"If they could only have given us some definite clew," spoke Mr. Ringold. "I'd do anything I could to rescue them. But it is like searching in the dark."
"And, speaking of the dark, reminds me that it will soon be dark here, and we'll have to look for some place to tie up," remarked Blake. "I think we'd better be getting over toward shore."
"And I agree with you," said Mr. Ringold.
He took the wheel, relieving Joe, who had not yet eaten. The craft was directed over toward the eastern shore, and a sharp lookout was kept for some sheltered cove where the night could be spent.
It grew darker rapidly, and the rain increased in violence.
"There's a lot of stuff coming down," observed Blake, as he stood at the wheel, beside Mr. Ringold. "More debris than we've seen in some time."
"That's right," agreed the manager. "There's an island just below us," he added. "I wonder if, by any chance, our friends could have landed on that."
"We might stop there and see," suggested Blake. "It might be a good place to spend the night."
"I'll try it, at any rate," Mr. Ringold said.
