And Pierre, sorely puzzled, shook his head, and muttered, “Ma foi” several times, under his breath.
The boy’s eyes were constantly roving over the river for any signs of the “Gray Gull”; but half an hour passed, and it had not been sighted in any of the numerous little coves, or along the broad sweep of the river.
“Wonder where in the dickens it can have gone to,” murmured George, with a sudden fear that his plans might after all go astray.
“What you say?”
“Nothing, Pierre; I was only thinking.”
“H’m,” muttered the Frenchman, and he contracted his brow, and cast a very strange look at his young companion.
“Hooray! I see it!” exclaimed George, suddenly. “Put on a bit more speed, Pierre. That funny-looking house-boat is what I’m after.”
“Eight seconds I take you there, but for the law,” said Pierre. “We go fast, but slow, too. Is it enough?”
“Yes!” cried George, holding on tight. “Whizz! Look at that trail of dust behind us!”
A few moments later, the millionaire boy was waving his arms, while the puzzled expression on Pierre’s face grew into one of positive wonderment.