“I could go alone, Dot,” Linda remarked, as they started for the dining-room. “Then you’d have a chance to enjoy yourself this afternoon.”
“No,” replied her chum. “It isn’t going to take long, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. You know how I despise that man Sprague—I want to gloat over his capture.”
They ate a hasty meal that was both breakfast and lunch, and got into a car with a native chauffeur, that was waiting for them in the driveway. A few minutes later they arrived at the dock, just as the passengers from the “Mona” were about to be discharged.
It would have been difficult to press through the crowds of native children, with their flowers of welcome for the arriving visitors, had the girls not had the aid of the Chief of Police. Clearing a passage for himself and his companions, he led them right on board the “Mona.” The Captain came forward to meet them, beaming proudly at the two brave aviatrixes, as he shook their hands.
“Congratulations, Miss Carlton and Miss Crowley!” he exclaimed. “You did a valiant thing!”
“Thank you so much,” replied Linda, modestly. She had no desire to talk of her flight over the Pacific; her one absorbing interest now was the capture of the girl whom she had pursued so far.
“Stand here,” continued the Captain, “and you can watch the passengers as they go by.”
Two by two the people on board the “Mona” walked over the gangplank to the pier, as Linda and Dot, their hearts beating fast with excitement, peered intently into their faces.
A dozen couples hurried by, then three lone passengers straggled along as if in no haste at all. But still no girl that even remotely resembled Linda. And no sign of Leslie Sprague.
“Is—that—all?” faltered Linda, unable to believe that they really had not come.