hree times he repeated it. Three times in a few sharp
words he told their general location and their plight. Then with wildly
beating heart, he pressed the receivers to his ears and awaited a reply.

A moment passed, two, three, four; but there came no answering call.
Only the buzz and snap of the ever-increasing static greeted his
straining ears.

Once more he sent out the message; again he listened. Still no response.

"C'm'on," came from the boy below. "It's getting dangerous. You can get
a message off in the air. Gotta get out o' here. Gotta climb. May not be
able to make it even now."

As the other boy glanced down at the white-capped waves all about them
he realized that his companion spoke the truth.

Hurriedly rewrapping his instruments, all but the receivers, which by
the aid of an extension he brought down with him, he made his way to his
seat and strapped on his harness.

"All right," he breathed.

Once more the motors thundered. For a long distance they raced through
blinding spray. Little by little this diminished until with a swoop,
like a sea gull, the magnificent plane shot upward. The next instant
they felt a dash of cold rain upon their cheeks. Was the storm upon
them? Or was this merely a warning dash which had reached them far in
advance of the deluge? For the moment they could not tell.

CHAPTER XVI

A CONFESSION

For an hour Curlie Carson had been seated in the radiophone cabin of the
_Kittlewake_. During that time his delicately adjusted amplifier and his
wonderful ears had enabled him to pick up many weird and unusual
messages. Listening in at sea before a great storm is like wandering on
the beach after that same storm; you never can tell what you may pick
up. But though fragments of many messages had come to him, not one of
any importance to the _Kittlewake_ had reached his ears. If during that
time any message from the _Stormy Petrel_ had been sent out, it had been
lost in the crash and snap of static which now kept up a constant din in
his ears.

Again doubt assailed him. He had no positive knowledge that the boys in
the plane had gone in search of that mysterious island of the old
chart. They might, for all he knew, be at this moment enjoying a rich
feast on some island off the coast of America.

"Cuba, for instance," he told himself. "Not at all impossible. Short
trip for such a seaplane."

"And here," he grumbled angrily to himself, "here I am risking my own
life a