As the destroyer drew into the little port of Orange Town, it seemed as if every inhabitant of the quaint Dutch island had come to the waterfront to welcome her, for the arrival of any ship, let alone a destroyer, was a remarkable event in Statia. Since the little warship was now visiting the island for the second time within a fortnight, the people felt as if their island must be becoming famous.

No sooner had the party landed from the cutter than Rawlins began questioning the natives in regard to the seaplane, but for some time no one could be found who had seen it. The diver was just about to give up and had declared his belief that the plane had not passed the island, when a gray-headed, broad-faced old man, whose yellow skin and kinky hair betokened negro blood and whose features and blue eyes were thoroughly Dutch, pushed through the crowd and told Rawlins he had seen the machine passing over.

To the diver’s questions the old man replied that he had been working on his little plantation on the windward side of the island when he had heard a strange noise and, glancing up, had been amazed to see something like a huge bird flying far overhead. For a time he could not imagine what it was and then he remembered the pictures and accounts of airplanes he had seen in the illustrated papers that arrived at Statia at rare intervals and realized that he was actually gazing upon one of the marvelous things which he had always half believed were impossible. In fact, he added, he had come to town for the sole purpose of relating his story to his friends, but all had scoffed at him and had declared he had been mistaken.

“Not a bit of it!” cried Rawlins. “You saw one all right, my friend. What direction was the plane going?”

The old man was not sure, for his mind had been so fully occupied with the wonder of the sight that he had not noted its course, but after a deal of thinking he decided it had been bound for St. Kitts.

“Well, that knocks out my theory about Aves a bit,” declared Rawlins. “But there are plenty of spots around St. Kitts where he could have landed or he might have gone on to Nevis. Now let’s get up to the hospital and see that old walrus of a Dutch captain.”

As they walked towards the tiny hospital, the boys expressed surprise that there seemed to be no damage from the hurricane.

“Out of its track,” explained Rawlins. “Remember, I told you those hurricanes are narrow. Of course, there’s got to be an edge to ’em some place, and besides, they follow pretty regular routes. I’ll bet St. Kitts got it, and yet over here--only a few miles away--they never felt it.”

When they reached the hospital all hopes of securing information from the skipper of the tramp were abandoned, however, for the attendants told the Americans that the Dutch sea captain had been taken away the previous day by some friends who had called for him.

“That’s blamed funny!” exclaimed Rawlins. “They told me down in the town that no ship had been in port since the hurricane.”

“Hmm,” mused Mr. Pauling. “Perhaps they were friends living on the island.” Then, turning to the young doctor who was in charge, he asked, “What sort of men were they? Can you describe them? Did they mention how they arrived here?”

“Why, no, I did not ask,” replied the interne, who spoke perfect English. “I assumed they came in a vessel--small sloops and schooners often put in from St. Kitts and there are packets coming here from Curacao. They seemed to be seafaring men--not Hollanders, though. One was a heavily built man with a red beard--German or Russian I should say. The other was an American, I think--or possibly English--tall, and very broad, with a smooth face and dark hair.”

Mr. Pauling and the others glanced at one another with knowing looks, and an exclamation of surprise escaped from Mr. Pauling’s lips.

“I’ll say they were his friends!” cried Rawlins, as the party, after thanking the doctor, left the hospital. “And not far away right now. Beat us by twenty-four hours, but, by glory, we’ve picked up their trail!”

“But how could they get here?” asked Tom. “They didn’t come in the airplane or by a ship.”

“By the sub, of course!” replied the diver. “I told you I’d bet she got clear before the old tramp blew up. And now they’re hiking off to meet that plane.”

“If they haven’t already met her,” put in Mr. Henderson. “Rawlins, I’m beginning to have as much faith in your hunches as Pauling.”

“Well, it’s up to us to find out,” insisted the diver. “It’ll be a hard job to trail the sub, but as long as the High Cockalorum is up in the air, we can keep tabs on him. Let’s get a move on and strike over to St. Kitts. The faster we get after those boys the better.”

“But how could the sub come in here without being seen?” asked Frank.

“Couldn’t,” responded Rawlins tersely, “but a small boat from her could. Or maybe they landed at St. Kitts and came over in a sloop. We’ll find out down at the bayside.”

“That’s one advantage of a small place where every one knows every one else and visitors are rare,” remarked Mr. Pauling when, after a few questions, they learned that the red-bearded stranger and his companion had arrived in a small schooner and had departed in the same vessel with the Dutch sea captain.

“Yes, these islands are mighty poor places for crooks,” agreed Mr. Henderson. “I imagine that’s why every one is so honest and crime is so rare.”

A few moments later they reached the destroyer, and as they stepped aboard Commander Disbrow approached.

“I have a bit of news that may interest you, Mr. Pauling,” he announced. “We picked up the Guiana--Furness liner, you know--and had a chat with her. Never thought of getting any news of your man--just wanted data on the hurricane--and she reports having sighted an airplane, or rather a sea plane, to the south of Montserrat. Said they thought it a United States machine and tried to signal it but had no response. Reported it as flying south--apparently bound for Guadeloupe or Dominica and about three thousand feet up.”

“Bully for you!” Cried Rawlins enthusiastically. “That saves us a jaunt over to St. Kitts or Nevis. When did the Guiana sight it?”

“About five o’clock last night,” replied the Commander.

“Then he was pretty near his landing place!” declared the diver. “He couldn’t go on after dark. Come on, Commander, let’s beat it for Guadeloupe!”

Half an hour later Statia was scarcely more than a blue cloud on the horizon and St. Kitts loomed hazy and indistinct, while the towering conical volcanic cone of Nevis lay to the eastward.

Although the boys had been disappointed at not being able to visit these fascinating islands, they had learned much about them from Rawlins and Commander Disbrow. They had heard about the abandoned forts on Brimstone Hill at St. Kitts and about the troops of monkeys which haunt the old barracks and parapets. They had learned, also, for the first time in their lives, that Nevis was the birthplace of Alexander Hamilton and was famous as the spot where Admiral Nelson had been married. But such matters of historical interest appealed far less to the boys than Rawlins’ story of the submerged city of Jamestown which was destroyed by an earthquake and sank below the sea in 1689.

“Say, wouldn’t it be fun to go down there in a diving suit and look around!” said Tom, when the diver had described how the coral-encrusted ruins could still be seen through the water on calm days.

“Yep,” agreed Rawlins. “I’ve often kind of hankered to have a look at it--and at Port Royal, over in Jamaica. That slid into the sea one day--with a lot of treasure in it, too. It used to be a regular hang-out for the pirates and the whole shooting match went under during an earthquake in 1692. Some considerable spell of time since then, but I shouldn’t wonder if a diver could find something there.”

“Gee, I wouldn’t like to live down here where towns have the habit of getting drowned,” declared Frank.

Mr. Pauling laughed. “People who live in earthquake or volcanic countries become accustomed to such things,” he said. “Even St. Pierre, Martinique, where nearly forty thousand people were killed, is being built up and inhabited again, I hear.”

A little later, land was reported ahead and through their glasses the boys saw a rounded, gray mass breaking the sea line. This, the Commander told them, was Redonda, and he added that it was an isolated, barren rock, whose only inhabitants were the lighthouse keeper and a small company of laborers who were employed in gathering the phosphate rock.

Then, beyond, and so green that, as Tom said, it looked like a bit of green velvet, the island of Montserrat gradually rose above the horizon before the speeding destroyer.

“Gosh, that is an emerald isle!” exclaimed Frank.

“Yes, and a little Ireland too,” agreed Rawlins. “If you went ashore there, you’d think you were dreaming. Every one of the niggers speaks with a brogue and there are Mulvaneys and Dennises and Muldoons as black as the ace of spades and some of them with red hair. You see, Montserrat was settled originally by the Irish and the brogue and the names have come down through generations.”

“It seems to me we’re leaving all the most interesting places without seeing them,” said Frank regretfully. “I’d like mighty well to see Irish negroes.”

“You must remember we’re neither on a pleasure cruise or a joy ride,” Mr. Pauling reminded him. “And you’re fortunate even to see the islands.”

Then, turning to Rawlins, he asked, “Have you definite plans in view, Rawlins? I suppose there is no use in stopping at Montserrat as long as the Guiana reported the plane south of there.”

“No, I’m going to ask you to let the Commander just hustle the old girl right along and radio Guadeloupe for information. He ought to be able to get it now. If they sighted the plane, we’ll have to try Dominica, but there’s no radio station there and I’m still betting on Aves. You remember, about that looting of the bank at Dominica? Well, if they had a hang-out at Aves, that would have been dead easy. I think, unless we hear he passed Guadeloupe headed away from it, that we’ll hike to Aves without stopping.”

Mr. Pauling chuckled. “It seems to me that Henderson and I are scarcely more than accessories now,” he declared. “Everything seems to have fallen into your hands. But that’s quite right, Rawlins. You know the islands and we don’t, and we’re following your hunch, you know.”

A few moments later, Bancroft, the wireless operator, appeared. “We got Guadeloupe, Sir,” he informed Mr. Pauling. “They have no report of an airship.”

“By glory, then ’tis Aves!” cried Rawlins. “There isn’t another spot he could have made before dark last night.”

“Unless he came down at some out of the way part of Guadeloupe,” put in Mr. Henderson. “I’ve been talking with Disbrow and he says it’s a wild, little known coast, with few inhabitants.”

“Yes,” agreed the diver. “But I figure this way. That’s not the first time the Old Boy has used a plane--and you can’t grab a seaplane at any old time and place when the spirit moves you. No, he keeps that machine for emergencies or uses it as a regular thing between certain bases of his own and, even if he could make a landing at Guadeloupe or one of the inhabited islands without being seen, he couldn’t keep the plane there unknown to any one. That’s why I’m strong on the Aves hunch. He could have anything he wanted there, and none the wiser.”

“Your reasoning is sound,” declared Mr. Pauling, “and I agree with you. When should we reach Aves?”

“We could make it to-night,” replied the Commander, to whom Mr. Pauling had addressed the last query, “but I’d prefer to slow down and make it by daybreak--its a mere speck and scarcely ten feet above water and there’s a risk in running for it in the dark.”

“Yes, by all means, wait for dawn,” assented Mr. Pauling. “We could accomplish nothing at night and if there are men there, our lights might warn them.”

Accordingly, the destroyer slowed down and with the vast bulk of Guadeloupe stretching for miles along the eastern horizon, the little vessel slid easily through the sea towards her goal. As usual, Bancroft or one of the boys constantly listened at the radio receivers, but no sounds, save the messages passing between two distant merchant ships, came in.

With the first faint streaks of light upon the eastern sky, the destroyer picked up speed and tore southward for the tiny speck of land that lay below the horizon ahead. The forward gun was manned and ready for emergencies; the two boys and their companions peered anxiously through the gray dawn for a first glimpse of the sought-for islet, and all thrilled with expectancy and excitement.

“There ’tis!” cried Rawlins, who was the first to catch a glimpse of the tiny gray smudge that broke the even level of the sea’s rim.

Instantly, all glasses were focused on the spot and rapidly it rose and took form as a low, flat-topped bit of land, rimmed with white surf and with clouds of sea birds wheeling above it. So low was the island that within half an hour of first sighting it, the destroyer was as close to it as the Commander dared approach and all were anxiously searching the desolate spot for some sign of life or of the plane.

“Looks as if your hunch were wrong for once, Rawlins,” said Mr. Pauling. “I don’t see a sign of anything but bare rock and birds.”

“Well, it’s all-fired funny,” declared the diver, “but I’m not sure even yet. Maybe the plane’s on the other side of the island or in some cove. I won’t be satisfied until I’ve searched every inch of the place.”

But when, a few minutes later, they landed upon this isolated, almost unknown bit of forsaken land and were almost deafened by the screams, cries, and protests of the countless thousands of gulls, terns, gannets, pelicans and boobies that made it their home, the island seemed absolutely devoid of all traces of human beings. Rawlins, however, insisted there was no other place where the sea plane could have found a resting place for the night and he searched here, there and everywhere.

Finally, when the party had almost completed the circuit of the little ten-acre spot, the diver, who was in advance, gave a shout.

“I’ll say they were here!” he announced as the others hurried to where he stood at the head of a deep indentation or cove in the rocky shore. “Look here,” he continued, pointing to the bit of sandy beach, “a boat’s been pulled up on the sand here within the last twenty-four hours and there are their empty gasolene tins. Guess my hunch wasn’t so far wrong after all.”

“Hmm,” muttered Mr. Pauling, as he examined the marks on the beach and sniffed at the empty tin cans. “I’ll have to admit your hunch was right, but it doesn’t do us much good. Our birds have flown.”

“Yes, hang it all!” exclaimed Rawlins. “They probably saw us coming and cleared out, but they’ll have to land again somewhere.”

“That’s quite true and all very well,” agreed Mr. Pauling, “but we haven’t the least idea where or when. No, it’s no use trying to chase all over the Caribbean after them. There’s nothing to do but go back and await future developments. I’m willing to admit we’ve been beaten.”

“Yes, the gang’s broken up and the tramp and their big submarine destroyed. I doubt if they’ll give further trouble,” said Mr. Henderson. “I think we’ve succeeded in accomplishing a great deal as it is.”

While they were talking, they approached the waiting cutter. Suddenly a screeching roar from the destroyer’s siren drowned the clamor of the birds.

“Jove! What’s that for?” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “Hello, Disbrow’s signaling. Can you read the wigwag message, Rawlins?”

The diver stared fixedly at the figure of a sailor standing clearly outlined on the destroyer’s bridge and rapidly waving the little flags in an endeavor to convey some message to those on the island.

“Come a-b-o-a-r-d,” translated Rawlins, as the flags flashed up and down. “I-m-p-o-r-t-a-n-t n-e-w-s.”

“By glory!” he ejaculated, as the sailor finished and the message ended. “What in blazes has he seen?”

Rapidly, they hurried to the boat, scrambled in, and were soon speeding towards the destroyer, all impatient to learn what had occurred to cause them to be summoned and utterly at a loss as to what the “important news” could be.

“Great Scott, but he’s in a hurry!” cried Rawlins, as the sound of the anchor winch and the rattle of incoming cable reached them. “He’s getting in his anchors already. And he’s pacing up and down as if the deck were red hot. I wonder what’s up!”

“It’s an S.O.S.!” announced the Commander, as Mr. Pauling gained the deck, “and it might mean anything. Came in ‘S.O.S.--submarine’ and then stopped short. Not another word.”

Before he had ceased speaking, the destroyer’s screws were churning the water and the island was rapidly slipping away.

“By Jove!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling. “Looks as if these men were up to their old game! But where was the ship when she called? Do you know her position?”

“No, only in a general way,” replied the Commander. “Bancroft got the message by accident--was overhauling the radio compass when he picked it up. That’s the only way we know even the direction. They’re southwest, that’s all we know.”

“I’ll say that’s important news!” cried Rawlins. “That shows the sub’s still afloat, but I’d like to know what the dickens became of the plane.”

“Do you think they really sank a ship?” asked Tom. “Why, they can’t expect to get away with that sort of thing!”

“Of course, they did,” declared Mr. Pauling. “Otherwise the vessel would not have sent the S.O.S. and the very fact that the message was cut off shows they did. Poor fellows! They never had a chance and we may be too late to save them now. As for getting away with it, these men are desperate--utterly unprincipled, as you know. Nothing they can do will make their plight any worse. They’ve sunk ships before--so why not again?”

“But why should they?” persisted Tom. “I should think they’d just be trying to get away, not stopping to sink ships.”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking,” declared Rawlins. “The whole thing’s blamed funny. I’ve a hunch it’s all a blind. I’ll bet that message was sent by the sub or the plane just to get us away from here--or something.”

“Hunches or not, I’m not taking chances,” declared the Commander stiffly. “If I get an S.O.S. I answer.”

“Righto!” exclaimed the diver. “Glad you do. And, if luck’s with us, we may get there in time to sight the sub and kill two birds with one stone.”

But to find a ship or its survivors when its exact latitude and longitude are known and to find such a tiny speck upon the broad ocean when only its general direction is known are two very different matters. So meager had been the sudden call for aid which had reached the destroyer that no one could say whether the ship that sent it had been five or fifty miles away and as there had been no time in which to move the loop antenna of the radio compass about until the exact direction was determined, the chances of the destroyer’s finding the vessel or any of her company were very remote. Throughout the day and all through the night the destroyer searched, steaming in circles and with her powerful searchlights sweeping the sea.

In the hopes that another signal might yet come in, men were kept constantly at the radio instruments listening and sending forth messages, but the only replies received were from far distant ships asking what the trouble was. To all of these the operators gave what little information they had and asked if others had heard the frenzied call for help. But only one had, a tramp bound from Cuba for Curacao, and unlike the destroyer she had received the S.O.S. by her regular antenna and so could not know the direction whence it came.

“Well, some of those ships may pick up the poor rascals,” said Mr. Henderson when on the following morning Commander Disbrow reported the messages which had been exchanged. “But it’s odd none of them heard the call except that tramp.”

“I think that proves the vessel was near us,” declared Tom. “If Mr. Bancroft got it on the loop and they couldn’t hear it on their regular aerials, the message must have been sent from very close.”

“Yes, that’s quite true,” agreed Mr. Henderson. “But it doesn’t make matters much simpler. Even a few square miles of sea is a big place.”

“You said it!” exclaimed Rawlins. “And a blamed sight bigger to the poor beggars hanging on to wreckage or in a small boat than to us. But I still have an idea it was a blind. That would account for those ships not getting it.”

“I don’t just see what you mean,” said Mr. Pauling.

“Why, if it was sent from the sub or the plane, it would be a weak message and wouldn’t go far and it may have been sent from within half a mile of the island. Yes, by glory!--Come to think of it, they might have been right there alongside and just sent that message from underwater!”

“Jove, I hadn’t thought of that!” admitted Mr. Pauling. “I wonder--”

Before he could complete his sentence, the deep-throated cry of the lookout rang through the little ship, and at his words all crowded to the rails and peered ahead.

“Small boat two points off the starboard bow!” was the sailor’s shout.