Without further question Vivian dropped to the frozen surface of Jeanne’s little lost lake, cupped her hands about her eyes and, for one full moment, lay there flat upon the ice, looking—just looking.
To Jeanne those sixty seconds were sixty hours. “That girl June Travis,” she was thinking to herself, “expects her father to come back. Sometimes people have faith to believe such things. God must give them the power to believe. But if her father is down there—if he has been there for years?” She only half formed this last question, and made no effort to answer it.
“Jeanne!” Vivian sprang to her feet with a suddenness that was startling. “I see an airplane down there. There is a circle on the right plane and inside the circle is D.X.123!”
Jeanne uttered a sharp cry. “Then it is true!”
“What is true?” Vivian demanded. “How did the airplane get there?”
Slowly, haltingly, Jeanne told her all she knew of the D.X.123, and all she suspected as well.
“Jeanne!” Vivian’s voice was hoarse with emotion. “There is a great beacon light on Passage Island, four miles off the end of Isle Royale. It is there to guide passing ships. But on a night of wild storm song birds, driven off their course, seeing the beacon and thinking it a place of refuge, come racing in to dash out their lives against the thick glass of the light. The men in that plane must have thought this little lake a place of refuge, and found it only a grave!
“And yet,” she said quickly, “just because the plane is down there is no proof the men are there also. Only last summer an airplane went down in Rock Harbor, just ten miles from here. The plane sank from sight in ten minutes. But before it sank the two men on board were rescued and are living still.
“Come!” Once again her voice changed as she prepared to spring into action. “We must hurry back and tell Sandy about our discovery. We’ll get the short wave at Michigan Tech. They will relay a message to Sandy’s paper. Just think what a scoop it will be for him! Can’t you see the headline: ‘Plane D.X.123 found at bottom of small lake on Isle Royale!’”
“Yes,” Jeanne spoke slowly, “I can see that. I can see more than that. I can see the face of my friend June Travis when she reads that headline. Her father left in that airplane, Vivian. Her father! She may not know all about it, but when she reads that name, John Travis, she will know. But, Vivian, newspapers are often cruel. We must not let Sandy’s paper be cruel; at least, please not yet!”