"They'd never be alive if we did find them," remarked Worth, gloomily. "And if they did run into that gangster, he'd surely have made away with them."
"If only it would clear up," grumbled the pilot. "So we could see something!"
They were flying much lower now, for it was comparatively safe over the water, and despite the weather, they were able to spot the islands. All of a sudden the mechanic uttered a sharp cry.
"There she is! Look! Over there!"
"Miss Carlton?" demanded Worth, excitedly. "Where?"
"Not the girl! The plane—the autogiro! See—that island to the west! See the wind-mill on top?"
"By George! You're right!" agreed Worth, a thrill running up and down his spine. Thank Heaven, he hadn't given up!
The pilot directed the plane over the island and circled about, landing finally some distance from the autogiro. A glance at the latter assured them that it had not been wrecked. Why, then, hadn't the girls come back? Was it possible that all this scare had risen to alarm the world for the simple reason that Linda Carlton had run out of gas?
The three men climbed out of the cabin and shouted as loud as they could, since the girls had evidently failed to hear their plane, above the noise of the storm and the roar of the ocean. Eagerly they waited for a reply. But when none came, fear crept over them all.
Had the girls died of starvation, or was there foul play of some kind? With gloomy forebodings, they walked about the beach, seeking evidence of some kind to tell the story of what had happened.