“I’ll say we’d better beat it for Demerara,” declared Rawlins before Mr. Pauling could reply. “If those devils are off in that seaplane, we may get ’em yet. They’ve got to land somewhere and they’ve got to come back. They can’t fly clean across South America without gas.”
“Righto!” agreed the inspector. “Cousin of mine inspector there, you know. Give him my regards. Good chap, Philip, rather new to his job, of course, and all that sort of thing--but smart chap. Yes, he’ll do anything to help you, rather!”
“Now, what’s this big idea about going to Demerara?” asked Mr. Pauling, after the inspector had left accompanied by his men and with the surly prisoners securely handcuffed.
“Why, my idea is just this,” the diver explained. “Those two rascals have beat it for the interior in their plane. Of course, they were that slick guy with the monocle and old Red Whiskers--but you know as well as I do that they’re not exploring or in the interests of any syndicate. But I will say they’ve got some sense of humor at that--‘big American and British syndicate,’ by glory! They’re half telling the truth at that--the ‘reds’ are some syndicate, I’ll tell the world! But that trip of theirs is just bluff. They’ve just gone up in the bush a ways to lie low until we’ve dropped off their trail. And I’ll say they had some everlasting nerve to use the name Devonshire and run the risk of the bobbies over there getting suspicious when the Devon came in. Expect it was so the crew wouldn’t have trouble in remembering it. Well, as I was saying, they’ll hide out in the bush or, by Jimminy, they may be headed for Dutch Guiana! But, whatever it is, a plane can’t go snooping around Guiana without attracting attention and we can trail ’em easy.”
“Admitting all that is true, as it no doubt is, whose attention is the plane going to attract and how do you propose trailing them?” asked Mr. Pauling.
“Also,” he added, “what makes you think the Devon was seized? Perhaps, the two took passage on her from some port with their plane.”
“I’ll answer the last question first,” replied the diver. “A couple of chaps don’t go touring around the West Indies carrying a seaplane in their handbag and if they’d appeared suddenly at some port, as if flying around, the paper would have mentioned it. Trust the skipper of the Devon--if he’d been genuine--to make a good yarn out of it. Besides, if they hadn’t seized the ship, how the deuce would Robinson have thought of using the same name and just tacking a ‘shire’ on it? If he’d been straight--or rather if they’d just boarded the Devon as you suggest--he’d have said Devon. And there’s that Anannias Club we just sent ashore. We know they lied because there wasn’t any Devonshire or I’d think they were survivors from the Devon. But as long as they weren’t, then they’re part of the gang. The only thing that gets me is where they stowed away a big enough crew on the sub to send twenty-two men aboard us and have enough left to man the Devon. And now about the other questions. The Indians are the ones who’ll see the plane and you can bet your boots they’ll all see it--think the Great Spirit himself’s coming I expect. By talking to a few of the Indians, we can trail that old plane as easy as if they were blazing their way.”
“But you forget Guiana is a big territory and a plane can hide anywhere on the rivers,” objected Mr. Pauling. “No, Rawlins, I’m afraid they’ve given us the slip for good.”
“Yes, I agree with you there,” declared Mr. Henderson, “but I do think it may be well to run over to Demerara. We can have a talk with the officials and leave them to apprehend the plane--and the Devon, if it comes back.”
“Very well,” assented Mr. Pauling. “It’s two to one, so I agree. Disbrow, we might as well get under way for Demerara.”