Flash’s pulse quickened and a queer feeling came into the pit of his stomach. His plan had seemed simple back on land. But now, peering down at the ruffled surface of the water far below, he realized what a small speck a swimmer must appear to a lookout stationed on the Belmonia.
“Better give it up,” admonished Joe Wells, with a worried frown.
Flash shook his head and, feeling of his money to be certain it was securely fastened, signaled Dave French that he was ready.
The plane drove steadily on and circled the Belmonia twice. Flash and Joe waved, but the only response they received was from a few of the passengers. Obviously, the captain of the vessel had no intention of lowering a boat so they might board.
“All right, I’ll jump!” Flash said. “Any time, Dave.”
The pilot brought the plane lower and motioned for the photographer to get out on the right wing. While Joe helped give him support, Flash struggled from the cockpit. The wind struck him full in the face and, catching him off guard, nearly toppled him from his perch before he was ready to make the plunge. He recovered and clung tightly.
“We’ll wait to see that you’re picked up,” Wells shouted.
“No!” Flash hurled back.
He was convinced that as long as the seaplane remained in the vicinity, Captain Sorenson never would rescue him.
The plane dropped lower and lower until it flew level not more than fifty feet above the surface of the sea. Dave waggled the wings slightly, a signal that it was time to jump.