"I guess it's the stuff the gang removed from vessels they had wrecked," surmised Sandy.
"Correct," said Sam. "Look at the different names upon them. They are all of craft that I have read about as being mysteriously missing."
"Well, if you've got a path clear, let's get out," said Sandy dryly. "I've burned my last match."
They groped their way forward down the passage. Inwardly each was wondering why the gang did not pursue them. Had they but known it, each member of that precious organization was busied in getting aboard the tug, as it had been surmised by the rascals that the submarine would speedily bring the authorities to the island.
"Look! The stars!" cried Jack, as at last they emerged from the old Indian tunnel upon a sandy beach.
The storm had cleared off like magic, and the canopy of night sparkled with a thousand points of light.
"Hullo, what's that?" cried Sam suddenly.
Something black, and looking not unlike a whale, had suddenly emerged from the surface of the waters.
"A whale!" cried Sandy.
"Rubbish! What would a whale be doing in the Great Lakes?" scoffed Jack.