His words were checked at sight of some white object that, whirling with the wind, seemed at first a very large snowflake.
“But no. It—it’s—”
He was about to dive forward in pursuit of it when an inner impulse born of caution caused him to halt.
Dividing his attention between the vanishing plane and the fluttering object, he stood for a space of seconds motionless. Then, as the snow-fog closed in upon the plane, he dashed forward to retrieve a small square of cloth.
“A handkerchief!” He was frankly disappointed.
“But—a woman’s handkerchief.” His interest quickened. One did not associate a woman with this mystery plane.
“Perhaps, after all, it’s a boy’s,” he told himself. “But a boy? One—”
His eyes had caught a mark in the corner. There were words written there, very small words.
Hurrying to his airplane, he climbed into the cabin; then, switching on a powerful electric torch, he studied the words.
“I am a captive,” he read.