“There it is again,” Helen cried and pointed straight ahead where they could discern some object half hidden by the waves.
“That’s one of my boats,” muttered old Mr. Linder as they drew nearer, “but it doesn’t look like there was anyone in it.”
“Don’t, don’t say that!” cried Helen. “There must be someone there. Margaret must be in it!”
In her heart she knew Mr. Linder was right. The boat was rolling in the choppy waves and there was no one visible.
“It’s half full of water,” exclaimed Ned Burns as they drew nearer and Jim Preston throttled down the Liberty and eased in the clutch.
Helen pushed them aside and stared at the rowboat, fully revealed in the glaring rays of the searchlight. Tragedy was dancing on the waters of Lake Dubar that night, threatening to write an indelible chapter on the hearts of Helen and her classmates for there was no sign of Margaret in the boat.
“Maybe she shoved the boat out into the lake and hid in the woods,” said Ned Burns.
“She wouldn’t do that,” protested Helen.
They edged nearer the rowboat, Preston handling the Liberty with care lest the waves created by the boat’s powerful propeller capsize the smaller boat.
“There’s something or someone in the back end,” cried Ned Burns, who was three or four inches taller than anyone else in the boat.