“Hurrah!” yelled Frank who had caught sight of the “reds,” camp and the radio instruments. “Now we can send a message to Colonel Maidley.”
“Righto!” agreed Mr. Pauling. “Get it off. No need of cipher now.”
Quickly adjusting the instruments, the boys called the government station at Georgetown and ticked off the message telling of their success and the fact that they had captured the long-sought ringleader of the gang. Then, telling Sam to load the instruments into the boat, they joined the others who were examining and searching the plane. There was little to be found, however. The hull was filled with water, but the nine Indians with the Boviander’s help dragged the plane high and dry and, the water having drained off, Mr. Pauling and his friends removed everything within. Then they searched for possible secret lockers or compartments and were busy at this when Sam approached.
Touching Mr. Pauling on the sleeve, he drew him to one side. “Tha’ man he mek to watch yo’,” he announced in low tones. “Ah was puttin’ tha’ ins’ments abo’d an’ Ah looks up an’ see he liftin’ he haid an’ tryin’ fo’ see what yo’ doin’. An, Chief, he move he han’s O. K. Ah sees he clutch he fis’s an’ Ah knows he was cursin’ under he breath. Ah’s pos’tive he’s jus’ playin’ possum, Chief.”
“Hmm,” mused Mr. Pauling. “Well, you stay there and keep a strict guard over him, Sam. Thank you for telling me.”
“Didn’t I say so?” exclaimed the diver when Mr. Pauling repeated Sam’s information. “He’ll bear watching all right.”
“Well, I think we may, as well leave,” declared Mr. Henderson. “There’s nothing more of interest here--only water-soaked provisions, extra clothes and--by Jove! what’s this?”
As he spoke he had tossed a sodden coat onto the shore and as he did so a dark leather wallet or bill book had dropped from a pocket. Stooping quickly, he picked it up and opened it while the others gathered close about. Within were bank notes of large denominations, a few letters absolutely illegible from the water and a larger folded sheet of tough parchmentlike paper. Carefully, Mr. Henderson unfolded it and glanced at it.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “It’s a chart.”
“I’ll say it is!” cried Rawlins. “And of the West Indies! By the great horn spoon, now we’ve got ’em dead to rights!”