Then came the shrill warning of an electrical siren horn.

“Somebody’s in a hurry,” observed Tom.

“Yes,” answered Ned.  “It sound’s like Peters’s boat, too.”

“It is!” exclaimed Tom.  “Here he comes.  He ought to know better than to cut through this raft of boats at that speed.”

“Is he headed toward us?”

“No, I guess he’s had enough of that.  But look at him!”

With undiminished speed the burly promoter was driving his boat on.  The big vibrating horn kept up its clamor, and a powerful searchlight in front dazzled the eyes.

“Look out!  Look out!” cried several.

Many of the rowers and paddlers made haste to clear a lane for the big, speedy motor craft, and Peters and his friends (for there were several men in his boat now) seemed to accept this as a matter of course, and their right.

“Somebody’ll be swamped!” exclaimed Ned.

Hardly had he spoken than, as the big red boat dashed past in a smother of foam, there came a startled cry in girls’ voices.

“Look!” cried Tom.  “That canoe’s upset!  Speed her up, Ned!  We’ve got to get ’em!”

CHAPTER IX

A GLEAM OF HOPE

“Where are they?”

“Who are they?”

“Over this way!  There’s their canoe!”

“Look out for that motor boat!”

“Who was it ran them down?  They ought to be arrested!”

These were only a few of the cries that followed the upsetting of the frail canoe by the wash from the powerful red boat.  On Tom’s Kilo there was a small, electrical searchlight which he had not yet switched on.  But, with his call to Ned Newton to speed up the motor, that had been slowed down, Tom, with one turn of his fingers, set the lamp aglow, while, with the other hand, he whirled the wheel over to head his craft for the spot where he saw two figures struggling in the water.

Fortunately the lanterns on the various canoes and row-boats, as well as the light on the bow of Tom’s Kilo, made an illumination that gave the rescuers a good chance to work.  Many other boats besides Tom’s had headed for the scene, but his was the more practical, since the others—­all quite small ones—­were pretty well filled.

“There they are, Ned!” Tom suddenly cried.  “Throw out the clutch!  I’ll get ’em!”

“Want any help?”

“No, you stay at the engine, and mind what I say.  Reverse now!  We’re going to pass them!”

Ned threw in the backing gear, and the screw churned the water to foam under the stern of the Kilo.

Tom leaned over the bow, and made a grab for the gasping, struggling figure of a girl in the water.  At the same time he had tossed overboard a cork life ring, attached to a rope which, in turn, was made fast to the forward deck-cleat.  “Grab that!” cried Tom.  “Hold on, and I’ll have you out in a second!  That’s enough, Ned!  Shut her off!”