The afternoon passed, with the motor still functioning perfectly. The wind increased somewhat, but not enough to disturb Linda greatly. She was continuing to fly high, for she didn’t want to run any risk of hitting that deep, terrifying ocean again. A little before sunset they sighted a ship.
“I’m going a little lower,” she shouted to Dot. “Get your glasses. We’ll see whether that’s the ‘Mona.’”
“It is!” exclaimed Dot, a few minutes later. “I suppose we’re too far south to meet the regular Los Angeles-Hawaii lines. But we must be following about the same course as the ‘Mona.’”
“Keep a watch-out for the girl-friend!” advised Linda.
Down they glided, keeping the ship in sight until they were about a hundred feet over the water. It was a small boat—not nearly so large as the regular San Francisco-Hawaii line; and they could see the people hurrying to the deck, peering through their glasses, and waving and shouting in greeting. Dot, too, did her share of the searching.
“I don’t see them,” she said.
Linda looked intently, but she could not distinguish the passengers’ faces. However, she did not think it was likely that Sprague or his wife would be waving to them. They would surely recognize the plane.
“Probably they’ve been keeping off the decks,” she said. “Hiding, as much as possible, without arousing suspicion.”
“Maybe the girl’s seasick,” observed Dot. “I only hope she doesn’t pass out and get buried at sea, before we ever have a look at her, or a chance to collect that five thousand,” remarked Dot.
Linda regained her height, and sped onward, determined to get to Hawaii well in advance of the boat, and to lie in wait for the criminals. The blood was rushing through her veins, and she was thrilled with the chase, but she resolutely kept calm. The worst of the trip—the black night—was ahead of her, and she needed every ounce she had of energy and nerve.