“Mr. Holloway warned us a storm might blow up,” Dan added, kicking disgustedly at the wet sand. “We’d have been more alert if we hadn’t been so interested in that raft and motorboat.”
“Mr. Holloway just had his boat repaired too. Now if it sinks or rams into something, we have no one to blame except ourselves.”
Dan’s gaze had focused upon a man’s large footprint visible in the sand.
“Say! Maybe we do have someone else to blame besides ourselves!” he cried. “Look at that!”
Brad stared at the footprint which plainly had been made since the Cubs had pulled their boat up on shore. Half-protected from the rain by a piece of driftwood, it remained the only mark on an otherwise smooth beachway.
“Someone’s been here since we were!” he exclaimed, stooping to examine the shoe print.
“And that someone must have set our boat free to drift, Brad!”
“Jabowski?”
“Could be, Brad. He took a dislike to me, I know.”
“Even so, it would be a contemptible trick. I hate to think he’d do it.”