“A hundred!” exclaimed Hawley, with a laugh. “I venture to say that half a dozen would be enough. But I’m afraid that’s out of the question. For the present I guess we’ll have to be content with the picture.”
“If we get it,” said the girl, in a sudden fit of depression.
“We’re going to get it,” the Camera Chap declared confidently.
The motor boat was heading, now, straight for the fortress. Presently Hawley slackened her speed and motioned to Virginia to take his place at the wheel. “I guess the psychological moment has arrived,” he announced. “We won’t risk going any nearer.” He took off his coat and shoes, and threw them overboard. Then he fastened around his waist a belt to which was attached a water-tight bag, which contained his photographic apparatus.
“Au revoir,” he said lightly, extending his hand to the girl. “Sure you don’t feel scared?”
“Not a bit—at least, not on my own account,” she answered, pressing his hand with a warmth which in his opinion more than compensated him for any risk he was about to run. “Please be careful, Mr. Hawley. If anything should happen to you——”
“Nothing will,” he assured her. “Nothing ever happens to me. I guess I was born under a lucky star.”
The moon had emerged from behind a black cloud, and he ducked hastily to the bottom of the boat, fearing that he would be seen from the fortress. For half a minute he remained there; then, as another fleeting cloud once more plunged the sky in darkness, he left his hiding place and poised himself on the boat’s gunwale.
“Try to manage to make a wide sweep so as to give me a chance to reach the shore about the same time you do,” he said to Virginia.
The girl nodded. “But I don’t like to see you venture among those horrid——” she began. Before she could finish the sentence, the Camera Chap had dived, entering the water so easily that she could scarcely hear the splash.