"You'll forgive me, Jack," he grinned. "We thought I heard you call—and that was to be the signal, you know!"
We thought I heard you call!
"I know about that, you prince of liars. Who's this? But hold him!—we're going on through!"
"You needn't," he said. "I took a speedy trip down the other passageway while Gates went to you. There isn't a soul on board, except this poor devil who's got a crack on the bean."
"It isn't possible," I cried. For, indeed, it was not possible, and we hurried forward, leaving him as he was.
But a two-minute search revealed the truth of Tommy's words. There was not a sign of anyone. The yacht was as absolutely deserted as if it had been sailed by spirits—except, of course, the wretch in Tommy's charge.
"You're sure we've looked everywhere, Gates?" I asked, stunned at the disappearance of Sylvia and mystified by the whole affair.
"Everywhere, sir. To tell the truth, Mr. Jack, a minute ago it was as complete a mystery as I ever saw. But I understand it now. They've taken to the small boats and escaped, sir. They've just sailed in close to shore and done that during the night, sir; and all morning we've been chasing a boat with nobody on it. I should have noticed the small boats gone, if I hadn't been so sure the people were here."
I leaned against the wall too utterly disappointed to move, vaguely wondering if this were another dream from which I should awake and find the Orchid sailing out ahead of us. But it was no dream. In dreams one can not always know that one is dreaming, but there is never a doubt of knowing when one is awake.
"They couldn't be under the floor?" I asked, absurdly clinging to a straw of hope that Sylvia might be there.