“Like a drunken man,” whispered Marian, with a frightened laugh.
“He’ll be over it in a minute,” said Lucile. “Liquid’s all over his clothes—keeps evaporating and getting into his lungs.”
True to Lucile’s prophecy, the man, a few moments later, having calmed down, appeared to pause to consider. It was evident that he wavered between two opinions. Twice he started in the direction of the ship, each time sending cold chills creeping up Lucile’s spine.
“We have no more gas,” she whispered.
“Make it sulphuric acid this time!” Marian whispered savagely.
“No! No! You couldn’t!” Lucile shuddered.
Pausing each time, the man turned back. The second time he wheeled about and, racing madly down the beach, disappeared beyond a long line of pleasure boats.
“Well,” said Florence, gathering her dressing gown about her and springing through the window, “we have a ladder. Looks like a good one.”
“It is a good one!” she exclaimed a moment later, “a brand new one. We’ll show it to Timmie. Perhaps it will serve as evidence to trap the rascal.”
“Speaking of rascals,” said Marian a few moments later as they sat looking at one another in silence, “what do you think is the meaning of all this?”