“Sure we did that!” Tully said emphatically.
And so they started for the Channel.
The wind died down shortly after they had lost sight of Inland Beach. Presently the rain ceased and after a few moments’ struggle with storm clouds, the sun came smiling through.
Skippy smiled too, hopeful that it augured well for the object of their search. Tully relaxed and took a cigarette that one of the guards offered him. He talked little and kept his eyes ahead.
They reached the Channel in a half hour and for a full hour they searched it up and down. Skippy kept his eyes on the water; he dared not let the guards see the hopelessness written there should his glance chance to meet Tully’s.
“Sure we couldn’t be dreamin’ we heard a siren, now could we?” Tully pleaded when the guards announced their intention of returning to the beach.
“You guys didn’t seem to be so sure you heard any at all when we first got you out of the water,” one of the men reminded them.
“Sure and we were kind o’ all in from the breaks we got,” Tully explained. His voice sounded hollow and weary.
“Well, we don’t hear no siren now,” said the other guard, “and we’ve been up and down the Channel. If there was any guy in distress, maybe he’s been swept out to sea. And we can’t go hunting that far for you fellers. We’ll send out word to the coast guard anyway when we get back just to be on the safe side. They’ll find the tub if it’s still afloat.”
“An’ if there was any siren signaling distress when that high wind first come up,” said the first guard, “she’s most likely screeching now for to get into Davy Jones’ locker. Who knows?”