Kingston, whose little coop was directly behind the pilot room, stuck his head out of his door at that moment and shouted: “Have a care about bumping His Majesty’s liner, _Cantoria_. She’s right over yonder—you can see her. I just picked up a ’gram from her operator objecting to such big planes as ours being tried out in the steamship lanes.” “What’s the matter with that limey?” demanded Ned. “Does he think he owns the whole ocean?” “He is complaining to the U. S. Weather Bureau about us, just the same,” declared the operator. Tom shifted certain levers and the huge plane dived for the riotous surface of the sea. She swooped like a sea-eagle, skimmed the froth-capped waves for some distance, and then settled upon the water like a duck. Foam and spray dashed completely over the wings and the boat’s upperworks. They could scarcely see through the side ports. The roar of the waters pouring over the half buried craft was deafening. For the next few minutes the _Winged Arrow_ was put through a test that surely would have wrecked a less strongly built craft. The compressed air between the skins of the boat had to be increased considerably before she stopped rolling. The airtight pontoons at either end of the wings were not sufficient stabilizers. It seemed that Tom Swift’s ingenuity had actually overcome a drawback that had baffled inventors of similar planes. The flying boat floated like a well ballasted sailing craft. She climbed the steep waves, pitched over their tops, and slid to the depths of the trough between them with surprising ease. When the waves broke against her wings, leaping hungrily to overwhelm them, the perfect balance of the hull brought the whole ship back to an even keel in a few seconds. Ned Newton was delighted. Aside from feeling some little disturbance in his stomach because of the boisterousness of the waves, he considered the test a great success. “If this was my flying boat I certainly would slap myself on the back and give three cheers,” he declared. “You must be a remarkable contortionist to be able to do that,” rejoined Tom, chuckling. “But I really am not posing. It seems as though we had hit the right idea. Hullo! What is the matter with Kingston?” Through the glass half of the door to the radio coop they both saw that the operator seemed excited. He had the eartabs clamped to his head and was evidently listening in on something very important. With his right hand he wrote a few words quickly and then wheeled and beckoned Ned. “Get this to the chief,” he said abruptly. “It is relayed from Block Island. There may be more of it.” Ned wheeled about and thrust the paper into Tom’s hand. The latter read the message at a glance: “T. Swift, com. seaplane _Winged Arrow_, offshore, N. Atlantic, relay: Return immediately very important news of Damon and Nestor.—B. Swift.” Tom stared from the message to his friend. “What do you know about that?” he exclaimed.