Truly it did not seem so, for there was no sign of life in that lonely little boat adrift on the great ocean. No sound came from it—there was no stir under that pile of canvas which was spread over the two middle seats. All was silent—the silence that meant desertion.
“They may be—asleep,” said Jerry, in a low voice. “They may be worn out—half exhausted, and be lying under there. We must go aboard and look. Get a line ready to make fast, Ned.”
“What’s this. What’s going on,” asked the voice of Professor Snodgrass, as he came from the little room where he kept and mounted his specimens. “Have you found a submarine?”
“Not quite,” answered Ned. “But we think we have the boat in which Bob’s uncle was—maybe is yet.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the little scientist. He had been so engrossed with making notes about a strange fly he had caught that he was not even aware the small boat had been sighted. And the boys had been too interested to tell him.
The Comet was soon made fast to the small boat and the two drifted together. It seemed to be Bob’s right to be the first aboard, and Jerry and Ned held back, while the stout lad clambered over the gunwale. He hesitated a second, and then slowly raised the edge of the canvas. He almost feared to look at what he might find there.
With a sudden motion, Bob threw back the covering. Then he started, and gave a quick glance at his companions.
“They’re not here!” he cried. “There’s nothing here!”
In a moment Ned and Jerry were at their chum’s side.
“Is there any evidence that anyone has been here?” asked Ned.