“A fellow might think him dud-deaf and dud-dumb and blind,” said Springer. “If he hears or sees the storm, he’s a chump not to get a move on.”
Piper opened his lips to make a remark, but a jagged, hissing spurt of lightning caused him to duck involuntarily and hold his breath, awaiting the thunder that must follow. It came, crashing and flung back in reverberations from the mountains, and Sleuth shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.
“Next time I visit Spirit Island,” he declared, “I shall take special pains to make sure there’s no thunderstorm on tap.”
“Nun-next time!” scoffed Phil. “I’ll bet there isn’t money enough to hire you to go there again.”
“Speak for yourself, my friend,” retorted Sleuth, “and judge not the courage of others by your own cowardice.”
“Cowardice! Bah! You were sus-scared almost stiff.”
“But I didn’t run away.”
The moaning sound was growing louder and more distinct, changing gradually but swiftly to a suppressed, smothered roar. The black sky seemed to close over Lovers’ Leap and blot it out. The rain was coming, a few drops of the advance guard pattering around the canoe, in which the two paddle-wielders continued to exercise the full strength of their arms.
They had been seen by Crane and Stone, both of whom were now standing well out upon the point, watching them with no small anxiety.
Like the trio returning from Spirit Island, the person in the sail-driven boat seemed to be making for Pleasant Point, and they were now so near that they recognized him as he, looking round, appeared to discover them for the first time.