"It certainly is a gale," declared Ned, as he made his way along a
dim passage, as few lights had been set aglow, for fear of the
smugglers seeing the craft outlined in the air. Now, however, when
it was almost certain that they were on the wrong scent, Tom
switched on the incandescents, making the interior of the Falcon
more pleasant.

The giant came into the pilot house to help Tom, and the airship was
turned about, and headed toward Logansville. The wind was now
sweeping from the north across Lake Ontario, and it was all the
powerful craft could do to make headway against it.

There came a terrific blast, which, in spite of all that Tom and
Koku could do, forced the Falcon down, dangerously close to the
dashing billows.

"Hard over, Koku!" called Tom to his giant.

As the airship began to respond to the power of her propellers, and
the up-tilted rudder, Tom heard, from somewhere below him, a series
of shrill blasts on a whistle.

"What's that?" he cried.

"Sounds like a boat below us," answered Mr. Whitford.

"I guess it is," agreed the young inventor. "There she goes again."

Once more came the frantic tooting of a whistle, and mingled with it
could be heard voices shouting in fear, but it was only a confused
murmur of sound. No words could be made out.

"That's a compressed air whistle!" decided Tom. "It must be some
sort of a motor boat in distress. Quick, Mr. Whitford! Tell Ned to
switch on the searchlight, and play it right down on the lake. If
there's a boat in this storm it can't last long. Even an ocean liner
would have trouble. Get the light on quick, and we'll see what we
can do!"

It was the work of but an instant to convey the message to Ned. The
latter called Mr. Damon to relieve him in the motor room, and, a few
seconds later, Ned had switched on the electricity. By means of the
lazy-tongs, and the toggle joints, the bank clerk lifted the lantern
over until the powerful beam from it was projected straight down
into the seething waters of the lake.

"Do you see anything?" asked Mr. Damon from the motor room, at one
side of which Ned stood to operate the lantern.

"Nothing but white-caps," was the answer. "It's a fearful storm."

Once more came the series of shrill whistles, and the confused
calling of voices. Ned opened a window, in order to hear more
plainly. As the whistle tooted again he could locate the sound, and,
by swinging the rays of the searchlight to and fro he finally picked