“Guess I might as well drop him back in the water, hadn’t I, Dad?” Biff asked.
“Sure, son. Let him go. In the water he can free himself. Then you just watch him head back for Perez Soto and the Black Falcon.”
“You’re not serious, Dad!” Biff exclaimed. “Isn’t it dangerous to let them get away?”
But Biff didn’t have to drop Madeira back into the water. There came a ripping sound. Madeira’s hooked swim trunks split. The water prowler hit the water with a belly whopper. Pantless, he turned and swam away.
Biff, Li, and Mr. Brewster howled with laughter. When the laughter died away, Mr. Brewster said, “To answer your question, Biff. They’re too dangerous to keep aboard. We’ll have to leave them to the authorities. They’ll track them down, now.”
It had grown much lighter. It was easy to follow the swimmer’s progress back to the Black Falcon.
“He’ll go without his breakfast when he gets back,” Tom Brewster said. “Perez Soto will be furious.”
“Speaking of breakfast—” Biff said.
“Me, too,” Li cut in.
They went below. All hungry. All happy, feeling that they were nearing the climax of their Hawaiian sea hunt.