But with a sudden twist the wily Mexican slipped from his loose trousers, leaving the garment in the professor’s grasp.
“Hi—stop him!” shouted Jo, making a futile attempt to seize him.
But with an inarticulate snarl of rage, the Mexican made a headlong plunge from the wharf into the water, disappearing from sight.
“Ugh!” exclaimed the professor, holding up the empty trousers. “He’s shed his skin like the snake he is. He had better take them along,” tossing them into the water.
“We will get him when he comes up,” cried Tom.
But, although the boys ran along the string piece of the wharf looking for him to reappear, they saw nothing more of him. An officer in uniform was called and told of the circumstances. After watching for some time they were obliged to conclude that the villainous Mexican had at last met his just desert.
“Well,” remarked Jo, at length, “I guess we have seen the last of him.”
“I sincerely hope so,” returned Berwick, “but that fellow has more lives than a cat.”
“There doesn’t seem to be any use of waiting any longer,” said the professor. “He doesn’t seem to be coming back. There is nothing we can do and we may as well go on.”
By this time the sun was up, and the wharf was beginning to be astir with people. The boatmen were coming and going over the bay, intent on business. Hailing one of the larger boats, which was rowed by two Hawaiians, the professor asked them if they could carry the party out to the yacht.