“That’s a boat from the Hassen, all right!”
It was Bob Baker who spoke, and his remark was made as the airship neared the small craft heaving up and down on the billows.
“What makes you think so?” asked Jerry, who was at the wheel of the Comet, directing her course toward the little boat they had sighted some time before.
“I can make out the name painted on the bows,” replied the stout youth, who was peering through a powerful telescope. “I can see the word ‘Hassen’ as plainly as anything.”
“Can you see anyone in the boat? That’s the most important thing,” rejoined Ned, who was standing by, ready to release the hydroplanes when Jerry should give the word.
“No, I can’t make out anyone,” said Bob, and his voice was not very hopeful. And then something of the spirit of his chum seemed to enter his soul, for he added in more hopeful tones: “But then, if it’s the boat my uncle and cousin were in they may be lying down, under a piece of canvas, or something like that. There’s a mass of something in the middle of the boat.”
“That’s the way to talk!” exclaimed Jerry. “We’ll just hope they’re in it until we get up to it and find out they’re not.”
“And, even then,” said Ned, bound to keep up the work of good cheer, “that may not be the boat your folks set out in, Chunky. It’s likely there’d be several lifeboats adrift, and if one of them hung around in this vicinity, there may be more. So if they’re not in that we’ll just look for another.”
“That is, providing this isn’t Boat No. 7,” spoke Bob. “If it is, and they’re not in it——”
He paused suggestively.
“That may not prove anything,” said Jerry quickly, for he noted the distress that had crept into Bob’s voice. “That old sailor may have been mistaken in the number of the boat. In the excitement aboard a ship supposed to be sinking, when everyone was anxious to save himself, I don’t see how he could be quite sure of anything. Well, we’ll know in another minute or so—know something, anyhow.”
The Comet was quite close to the small boat, and now, even without the aid of the glass, the name “Hassen” could be made out on her bow. And it was also evident that, unless the two shipwrecked persons were huddled under a pile of sail-cloth amidships, they were not in the boat.
“Still, they may be there,” said Ned, hopefully, with a glance at Bob’s now despondent face.
“Let’s make sure that’s Boat No. 7, first,” suggested Jerry. “Drop the hydroplanes, Ned!”
In another moment the Comet had alighted on the surface of the sea, where she rode lightly and easily, as it was very calm. Then, with the propellers gently revolving, Jerry sent his craft close to the small boat.
There came a cry from Bob.
“It is Lifeboat No. 7!” he gasped, pointing to a small figure under the name, where also appeared the number of persons the craft was supposed to carry. “That’s the boat my uncle and cousin were in,” he added. “But—but, they’re not in it now!”
Truly it did not seem so, for there was no sign of life in that lonely little boat adrift on the great ocean. No sound came from it—there was no stir under that pile of canvas which was spread over the two middle seats. All was silent—the silence that meant desertion.
“They may be—asleep,” said Jerry, in a low voice. “They may be worn out—half exhausted, and be lying under there. We must go aboard and look. Get a line ready to make fast, Ned.”
“What’s this. What’s going on,” asked the voice of Professor Snodgrass, as he came from the little room where he kept and mounted his specimens. “Have you found a submarine?”
“Not quite,” answered Ned. “But we think we have the boat in which Bob’s uncle was—maybe is yet.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the little scientist. He had been so engrossed with making notes about a strange fly he had caught that he was not even aware the small boat had been sighted. And the boys had been too interested to tell him.
The Comet was soon made fast to the small boat and the two drifted together. It seemed to be Bob’s right to be the first aboard, and Jerry and Ned held back, while the stout lad clambered over the gunwale. He hesitated a second, and then slowly raised the edge of the canvas. He almost feared to look at what he might find there.
With a sudden motion, Bob threw back the covering. Then he started, and gave a quick glance at his companions.
“They’re not here!” he cried. “There’s nothing here!”
In a moment Ned and Jerry were at their chum’s side.
“Is there any evidence that anyone has been here?” asked Ned.
A look about soon disclosed that the boat had been occupied, and recently. There were crumbs of bread about, and a tin cup containing a little water.
“Well, that’s a good sign,” spoke Jerry, in tones of relief. “They weren’t hungry, or thirsty, that’s very sure.”
“No, whoever was in this boat had something to eat,” agreed Bob, and his face was brighter.
“If we could only settle for sure that it was your folks,” spoke Ned. “That’s a puzzle; as well as what has become of them. Could they have fallen overboard?”
“Of course not!” exclaimed Jerry quickly, giving Ned a nudge, unseen by Bob. “More likely they’ve been taken off by some other vessel.”
“Oh, of course, I didn’t think of that!” cried Ned, quick to take his chum’s hint. “Of course, that’s it. They saw some other vessel, or some other ship saw them, and picked them up. Naturally the rescuing ship wouldn’t stop to take the boat. That accounts for them not being here; eh, Bob?”
“I—I hope so,” spoke the stout youth, in a low voice. “But I wish I could be sure they had been here. If they had only left some message.”
“Well, of course they didn’t know we were coming in search of them,” remarked Jerry, with a laugh, “or they might have done so. But I’m sure they didn’t fall overboard. All they’d have to do, even in a big storm, would be to lie down in the bottom of this boat, and they’d be safe. Of course the boat could fill with water——”
“No it couldn’t!” interrupted Ned, quickly.
“Why not?” challenged Jerry.
“Because she’s a self-bailer. Nearly all lifeboats are, now-a-days. It couldn’t fill.”
“Good!” cried the tall lad, with enthusiasm. “That settles it then. But, as Bob says, it would be a satisfaction to know whether or not Mr. Sheldon and his daughter were here.”
Bob was looking about the lifeboat in which the three lads were sitting. Professor Snodgrass had remained aboard the Comet, but was watching all that went on.
Suddenly Ned, who had been gazing about the small craft, uttered a cry, and sprang to his feet.
“What is it?” asked Jerry.
For answer Ned stooped and picked up a piece of white linen. It had lodged under a seat and was not at first observed.
“Look!” Ned exclaimed. “It’s a lady’s handkerchief!”
Bob uttered a low cry and reached out his hand for it. It was damp with the spray of the sea, and as he spread it out a name, marked in one corner with indelible ink, caught his eye. The others saw it, too—it was “Grace Sheldon!”
There was no doubt of it now. The Sheldons had been in that very boat, but they were not there now. Had the sea claimed them as its own? Had they fallen overboard? Or, better thought, had a passing vessel picked them up?
For a moment the discovery stunned, in a measure, the motor boys. Bob was especially overcome, as was but natural. Then Jerry, rallying to the emergency, said stoutly:
“Look here now. Let’s face this thing right. There seems to be no doubt that your relatives were here, Bob. They aren’t here now; but just stop and think.
“That old sailor on the Hassen saw them the other night, and they were all right then. And since he saw them there has been no storm. The sea has been calm, this boat has not been harmed, so the only natural conclusion is that Mr. Sheldon and his daughter have been taken off, Bob.”
“Maybe,” admitted the stout boy, after considering the matter. “But who did it? Where are they?”
“That’s something we can’t tell,” admitted Jerry frankly. “But I’m positive they are safe.”
“So am I!” exclaimed Ned decidedly.
“And I’m going to hope so,” came from Bob.
There seemed to be now no further use in the boys remaining in the lifeboat. They had found out what they wanted to learn, unsatisfactory as the information was. Bob put in his pocket the handkerchief of his cousin—the handkerchief that had done so much to solve the mystery.
“She must have dropped it when—when she was getting in the other boat to go aboard the vessel that took them off,” he said.
“Of course,” agreed Jerry. “Well, we may as well get back on the Comet.”
“Too bad to let this fine boat go adrift, but there’s no help for it,” murmured Ned.
They were about to go back on their own craft, when a cry from Professor Snodgrass startled them.
“Look! Look!” shouted the little scientist. “A whale! There’s a whale, boys! Oh, if we could only get closer so that I might make some observations.”
Jerry stood up on the seat in the lifeboat in order to see better. And, no sooner had he looked closely at the object at which the professor pointed than he cried:
“Whale! That’s no whale. It’s that submarine again!”