“And, even then,” said Ned, bound to keep up the work of good cheer, “that may not be the boat your folks set out in, Chunky. It’s likely there’d be several lifeboats adrift, and if one of them hung around in this vicinity, there may be more. So if they’re not in that we’ll just look for another.”
“That is, providing this isn’t Boat No. 7,” spoke Bob. “If it is, and they’re not in it——”
He paused suggestively.
“That may not prove anything,” said Jerry quickly, for he noted the distress that had crept into Bob’s voice. “That old sailor may have been mistaken in the number of the boat. In the excitement aboard a ship supposed to be sinking, when everyone was anxious to save himself, I don’t see how he could be quite sure of anything. Well, we’ll know in another minute or so—know something, anyhow.”
The Comet was quite close to the small boat, and now, even without the aid of the glass, the name “Hassen” could be made out on her bow. And it was also evident that, unless the two shipwrecked persons were huddled under a pile of sail-cloth amidships, they were not in the boat.
“Still, they may be there,” said Ned, hopefully, with a glance at Bob’s now despondent face.
“Let’s make sure that’s Boat No. 7, first,” suggested Jerry. “Drop the hydroplanes, Ned!”
In another moment the Comet had alighted on the surface of the sea, where she rode lightly and easily, as it was very calm. Then, with the propellers gently revolving, Jerry sent his craft close to the small boat.
There came a cry from Bob.
“It is Lifeboat No. 7!” he gasped, pointing to a small figure under the name, where also appeared the number of persons the craft was supposed to carry. “That’s the boat my uncle and cousin were in,” he added. “But—but, they’re not in it now!”