"Well, senor," said the Spaniard, "I have a certain amount of my gas-producing powder left in my cabin. There is none too much, but enough, I think, to inflate the dirigible with—at any rate, to fit her for flight to the mainland, which cannot be so very far off."
Frank nodded.
"There are some empty cylinders on board," went on the inventor. "All that is necessary to do is to put equal parts of sand, water and my powder into the cylinders and then screw on the caps to produce almost pure hydrogen gas at tremendous pressure. You follow me?"
"Yes," said Frank, "when can we do this?"
"Why, to-morrow morning," was the reply. "The actual inflation will take but little time."
As they returned to their camp they found it in a state of great excitement. Two of the men, in strolling about the island, had found lying up in a small cove, where it seemed to have drifted, a ship's boat.
There was no clue as to how it had come there, but on its stern were painted the words "Falcon, New York."
"I'll bet a lemon that it's one of the ship's boats of the Falcon that I read about been missing this year," exclaimed Ben; "it's got oars in it, too, they say. They are lashed under the seats, so that it must have broken loose from the ship when she went down and been washed ashore here. We can get away in the boat if nothing better offers."
Frank drew him aside and explained to him Constantio's plan for reinflating the gas-bag.
"We will try that, and if that plan fails then we can take to the boat," said the boy.