They accepted his suggestion, and slowly the boat slipped out upon the bosom of the soundless lake.
Suddenly there was a whirring rush through the air, and something brushed past the head of the professor, who uttered a squawk of alarm, struck out wildly with both hands and fell over backward off his seat to flounder in the bottom of the boat.
“Howling tornadoes!” gasped Buckhart. “Whatever was that?”
“A bat, effendi,” answered Bayazid.
Dick laughed.
“Goodness!” palpitated the professor, as he finally struggled up to his seat. “I confess it did frighten me, boys. Made me think of those restless ghosts which are said to wander forever above the bosom of this lake. Hadn’t we better go back?”
“Which way shall we go?” asked Dick.
They looked around. On every hand they saw nothing but marble pillars, shadows, and grim darkness.
“Waugh!” muttered the Texan. “I confess I couldn’t follow the back trail.”
“But Bayazid knows the way, don’t you, Bayazid?” anxiously asked the professor.