"All hands must help. I want to locate the pilot's house, I want to be sure that this Schmitt-Schmitt is really there and that he is the same fellow we knew as Gerstein on the Raven."
"That's easy," declared Stoodles. "The picture gives us a hint as to the house."
"We will separate so as to excite no notice or suspicions," directed Dave. "Let each one of us find out all he can, and report at this spot in three hours."
"In three hours be it," nodded Stoodles, looking very businesslike.
"All right," assented Bob, taking another good look at the picture of the pilot's house.
Dave allowed his two friends to select their own course. Then, when they were out of sight, he took an independent route.
He surmised that the pilot would probably live near the water's edge. In this he found his calculations correct, and an hour's search brought some results.
"That is the house," spoke Dave finally, peering from a clump of thick high bushes. "Yes, there is the very bench the pilot and Schmitt-Schmitt sat on when Mr. Adair took their picture."
Before Dave lay a ground plot of considerable extent and fairly smothered in luxurious vegetation, sloping down to the beach. In its center was a lone hut, open and rambling, and having a broad porch that ran clear around it.
It was a typical tropical habitation of the poorer class. No one seemed stirring about the place except far back in the rear. Here there was a thick plantation of high resinous bushes. One man was feeding these into a rude grinding mill operated by a big lazy mule treading in a circle.