“After which,” said Dick, “we’ll turn back, and go slowly, keeping as close to shore as possible. We may be able to find where they landed.”
This plan was adopted. Jenkins turned the Sybil’s head upstream once more, and they started off slowly, keeping close in-shore.
For half an hour they moved along, and then Dick’s keen eyes caught sight of a piece of white fluttering from a bush fifty feet ahead. He looked at it steadily for a few moments, and then gave a start.
“Run in here,” he commanded Jenkins.
The latter did as he was told. Dick leaped lightly ashore and approached the fluttering piece of white, which he now saw was a handkerchief. He picked it up and returned to the boat.
“Do you recognize this?” he asked, passing it to Leonard.
Leonard glanced at it carefully. In one corner were two small initials.
“M.A.,” he read. “Mabel Ashton,” he exclaimed. “How do you suppose that got there?”
“It’s plain enough,” said Dick simply. “She dropped it there in the hopes that we might find it, and so learn where they had landed.”
“Then,” said Leonard, “there should be footprints.”