abandoned forts on Brimstone Hill at St. Kitts and about the troops of monkeys which haunt the old barracks and parapets. They had learned, also, for the first time in their lives, that Nevis was the birthplace of Alexander Hamilton and was famous as the spot where Admiral Nelson had been married. But such matters of historical interest appealed far less to the boys than Rawlins’ story of the submerged city of Jamestown which was destroyed by an earthquake and sank below the sea in 1689.

“Say, wouldn’t it be fun to go down there in a diving suit and look around!” said Tom, when the diver had described how the coral-encrusted ruins could still be seen through the water on calm days.

“Yep,” agreed Rawlins. “I’ve often kind of hankered to have a look at it--and at Port Royal, over in Jamaica. That slid into the sea one day--with a lot of treasure in it, too. It used to be a regular hang-out for the pirates and the whole shooting match went under during an earthquake in 1692. Some considerable spell of time since then, but I shouldn’t wonder if a diver could find something there.”

“Gee, I wouldn’t like to live down here where towns have the habit of getting drowned,” declared Frank.

Mr. Pauling laughed. “People who live in earthquake or volcanic countries become accustomed to such things,” he said. “Even St. Pierre, Martinique, where nearly forty thousand people were killed, is being built up and inhabited again, I hear.”

A little later, land was reported ahead and through their glasses the boys saw a rounded, gray mass breaking the sea line. This, the Commander told them, was Redonda, and he added that it was an isolated, barren rock, whose only inhabitants were the lighthouse keeper and a small company of laborers who were employed in gathering the phosphate rock.

Then, beyond, and so green that, as Tom said, it looked like a bit of green velvet, the island of Montserrat gradually rose above the horizon before the speeding destroyer.

“Gosh, that is an emerald isle!” exclaimed Frank.

“Yes, and a little Ireland too,” agreed Rawlins. “If you went ashore there, you’d think you were dreaming. Every one of the niggers speaks with a brogue and there are Mulvaneys and Dennises and Muldoons as black as the ace of spades and some of them with red hair. You see, Montserrat was settled originally by the Irish and the brogue and the names have come down through generations.”

“It seems to me we’re leaving all the most interesting places without seeing them,” said Frank regretfully. “I’d like mighty well to see Irish negroes.”

“You must remember we’re neither on a pleasure cruise or a joy ride,” Mr. Pauling reminded him. “And you’re fortunate even to see the islands.”

Then, turning to Rawlins, he asked, “Have you definite plans in view, Rawlins? I suppose there is no use in stopping at Montserrat as long as the Guiana reported the plane south of there.”

“No, I’m going to ask you to let the Commander just hustle the old girl right along and radio Guadeloupe for information. He ought to be able to get it now. If they sighted the plane, we’ll have to try Dominica, but there’s no radio station there and I’m still betting on Aves. You remember, about that looting of the bank at Dominica? Well, if they had a hang-out at Aves, that would have been dead easy. I think, unless we hear he passed Guadeloupe headed away from it, that we’ll hike to Aves without stopping.”

Mr. Pauling chuckled. “It seems to me that Henderson and I are scarcely more than accessories now,” he declared. “Everything seems to have fallen into your hands. But that’s quite right, Rawlins. You know the islands and we don’t, and we’re following your hunch, you know.”

A few moments later, Bancroft, the wireless operator, appeared. “We got Guadeloupe, Sir,” he informed Mr. Pauling. “They have no report of an airship.”

“By glory, then ’tis Aves!” cried Rawlins. “There isn’t another spot he could have made before dark last night.”

“Unless he came down at some out of the way part of Guadeloupe,” put in Mr. Henderson. “I’ve been talking with Disbrow and he says it’s a wild, little known coast, with few inhabitants.”

“Yes,” agreed the diver. “But I figure this way. That’s not the first time the Old Boy has used a plane--and you can’t grab a seaplane at any old time and place when the spirit moves you. No, he keeps that machine for emergencies or uses it as a regular thing between certain bases of his own and, even if he could make a landing at Guadeloupe or one of the inhabited islands without being seen, he couldn’t keep the plane there unknown to any one. That’s why I’m strong on the Aves hunch. He could have anything he wanted there, and none the wiser.”

“Your reasoning is sound,” declared Mr. Pauling, “and I agree with you. When should we reach Aves?”

“We could make it to-night,” replied the Commander, to whom Mr. Pauling had addressed the last query, “but I’d prefer to slow down and make it by daybreak--its a mere speck and scarcely ten feet above water and there’s a risk in running for it in the dark.”

“Yes, by all means, wait for dawn,” assented Mr. Pauling. “We could accomplish nothing at night and if there are men there, our lights might warn them.”

Accordingly, the destroyer slowed down and with the vast bulk of Guadeloupe stretching for miles along the eastern horizon, the little vessel slid easily through the sea towards her goal. As usual, Bancroft or one of the boys constantly listened at the radio receivers, but no sounds, save the messages passing between two distant merchant ships, came in.

With the first faint streaks of light upon the eastern sky, the destroyer picked up speed and tore southward for the tiny speck of land that lay below the horizon ahead. The forward gun was manned and ready for emergencies; the two boys and their companions peered anxiously through the gray dawn for a first glimpse of the sought-for islet, and all thrilled with expectancy and excitement.

“There ’tis!” cried Rawlins, who was the first to catch a glimpse of the tiny gray smudge that broke the even level of the sea’s rim.

Instantly, all glasses were focused on the spot and rapidly it rose and took form as a low, flat-topped bit of land, rimmed with white surf and with clouds of sea birds wheeling above it. So low was the island that within half an hour of first sighting it, the destroyer was as close to it as the Commander dared approach and all were anxiously searching the desolate spot for some sign of life or of the plane.

“Looks as if your hunch were wrong for once, Rawlins,” said Mr. Pauling. “I don’t see a sign of anything but bare rock and birds.”

“Well, it’s all-fired funny,” declared the diver, “but I’m not sure even yet. Maybe the plane’s on the other side of the island or in some cove. I won’t be satisfied until I’ve searched every inch of the place.”

But when, a few minutes later, they landed upon this isolated, almost unknown bit of forsaken land and were almost deafened by the screams, cries, and protests of the countless thousands of gulls, terns, gannets, pelicans and boobies that made it their home, the island seemed absolutely devoid of all traces of human beings. Rawlins, however, insisted there was no other place where the sea plane could have found a resting place for the night and he searched here, there and everywhere.

Finally, when the party had almost completed the circuit of the little ten-acre spot, the diver, who was in advance, gave a shout.

“I’ll say they were here!” he announced as the others hurried to where he stood at the head of a deep indentation or cove in the rocky shore. “Look here,” he continued, pointing to the bit of sandy beach, “a boat’s been pulled up on the sand here within the last twenty-four hours and