Many questions remained to be answered. How had it happened that two men who seemed to be British left the island in the jet plane, and five—two Germans and three Japs—came back? Were those first two men Germans posing as Britishers? Could they be renegade Britishers, traitors to their country? Or were they loyal to their country, and had the jet plane been stolen from them? One more thing Jack wanted to know. Who had manufactured that plane? In the scrapbook there had been articles in four languages, so it could easily have come from any of these lands. Of one thing he was certain. Give him a chance at it and he would fly that plane, first thing. And did he want to try it? Oh man! Did he! “Suppose it’s a German plane of a design unknown to the Allies, what a scoop it would be if I could drop it down on the deck of the old _Black Bee_,” he thought. “Even if it were an American-built plane, I would be performing a great service if I snatched it from the enemy before they had used it as a model.” Yes, he must have that plane! But first, he thought with a start, we’ve got to get Ted and his plane ashore before this mist clears and that jet plane fellow is out after us. “How about getting this plane over to the island?” he demanded. “All right. We got canoes. We pull ’em. No fly ’em,” said the Chief. “You fly ’em pretty soon.” “He got the idea,” Ted agreed. “Let’s go.” Lines were attached to the plane; then with a low chant the natives were paddling in perfect rhythm and drawing the plane silently toward the island. CHAPTER XXIII HOT CANNIBAL RIVETS Ted’s plane was heavy, a dead weight in the water. Progress toward the island was slow, but the protecting screen of mist held on. Noon came, and Mary produced cold meat sandwiches and bananas for their lunch. As Jack watched her give a banana to the monkey perched on her shoulder, he caught the gleam of the chain and the tag the monkey wore about his neck. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “That’s _your_ dog tag the monk is wearing!” “Sure,” she flashed him a smile. “What did you think?” “Almost anything before I knew you were a white girl,” he admitted. “I’ll bet you thought the natives had eaten me,” she laughed, “and that all that was left of me was the dog tag.” “That, and your white uniform,” he supplemented. “Oh! So you saw me dig it out from its hiding place!” she accused him. “Aren’t you ashamed, spying on a lady while she tries on a new dress?” “It wasn’t too shocking. Besides, you were just one more dusky maiden, and still are.” He touched her dark cheek. “All that will change,” she replied soberly. Then recited: Turn, turn my wheel. All things must change. The blue eggs in the robin’s nest Will soon have wings and beak and breast and flutter and fly away.