"Let's hustle now with the rest," urged Bayliss.
"Right you are," agreed Bert.
They hurried along, going a bit nearer to the camp, until Dodge pointed to a tangle of bushes.
"That'll be a good place to hide with the siren. You get in there with it, but don't start it until about sixty seconds after you hear the big noise. Then I'll hustle right back here to you."
"Don't let any of Dick Prescott's friends catch you," urged Bayliss, who would have gasped had he known that at that moment two of them crouched close enough to hear every word.
Now Bert hastened down the slope, carrying a fireworks' bomb very much like those that he and Bayliss had set off on the opposite side of the lake on another evening long to be remembered.
Treading cautiously, Bert reached a point not far distant from the doorway of the camp tent. Here, crouching in the screening bushes, Bert placed the bomb in position. It was only a fireworks' bomb of the kind used on Fourth of July nights. It was harmless enough to one who stood more than thirty feet from it.
"The fuse will burn a minute before it goes off," murmured Bert to himself. "That will give me almost time to reach Bayliss before the big noise comes. The noise will bring them all out of the tent. Then the remainder of our programme will do the rest."
But, even as Bert reached for the match with which to touch off the fuse he heard Dalzell call in a voice audible at the distance:
"Look at those things up in the air, Tom!"