.
“No. But I will,” declared the other girl, confidently, and slipped into the water.
She ventured under the bottom of the catboat and, turning suddenly, braced her feet against it, and so flung herself down into the depths.
She descended more swiftly with the momentum thus gained, traveling toward the bottom on a different slant than before. With her hands far before her she defended her head from collision with any sunken object there might be down here. And this time she actually did hit something again.
She turned quickly and grabbed at it with both hands. It seemed like a sharp, smooth pole sticking almost upright in the water. There was a bit of rag, or marine plant of some kind, attached to it.