“Some one tied there for a while, I guess,” and Frank turned the searchlight again toward the middle of the stream.
“Look! A signal!” Lanky had seen a flare of light in the direction of the boat.
“Rats, Lanky, you’re letting this darkness get on your nerves.”
“Well—maybe. Anyhow, if it wasn’t a signal of anything else it was a signal or sign that he was lighting his pipe.”
Then a distant hail came to their ears above the put-put of the motor. They were almost on a line between the Parsons island and the Parsons home on shore. Frank stooped and cut off the motor, permitting the boat to drift with its headway. Both the boys listened. There was no sound.
“Guess I’m the one that let the light and the sound get on my nerves. What time is it, Lanky?”
“Half-past nine o’clock.”
“That’s early for anything wrong to be happening anywhere, so I guess there’s nothing happening. Those sounds are common to the river, no doubt,” and Frank stepped over to grasp the flywheel and start the engine.
“Help!” It came across the water from the shore of the Parsons estate.
Frank straightened and listened. Lanky was sitting bolt upright. Once again there came the shrill scream of a woman. No other sound.