m near
the middle. It was hard to see details among the palms, but they seemed
small and unpainted, like fishermen's shacks. Rick reversed course and
flew down the western side and they counted five more. One fairly
pretentious beach house was near the northern tip of the island. In
general, the houses on the western side seemed better kept, and slightly
larger. A few houses had small docks. Off the southern tip of the
island, on the western side, a boat was trolling. The occupants waved as
Rick flew over.

"Wonder which house is ours?" Scotty asked.

They didn't know, of course. Arrangements for a beach house had been
made for them by a friend of Zircon's, and not until they landed at
Charlotte Amalie would they get the details. The same friend, Dr. Paul
Ernst, had also arranged for a boat, to be used as a diving tender.

Rick was tempted to land in the smooth water off the western shore. The
Sky Wagon had been equipped with pontoons for that very purpose. They
had realized that no landing place would be available on the cay for a
wheeled aircraft. But there was little to be gained by landing now when
they didn't even know which house would be theirs.

Besides, there were supplies and equipment to be picked up and charts to
be obtained, and the Sky Wagon needed to have the tank topped off, since
they couldn't very well carry aviation gas to the island.

Reluctantly, Rick asked, "Anyone want to see anything else?"

"Not me," Hobart Zircon said flatly. "I want to get to Charlotte Amalie
so we can get started back. That water looks clear enough to drink."

"See any sign of wrecks on the bottom?" Tony inquired.

No one had. No one had looked. They were too interested in getting an
over-all view of Clipper Cay.

Rick set his course for St. Thomas. Now that he thought about it, he was
rather pleased with himself. The flight from Spindrift was the longest
single trip he had ever taken in the Sky Wagon. The party had stopped
for fuel as needed and had stayed overnight as darkness overtook them
along the way. He had hit every destination on the nose, on time. And
now the end of the trip was in sight without a single incident to mar
its smoothness.

In a short time the mountains of St. Thomas rose out of the sea, and
soon afterward Rick circled high above the colorful roofs of Charlotte
Amalie. He switched on his radio and asked for seaplane landing
instructions. The airfield directed him to the proper landing place,