DOROTHY DIXON SOLVES THE CONWAY CASE
Chapter I
OUT OF LUCK
Above the speeding airplane, lowering black of approaching night and storm; below, the forest, grim and silent, swelling over ridges, dipping into valleys, crestless waves on a dark green ocean.
“We can’t make it, Betty.”
Dorothy Dixon, at the controls, spoke into the mouthpiece of her headphone set.
Betty Mayo, in the rear cockpit, glanced overside and shuddered.
“But you can’t land on those trees!” she cried shrilly. “We’ll crash—you know that!”
“Maybe we will—and maybe we won’t!” returned Dorothy, gritting her teeth. “Keep your eyes peeled for a pond or a woodlot—anywhere you think we can land.”