Though well protected with their slickers and helmets, the rain poured into the girls’ faces, making it impossible for Linda to see anything. With the clouds and the rain all about her, the earth was entirely invisible, and she had to depend solely upon her instruments.
“We’re getting away from it!” cried Amy, who had been pretty well frightened for a while. Indeed, they did seem to be making progress, for the thunder seemed a little more distant.
The pilot could not take time to bother with the speaking tube, so she made no reply. She was afraid that she would come upon another plane in this semi-darkness, and that there would ensue one of those crashes which her Aunt Emily so dreaded.
But it was over soon—they had evidently passed through it, and the skies were lighter, with blue patches appearing here and there. With a deep sigh of thankfulness, Linda dipped her autogiro lower, that they might study the landscape, for she felt sure that they were now off their course.
It was ten minutes later, and the sun was shining, when they came to a river, a broad, beautiful stream that seemed almost too wide to be the Fox River, as Linda had pictured it.
“I don’t think this is it!” she shouted to Amy. “But look for a gray stone house with a tower.”
“There are too many houses,” replied Amy. “The one we want is supposed to be all alone.”
Linda flew still lower, along the bank of the river. Suddenly Amy spied a tower.
“That must be it!” cried Linda, in excited joy. “And there’s a good big field—” Abruptly all her delight died. For there were already three planes standing in that field! She must have lost the treasure hunt!
“We’re too late!” she wailed.