Mavis looked in the direction indicated. About six feet from the bank was a growth of menacing-looking weeds under the water, which just now were violently agitated.
"I'll bet anything it's Jill. She's caught in the weeds," said Perigal.
"Let me come. Let me come," cried Mavis.
"It's ten feet deep. You're surely not going in?"
"I can't let her drown."
"Let me—"
"But—"
"I'm going in. I can swim."
Perigal had thrown off his coat, kicked off his boots.
The next moment, he had dived in the direction in which he believed Jill to be.