Last time Bill and Horace were marched out of their shack and ended up below deck on a boat.

Chapter 20

The next morning, Anatoly, Bentley and Thompson packed up and boarded their boat again. They had decided on their next island already and Bentley steered the boat out of the cove and into deeper waters while Anatoly took the binoculars and scanned the seas for any signs of the children, the boat and Bill.

They were relieved to leave ‘Wreckage Island’ as they had named it, but were now wary of what they may find out there. The next few islands were small, and apart from a few bits of flotsam and jetsam which appeared to have the same source as the wreckage they’d found the day before, they found nothing of interest. After lunch they approached their first large island of the day, and with still a good half-mile to sail they began spotting black and white birds bobbing and diving in the water around them.

“Puffins,” Anatoly said aloud.

“Puffins,” Thompson agreed, lifting the field-glasses and gazing through them with a fresh intensity.

“Wasn’t one of the boys that Cunningham brought with obsessed with birds?” asked Bentley as they neared the island. “This could be a likely place for them to have made camp, then.”

“Jack, yes,” Anatoly agreed, leaning out over to get a better look at one of the curious striped-beaked birds. One or two gazed solemnly back, ruffling their wings as the wake of the boat disturbed their position in the water. “He was very keen to see puffins on this trip.”

“Any further forward and you will fall in yourself!” laughed Thompson. “Keep on course, Bentley, maybe we are getting closer to finding them all.”

Bentley steered the boat around the fringes of the island, as he had done with so many islands before. On the south side they pointed out a sheltered cove which would make a good landing spot, but then after going at least two thirds of the way around they saw a natural channel in the eastern cliffs, a natural harbour of sorts.

“I’ll just take a quick look,” Bentley said, even though they hadn’t completed their circle of the island. “Might be nothing, you know, no way on to the island itself.”

The boat nosed carefully between the rocky walls, and drew up alongside a handy ledge, perfect for stepping off the boat. And there, on a jutting out rock, was a length of knotted rope, ragged and torn at one end.

“Newish,” Thompson said, reaching out to take a hold of it. “Good quality. The sort of stuff we’ve got on board.”

“Could it be from the smashed up boat we found?” Anatoly said keenly. “Should we moor here and get searching? The children and Bill might be stuck here without supplies!”

“It could be,” Bentley said. “I don’t want to leave the boat here, though. If something happened to the last one here… I’d rather head around to that sheltered cove and start from there.”

Anatoly tried not to grumble and merely submitted to Bentley’s authority. The boat was piloted out of the bay and round to the better, ‘safer’ bay that Bentley preferred to moor in. He jumped out of the boat as it pulled into the cove and went to tie the mooring rope, hoping that their search may soon be over.

While previously they had split up to cover the ground better, today they had chosen to search in a tighter formation. They all felt like they were getting closer to their quarry, and the boat wreckage had unsettled them. Before long they had spotted their first signs that someone had been here recently. Some of the sea-pinks and heather had been trampled by heavier feet than any sea-bird had, and it was almost possible to follow a path from the cove which indicated that it had been walked several times. Perhaps by someone unloading a boat in order to set up camp.

In fact they didn’t have to search too much for clues. There were patches of flattened ground where tents must have been pitched, and Thompson even found a few scraps of sweet papers, blown by the wind and caught on the heather. “I think we are on the right track, gents,” Thompson proclaimed.

Bentley was bending down to examine the ground where two tents had once been. He could just make out a few small holes where the tent pegs had once been. He thought of the tent that had blown miles away onto another island completely, and wondered just what had happened. Further over he spotted a slightly rusted tin can poking out of a hole.

“Someone’s definitely camped here within the past few days,” he said. “I wish we could say for sure that it was Bill and his lot. It’s likely, very likely, but I wish we could turn up something concrete. Let’s keep looking.”

The search began in earnest, the three men spreading out to cover as much ground as possible without losing sight of each other. Anatoly was checking under some bushes when there was a yell of shock from Bentley.

Anatoly sprang up, looking over to where Bentley had been the last time he looked. He had been searching a heathery area across to his left, but now there was no sign of him. Was it possible that there there someone else on the island, and that person had harmed Bentley?

Thompson appeared looking rushed and confused. “Where’s Bentley?” he demanded of Anatoly. “What happened?”

“I have no idea! He was there one minute,” Anatoly gestured towards where he had last seen Bentley, “and then he was gone!”

They gazed over the flattish ground that Bentley had been in the middle of. There was nowhere for him to hide – no rocks, no bushes, no trees. Even if he had been shot and was lying on the ground they should have been able to see him.

Then, from apparently nowhere, came Bentley’s voice. It was swearing profusely.

“Where are you?” Thompson called after exchanging puzzled and surprised looks with Anatoly as they started to move towards the source of the foul language.

“I’m down here. Watch your footing!” Bentley shouted back, his voice coming from low down, so low he appeared to be under the heather.

Thompson and Anatoly got to their knees and started pushing aside the heather, searching for Bentley. It didn’t take long for them to come across Bentley in a hole under the heather. “What on earth…?” Thompson asked, trying not to laugh at Bentley sprawling under him in a hole.

After a few more choice expletives Bentley growled something about the ground just disappearing beneath his feet. “I’m not hurt. Much,” he assured them, carefully getting up. His head broke free of the heather for a moment before he ducked back down. The next time he came up he was holding a scrap of paper, the sort that came out of a notebook. “Looks like someone else has been down here.”

To be continued…

Last time Anatoly retrieved one of the children’s tents from up a tree and they began to wonder just what had become of Bill and the Mannering-Trents.

Chapter 17

They searched as long as they dared, up until they struggled to see anything in the gathering dark. Not best pleased, the men unpacked the boat and got ready to bed down on the island in the shelter of the bushes for the night. Anatoly started a small fire to provide some warmth and cook their meal. They were rather quiet that evening, as the rough sleeping and constant uncertainty was beginning to get to them. The slept fitfully that night, and rose early to make the most of the light to search for clues.

The only thing they found was a solitary tent peg, lying in amongst a scrubby bit of heather. A lack of anything else found led them to conclude that the peg had come loose from the tent as it had been blown across the island. Information requested from Bennett on the mainland had come as they finished breakfast and they marked on their map a strip which encompassed some or all of another dozen island at least, those from which their lone tent was most likely to have come from based on the trajectory of the storm a few days earlier.

With a fresh objective to focus on they headed determinedly for the first island in that strip and searched it, followed by several more. Their fruitless searching carried on through the next day too, until, rounding their third island of the day, they spotted a jumble of detritus littering a sandy cove on the north side. They exchanged glances and wordlessly Bentley piloted the boat towards the shallows there, instead of continuing his circle around the island.

They dropped anchor and splashed ashore. “Looks like it’s stuff that’s been washed up,” Thompson said, turning over a ragged plank with the toe of his boot.

It didn’t look like anything, just scraps of wood and rope but they checked it over thoroughly. “Bill’s boat was green, wasn’t it?” Thompson said as he looked at one piece that he had picked up.

Bentley turned his head sharply to look. “Dark green, yes.”

Thompson held the bit of green wood up. “Looks dark to me.”

“I have found some lettering,” Anatoly announced a moment later, and brought over another green piece of wood with a small amount of white at the broken end. “A R” he said.

“Could be A B,” Thompson interjected, as neither letter was complete.

“AR. Lucky Star,” said Bentley. “Well, this could explain why Bill hasn’t been in contact.”

Bill was having trouble keeping track of time in the shack. He hadn’t given up on getting free, but the right opportunity just hadn’t arisen yet. When he hasn’t mentally testing out escape plans he was getting as much sleep as possible, which wasn’t easy with the wind whistling through the gaps in the hut. Twice a day he was brought food and water but it wasn’t much more than some thin porridge or a slice of bread.

He was interrogated at regular intervals, as if they expected that he would suddenly start blabbering if they caught him at the right moment. They seemed to be convinced now that one of their own had been passing him information, and were trying to get Bill to reveal his source. As nobody had been giving him inside information there wasn’t anything that he could tell them, but his flat denials were falling on deaf ears.

He was dosing once again when the door to the shack rattled open and someone was thrown bodily into the darkness and onto the floor near him.

The door was shut again before Bill could identify his new companion. Perhaps it was whomever they suspected was sharing their secrets with him. The body scrambled away from him with a small shriek, and the thin strips of light fell on a narrow, sunburnt face wearing rather bent sunglasses.

“Well, hallo,” Bill said cautiously, feeling that this chap wasn’t much of a threat. He didn’t recognise him as one of the gang, certainly.

“Who are you?” quavered the thin man. “Why are you in here? Are you here to torture me?” Bill pursed his lips and settled back against the wall of shack. “No, I’m not, I’m a prisoner here too.”

The man looked at him suspiciously and tried to adjust his glasses. In the end he took them off, revealing pale, watery eyes. “How long have you been here?” he asked in his high voice.

“A few days,” Bill replied vaguely. “I’m Bill, by the way. Bill Smugs. What can I call you?” He wasn’t sure what to make of this strange bloke. He seemed too weak and weedy to be one of the gang, but, he couldn’t rule out that he had been chucked in here to trick him into revealing something.

“Horace, Horace Tipperlong,” the man said. “Why have they put us in here? I was minding my own business and then I get ambushed, and a sack thrown over my head! I passed out, well who wouldn’t, and now I find myself here!” he babbled.

“You’re lucky,” Bill said wryly, tilting his head down to reveal the lump on the top of his bald head. “They conked me over the head.”

Horace looked at him, aghast, and sank lower into his corner. “What do they want from us? Money? Are they holding us ransom? I’ve got my boat, that’s about all, it’s not worth much but they can have it!”

“No, I don’t think they want money,” Bill said. “From what they have said to me, they think we are spying on them.”

“Spying?” Horace squeaked, his face turning pale under his sunburn. “I-I’m not a spy.” He was quiet for a moment and when he spoke again, it seemed to be mostly to himself. “They’ve got the wrong chap, that’s all. Well, when they come back I’ll just have to say to them that they’ve made a dreadful mistake. I’m an ornithologist, that’s all, on a bird-watching trip. Yes, that’s it, once they realise they’ve make an error they can let me go.”

Bill listened to Horace, and tried not to roll his eyes. “I’m not sure that will work. I’ve been assuring them I’m not a spy and I’ve been here a few days!”

Horace didn’t appear to be listening. He just carried on muttering to himself in his corner, until the door opened some time later. He blinked at the light streaming in and jammed his crooked glasses back on the best he could. “I say,” he began, “you’ve made the most dreadful mistake.”

The man cut him off. “Had a nice catch up with your friend, have you?” he asked, looking at Bill and then Horace.

“I’ve never seen this man before in my life!” Horace began to protest at the statement about knowing Bill. “In fact, I was saying that you have made such a mistake! I’m not a spy, I’m just a bird watcher!”

“So we have caught two “bird watchers” snooping around here in a week,” the man said. “Do forgive me if I find it a little bit of a coincidence that you are apparently strangers to each other.”

“I’m telling the truth!” Horace protested again as Bill chipped in with, “I’m not lying!” The man smiled nastily. “I wasn’t born yesterday you know! Maybe a few more days in here will change your minds and you will start to tell me the truth!” with that, the door was slammed shut and the two men were left in the gloomy darkness once more.

To be continued…

Last time Anatoly, Bentley and Thompson discovered their boat had developed a fault leaving them stranded on their search. They also spotted something unusual on a distant island, making the need to get moving all the more pressing!

Chapter 16

After a few hours and a lot of bad language the engine finally spluttered into life again. Anatoly resisted the urge to cheer as Bentley and Thompson were flustered, tired and covered in motor oil. After a final check of everything the boat started to chug along, and Bentley began to steer the it towards their island of interest.

It was late in the afternoon but the sun wouldn’t set until around half-past nine, so they hoped to have enough light to do a decent search once they arrived. After sending a radio message to inform headquarters that they were on the move again they ate some hastily thrown together sandwiches and the boat powered across the calm sea. Whoever wasn’t piloting the boat took turns to sweep the vast expanse of the water – and skies – for any signs of their potential, unidentified enemy.

After circling the island the best spot happened to be on the opposite side to what they were now sure was a tent trapped up a tree. They had gotten a fairly good look at it from the water as they navigated around the rocky coast, and although they couldn’t be sure it had been one of Bill’s tents, it was certainly a tent and it hadn’t been there very long either. They tied the boat up to a large tree which was hanging over the water’s edge and splashed ashore.

“Let’s head straight for the tent, but keep your eyes peeled for anything untoward along the way,” Bentley ordered. “We’ll search that area and work our way back.”

Anatoly nodded as he checked that his gun was in its holster and loaded, waiting for Bentley and Thompson to be ready to move. He lead the way up the bank to the flat grass, his eyes scanning the whole area as they reached the main bulk of the island.

The landscape was similar to several islands they had been on. Lots of heather and sea-pink, various birds but not as many as on the island with the cliffs. They made swift progress across the island as they were not searching too closely yet, and they were eager to reach the tent. They spotted it from a distance and were able to walk more or less straight to it with only a few minor detours to cross small streams and avoid the boggiest areas.

They hadn’t seen anything of interest along the way, and after a cursory look around the area the tent was in they stood at the base of the tree looking up at it. “We’d better retrieve it,” Bentley said, looking meaningfully at Anatoly.

Anatoly sighed, nodded, handed Thompson his gun and torch and started to agilely climb the tree in a way that suggested he was used to doing things like this. As he came face to face with the tent, he wondered the best way to tackle it. He didn’t think that the tent would be wedged too much into the tree and he hoped it wouldn’t be caught on any difficult to reach branches. Soon the tent, mostly in one piece was being disentangled from the last branch and thrown down to Thompson and Bentley. “One tent,” Anatoly declared as he set the canvas free. “I am coming down now, look out below!”

Thompson, who hadn’t quite recovered his good humour since the debacle with the boat engine, glared at him as he extricated himself from the tent which had fallen to rest over his head. They spread it out to examine the canvas and discovered it was in good condition. The one or two tears could be put down to it being caught in the tree.

Anatoly picked up one of the guy-ropes and held it out. “The peg is still attached,” he said.

“So that will mean that there’s disturbed ground somewhere, if the tent was ripped from the ground,” Bentley said. “I wonder why the tent wasn’t retrieved though? If you are able to shin up and get it, why didn’t the children do that?”

“Perhaps they were unable to… if someone had pulled the tent up in an attack…” Anatoly said haltingly, not wanting to believe that was true.

“It would need to be more than one man,” said Thompson, lighting his pipe. “That is a strong tent, and secured into the ground, well… it takes a lot of force to rip a tent up to take someone by surprise. Why not just wait until morning and capture them all when they exited the tent?”

Anatoly shook his head, unable to answer. Bentley looked at the tent again. “It’s possible they were in the process of taking the tent down when they were attacked. If they were attacked! The wind could simply have carried the tent away from them in the storm a few days ago.”

“So we could be on the wrong island, is that what you’re saying?” Thompson challenged. “Like there aren’t enough islands here but to get the wrong one… well we’d just as well hope that Smugs’ radio just broke and this is all a wild goose chase.” Thompson’s temper wasn’t improving at the thought of there being nothing on this island either. In truth the whole thing was rather like a game of hide and seek, except the game was being played over dozens of islands instead of in a house or garden, which in a way rendered the searchers at a huge disadvantage.

“We should keep looking here for now, spend the night anyway, and then have a proper scout around in the daylight,” Bentley said calmly though he understood Thompson’s frustration. He knew however that they had to do their job, regardless of their feelings, otherwise they would never make it out on a field mission again if they went rogue.

“The tent could have come from this island,” Anatoly said after a long silence. “We have not explored it fully, after all. If we find nothing, we could radio in and ask for details of the storm, could we not? Give them our coordinates and see if we cannot work out the likeliest direction a tent could have come from.”

The two older agents looked at each other and gave a slight nod. “It’s possible,” Bentley agreed. “All right, let’s start searching. We don’t have the good light much longer.”

To be continued…

Last time Anatoly, Bentley and Thompson visited the cliff-island the children first visited and found some signs of recent human habitation, but no children and no Bill of course.

Chapter 15

After they finding their first clues as to where the kids and Bill might be, there followed a fruitless time of not finding anything on any of the surrounding islands.

They spent an entire day combing the five nearest islands, two to the east and three towards the north-west. They were sure that they might find something, as someone had certainly been on the last island but there was not so much as a flattened blade of grass or scrap of paper. As Anatoly had said, Bill and the children were very conscientious campers and so wouldn’t have left piles of litter around but if they had been there, there should have been at least some sign. None of the islands were particularly big so at least they had been able to cover them in a few hours each but they were still exhausted come nightfall and were taciturn over their meal before turning in to their makeshift beds for the night.

The next morning they were in for a shock. “The boat won’t start,” Thompson groaned in frustration after spending ten minutes trying to start the engine as Anatoly and Bentley packed all their camping gear into the boat once more. “I just can’t get the thing going!”

“Has it run out of petrol?” Bentley asked slyly, implying that Thompson was being dim. He considered himself captain of the boat and a far superior to Thompson, despite them sharing the piloting over the past twenty-four hours. Neither of them had offered Anatoly a turn, and he hadn’t asked as he hadn’t wanted to make a fool of himself, given his lack of experience.

“No, I filled her up last night,” Thompson replied testily, crouching down in the little cabin to lift the trapdoor that gave access to the engine. A small spiral of dark smoke wafted up.

“What was that?” Bentley asked, moving to Thompson’s side as he saw the smoke. “What have you done?” He pushed Thompson out of the way and then groaned. “Looks like the starter motor has burnt out!”

“I haven’t done anything!” Thompson growled. “The engine’s maybe just flooded. I’ll give it a few minutes and try again.”

A few minutes later and it was obvious the problem was more than just a flooded engine. Every time Thompson tried to start the boat there were sparks from the engine and the smell of burning was getting stronger.

“It might be the wiring,” suggested Anatoly, waving some smoke out of the cabin. “That would explain the smell of burning!”

“You’re a boat repair expert now are you?” Thompson snapped, his temper flaring. They were all frustrated by their lack of results at this time, and the prospect of being stranded on their boat for however long it took to repair was not an appealing one.

“No,” snapped back Anatoly. “But I did blow up small motors at school in the science lab! It is the same smell!”

“Oh well, if you did it at school,” Thompson retorted. “Remind me, when was it you finished school, five minutes ago? Or was it ten?”

“Which is why I remember it better than you, grandpa!” Anatoly snarled, his temper flaring.

“That’s enough!” snapped Bentley, stepping between the two of them. “This will not help us find Smugs and the kids.”

“I need to fix this boat and I can’t do that with you two bickering like children,” he continued. “I expect more from you both, so unless you want me to write you both up and report you as soon as we get back then you’ll only speak when you’ve got something constructive to say. And yes, Davey,” he added, speaking to Thompson, “I’m pulling rank on you, mate.”

Thompson shut his mouth, as he had just been going to protest Bentley’s tone. He turned his back on Anatoly and looked down at the engine.

“How are we going to fix this?” Anatoly asked stiffly.

Bentley raised an eyebrow at his tone. “I am going to examine the engine. In peace and quiet. You can find me the tool box, Petrov. Thompson, I want you to check over everything else and make sure we aren’t going to run into any more problems.”

Anatoly nodded and ducked out of the of the cabin to find the tool box that was hidden in amongst all the kit they had been carrying with him. He searched swiftly and then, tool kit in hand, went back to the cabin to hand it to Bentley.

Meanwhile Thompson was checking over the anchor winch and chain, studiously ignoring Anatoly. It seemed to take forever, Bentley checking the engine and Thompson examining the rest of the boat. Anatoly hadn’t been given any other tasks so he just sat on the edge of the boat, out of everybody’s way and waited.

Eventually Bentley sat back and stretched his arms above his head. “I think it’s just the wiring. Some of it’s burnt right away so I’ll have to replace it.”

“And how are we going to do that out here?” Thompson grumbled. “Shall I push Petrov overboard and get him to search the sea floor for discarded metal?”

Bentley swore irritably. “If anyone’s getting pushed overboard Davey, it’ll be you! I’m hoping there’s some spare bits and pieces in the tool box, if not, Henty’s going to get both barrels.”

Anatoly handed over the tool box, quietly hoping Bentley might push Thompson overboard as he was being so insufferable!

In the end, Bentley decided to take the whole starter motor apart, just to make sure the fault didn’t lie in there. He sent Thompson to relight their camp-fire and make them something hot to drink, and carefully removed the motor and began taking it apart piece by piece. He instructed Anatoly to sit and watch and explained everything he was doing, because as he said, it could prove very useful in the future.

With mugs of tea steaming on the wooden floor beside them, he showed Anatoly how to clean the corrosion off the motor with a bit of sandpaper, before wiping the area with a petrol soaked rag. “That’ll help stop it corroding again, though I reckon Henty ought to give the whole engine a once over when we get back and probably replace a few bits. I think all I can do is replace the brushes…”

He was half-way through that when Thompson called for their attention. At Bentley’s nod Anatoly was glad to lower the magnifying glass he had been using to direct the sunlight onto the motor where Bentley was trying to solder the new brushes into place.

“I’ve been scanning the islands we can see from here,” Thompson said, handing the field-glasses to Bentley. “Take a look at the one, and tell me what you can see.”

Anatoly scrabbled in one of the lockers and grabbed another set of field glasses, and trained them on the island that Thompson had pointed to. “There’s something in the tree,” Anatoly said after a moment. “It looks a bit like a big bit of canvas. Could it be a tent?”

“And do tents normally grow on trees in your world?” Thompson began, earning himself a thump from Bentley.

“Could be a tent, perhaps,” Bentley said. “It could also be a parachute, given that we’re dealing with aeroplanes in these parts.”

“Or,” he added, after a lengthy pause. “It might be the tarpaulin roof of an old shack, or a fishing net. We’re really too far away to be sure.”

“A parachute could be worrying,” said Anatoly carefully. “This is not on any flight path.”

“A parachute would be very worrying,” Bentley agreed soberly. “If it’s recent, at any rate. It could have been there for weeks…” They stared into the distance, the island not much more than a hazy shape on the horizon without the powerful field-glasses.

“Right,” he snapped after a moment. “Let’s get this bloody boat fixed. If someone’s landed on that island I do not want to be stranded here if they come looking this way. Thompson, I want you to keep watch, Petrov, get that magnifying glass.”

Anatoly pulled the magnifying glass out of his pocket and headed back to the cabin. He hoped that the thing in the tree was from a fishing boat and not one the kids’ tents. If they had lost a tent he was worried they might be injured or ill because they would be exposed to the elements. He hoped they could get the boat working and find them soon.

To be continued…

Last time Anatoly, Bentley and Thompson survived their night with the chickens and started their search properly.

Chapter 14

They had managed to get dried and dressed again before they reached the next island and both Anatoly and Thompson were hoping not to have to wade ashore again. This island seemed to be made primarily of a huge, towering cliff which was simply covered in birds. The air was full of birds, doing a complicated dance it seemed, swooping in and out without ever colliding. As before they circled the island, training field-glasses to survey the area, and then guided the boat towards a convenient sandy cove.

Bentley steered the boat into the cove, Anatoly jumped out and waded the last few feet with the mooring rope to secure the boat to a handy nearby rock. He waited on the sand while his colleagues dismounted and watched the circling birds. “Not sure I’d be able to camp here,” Bentley said wryly. “It’s a bit noisy!”

“That would not have bothered Jack, or the others, probably,” Anatoly commented. Of all of them he knew the children best, though even his knowledge was limited to a few brief conversations. If he had been a few years younger, he could have seen himself being friends with Jack and Philip, but whether or not they’d have accepted him was another matter.

They watched the birds for a few more minutes, marvelling at the sheer numbers – and at their terrible clumsiness on land as they knocked eggs from their precarious nests on uneven ledges – and then drew their minds back to the task at hand.

“I think, with all these clumsy birds around, we should split up,” Bentley said. “It’ll be quicker and then we can get away from this mess of an island!”

Thompson nodded. “Whistle if you find anything.”

They each picked a direction and went off, eyes peeled for any signs of human presence. Obviously a human present would be a clear sign, but they were also looking for remains of camp-fires, foot-prints, scraps of paper, tin cans and so on. After a while Anatoly found a couple of patches of grass which seemed to have been flattened down. It wasn’t terribly obvious unless you were looking at it from the right angle, and he circled the area a few times, looking closely. He was just fingering his whistle, considering whether or not to alert the others in case it turned out to be nothing when three short, sharp whistle blasts came from the east.

He hot-footed it in that direction and found Thompson who was crouched by a small, gurgling stream. “I’ve found some footprints,” he said without preamble. Anatoly joined him in crouching and examined the ground. Around the spring there were clear signs of people. Flattened grasses and heather, slightly churned up mud where the ground was wettest, and, as Thompson had said, a couple of reasonably clear foot-marks.

Bentley turned up a few moments later and looked down at the footprints with them. “It’s a good start, I haven’t found anything,” he said as he examined the prints. “All I found was a lot of birds.”

“Pity they can’t talk,” Thompson remarked, taking a couple of photographs of the spring as evidence. “We could have asked them if they’d seen anything.”

“I think I might have seen something,” Anatoly broke in. “I was just about to whistle when you did.” He swept his arm in the direction he had come from. “There’s some big patches of slightly flatter grass over that way.”

The other two nodded and followed him without comment, showing that had at least some faith in him. Like he had, they circled the area a few times, examining it from all angles. They agreed it did not look like the sort of flattening that could happen to grass in the wind, it was too regular a shape. “Possibly a couple of tents,” Bentley said, crouching down as if looking more closely at the grass would tell him more.

“In that case we had better assume they could have stayed here, even if it was only for a night or two, and make a thorough search,” Bentley said with a firm nod. “I would have expected to see their boat if they were still here though, but there may be a hidden cove on this island that they came in at.”

They split up and began a slower and more methodical search of the island, starting around the spring and the potential tent area, and working outwards.

Coming back together, several hours later, they admitted that no other major clues had been found. Some loose earth had been investigated and a couple of tins had been found buried, and one or two other foot-prints had been spotted but that was it.

“They are not here,” Anatoly said with a shrug when Thompson and Bentley debated the fact. “They may have been here for one night and moved on. We need to keep looking.”

“Do we think this is where they have gone missing from?” Anatoly asked cautiously.

“We don’t know that they are missing,” Bentley reminded him. “All we know is that we can’t raise Bill on the radio. It could be broken for all we know and he’s gallivanting around some island miles away and having a grand old time!”

“All right,” Anatoly said, though he had a gut feeling that Bill was not having a good time at all. “Do we think that they left this island as recently as our last contact with Bill?”

“It’s hard to tell,” mused Thompson. “But I’d wager it was a bit earlier. The grass has mostly sprung back from where we think the tents were, and those cans are starting to rust already.”

“We don’t even know it was Bill on this island,” Bentley added, always the sensible one. “It could have been any trippers, here a week or so ago perhaps.”

It was disheartening, but they had made notes and taken photographs of what evidence they had found, and so all they could do was head back to their boat, get it back on the water and travel on to the next bit of land.

They ate on the boat as they were starving, having last eaten when Anatoly had prepared them breakfast, and Bentley powered the boat towards the next island, aware that it would be getting dark soon.

To be continued…