A glance at the speedometer showed Peggy’s two passengers that they were reeling off fifty-five miles an hour.  The Cobweb was doing slightly better.

“We should round the light in a few minutes now,” said Jimsy scrutinizing his watch anxiously.

“Will they report us?” asked Jess.

“Yes.  There is a wireless rigged up there.  The minute we round it on our return trip word will be flashed back to the starting point.”

Silently they sat counting the minutes roll by.  All at once Jimsy noticed that the air had become strangely damp and moist.  He looked up.  He could not refrain a cry of astonishment as he did so.  The Golden Butterfly was enveloped in a damp, steamy sort of smother.  The Cobweb had been blotted out and so had the other aeroplanes.

“Fog,” he exclaimed.  “What a bit of bad luck.”

“It’s just as bad for the others,” Peggy reminded him.

“Have you got your course?” asked Jess anxiously.

“Yes.  Almost due east.  But in this dense mist it will be hard to come close enough to the lighthouse to be reported without the danger of dashing into it.”

“Are you going to try for it?”

“Of course,” was the brief reply.  Peggy slowed down the engine.  The Golden Butterfly now seemed to be gliding silently through lonely billows of white sea fog.  It was an uncanny feeling.  The occupants of the machine felt a chilling sense of complete isolation.

Thanks to their barograph, however, they could judge their height above the sea.

“Good thing we’ve got it,” commented Jimsy; “otherwise we might have a thrilling encounter with the topmasts of some schooner.”

“I only wish we had some instrument to show us where the other aeroplanes are,” said Peggy; “it’s hard to hear anything in this fog.”

“Maybe it will clear off,” suggested Jess hopefully.

“Not unless we get some wind,” opined Jimsy; “queer how quick that wind dropped and this smother came up.”

Nobody even hinted at the deadly danger they were in.  But each occupant of the Golden Butterfly knew it full well.  Except for the compass, they had no way of guiding their flight, and to turn about would have been to court disaster.  There was only one thing for it, to keep on.  This Peggy did, grimly compressing her lips.

“Hark!” exclaimed Jimsy suddenly.

Far below them they could hear a mournful sound.  It was wafted up to them in fits and starts.

“Ding-dong!  Ding-dong!”

“A church bell,” cried Jess, “we must be over land, Peggy!”

The other shook her head.

“That’s a bell buoy, I guess,” she said.

“I wish he’d tell us how to get out of here,” joked Jimsy, rather wearily.

“Who?” asked Jess.

“That bell boy.”

Never had one of Jimsy’s jokes fallen so flat.  He mentally resolved not to attempt another one.