“Come on!” murmured Tom, plunging off into the rain-drenched woods, followed by Ned. “They may be after us at any minute.”
But evidently the scoundrels were too much occupied with repairing their motorboat, for the two escaping captives had a glimpse of the unsavory trio grouped about it on the beach as they threaded their way through the forest.
“Whew, but I’m getting wet!” gasped Ned, as they crossed a little clearing and caught the full force of the downpour.
“This storm was the best thing that could happen to us,” Tom said.
“How come?”
“Except for the noise it made, the racket I produced when I broke that door would have given the alarm. Yes, this storm saved us. Don’t mind a little wetting.”
“A little wetting!” good-naturedly chuckled Ned. “This is about the biggest drenching I ever saw—except when you went into the lake.”
On they plunged, taking little heed of whither they went so long as they put distance between themselves and the three men. Then, when it was evident there was to be no immediate pursuit, they slackened their pace and began to make plans.
“What are we going to do, Tom?” Ned asked, pausing beneath a shelving ledge of rock that afforded partial shelter from the dashing rain and wind. “We’re still far from safe.”
“We ought to get to the shore—as far away from those fellows as we can—and signal some passing boat. There ought to be plenty of craft passing up and down the lake, though there’ll be more after this storm lets up. We’ve got to get back to the mainland. There’s no telling what mischief this gang may be up to at my works. The three scoundrels here are only part of the crowd.”