are several around Martinique and Guadeloupe and--by glory, yes! There’s Aves. Great Scott! I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Aves!” repeated Mr. Pauling, questioningly. “You mean the place down off the Venezuelan coast--‘The pleasant Isle of Aves’--in the old pirate song?”

“No, another one,” replied Rawlins. “A tiny bit of land about one hundred miles west of Dominica in the middle of the Caribbean. It’s an ideal spot. Not an inhabitant; flat as a table--although that’s no advantage with a sea plane--and out of the course of all shipping. I’ve a hunch that’s his place.”

Mr. Pauling laughed. “Your hunches are coming thick and fast, Rawlins,” he said. “Is this one so strong you want to shift our course for the island?”

The diver grinned. “Not quite,” he replied. “But if we get on his trail and it looks like Aves I’m for it.”

“Well, we’ll soon know if he passed Statia,” remarked Tom. “We’re almost there.”

CHAPTER II—A CRY FOR HELP

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