“Why, after a whale dies, and sinks, gases very soon begin to form inside it. This swells it up like a balloon, and it comes to the top again. Then we can get it.”
“How long will it take?” asked Andy, with an anxious look at the sun, for it was getting late.
“Oh, maybe an hour, perhaps longer,” replied Bob. “We will just have to hang around here until it comes up.”
“I hope our folks don’t get worried about us,” remarked Frank, who was a little uneasy about having gone off as they had so suddenly. “We left Paul at the clubhouse all alone, too.”
“Oh, well, he won’t mind. There’s lots going on, and we’ll soon be back—if we have luck,” commented Andy.
“Queer about that Paul,” spoke Bob. “You haven’t seen anything more of that strange man; have you?”
“No, and I’m afraid we won’t, either,” declared the elder Racer boy. “It seems to be a mystery we’ll never solve. If we could only find that missing motor boat it might help some. But I guess that’s sunk, though it was floating when we took Paul aboard our craft.”
The boys rowed slowly about the spot where the whale had gone down, casting eager glances from time to time at the rolling billows. They were careful to keep far enough away so that the rising monster would not come up beneath them, and capsize the boat.
It was a little short of an hour when Frank, who had stood up to stretch his cramped legs, suddenly uttered an exclamation:
“Look!” he cried, and pointed dead ahead.