Snatching the painter from the rock, the fleeing rascal sprang into the boat, picked up the oars and was twenty feet from shore before Clancy and Hill came to the water's edge.
"Guess again!" taunted Burton, applying himself vigorously to the oars.
"This island ain't so big!" shouted Hiram furiously. "The steamer for San Pedro has gone, and there's no other boat for the mainland until to-morrow. You ain't out o' this yet, Hank Burton!"
What Burton thought regarding this did not appear. He put all his energy into his rowing and was soon halfway across the bay.
"If we'd toted a popper," bewailed Hiram, "this couldn't have happened.
"Popper?" questioned Clancy.
"Meanin' gun. With a six-shooter we could have drawn a bead on Mister Man in the boat and fetched him ashore. Blame it! I sure hate to see him get away after bein' to so much trouble ketchin' him."
The motor wizard felt in the same way, but there was no use crying over spilled milk. Mynie Boltwood got back from the other side of the bay with a load of clothes, and Hill removed his wet garments, wrung them out, dried them in the sun, and was soon back in his complete wardrobe, and but little the worse for his drenching.
Clancy, hoping to develop something in the nature of a clew, searched the pockets of Burton's clothes. He found nothing to repay his search.
"Now," inquired Hill gloomily, "what's the next step?"