He closed the throttle and, careful to maintain sufficient speed for steerageway, allowed the plane to drift backward in the heavy wind until the mouth of the little harbor lay off his port quarter. Exerting pressure on left rudder, he allowed the plane’s nose to play off to port for the fraction of a second, then kicked her ahead and dead into the wind again, so as to take the advancing wave nose on.
Soon their slow progress to port was perceptible. As they drew closer into the lee of the headland, the wind was less violent, the waves though high lost their caps of white spume.
Bill gauged his distances to a nicety. His spurts to port became longer, until at last he manœuvered his craft, floating backward and sideways, to leeward of the narrow opening between the cliffs. Then with a vigorous burst of the engine, he swung round to port and sent the amphibian hurtling into the harbor.
“Splendid, son, splendid!” sang out Mr. Bolton, as Bill cut his gun and ripped off his headphone. “We certainly are in luck. This island is evidently inhabited, after all. Look over there!”
Bill was already scanning the cove with a gaze that grasped every detail. As the plane continued to float shoreward over the quiet water, he saw that the harbor was almost landlocked. Broad white beaches ended abruptly in steep cliffs, forty or fifty feet high. Directly ahead a long concrete pier jutted into the bay and nearby a large yacht and two big amphibians lay at their moorings.
“Yes, there are people here,” replied Bill. “That road zig-zagging up the cliffs probably leads to the houses. Funny that nobody has sighted us. I wonder what they’re doing with a sea-going yacht and a couple of planes?”
“Some millionaire’s hobby, no doubt. This key probably belongs to him. Hadn’t we better tie up to the dock and go ashore? We’ve had a strenuous time of it, and I frankly admit I’m dog tired. Clean sheets and a comfortable bed, for five or six hours, will make new men of us both.”
“I’m with you,” smiled his son and sent their plane skimming toward the pier. They made fast to a couple of ringbolts in the concrete and after securing the plane, picked up their suitcases and stepped ashore. Without further waste of time they breasted the winding road that led up the cliff.
“I hope you’re right about the millionaire,” remarked Bill, as he trudged beside his father. “That should mean a comfortable house and a good feed. Sandwiches are all right, but they don’t go very far when you’re downright hungry!”
“Well, this road cost a lot of money to build,” puffed Mr. Bolton. “It seems to me that this key is the winter home of some pretty wealthy people. Ah, here we are—top at last!”