Flash worked swiftly and was ready to leave the ship by the time he sighted Dave French’s seaplane. Already long shadows had fallen over the water. Within a short while it would be so dark that a swimmer could not be seen on the surface of the sea. If he were to be picked up, it must be quickly.
Approaching the mate who had seemed more friendly than the other officers, Flash asked if he might be put off in a small boat to make contact with the seaplane.
“Not a chance of it,” the mate told him regretfully. “You would only waste your breath to ask Captain Sorenson. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay aboard until we dock.”
Flash had no intention of losing the advantage he had gained. He knew that if he could get back to Brandale ahead of the Belmonia, the Ledger would scoop every paper in the country with its pictures and news story. There was only one way. He must jump overboard and trust that Dave French would be able to pick him up.
His decision made, Flash sauntered toward the stern of the vessel. He saw the watchful gaze of the mate upon him, but if that worthy suspected his purpose, he gave no sign.
The drone of the seaplane grew louder, drawing many passengers to the railing. Flash could make out the pilot and Joe Wells in the cockpit. They waved and he returned the signal although he was far from certain they could distinguish him from the other passengers.
Scrambling to the rail, he poised an instant. Then he leaped far out, away from the turbulent waters which boiled about the ship. Making a shallow dive, he came to the surface a safe distance astern.
Rolling over on his back, he saw that the seaplane had turned and was gliding gracefully down. It settled easily upon the water, taxiing toward him. Flash had only to wait to be hauled into the cockpit.
“Did you get the pictures?” Joe Wells demanded eagerly.
Flash nodded and offered the container. There was an anxious moment as they examined the films, but all eight were dry.