Part 20 (1/2)
Then to the wrecked ones Jack called:
”How long since you capsized?”
”Since just after sundown,” replied the younger of the pair clinging to the hull. Again his voice was sulky.
”There's something queer about this,” whispered Benson to Mr. Pollard.
”They don't seem a bit glad to be pulled off that hull. Besides, they must have been the worst sort of lubbers to capsize a boat in any breeze that has been blowing this day. I don't see how they managed it.”
”Throw them a line,” directed Mr. Farnum, who had just come out on deck.
Jack made the cast, doing it cleverly. The long, light rope lay across the overturned hull. But the younger man of the wet pair, in reaching for the line, pushed it off into the water.
”Clumsy!” muttered Jack, under his breath. ”And look there! They have life preservers on. It must have been a leisurely capsizing to give them time for that.”
”It _does_ look queer,” agreed Jacob Farnum.
Having rapidly hauled in the line, Jack made another cast.
”Try to get that,” he shouted. Yet once more, in some unaccountable way, the younger man on the capsized boat managed to bungle so with the line that it went overboard into the water.
”I can put a stop to that,” muttered Jack Benson, pulling off cap and coat and dropping them down through the manhole. ”I'm going to swim over there. When I get there, Hal, throw me a line.”
With that the young submarine boy stepped over the rail, poised his hands at the side and dived. An excellent swimmer, it was not long before he touched the overturned hull. Neither of those whom he sought to rescue offered him a hand. But Jack climbed up out of the water, seated himself on the keel between the strange pair, and stared hard at them, each in turn.
The older man appeared to be about fifty years of age. He wore a closely-cropped beard that had in it a sprinkling of gray. The younger man, who appeared to be about twenty-five years of age, was smooth-faced and sulky-looking. Both were dressed well, and looked like people of means. Jack guessed that they must be father and son.
”Well, have you got through looking at us?” demanded the younger man.
”I guess so,” nodded Benson. ”I was thinking that your boat must have taken several minutes in doing the capsizing trick. You both had time to adjust life-preservers nicely, and you, sir,” turning to the older man, ”must have found time to pack the satchel that you're holding so carefully.”
The older man's jaw dropped. He looked haggard. But the younger one demanded, fiercely:
”Is all this any of your business?”
”Not a bit,” admitted Jack Benson. ”All I'm here to do is to rescue you, or help in it.”
”Humph!” grunted the younger man.
”Heave a line, Hal!” shouted the submarine boy, signaling with one hand. ”Drive it straight. I'll get it.”
Swis.h.!.+ Whirr--rr! It was a splendid cast. As Jack leaped to his feet the slender rope fell over one shoulder. Benson caught it with both hands.
”I'll help you,” called the younger stranger with startling suddenness, reaching forward. He grabbed at the submarine boy. The next instant Jack Benson lost his footing on that wet, slippery sloop bottom. He pitched, threw up his hands in an effort to regain his balance, then toppled, disappearing beneath the waves.
”They're trying to drown Jack!” rang Hal Hastings's excited voice.
”That was a deliberate trick!”
CHAPTER XIII