“Where are they—what are they doing?” gasped Nicky.
Mr. Neale was drawing in on the line that secured the dinghy.
“I’m going to see,” he said.
For once there were no volunteers for the investigation!
Tom begged his chief not to go, but Mr. Neale, with a word of encouragement, assuring them that he felt that the strange scene had more than supernatural explanation, rowed away.
The wait seemed interminable. They heard his oars squeal in the rowlocks, saw the dinghy reach the shore and lose way; then there was a silence and an absence of movement. They could not make out what Mr. Neale was doing.
“I wish I’d gone along, now,” Nicky said.
“I ought to have gone, too—he might need help.” Cliff seconded his chum’s tardy return of courage.
But the dinghy was returning!
“It’s queer,” Mr. Neale said when he had transferred himself to the cockpit, “I couldn’t find a thing!”