Fatigued by the trip, he threw himself down on the sand, puffing
and blowing from the effects of his fight in the water.
As he rested, he heard the murmur of a skyplane's motors and turned
to behold a giant Gotha machine heading up the coast. Stretching
himself out quickly, as though to simulate the posture of a drowned
man cast up by the waves, he lay wide-eyed watching the German birdman.
Undoubtedly, it was one of the aerial coast patrol.
Five hundred feet above, it lazily floated along. It came closer and
closer, finally flying almost directly overhead. With bated breath
the boy on the sand waited for its passage and heaved a great sigh of
relief as it purred onward in the direction of Blankenberghe without
giving any indication as to whether its pilot had noted the body on
the sand below.
Jack scrambled to his feet.
"Might as well find out what's doing here," he muttered to himself.
He peeled off his wet clothes. One at a time he wrung out his
garments and shook the water out of his long black hair.
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