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 northeast as fast as their engines could take them.

"Are you thinking about the Hatteras?" Dave said in a low voice. He was conscious of a little thrill even as he put the question. Hitherto, their discussions about the treasure-ship had been more or less vague. True, there had been wagging of wise heads and solemn discussions over charts in smoky cabins, but they had always taken place many thousands of miles from that mysterious island where the semblance of a camel's back loomed up over a lagoon. The subject had been interesting, but intangible. Now, in a flash, it seemed different.

"Tell me what Washington Island has got to do with it?" Dave asked, with a serious light in his grey eyes.

"Only this—that if we get off there, we shall be within something like three hundred miles of the spot where your old mariner says the bones of the Hatteras are sticking up out of the sand,"