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Updated: April 30, 2025
No, he would not tell her, not at this time. There might be some other way. "Your brother and his chum," he said evenly, "have gone in search of that island of gold." She stared at him in silence. "If they haven't gone already, they may be gone before we reach the coast," he continued. "They will probably go in Alfred Brightwood's seaplane." "Yes, yes," she broke her spell of silence.
The spot of light which raced across the waters of the sea where no land was to be seen, where the black surface of the swiftly changing waters shone always beneath the occupants of the seaplane, took on an ever widening circle. There appeared to be no end to Alfred Brightwood's belief that somewhere in the midst of all this waste of waters there was an island.
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.
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