CHAPTER XII
OUT TO SEA IN A COCKLESHELL
Darkness was falling when at last Curlie and Joe reached the station at Landensport. In spite of the fact that they had had no supper and were weary from travel, Curlie insisted on going at once to the hangar where the Stormy Petrel, Alfred Brightwood's seaplane, was kept.
"Yes," said the keeper of the hangar, "they hopped off six hours ago. Seemed to be preparing for somethin' of a journey; they filled the tanks with gas and loaded her cabin full of things to eat. Some sort of a picnic, I reckon. Strange part of it was," he said reflectively, "I watched 'em as they went and sure's I'm standin' here they shot out to sea, straight as an arrow, and far as you could see 'em they was going right on. Couldn't be tryin' to cross the Atlantic, but you can never tell what'll get into that Brightwood boy's head. He's darin', he is. Jest some picnic, though, I reckon."
"Some picnic all right!" said Curlie emphatically. "Some picnic for all of us!"
"Eh? What?" the keeper turned on him quickly.
Curlie did not answer.
"Vincent Ardmore went with him, I suppose," Curlie said after a moment's silence.