“Well, I guess it’s not so interesting as Saba,” admitted the diver. “But it’s pretty interesting if you know it’s history. It’s the first place where the American flag was saluted and during the Revolutionary War it was the richest and busiest port in the world. And the biggest auction the world’s ever seen was held there. You’ll not see any ships or warehouses to speak of at Orange Town now, but you’ll see the remains of the old ones.”
“Then why was it given up?” asked Tom.
“’Twasn’t!” laughed Rawlins. “At least, not purposely. You see, during the Revolution, Statia, being Dutch and a free port, was used as a clearing place for the French, British, and Americans. It was neutral, and all the goods going in or out of the West Indies were sent there and stored until called for by ships. But the English sent a warship and seized everything, and then auctioned off the whole lot--ships and merchandise both--and of course, the business was never resumed.”
“How do you happen to know so much about all these places, may I ask?” inquired Mr. Henderson. “You seem to be a sort of walking gazetteer of the West Indies.”
Rawlins chuckled. “Well, you see,” he answered, “father was a sea captain before he took to salvage work and I used to go on trips with him from the time I was a kid, knee high to a grasshopper. His old hooker had a West Indian trade route and I saw nearly all the islands and what I didn’t see for myself he told me about. Then, when I took to diving I got a lot of work down here.”
“Ah, I understand,” said Mr. Henderson. “And, knowing the islands so well, could you suggest any one--or several--which would be suitable as landing places for that plane?”
“Sure,” replied the diver. “He could land at pretty nearly any of them--or rather near them. There are long stretches of uninhabited coast on all. Even Barbados, which is the most densely inhabited, has plenty of places where a plane could slip in and none be wiser--only they’d see him coming and run like blazes to watch him come down. No, I don’t expect he’ll try landing near any of the big islands. More likely he’d pick some small cay or outlying islet--there 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?”