“Gone?” echoed the others.
For answer Lathrop pointed to the stern. It was true, no Squeegee swung there at her painter. It was only a fraction of time before the absence of Ben Stubbs was also discovered. For a minute a dark thought crossed Frank’s mind,—but he dismissed it as unworthy, and was glad he did, for suddenly Billy shouted:
“Why, there’s the Squeegee ashore.”
They all looked and there, sure enough, lay their sneak-box where Ben, a short time before, had deserted her.
“He must have gone ashore hunting,” cried Harry.
Frank shook his head.
“He had some graver reason than that for going,” he said.
“Well, let’s swim ashore and find out what has become of him,” cried Lathrop, and indeed the turquoise water into whose depths one could see, did look tempting enough for an early morning plunge.
“It would be our last swim, Lathrop,” remarked Frank, pointing as he spoke to a wicked-looking triangular black fin that cruised by.
“See that leg o’ mutton?” he continued, “well, that’s hitched onto the back of a man-eating shark and they don’t encourage early morning bathing except for their larder’s benefit.”