In a few moments Frank was able to sit up. The cut on his head was not serious, but his head was throbbing with a shooting pain, and he was dizzy and weak. "Well, I've seen the monster all right," he said, with a grim smile. "There's some satisfaction in that." "And I have heard it," put in Bruce. "I don't know that I care about seeing the thing." "It did look something like the Old Boy himself," said Frank. "Don't wonder these fishermen are scared by it." "Well, I suppose you are satisfied now?" "Oh, no!" "No? What will you do?" "Oh, I'd like to know what the monster is made of." "This investigating seems to be rather dangerous." "And that makes it all the more fascinating. However, I think it will be well enough to give it a rest for the present." "We'll go back to the yacht?" "Yes, and have some dinner. After dinner we can take another whirl at the monster. We must not stay away too long this time, or the people on the yacht will worry about us." "What shall we tell them?" "Nothing. It will not do to tell of this adventure." "But this handkerchief about your head," said Bruce, who was tying it in place; "how will you explain that?" "Fell and struck my head. I did fall, you know, and my head must have struck the ground down there in that basement. We mustn't let them press us too closely. If they get inquisitive, we must change the subject." Thus it was arranged. When Frank first arose to his feet he was so weak that he found it necessary to lean on the arm of his companion, but his strength came to him swiftly, so that he was like himself before he had returned more than a third of the way to the _White Wings_. Then of a sudden he remembered that he had dropped his rifle when he was struck down in the basement, and he wanted to return for it at once. Bruce objected at first, but Frank was determined, and he finally won. They retraced their steps and boldly entered the building. Bruce followed Merriwell down the stairs into the basement, holding his revolver ready for use while Frank lighted matches. Then they searched for the rifle, which Frank knew he held in his hand at the moment when he was struck down. They could not find it, for it was not in the basement, nor was it anywhere in the building. The boys quickly decided that the rifle had been removed by human hands, but the mystery was just as deep. Leaving the building, they did not immediately return to the _White Wings_, but made their way past the little cove, through the stunted cedars and over the rocks to a position where they could look down upon the boat that was lying close to the island shore. As Frank had surmised, it was the lap-streak sailboat belonging to the cock-eyed man. There was no one in or around it. "Bruce," said Merry, "I have a proposal to make." "Make it," grunted Browning. "I have an idea that the person who owns that boat is concerned in the mysterious doings on this island." "Well?" "I am going to watch for him." "When?" "Now."