“The wind shifted about shortly after midnight last night. I observed that. During the first part of the night it was off shore, but it swung round till it was almost in the south. At one o’clock the parties on the _White Wings_ could not have sailed down the bay without beating to windward.” “I didn’t observe that.” “I did, for I was taking note of just such things after discovering the yacht was gone. Of course the thieves wished to get as far away as possible before sunrise, and they would not beat against the wind. It is my opinion that they ran over toward the Eastern Bay, which is full of islands, where they might hide the yacht. It is possible they will keep on toward Eastport. Anyway, I am going to look for them in the Eastern Bay.” Jack did not like to give in, but he saw the logic of Frank’s reasoning. “All right,” he said. “You are in command. Do as you like.” They made straight for Searsport, but the _White Wings_ was not in the harbor there. “Where next?” asked Dustan. “Islesborough,” answered Merry. “But that is on the western side of Long Island. If you are going straight into the Eastern Bay, you must go round to the north of Long Island.” “I am not going directly into the Eastern Bay. If the _White Wings_ is not at Islesborough, I shall run down on this side of Long Island to Pulpit Harbor. The rascals might take her in there, as it would be a good hiding place. If she isn’t there, I shall strike round to the south of the island and over into the Eastern Bay that way. If they have set their course southeast, we may cut them off.” So for Islesborough they headed and ran into the harbor there, where they made inquiries of some fishermen, but could learn nothing. The missing yacht had not been seen. From Islesborough to Pulpit Harbor was not a very long run. They crept slowly in at the narrow entrance of the harbor, where it looked as if a vessel would be in danger of rubbing her sides against the rocky shores, but where, at the lowest water, no vessel could touch her keel. Again they were disappointed. The yacht was not there, and no one at the harbor had seen or heard from her. They did not waste time, but ran out past the “pulpit” again and were away like hounds seeking a scent. “We are so near Camden we may as well run down there,” said Diamond. “The _White Wings_ is known there, and, if anybody has seen her, we’ll be likely to hear of it.” “That’s right,” agreed Frank. “It may be well enough to run in to Camden. We’ll go there, Dustan.” So the launch was headed toward the distant mountains, under the shadow of which lies the village that hopes some day to rival Bar Harbor. The mountains were attractive in the sunshine, but Battie looked insignificant in comparison to Megunticook. The Summit House could be seen on the crest of Battie, the sunshine glimmering on its windows and showing the flag that waved in the breeze from the pole on the top of the observation tower.