Jack good-bye, they mounted their motorcycles and were soon roaring off in the direction of Bayport. They had spent more time in the wood than they had been aware of, and were anxious to get back to the city without being too late for the evening meal. Mrs. Hardy seldom scolded, but the boys had vivid recollections of Aunt Gertrude's acid remarks on similar occasions.
They emerged on an open stretch of road where a sand embankment sloped steeply down to Barmet Bay. The beach lay beneath them at the foot of the sheer declivity and the waters of the bay sparkled in the rays of the late afternoon sun.
A movement on the beach caught Frank's eye and he brought his motorcycle to a sudden stop.
"What's the matter?" asked Joe, swerving wildly to avoid piling headlong into Frank's machine.
"Run out of gas?" inquired Chet, putting on the brakes.
But Frank had dismounted and was walking over to the side of the road, out on to the top of the embankment.
"There's somebody down on the beach."
"What of it? Somebody swimming or fishing. Do you mean to say you stopped just because of that?"
