The Brown Satchel Mystery

One moment Connie Blair is a pretty girl playing happily

on vacation. The next moment, Connie lies unconscious in a
crumpled heap, collapsed upon a shell pile after being hit by
an unknown assailant, and her mind swirling downward into
a black and bottomless pit from which there seems to be no
return.
After Connie awakens, she is left with the unanswered
question of who did this to herand why? Did Connie
almost stumble across a secret which she was not supposed
to discover? What was the relation between the New York
bank robbery, Mr. Sterling Witherspoon or possibly some
other unsuspected guest at the club, the itinerant musicians,
and her own strange attack in the cove? Connie had to find
out, before something even more terrible happened!

The CONNIE BLAIR Mystery Stories

The Clue in Blue
The Riddle in Red
Puzzle in Purple
The Secret of Black Cat Gulch
The Green Island Mystery
The Ghost Wore White
The Yellow Warning
The Gray Menace
The Brown Satchel Mystery
Peril in Pink
The Silver Secret
The Mystery of the Ruby Queens

A CONNIE BLAIR MYSTERY

The Brown
Satchel
Mystery
By
BETSY ALLEN

Grosset & Dunlap

PUBLISHERS

NEW YORK

 1954 BY GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.

Pelican Island
The Escape
Shelling
The Clutching Hand
Where Is Connie?
Terror at Night
Who Is Sterling Witherspoon?
Shore Trip
Another Disappearance
The Mangrove Jungle
The Lost Lake
The Search Continues
Plot to Capture
Where Is the Loot?
The Laughing Chimpanzee

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13
26
39
49
63
74
86
99
110
127
138
150
162
174

CHAPTER

Pelican Island

The soothing Florida sunshine beat down on the

breeze-rippled water, on the small dock, and on
Connie Blairs fair head. Stiff after an eight-hour
drive, but far from weary, she stretched her arms
luxuriously and cried, Oh, Kit, isnt this the most
exciting place!
Connies sister, so identical in appearance that
one twin was often mistaken for the other, nodded
vigorously in agreement as she put her fishing gear
beside the luggage already stacked on the dock. Its
marvelous, she breathed. And its so incredible to
have left winter completely behind.
After the miles of monotonous roads they had
traveled through the Carolinas, Georgia, and central
Florida, this west-coast vista seemed like an
unexpected piece of paradise. Before them the
Thousand Islands stretched, in a mangrove
1

labyrinth, out into the Gulf of Mexico, and in the

blue water at their feet pelicans, amusingly
grotesque, dove for fish and flew about with a great
fluttering of wings. In the grass on a point of land a
white egret stood like a statue, poised on one pencilslim leg, and from the branches of a dead pine tree a
bald eagle peered down in concentration on the
small boats which dotted the pass.
Kit at that moment happened to spot the eagle.
Look, Connie! Doesnt he seem wicked? A
momentary shudder ran through her, because it was
the one out-of-key note in an otherwise placid scene.
Connie followed Kits pointing finger, but
curiosity rather than alarm colored her voice as she
said, Hes wonderful! Imagine seeing an eagle
outside of a zoo. Gosh, Kit, arent we lucky to be
here? And wont we have the most marvelous time!
Kit nodded, laughing. But well have to find a
synonym for marvelous. Were working that word to
death!
It didnt matter to Connie. When she was writing
advertising copy she was always very fussy about
repeating an adjective, but alone with her twin sister
for the first time in many months, she felt utterly
relaxed and contented, unconcerned with such
mundane detail. By a great stroke of luck Reid and
Renshaw, the Philadelphia advertising agency for
which she worked, had decided to send her to
2

Florida at the very same time at which Kit had

decided that the money she had saved for a winter
vacation would, at this special moment, be well
spent.
On the long-distance telephone plans were made.
Mr. and Mrs. George Renshaw, who were staying at
the Scotch Bonnet Club on Pelican Island, arranged
for reservations for both sisters instead of one, and
after three days on the road, the girls had reached the
final short lap of their trip.
What do we do now? Kit asked as Connie took
the last piece of luggage, a bulky brief case, from
the rear of the family car, which she had parked
along with a dozen gleaming station wagons and
sedans facing the canal which ran beside the dock.
According to Mr. Renshaws letter, we
announce ourselves at the Shore Station, and the
caretaker there sees that the club launch picks us
up.
Do you suppose the Shore Station would be that
little house? Kit nodded toward the vine-covered
cottage just off the wharf to their right.
Connie considered the only other possibilities. To
her left, across the canal, were some new and
expensive homes built of pastel-tinted limestone,
and beyond the cottage, with its dooryard garden
nudging the dock, there was a grove of trees halfhiding a trailer camp.
3

I think it looks like the best bet, Connie

decided. Lets try.
A plump, pleasant woman answered the door and
glanced beyond the girls to their luggage, sizing up
the situation in a second. Youre the new guests at
the club, she decided before Connie could
introduce herself. My husbands over on the island
with the launch. He should be back in a few
minutes. Do you mind waiting?
Not in the least, Connie assured her with a
smile.
Will you come inside?
No, thank you. I think well stay out here. Its
such a lovely day!
Together, the twins walked back to the dock and
sat down, their legs swinging over the side, a few
inches above the clear blue water. They had both
changed, that morning, into summer cottons, but
even so they were deliciously warm, almost hot, in
the midafternoon sun.
Kit was interested in the fishermen and in the
small motorboats which scudded back and forth
along the pass between the mainland and the cluster
of islands immediately visible. Id like to catch a
snook, she told Connie dreamily. I was reading
about them just the other day, and theyre supposed
to be terrific scrappers.
Connie chuckled. For a girl who looks as
4

feminine as a model in a magazine you have the

most astonishing tastes. For my money fishings
entirely too slow. All you do is sit and sit. Just look
at all those men!
Its not slow when you get a really acrobatic one
on the end of a light line. Its downright thrilling!
Kit insisted defensively.
But Connie was more interested in the wildlife
than in the fish which occasionally jumped in the
blue distance. When the eagle suddenly swooped
down to where his mate was resting on a lower limb
of the tree, Connies brown eyes gleamed with
excitement. He looked powerful and relentless,
indeed the king of birds. In contrast, the pelicans
playing near the shore line beside the trailer camp
seemed foolish and ungainly. While she laughed at
their antics, they engendered no special respect.
No wonder they chose an eagle for our national
symbol, she remarked to Kit.
Minutes drifted into a quarter of an hour, but the
girls were not impatient. There was a great deal of
shoreside activity to watch; children collecting
shells along the beach, an old man casting again and
again into the pass, two men in dark wool trousers
and T-shirts tinkering with a small boat pulled up on
the shore at the trailer camp. It didnt matter much
that the launch was late.
They chatted, quite contentedly, about the scene
5

around them and about their probable activities at

the club. It was Connies conjecture that the men
working on the boat were northerners, like
themselves, because they were not yet tanned by the
sun nor were their clothes the easy khakis of the
natives. She thought, on the other hand, that the old
man fishing was a real Floridian. He reflected the
laziness of the climate, and seemed to treat life as
though it were a long succession of pleasant days.
The children, she guessed, were on vacation with
their parents. They were bright brown and freckled
and absorbed in their finds, and were clad in only
the briefest of swimming trunks.
Which reminds me, said Kit. Do you suppose
well have time for a swim before dinner?
I dont know why not, Connie replied.
But suppose Mr. Renshaw wants you to get right
to work.
Connie laughed. You dont know Mr.
Renshaw! she told her twin. Hes no slave
driverfar from it! And he and his wife are here on
vacation, you know.
The way I see it, well probably work in the
mornings, and Ill be free to play with you in the
afternoons. The crowd at the office have the plans
for this hosiery campaign pretty well worked out. I
think Mr. Renshaw will go along with most of the
ideas, after hes had a chance to really study them.
6

Dont worry, Kit. I think well have a good many

hours to spend together. And when Im busy you
can go off and fish to your hearts content!
But youll come fishing too, sometimes?
Of course, Connie assured her twin. And I
want to explore! I want to get a boat and go off for a
whole day, and maybe find one of these lost lakes
you read about.
Lost lakes? A masculine voice, coming from
immediately behind them, made both girls start.
They turned to look up at a man wearing a slouch
hat and a dark pin-striped suit with sharp lapels, who
was regarding them with small, intent black eyes.
Did I hear you say lost lakes?
Half-annoyed, half-taken aback, Connie nodded.
I beg your pardon, but
Collecting himself suddenly, the man interrupted.
I beg yours. May I introduce myself? My name is
Sterling Witherspoon, and I assume that you, too,
are on your way to the Scotch Bonnet Club.
Connie nodded again and murmured some
amenity, but she was frankly puzzled. A more
unlikely guest at the exclusive fishing club Mr.
Renshaw had described in his letter she couldnt
imagine. This man could have walked straight from
New York Citys Broadway. From the tips of his
pointed black shoes to the shadow of his rakish
hatbrim he spelled New York, although his voice
7

was cultivated enough, in an unexpected kind of

way.
My sister and I are waiting for the launch, Kit
managed, realizing that Connie was so absorbed as
to be, for once, speechless.
Ah, yes, the stranger said abstractedly. The
launch. But about these lost lakes
At that moment the caretakers wife bustled up.
You poor dears! she cried. Are you still waiting
for Pete? Goodness, he is late. Id better call him.
Oh, is there a phone on the island? Connie
asked. I thought Mr. Renshaw said
Theres no phoneno indeed, the caretakers
wife informed her hastily. Mr. Talmadgehes the
manager, you knownever would permit it, though
they once got permission to string a cable under the
pass. He believes, and quite rightly Pete says, that
his guests come to Pelican Island for rest and
relaxation, and not to have the home office calling
half a dozen times a day. We take any phone
messages and telegrams that come through at the
Shore Station, and in an emergency its only a
fifteen-minute trip across.
By now it was completely apparent to both
Connie and Kit that the caretakers wife was a very
loquacious woman. Her words lacked mental
supervision, and she appeared to have forgotten that
her original remark was that she intended to call
8

Pete.
Connie, however, had not. But then, Mrs.
Mrs.?
Mrs. Mabee, she supplied. M-a-b-e-e. But its
pronounced like
Hoping she wouldnt sound obviously rude, but
anxious to avoid another spate of explanation,
Connie cut in. Then if theres no telephone, Mrs.
Mabee, how can you call him?
Oh, we have a signal system, the caretakers
wife replied airily. Turning, she appeared to become
conscious of the new arrival for the first time, and at
the same time appeared a trifle nonplused. Excuse
me, she stammered, but are you waiting for the
club launch too, sir?
The sir was spoken almost as an afterthought,
and the obvious hesitation preceding it made a smile
tickle the corners of Connies mouth, but the man in
the slouch hat seemed unaware that his appearance
might be questionable. Yes. I am Sterling
Witherspoon, he replied as though this were
explanation enough.
Mrs. Mabees pale-blue eyes widened. Oh, I
see, she said as though she didnt see at all. You
you are expected?
Mr. Witherspoon drew himself even more erect,
and when he spoke again Connie, looking up, caught
a glint of a gold filling in one of his sharp white
9

teeth. Of course I am expected.

Well, then, said Mrs. Mabee, backing off
hesitantly, I guess Id better
But her call to the island was again forestalled,
this time by a young and masculine and very
definitive whistlethe whistle of a boy when he
sees a pretty girl, or, for that matter, two pretty girls.
It was a whistle Connie and Kit recognized at once
as admiring and only mildly impolite, because it was
accompanied by an insouciant grin and it came from
the lips of a stocky blond young man who,
accompanied by a tall, lean Indian lad dressed in
spanking white duck trousers, was coming along the
board runway which led down to the dock.
Mrs. Mabee turned at once. Chip, you scamp!
she cried, dimpling. Then she saw that the boy had
eyes only for the two girls and she added in a tone of
mock scolding, Thats no way to greet new guests
at the club, and you know it!
I apologize, the blond young man said. It was
purely instinctive, I assure you. He bowed, first to
Connie and Kit, then to Mr. Witherspoon. Im Chip
Wight, one of the guides, and this is Rusty
Longbow, my roommate.
Mrs. Mabee introduced the twins and Mr.
Witherspoon, who was regarding the Indian with
peculiar intentness. Youre a guide too? he asked
at once.
10

Yes, sir, Rusty replied courteously, in

unaccented English.
Hes the best darned guide in the whole
shebang, Chip broke in, turning his irrepressible
grin from the twins to the man in the slouch hat. He
ought to be. Knows this country like a book because
he grew up in a Seminole village down Everglades
way.
The Indian smiled shyly. Chip is my press
agent, he told the girls, half in apology, half in
appreciation. He builds me up, though sometimes
too much.
Connie smiled in return, immediately liking this
dark-skinned young man who talked so surprisingly
in everyday vernacular. Im sure he doesnt, she
murmured in reply.
Meanwhile, Chip was saying, Hey, Mama
Mabee, wheres the launch? Long time no see?
I was just going to call, insisted the caretakers
wife, and she bustled off toward the house with
belated efficiency.
A few moments later the piercing wail of a siren
made both Connie and Kit jump. It started low, a
mere moan, then increased in intensity until the calm
Florida air was rent with a crescendo of sound.
Cheezit, the cops! Chip hissed as he noted the
twins reaction, then explained, Thats just Mrs.
Mabee signaling the launch.
11

But a splash in the water not far from the dock

had claimed Connies attention. One of the two men
tinkering with the boat beached at the trailer camp
had apparently slipped as he was pushing it into
deep water, and his friend was grappling for him in
nervous concern. As the sound of the siren died
away the man managed to get to his feet, and
drenched though he was, clambered into the boat.
His companion followed, and a second later they
had started the outboard motor and were careening
off toward the Gulf.
Connie started to laugh, as did Kit, but a second
later the laughter died on their lips. From the island
which lay before them like a long green finger
stretching out into the Gulf came an answering wail,
half-human, a hollow ululating reverberating sound
that covered the chug of the outboard motor and
seemed to fill the air.
Connie listened, astonished, until the sound
dropped to a murmur, then, with sudden clarity, rose
in a single high-pitched shriek. She felt the hairs
rising on the back of her neck. This was no
mechanical siren.
Goodness! she said, turning to Chip when she
could catch her breath. Whator whowas that?

12

CHAPTER

The Escape

This time Chip didnt laugh, but his tone was

inclined to be offhand. Oh, thats Kulu, he said
readily. A chimp over on the island. Used to be a
pet of the managers but hes been getting a little too
big for his breeches this last couple of years.
Kit hadnt understood. A what? she asked.
A chimpanzee, a big monkey, Chip explained.
He lives in a thatch-roofed cage, over at the club,
and he always answers the siren with one of those
eerie howls. Its annoying, but it doesnt really mean
a thingunless it happens to wake up a napping
guest, and then sometimes theres the dickens to
pay, he concluded with a twinkle in his humorous
blue eyes.
Connie had the feeling that he was deliberately
trying to be soothing. Is this chimpanzee quite
harmless? she asked.
13

So Mr. Talmadge insists, and he ought to know,

Chip replied.
Kit shuddered. I hate monkeys, she said.
Oh, now, Kit. Sometimes theyre very amusing.
Connie was remembering the antics of the
chimpanzees in the monkey house at the
Philadelphia Zoo, the time she had been hard put to
it to solve the mystery of The Yellow Warning. But
there hadnt been any amusement in the escape of
the big gorilla; then there had only been panic and
terror, Connie remembered.
Youve always been interested in animals. I
havent, Kit reminded her twin. Ill still take
fishing.
You like to fish? Chip and Rusty both looked at
her with special interest, and Chip said, Good girl!
By now the launch was racing toward them,
cutting a neat path in the blue water. The fishing
boats scattered before the larger craft like water
skates, and ten minutes later the skipper, having
made his apologies for his tardiness, was loading
their baggage aboard.
Mr. Witherspoon, meanwhile, had returned to his
car and come back to the dock with a bulky suitcase,
two carrying cases which Connie eyed curiously,
and a brown leather valise. She leaned close to Kit
and said in a whisper, What would a man do with
two portable typewriters?
14

Kit shrugged. Is that a riddle?

No. Look.
Kit looked and shrugged again. Hes a queer sort
of person, isnt he?
Connie, whose business experience had made her
more worldly than her twin, nodded in very positive
agreement. Hes a character, she murmured under
her breath.
The character, as soon as he had climbed
aboard the launch, which was built like a miniature
ferryboat with a narrow deck and a closed cabin
with facing seats, engaged Rusty Longbow in
private conversation. The two stood leaning against
the cabin top, while Chip joined Connie and Kit at
the bow.
On the short trip across the pass he told them a
little about the territory. Pelican Island, he
explained, contained only the Scotch Bonnet Club,
no other habitation at all. It was a curving strip of
land fourteen miles long, with a half-moon of beach
on the Gulf side, and on the other it was a maze of
inlets and little capes which sometimes all but
touched the adjoining islands.
Some great fishing grounds along the inside
shore line, Chip told Kit. Weve been catching
ladyfish, channel bass, and snook right along.
Any tarpon? Kit wanted to know. Ive never
seen a tarpon, but Ive read lots about them, she
15

added rather wistfully.

February and March are a little early for tarpon,
Chip confessed, but sometimes they come in ahead
of time, and when they do!brother, almost
anything can happen, and usually does.
The fishing talk, which continued as they neared
the club dock on the side of the island hidden from
the mainland, did not especially interest Connie, so
she moved back to talk to the skipper, who was
bringing the launch into the wharf with a practiced
hand. As she passed on the other side of the cabin
from that on which Mr. Witherspoon and the Indian
guide were standing, she heard the man in the slouch
hat say, in a tone obviously not intended for other
ears, If youll string along, Ill make it worth your
while.
Connie glanced at the guide, who seemed to be
deliberating.
Im not sure she heard him murmur. Then
the slap of the line against a piling cut off the rest of
his reply.
Chip at once jumped ashore and made fast the
boat. Then he turned to give Kit a hand. Connie,
who had already leaped onto the dock, was looking
through a grove of pine trees at the low-lying
clubhouse, which was approached from a cluster of
sleeping cabins by a myriad of pulverized seashell
paths.
16

Oh, isnt it pretty! she said spontaneously.

Vines and bright-colored flowers which were
unknown in the north softened the outlines of the
hospitable building, and tall palm trees waved
against the sky behind it, giving the whole place a
pleasantly tropical air.
Kit admired it in her turn, while the men
unloaded the luggage.
Were very informal here, Pete Mabee
explained as he started toward the club with Kits
bags. There are no porters. Anybody whos around
lends a hand.
That means us. Chip grinned, looking at Rusty.
And the Seminole obligingly bent to pick up the
bags nearest him, which happened to be Sterling
Witherspoons.
He had the bulging suitcase in one hand and a
typewriter case anchored securely under the other
arm, and was just reaching for the handle of the
brown leather traveling bag when Mr. Witherspoon,
in a voice which rasped loudly through his bony
nose, said, Dont touch that!
Rusty pulled his hand back hastily, murmuring,
Im sorry, sir. I didnt mean
Connie, meanwhile, was listening to the
interchange without actually looking at either the
boy or the man. She did, however, glance curiously
at the satchel. What on earth? she started to say
17

in an undertone to Kit.
But Kit was halfway along the white shell path,
following Mr. Mabee. And Chip, starting off with as
many of her own bags as he could carry, was
signaling her to follow. The question Connie had
intended to ask Kit would have to wait.
Just before they reached the clubhouse Mr.
George Renshaw, tall and handsome as ever, came
bursting out of the door. Connie Blair! he cried in
a voice which, for once, had lost its drawl. I meant
to meet the boat. A thousand apologies.
A second later he was wringing Kits hand
enthusiastically. The sun was shining directly in his
eyes, and he hadnt yet noticed the second blond girl
in the rear.
With an amused chuckle, Connie hurried up.
You have the wrong twin, Mr. Renshaw, she told
him. This is my sister Kit.
The middle-aged man looked from one to the
other of the girls with incredulous eyes. Ill never
be able to tell you apart, he complained. Even
though weve met before, Kit, I was still sure you
were Connie. Maybe we should pin identification
tags to your shoulders, or something.
Kit laughed. Ill wear a blue ribbon until you get
us straight, she promised. There was something so
undeniably attractive about Connies six-foot-three
boss that she found herself wondering what his wife,
18

whom she had never met, might be like.

A moment later she discovered that Mrs.
Renshaw was just as full of personality as her
husband. The woman who came through the door to
the clubhouse steps stopped and smiled down at the
group below her in ready welcome, even before she
was introduced. Tanned by the Florida sun until her
skin was almost apricot color, blending subtly with
her red-gold hair which was streaked with a band of
gray, Mrs. Renshaw was vigorous-looking and
handsome, as stunning in her way as George
Renshaw was in his.
She greeted Connie with easy friendliness, then
gripped Kits hand firmly. Its so nice you could
make the trip together! she said.
Then, preceded by Mr. Mabee and the luggage,
she showed the girls to their room and bath in one of
the sleeping cabins which nestled in the pine-tree
grove. It faced on the dock and the small harbor
rather than on the Gulf and for a moment Connie
was a trifle disappointed, because she had rather
fancied the prospect of looking out to sea. But by the
time she had unpacked she realized that the boat
traffic might be even more fun to watch than the
wavelets rippling calmly onto the broad empty
beach. There was never a dull moment at the
dockside or around the boathouse beyond.
Remarking on their good fortune, the girls changed
19

into bathing suits, and, at Mrs. Renshaws

suggestion, joined her for a swim.
By now the sun was riding low above the water,
out where the sky met the sea. The air was no longer
warm, but the Gulf Stream kept the temperature of
the water well above that of the Atlantic Ocean, to
which the twins had heretofore been accustomed.
They swam and splashed about in happy relaxation,
feeling that this was the best possible introduction to
a week that was bound to be different from anything
they had ever known.
How different they had no possible idea!
Nothing about the atmosphere, that first
afternoon, gave them warning of what was in store
for the guests at the Scotch Bonnet Club and for
Connie Blair in particular. The crescent-shaped
beach lay calm and peaceful beneath a summery
sky, and the club guests who were either bathing,
lounging on the sand, or gathering shells along the
shore line looked as though nothing would ever
disturb the even tenor of their vacation days.
After their swim Mrs. Renshaw and the girls sat
on the sand for a while and talked. She admitted to
Connie that her husband came to Florida primarily
to fish, but that she herself was more interested in
the swimming and the shelling, which on Pelican
Island was particularly good.
Shelling? Kit asked, repeating the unfamiliar
20

term.
Collecting shells, Mrs. Renshaw explained.
Its quite a pastime, down here, because the variety
of shells you can discover is so varied and so
infinite.
And theyre so beautiful! Connie added. The
colors . . . She picked up a tangerine-tinted, waferthin shell from the sand beside her and turned it in
the palm of her hand.
Wait until you see the collection under glass at
the clubhouse! Mrs. Renshaw told her. There are
some beautiful fans and some very rare yellow
pectens. Ive looked for three years and Ive never
found a yellow pecten yet.
As far as the Blair girls were concerned at the
moment, their hostess might have been talking
Greek. They had never heard of a fan, nor of a
pecten or a murex or any of the other varieties of
Florida
shells
Mrs.
Renshaw
mentioned
subsequently. But after they had bathed and dressed
for dinner they hurried over to the clubhouse to get
educated, as Connie said. On their way they passed
Kulus cage.
When they had first arrived at the sleeping cabin
they had come by a different route, but the path
which they now followed led toward the beach side
of the clubhouse, meandering past a thicket of closegrowing trees which half-hid the thatch-roofed
21

enclosure Chip had described. The chimpanzee

himself was crouched in a corner, shredding a
cigarette someone must have tossed him and tasting
the tobacco curiously.
At the sound of the girls voices he looked up,
threw the cigarette aside, then leaped from his perch
to the ground, ambling across to shake the bars on
the side of his cage closest to the twins.
Kit backed away, repelled, but Connie stopped
and spoke to the animal. Hello, Kulu, she said.
Kulu! I think he knows his name.
Kit halted unwillingly. I cant understand why
they keep a creature like that, she murmured.
Ugh.
Maybe he was awfully cute when he was little.
Well, he isnt now.
Kit hurried on, and Connie followed her. Dressed
alike in white pique frocks, she was conscious that
they made a picture which was in strange contrast to
the grotesque ugliness of the ape. Together, they
mounted the broad steps to the clubs entrance, and
made their way through halls and game rooms until
they reached the huge, chintz-hung drawing room in
which the shell collection was kept.
Many a head turned as they passed, but Connie
and Kit were quite unselfconscious. They were used
to having people look after them, because they were
twins, and they were completely unaware that had
22

they been less glowing and youthful the interest

would not have been so great.
Bowls of fruitbananas, tangerines, and the
great temple oranges for which sections of Florida
are famousdecorated a huge center table, and tall
spikes of gladioli, waxlike in their perfection, were
arranged in a sea-green vase. A fire burned in an
enormous fieldstone fireplace, and club guests
chatted in little groups or browsed among the books
and magazines.
But Connie and Kit spent the half-hour before
dinner learning to identify the local shells. They
both had keen minds, and learned quickly, and
before they joined the Renshaws at dinner they
knew the difference between lace, rose, and apple
murexspiked, armorlike houses which protected
the soft bodies of the snails they had once sheltered
from attack. They had discovered the Latin and the
common names for a dozen other varieties, and so
were able to ask Mrs. Renshaw intelligent questions
about her own finds.
Shells, shells, shells, Mr. Renshaw teased them.
Thats all I hear these days.
Its a fascinating hobby, shell collecting, his
wife insisted blandly. And might even prove
productive; who knows? She winked slyly at
Connie but said no more at the dinner table, adroitly
shifting the focus of the talk to fishing, which was
23

more to George Renshaws taste.

Im afraid there arent many young people here
at this season, the advertising executive said as they
were served dessert and coffee. Except for the
guides.
The guides, incidentally, are uncommonly nice
boys, Mrs. Renshaw put in. They often come up
after dinner to play ping-pong on the porch. They
find it livelier than the shuffleboard some of the
older members enjoy, I guess.
We came over on the launch with a boy named
Chip Wight, Connie mentioned. And a goodlooking Indian they call Rusty, she added as an
afterthought.
Rusty Longbow. Hes one of the best guides.
Knows these waterways like a book. Mr. Renshaw
glanced at Kit, whose enthusiasm about fishing had
quite captivated him. Ill see to it you have a day
with Rusty. He really knows where the snook live!
Connie, meanwhile, was glancing about the
dining room, soaking up the atmosphere of the
place. It actually was a huge oblong porch, open on
three sides with louvered glass windows, and in the
corners there were triangular wells of earth from
which shiny-leafed green plants rose to the ceiling in
semitropical luxuriance.
Outside, stately palms waved and rustled, and
beyond the palms was the beach, now drenched in
24

twilight which was rapidly deepening into night. At

Connies right hand, so close she could have reached
out and touched it, a tiny lizard scampered up a
green stem and found a bed for the evening in the
heart of a furled leaf. She smiled to herself but was
glad that Kit hadnt noticed him. Kit was a darling in
almost every way, but Connie was sure her twin
wouldnt have approved of a lizard in the dining
room.
She was still smiling, a few seconds later, when
Mr. Talmadge, the manager, came into the room
from the lobby and rapped on a water glass to
command the attention of the guests.
Im sorry to tell you, he said with a tinge of
annoyance but without special concern in his voice,
that Kulu is at large. He broke out of his cage half
an hour ago, and although we expect to find him
shortly, we havent as yet. Perhaps, though, it would
be wise to go to your cabins or around the grounds
in groups. He might become mischievous.

25

CHAPTER

Shelling

Mischievous!
Kit repeated the word in a manner containing
both doubt and alarm, which told Connie very
clearly that, for the moment, her twin sister would
willingly trade the glamorous Florida atmosphere
for Meadowbrook, Pennsylvania, and the family
front porch. Her expression revealed a sudden trace
of homesickness, and Connie suspected that Kit was
thinking about their mother and fathers comfortable
presence and Toby with his skinny brown legs,
which seemed to lengthen more quickly, now, with
every passing month.
Toby was their younger brother, and Kit had
often likened him to a monkey, with his penchant
for building tree houses and playing high in the
branches of an old sycamore.
Toby should be here, Connie said aloud.
26

Wouldnt he get a kick out of a situation in which a

chimpanzeeeven a harmless one like Kuluwas
on the loose?
But is everybody sure hes so harmless? Mrs.
Renshaw wanted to know. It was only her second
visit to the club, though her husband had come on
fishing trips many times before.
Certainly, Alicia, George Renshaw said mildly
but firmly. You dont suppose for a moment, do
you, that Ben Talmadge would keep an animal who
might be a menace to his guests?
Mrs. Renshaw shrugged. I suppose not, she
admitted and glanced at Kit. I guess were just a
couple of sissies, she said with a laugh.
It was apparent that, although the guests were
discussing the chimpanzees escape, none of them
were greatly concerned. The incident, as Mr.
Renshaw pointed out, seemed to amuse rather than
frighten those who had frequented the club for a
number of years.
Table by table, the diners drifted into the lobby or
the cardrooms, to read, play games, or simply stand
and chat before the blazing fires. The heat was
welcome, because the twins discovered that as soon
as the sun went down the summertime warmth went
with it and the night was definitely cool.
Mr. Witherspoon, Connie noticed, was standing
quite alone in front of the long windows which
27

looked out on the beach. His small, sharp eyes were

surveying the congregated guests almost avidly from
beneath hooded lids, and he reminded her of the
bald eagle she had seen that afternoon, peering down
from the trees in search of prey. He looked even
more out of place now than he had on his arrival.
His clothes were too dark and too slickly tailored.
Next to the casual sports attire of most of the men
they were conspicuous and inappropriate.
But he seemed too absorbed in his own thoughts
to care, and he barely nodded to Connie as she
walked by. Curiouser and curiouser, she thought.
I wonder what hes doing here? In the language of
detective-story writers, he seemed to be casing the
joint.
Deciding that she would make some tactful
inquiries concerning Mr. Witherspoons identity
when opportunity offered, Connie joined Kit and
Mrs. Renshaw, who were standing in front of a long
table in the lobby which looked very much like a
kindergarten sandbox. This was the shell exchange,
where club members dropped shells they had
collected but did not care to keep and helped
themselves to others they happened to want.
Come on over to our cabin and Ill show you my
collection, Mrs. Renshaw invited after a while. I
have a couple of really beautiful fans.
Since Mr. Renshaw was engaged in conversation
28

with a group of men it was easy to slip away,

although Kit was a trifle reluctant to risk herself to
the uncertainties of the out of doors. The Renshaw
cabin, however, was within a stones throw of the
main lodge, and there was no sign whatever of Kulu
as they walked across the diagonal crushed-shell
path.
Several of the guides, however, were starting
toward the adjacent woods armed with ropes and
flashlights. They looked slightly disgruntled but far
from terrified, and Mrs. Renshaw said, Poor Kulu.
Im afraid hell be brought home ignominiously.
Once inside the cabin, Kit relaxed. She found the
assorted shells which Mrs. Renshaw had arranged in
boxes almost as absorbing as Connie did, and the
three spent a happy and instructive hour.
There was an especially interesting collection of
bright-hued cochinas, tiny as pearls and polished to
a high gloss. They apparently came in every color,
and in stripes and plaids as well, and Mrs. Renshaw
explained that one had to dig for them, just above
the shore line.
I have a wonderful idea! she told Connie and
Kit after a while. Id like to mount these and some
of the other miniature shells on box tops. Combined
with fake jewels, theyd be gay and different, dont
you think?
She illustrated her plan by placing a number on
29

top of a powder compact, where they made a

colorful and decorative design.
Dont mention this to George, she warned the
twins, but I think it may even have commercial
possibilities. However, its something I want to
work out on my own.
Connie was enthusiastic, especially about the idea
of using the shells to top powder jars or dressingtable accessories. They were infinitely feminine and
delicate, with a different sort of fillip, which she
knew, in the department-store business, smacked of
style.
Finally, however, Kit started to yawn. Youll
have to excuse me, she apologized. I think its all
perfectly fascinating, but Im going to sleep standing
up.
Its the air, Mrs. Renshaw said understandingly.
We all are like that, the first few days. You girls
run along now and get your beauty sleep. Not that
you need it! she added impishly.
Half an hour later both Connie and Kit were
tucked into bed under blankets that felt very
comfortable and cozy. The last thing Kit murmured
before she drifted off to sleep was, I wonder if they
got Kulu back. But Connie didnt even hear her.
She was already deep in dreams.
It was bright daylight when the twins awakened.
They dressed quickly, hungry for breakfast, and as
30

they walked across to the main clubhouse they were

able to answer Kits question of the night before.
The door to Kulus cage was standing open and the
chimpanzee obviously was not inside.
Connie raised her eyebrows in surprise, and Kit
started to walk a little faster, a frown creasing her
usually serene forehead. I wish theyd get him
locked up again, she murmured. I just dont feel
safe.
Fiddlesticks! Connie chided her. Nobody else
seems to be worrying. Why should we?
But in this she was wrong, because it was
apparent that an atmosphere of concern had replaced
last nights acceptance of the situation in the dining
room. As the girls helped themselves to breakfast
from the long and lavish buffet table they overheard
several remarks concerning the ape.
Ben really should get rid of him, one elderly
man said. Hes getting to be a nuisance, and
furthermore, hes getting too big for one man to
handle.
Suppose he should take to the woods and get
really wild? someone else suggested, and Connie
saw Kit shudder in spite of herself.
In the dining room the manager made another
announcement. We havent managed to locate
Kulu, he told the guests, but dont be alarmed.
Last time this happened he came home, when he got
31

hungry, without any coercion at all. If you see him,

just stay clear of him, and hell be as good as gold.
I hope, Kit muttered dubiously, but Connie
noticed that her apprehension didnt lessen her
appetite. She ate her scrambled eggs and bacon and
two sticky cinnamon buns with as much enjoyment
as though Kulu had been safely caged.
They were just finishing coffee when Mr.
Renshaw came up to their table, vigorous and
beaming. Tell you what! he said to Connie. I
think its a pity to work on your first day here, and
anyway, Id like a chance to review the outline for
the full campaign. If youll brief me on the plans,
Ill study them a bit, and you and Kit can go off
fishing or do as you please.
Connie agreed to the proposal readily, and Kit
went over to the boathouse to arrange for a boat and
a guide while Connie hurried back to the
Everglades, as their sleeping cabin was called, for
the brief case containing the campaign plans. These
she delivered to Mr. Renshaw, who took them with
him to the comfortable thatch-roofed beach house
where many of the club members went to read or
rest during the day.
When she got back to their room, Kit was busily
assembling fishing gear. I couldnt get Rusty, she
explained. He was engaged for the daywith that
Mr. Witherspoon, incidentallybut I found Chip
32

Wight, and he was free and seemed pleased as

punch to take us out. Hell meet us at the dock in ten
minutes. Better hurry, pet.
Connie hurried. She slipped out of her dress and
into a pair of Bermuda shorts and a comfortable
short-sleeved striped shirt. Think we need
sweaters? she asked.
Oh, I doubt it, Kit replied. The suns blazing
hot.
From their window they could see Chip easing a
small motorboat into the dock. The launch was tied
up, along with several other fishing skiffs, and the
inlet, at the moment, was a veritable beehive of
activity. Guests bound for Naples, the resort town on
the mainland, were boarding the launch; picnickers
were stowing thermos bottles and lunch boxes in
boats; guides were hurrying back and forth with bait
and tackle, and the dock seemed to be a clutter of all
manner of equipment, from knitting bags to blanket
rolls.
Chip hailed the twins with a grin of pleasure.
Hi! he called. Ive got the lunch stowed away.
Come on aboard.
He took Kits and Connies fishing rods and held
the boat steady against the side of the dock while
they got in, then tripped the motor and started off
with a great flourish, making a wide arc from the
inlet into the pass.
33

Suppose we fish the outside shore line first, he

suggested. There may be some trout runningand
yesterday one of the fellows hooked a baby tarpon.
Then, if were out of luck, we can duck around the
other end of the island and fish back in the
mangroves after lunch. Okay?
Okay, Connie and Kit agreed.
Connie was just happy to be going exploring, but
Kit, at the mention of tarpon, brightened perceptibly.
Chip steered the boat expertly, dodging the
multitude of skiffs and rowboats already anchored in
the pass. They followed the curve of the beach,
keeping about a hundred yards offshore, and their
passage left a wake like a skywriters smoke in the
clear blue water behind them.
As they moved along they chatted in a carefree
fashion about any number of thingsthe islands, the
club, even the chimp, who seemed less menacing to
Kit now that she was safely out of reach.
Connie asked Chip some questions about Rusty
Longbow, the Indian guide, who appealed to her as
an unusual character, and learned that he had been
raised by an uncle, who operated a trading post
along the Tamiami Trail.
This uncle must have been a superior character,
as Seminoles go, Chip explained. When he died
he left everything he had to Rusty in the hope that he
could get a college education. It wasnt enough to
34

see him through but it gave him a fine start.

Then he interrupted himself to point out a colony
of man-of-war birds which had come to roost in a
grove of tall trees midway along the island.
No doubt about it, those birds do dress up a sky
line, Chip said admiringly, and Connie thoroughly
agreed.
For a while they passed club guests, alone or in
groups of two or three, walking along the water line
looking for shells. Their heads were bent intently
over the sand, and they paid no attention whatever to
the passing of the fishing skiff.
Soon, however, they had left even the most
adventurous of the shell collectors behind. They
passed a grove of dead mangrove trees stretching
skeleton roots into the Gulf, then, as the beach cut in
on the other side, the trio lost sight of the club
buildings completely and were utterly alone.
Chip anchored and helped Connie bait her line,
but Kit disdained such pampering and chose her
own leader and streamer bug. She cast expertly,
while Chip whistled in admiration. I can see youre
no novice at this sport, he said.
Connie was always happy to hear her sister
praised. Kit knows what shes about, she agreed.
When it comes to fishing, Im the bumbling one.
Indeed, Connie merely tolerated fishing. She was
far more interested in the birds and in the flora and
35

fauna of the islands than she was in the inhabitants

of these southern waters, and after about an hour,
during which the sun beat down on them like a
mallet and she grew more and more restless, she
asked if theyd mind putting her ashore.
I could do a little shelling while you two fish,
she suggested. Then, when youve had enough, we
could all have lunch on the beach.
This they did, very happily, for by lunchtime Kit
and Chip had landed two ladyfish and a trout.
Connie, on her part, had collected a bandanna full of
varicolored shells, and while the other two were
anxious to get back into the boat, she was equally
anxious to continue shelling.
You go along and pick me up about four
oclock, she suggested. Then well all be doing
exactly what we want.
Thats the way a vacation should be, Chip
agreed. Come on, Kit. Lets find you a snook!
Connie watched the young guide push the skiff
out from the beach into deep water with a smile on
her lips. There had been more than the desire to go
shelling which had prompted her suggestion. She
wanted to give Kit a chance to be alone, for a while,
with an attractive boy, because she realized that
while she herself had the opportunity to meet many
young men, the pickings in Meadowbrook were
rather slim.
36

The boat curved away from the shore and soon

rounded the point of the island, heading for the
mangrove labyrinth on the other side, where the pair
planned to fish in along the edge of the shore line,
right next to the bushes.
We have to put the lure back in there where he
lives, Chip had explained, or we wont get him.
Deep in the shadows, under the overhang, thats his
home!
When the skiff was finally out of sight Connie
cached her shells in an old tin can which had drifted
ashore, and, humming to herself, started to wander
contentedly along the beach. She, too, soon rounded
the point and turned away from the Gulf to the inlets
on the other side.
It was utterly quiet and deserted on this hidden
stretch of sand, which was edged with saw grass
backed by hammocks of pine and palmetto. Connie
knew that she was on the outskirts of a water
wilderness shared by land animals, fish, amphibious
creatures, and rare birdsand perhaps Kulu!but
the thought didnt terrify her, nor did the loneliness.
It was exciting, after the crowded life of a big city
like Philadelphia, to find herself without any
companion but a blue heron, who stood looking at
her curiously from across an inlet leading back into
the swamps.
She ambled along slowly, bending now and again
37

to pick up an especially interesting shell. She had

already discovered some beautiful orange pectens,
and now, turning inland, she saw some imperfect
fighting conchs. She picked up several of these but
discarded them, searching for one with points which
had not been blunted by the sands and the tides.
Gradually she worked her way back to a hidden
cove within the mouth of one of the myriad
waterways, and started to rummage through a shell
bank which must have been the accumulation of
years.
She turned up a purple fan, crossed with jagged
streaks of brown lightning, and pocketed it with a
spontaneous cry of pleasure. It was her first! Then
she dropped to her knees and, with a forked stick,
started to dig farther. If only she could come home
with a Scotch Bonnet or a Junonia! Wouldnt that be
a feather in her cap!
Utterly absorbed, she was unconscious of a
shadow on the sand behind her. She was sitting back
on her heels, examining a murex she had just picked
up, when a blow crashed on her head like a bolt
from the blue.
One moment she was a pretty girl playing happily
on vacation. The next she was a crumpled heap,
collapsed upon the shell pile, and her mind was
swirling downward into a black and bottomless pit
from which there seemed to be no return.
38

CHAPTER 4

The Clutching Hand

The sun was gone.

The sky was no more than a hint of brightness
beyond the treetops, as a bevy of slate-gray coots
skittered across the water, shrieking in play.
It was the first sound Connie heard. Her eyelids
fluttered, and she felt the rough edges of half a
hundred shells biting into her cheek and arm. With
an effort she turned on her back and her head
throbbed with a piercing, pounding ache. After
several minutes she put up her hand to feel it, and
her fingers came away sticky with drying blood.
Latermuch latershe opened her eyes once
more to a cold twilight. Before her was the water of
the shallow creek, behind her an emerald screen.
Determinedly, she pushed herself upright with the
palms of her hands and looked around.
Everything was just the sameor was it? Here
39

was the shell bank, there the water, beyond it the

endless twisting labyrinth of the mangrove swamps.
But what had happened? Who had attacked her?
Where were Kit and Chip?
Kit and Chip! Awareness that the sun was gone
stung Connies reviving mind. They must be
worried sick about herand here shed been, all
these hours, just around the bend. . . .
She tried to struggle to her feet, but the effort
made her head swim, and she sank back against the
crunching shells. Time, she told herselfjust a little
more time and shed be all right.
As she waited until she dared try to stand once
more Connie tried to reassemble her thoughts in
consecutive order. She had just found the fan. Yes,
here was the shell, intact, in the pocket of her pinkand-white striped sport shirt. Then, without any
warning, without any faint glimmer that she was no
longer alone, the blow descended that had
apparently been forceful enough to keep her
unconscious for hours!
Or was it hours? She had no idea how long she
had been wandering before she was attacked. Time
passed with surprising rapidity when one was
searching for shells, and it had been after two
oclock when Kit and Chip had started off in the
boat.
But now it must be well past five. Late enough,
40

certainly, for the light to have changed and the cove

to have been thrown into shadow.
The cove . . .
Her eyes searched the bank where she sat,
propped shakily on one elbow. Why did she have
this sense of familiarity, yet with it a glimmer of
strangeness. She tried to think back. There had been
a twisted mangrove root, stretching out into the
shallow creek water, and she had noted with
amusement, tinged with faint distaste, that it had
five fingers at its tip, which reached out like a
clutching hand.
But although Connie studied all the roots along
the opposite bank none fitted that description. Had it
merely been an illusion of the moment, she
wondered. Was her mind still fogged and
wandering?
The twilight, she realized, was rapidly deepening.
Concern, not so much for herself but for Kit and
Chips reaction to her disappearance, made her
renew her efforts to get to her feet. Although her
head still reeled, this time she made it. Staggering
slightly, she started toward the mouth of the inlet
down which she had come.
It couldnt have been more than a few hundred
yards that she had traveled into the interior, but
when she had walked that distance there was still no
sign of open water beyond. Weak as she was, the
41

enveloping trees seemed to make the passageway

dank and airless. She could remember no such
feeling when she had wandered along the sloping
shore line earlier that afternoon.
Where was west? The sun yesterday had set over
the water, straight out from the clubhouse porch. But
beyond the trees the afterglow and sunset mingled in
a fading pink. West could be here, there, anywhere I
Not many minutes later Connie realized, with a
feeling of sick dismay, that she was lost.
Lost? It seemed impossible. This was a narrow
island. All she had to do was find the beach and
follow it back to the club. But the stream bed twisted
and turned deviously, and there was no other
recourse but to follow it, because the mangrove
roots offered only the most treacherous footing, and
Connie felt sure that snakesand even alligators
might be lurking in the brown water beneath those
twining arms.
She shuddered at the thought. It seemed
altogether incredible that, a few short hours ago, the
Gulf could have been an expanse of heady blue
water and not the slightest premonition of danger
had disturbed her placid wanderings along the
beach.
Now the dying light seemed actually ominous.
Somewhere in the distance, far above her head, a
breeze rattled the tops of the palms, and near at hand
42

insects hummed in the high sonic ranges and a bird

called to its mate with raucous impatience.
An ibis flapped into the air from almost beneath
her feet, and Connie started back in momentary
terror. All I need now is to hear an alligator
cough, she said aloud, her own voice sounding
harsh and strange in the empty air.
Or discover that Kulu is tracking me, said her
mind, but Connies chin raised in determination. She
wouldnt succumb to unprincipled fright like a
schoolgirl.
If only her head didnt ache so!
If only the shadows werent so deep and
deceiving!
If only this stream would lead somewhere,
instead of curling and weaving back and forth with
the inconsistency of a foolish woman. If only the
sun had not set!
Fifteen minutes later Connie started calling. She
cupped her hands to make a trumpet for her shouts,
and with all the vigor of her youthful lungs she
shouted her sisters name. Between shouts she
waited hopefully but only an echo answered.
Hey! she tried. Ho, there! Wisely, she
changed to the carrying vowel sounds and persisted
until she was hoarse. She frightened a water
turkeyan anhinga, Rusty would have called it
but she managed to elicit no other response.
43

By now night was closing in quickly. Keeping a

stern grip on her courage, Connie sank down on a
bed of mangrove roots and thought. Apparently one
thing was true. She must have been stumbling along
in the wrong direction. Otherwise she would have
reached the beach.
Taking off her socks and stuffing them in the
pockets of her shorts, she retied her sneakers and
waded deliberately into the creek. The walking, in
this dim light, was too treacherous along the narrow
shore. Tree roots reached out, threatening to trip her
there, and besides, when she kept to the middle of
the shallow creek bed, Connie felt sure she could
make better time.
She splashed along for quite some time before
she reached the cove from which she had started,
keeping a sharp lookout for snakes. All too clearly
she remembered that during dinner the night before
Mr. Renshaw had mentioned that diamond-backed
rattlers and deadly coral snakes abounded in the
Everglades, although tourists seldom encountered
them. Tourists, Connie decided ruefully, seldom
found themselves lost in a water wilderness
inhabited only by things which could fly, run, crawl,
screech, and slither, but could not show her the way
home.
Just as she regained the spot where she had
awakened to consciousness a dark shiny rope
44

uncoiled and slid precipitately into the water just

beyond her left foot. Connie jumped back in startled
horror, scrambling to the safety of a dead cypress
tree. But it was only a cottonmouth moccasin, which
she knew had the same attitude toward humans as
most humans hold toward snakes. In relief she
watched the reptile slither away into the rushes on
the opposite bank, then, spurred on by fear of
encountering a less timid creature in this inland
jungle, waded on.
The creek branched just beyond the cove, and
Connie stopped in consternation. Surely her memory
didnt deceive her. There had been no such branch
in the tributary she had followed so serenely early in
the afternoon.
She rubbed her forehead wearily. Or hadnt she
noticed, absorbed as she was in searching for shells?
Had her eyes, directed to the sand beneath her feet,
simply missed the other stream weaving off into the
swamp? She began to wonder whether the blow on
the head had temporarily addled her mind.
After another half-hour had passed, the stars
began to twinkle through the treetops. The stream
widened abruptly to a circular pool, ringed with sand
still warm from the sun which had penetrated this
fastness, and Connie sank down on it gratefully.
She was cold, very cold. Gooseflesh prickled the
skin along her arms, and she rubbed it with her
45

hands, sitting hunched in a miserable little ball, her

knees almost touching her chin.
For the first time she began to realize that she
might be forced to spend the night in this
wilderness. She was rapidly becoming exhausted,
and it seemed utterly senseless to try to walk farther
into the black tunnel which lay ahead.
There was, of course, a last chance that she might
make herself heard. But when she shouted into the
void her own voice came back to her, taunting such
hopefulness.
Now the immediate problem was how to keep
warm. Chilled and weary, Connie sneezed twice,
violently, and wished she had worn a long-sleeved
shirt and blue jeans. She took off her sopping
sneakers and pulled on the dry socks gratefully, but
it was only a few minutes before her toes and fingers
were icy cold once more.
There was plenty of deadwood along this inland
beach, but Connie had no matches with which to
light a fire and the old Boy Scout trick of rubbing
two sticks together proved ineffective. On another
part of the island she might have found a bed of pine
needles which could be gathered for a blanket, but
here the vegetation was of an entirely different type.
The immediacy of this new problem did one thing
for Connie. It kept her from imagining possible
terrors which lurked in the night. Her mind didnt
46

dwell on Kulu, who might well have been her

attacker, and the chance that he might still be at
large. She remembered, to be sure, that Chip had
told her that this was a land where wildcats swam as
readily as they climbed, plunging across canals and
wet areas in pursuit of marsh rabbits, but she told
herself that there was only one chance in a thousand
that she might encounter a really dangerous wild
beast.
When she happened to glance upward and saw a
pair of amber eyes staring down at her from a
cypress tree she succumbed to a moment of panic
and stumbled back to the farthest reach of the shore
line, her heart pumping wildly and her breath
coming in short, horrified jerks. Then she told
herself not to be an idiot. Probably it was merely a
raccoon drowsing in the treetop, and the animal was
undoubtedly as astonished by her presence as she by
his.
The gurgle of the water was comforting, but it
was brackish and unfit to drink. Two oclock in the
afternoon seemed very far distant, and Connie was
both thirsty and hungry, two other complications to
add to a fast-growing list. It was hard for her to
accept the fact that her chances of rescue, for the
night at least, were diminishing to the vanishing
point. Yet her common sense told her she must
prepare for the worst.
47

With a forked stick she began to dig in the sand,

remembering a childhood trick, learned on the
beaches of South Jersey, of burying a person up to
the neck.
She chose a spot as far from the water as possible,
and scooped up a mound from the surface, digging
only until the sand became damp. Then, like a mole,
she burrowed in, pulling the sand up over her legs
and body, wriggling down until even her shoulders
were covered. It made a strange blanket, far from
satisfactory, but at least the sand was warmer than
the air.
Graduallyvery graduallyConnie began to
relax. Her tired body became less tense, her eyelids
fluttered a few times, then closed. Mosquitoes
buzzed around her face but she didnt hear them. A
larger humthe hum of an outboard motor off a
not-far-distant
beachdidnt
penetrate
her
consciousness.
Exhausted beyond endurance, Connie slept.

48

CHAPTER

Where Is Connie?

Kit was completely absorbed in learning, under

Chips competent tutelage, the bullet cast.
The technique was exacting, but she was
rewarded when her plug went well back under the
overhang, where the snook kept to the shadows,
avoiding the open water where danger lurked.
Good! Chip commended her. Now try again.
Patiently he repeated, The pickup and backcast are
the same as in ordinary fly-fishing. So is the start of
the forward cast. But at the finish, when you throw
the tip to give the final impulse, you roll the wrist
and the casting hand so that your palm is facing you
at the completion. See?
He illustrated his point expertly, and Kit watched
his rod tip move in a half circle, the bow of the line
rolling out in a horizontal plane, pulling the lure
along with it to drop snugly under the reaching
49

branches of the mangrove bushes.

Kit cast once more, but this time she was
overanxious and her line caught on a limb and
wrapped itself in a snarl difficult to untangle.
Together, they worked to free the line. There!
said Chip finally. Better luck next time!
He was an indefatigable teacher, and Kit acquired
an increasing respect for his skill as the afternoon
wore on. He didnt neglect the fine points. When Kit
had made half a dozen satisfactory casts he taught
her how to retrieve.
Reel in slowly, he advised her. Give the fish
plenty of time to look over your lure.
As she followed directions he watched her. Too
smooth, he said after a few seconds. Try short,
well-spaced jerks.
Kit made ready to cast again and grinned at Chip
ruefully. Maybe these snook dont like popping
bugs, she suggested. Do you think I ought to try a
streamer fly?
Chip shook his head. You wait! And be careful,
because most times your strike comes within the
first five or six feet of the retrieve.
At that very moment Kit felt a sudden strong tug
and her line swirled out, the reel screaming. Ive
got a strike! she cried in excitement, her brown
eyes shining.
Keep your head! Chip ordered, smiling at her
50

pleasure. Hell wind your leader tight in the

mangrove roots if you dont watch out.
Already, however, Kit had regained control. Five
minutes later she landed her snook, a good fourpounder, then sank back in the boat breathless as
Chip unhooked her catch.
Pleased with yourself? He grinned.
Proud as Punch!
I dont blame you. Want to call it a day?
Now? Im just getting started! Kit pouted
prettily.
Chip laughed at her. Youre a real fisherman!
he said.
In the next half-hour, however, neither of them
had a strike, and finally Chip glanced at his watch
and whistled. Hey! Its nearly half-past four. Didnt
we say wed be back for your sister by four
oclock?
Oh, gosh, I guess we did, Kit agreed. But she
wont mind. Connies a wonderful sport.
That makes it two of you, Chip returned, and
Kit felt herself color at the compliment. She liked
this young guide, not only as a teacher but as a
person. She wondered where he had learned so
much about fishing, and why he happened to be
down here in midwinter when most young men his
age were either in college or occupied by some more
conventional job.
51

As they stowed away their fishing gear she asked

him a few leading questions and discovered that he
was working his way through an eastern college.
I ran out of funds last spring and decided it
would be better to take a year off and earn a little
money than try to carry water on both shoulders,
Chip explained.
Very sensible, Kit agreed. Then youll go back
next fall?
Chip nodded. And graduate, I hope.
And then?
Im majoring in education, and Id like to get a
job in a boys prep school, I think. I enjoy working
with youngsters.
Kits eyes expressed her approval. She thought it
was an admirable career ambition. You should be
very good with them, she said softly.
Why do you say that?
Because you have both patience and a sense of
humor, and it seems to me children need both.
Chip, who had been bending over the engine,
turned and looked at Kit reflectively. For a girl as
pretty as you are, he said with a smile that was
almost tender, you have an astonishing amount of
good common sense.
The starting of the motor made a reply both
unnecessary and impossible. Chip turned the boat
and started back to the mouth of the narrow
52

waterway up which they had come. Then, like a

knife, they shot across an open lakelike space and
came within sight of the point of Pelican Island,
which they had rounded immediately upon leaving
Connie, earlier in the afternoon.
Kit, enjoying the breeze on her sunburned face,
leaned back luxuriously. This is the life! she cried
into the wind, and Chip grinned back at her,
relishing her feelings and even sharing them.
He cut the boat in a wide arc, swooping into the
blue, unruffled Gulf and back toward shore again,
out of sheer exuberant high spirits. It wasnt often
that he had a chance to guide such an attractive pair
of guests. For his money the Blair twins were tops,
and Kit had just a bit of an edge on her sister,
because she liked to fish, whereas Connie was
lukewarm about his favorite sport.
Connie . . .
Chip squinted against the sun and turned the skiff
toward the beach. He glanced again at his watch and
said, I hope she isnt sore. Its almost five.
Kits eyes were narrowed and she was shading
them with her hand. I dont even see her, she said.
Maybe shes fallen asleep on the sand. Theres
one thing pretty certain. She hasnt walked home!
How far is it? Kit wanted to know.
Back to the club? The better part of twelve
miles.
53

Kit whistled. Still, you dont know Connie.

Shes tireless, sometimes.
Chip gunned the skiffs motor and pointed her
bow straight in toward shore, beaching her with a
flourish. Kit pulled off her sneakers and jumped out
into the shallow water, which felt cool and inviting
against her ankles. It made her anxious to find
Connie at once and get back to the club in time for a
late swim.
Cupping her hands at her mouth she called
Connie! in a healthy young shout that made Chip
pretend to wince and stop his ears. Connie!
Connie! she called again, undisturbed by his
teasing. Where is she, anyhow?
Well, if she doesnt hear that war whoop shes
deaf, Chip replied. They waited a few minutes,
expecting an answering call, but there was no reply.
Maybe she did start walking back, at that, Chip
said finally. She might have realized wed be
bound to catch up with her, if we buzzed along right
off the beach.
Kit looked puzzled and vaguely disturbed.
Maybe, she agreed, but it isnt quite like Connie.
She usually keeps appointments, where and when
she makes them, on the button. Shes a
businesswoman, remember, though she may not
look the part.
She shouted again, calling her twins name over
54

and over, until Chip persuaded her that his

suggestion was at least worth a try. Then she
climbed back into the skiff reluctantly and sat
scanning the deserted beach as the guide headed at
half speed toward the Scotch Bonnet Club.
Her eyes burned and her throat felt parched and
dry with a fear she refused, at first, to acknowledge.
Kit was far from superstitious, nor was she given to
undue concern for her twin, but somehow she had a
premonition that something had happened to
Conniesomething terrible, at which she couldnt
even guess. Or could she? Was it too utterly
ridiculous to be wondering, at this moment, whether
the big chimpanzee was still at large?
Kit clasped her hands nervously, and in spite of
the heat her palms were cold and damp. The sun was
beginning to sink over the Gulf, a ball of orange
bathed in an aura of incredible pink and purple light.
She realized that in another hour or so the warmth of
daytime would be gone. It would be dark. But
certainly, by then
Chip was frowning. Its the darnedest thing, he
said half to himself, where she could have got to.
Even if shed started walking, I dont see how she
could have gone more than a few miles. But maybe
she got a ride. I never thought of that!
It was a slim hope, Kit thought, but she didnt
admit her growing alarm. Maybe, she murmured.
55

Suddenly she was filled with impatience. Oh, Chip,

lets hurry! Lets get back to the club and inquire.
Chip accelerated. The bow of the skiff rose out of
the water and their wake was a bubbling white
wave. Kit kept her eyes on the beach, but except for
a few wheeling terns and a motionless blue heron
standing almost at the edge of the water, there was
not a living thing in sight.
Finally, in spite of herself, Kit was forced to say
the thing that was in her mind. Her eyes, for a
moment, met Chips, and she realized that he, too,
was seriously concerned. Kulu she murmured.
Oh, Chip, I cant help being terrified
The guides voice was calm, but Kit could feel
the effort behind it. Of course you cant, he said
soothingly. But you know Mr. Talmadge insists
hes perfectly harmless.
But he is a wild animal, after all. And hes so
big! I dont think hes pet-size any more. I think hes
dangerous!
Chip looked at Kit with reluctant honesty. Darn
it all, I do too, he admitted. At least, I think its
dangerous to be so casual about him. Though I dont
believe for a minute he has anything to do with
Connies disappearance, he finished rather weakly.
For the rest of the ride they scarcely spoke. Chip
pulled into the club dock neatly but abruptly, and
while he made the boat fast Kit clambered out.
56

From the dock she could clearly see that quite a

group of people were gathered in the grove around
the chimpanzees cage. Her heart in her throat, she
started toward them. Then relief surged through her
like a tonic as she saw that they were laughing and
talking to Mr. Talmadge.
Its all right, Chip! she called over her
shoulder. Kulu is back!
Kulu, but how about Connie?
I dont see Connie, Kit called again, but Ill go
look in our room.
She called her twins name as she hurried along
the path which led to the sleeping cabin, called again
as she opened the door to the room they shared. But
it was as empty as the beach had been, and although
the stark terror associated with the chimpanzee was
gone, Kits smooth forehead wrinkled in an unhappy
frown.
At once she ran back to the dock. Connie isnt in
our room, she told Chip. Ill ask at the desk
whether anyone has seen her. Then Ill see if I can
find the Renshaws. Ill be back.
Ill check with the guides at the boathouse,
Chip called after her, and as soon as he had
unloaded the empty picnic hamper and fishing rods
and equipment he hurried off on his own errand.
But within fifteen minutes both were back at the
dock, and this time Mr. Renshaw accompanied Kit.
57

The advertising executive looked puzzled but

unalarmed. I wouldnt start to worry yet, he
advised the pair. If I know Connie, shell turn up
safe and sound before dinnertime. Aside from
drowning, there isnt much danger of any serious
accident occurring on Pelican Island, and Connie
swims like a fish.
Kit nodded in agreement. It recalled to her mind
that Connies expert swimming had once helped
solve the mystery of The Ghost Wore White, at a
haunted mansion in Newport, Rhode Island. But that
was scant comfort now. She still felt sure that
Connie had met with some mishap, but the question
was what?
Then a thought occurred to her. She glanced back
at Kulu, curled up in a corner of his big cage, fast
asleep and snoring noisily. Big-eyed, she turned to
Mr. Renshaw. When did they capture the
chimpanzee? she asked.
George Renshaw chuckled. They didnt capture
him, he replied. Kulu apparently just got tired of
roaming and came along home. Nobody even saw
him arrive.
But that seems impossible! Kit protested.
Mr. Renshaw shook his head. Not really, if you
consider that this place is practically deserted in
midafternoon. Everybodys either off fishing, down
at the beach, or in their rooms napping. Weve often
58

kidded Ben Talmadge by telling him that on a fine

day a clever thief could row over from the mainland
and loot the whole shebang, and nobodyd be the
wiser.
I wish we could establish the time Kulu got
back, Kit persisted, scarcely listening to this
digression.
Why? Chip wanted to know.
Because if he was here at two oclock, or even
by three She paused. How long would it take a
chimp to get from one end of this island to the
other?
Thats a moot question, Chip admitted with a
smile. But Id guess that Kulu couldnt make
fourteen miles in less than a couple of hours.
Well, then, if we knew he was back before four
oclock, wed know he couldnt possibly have had
anything to do with Connies disappearance, Kit
said.
Mr. Renshaw looked astonished. You werent
actually thinking?
Kit was extremely tenacious. Id just like to be
sure, she replied, looking him directly in the eyes.
It should be easy enough, Chip said, to find
someone who passed here during the afternoon and
noticed that the cage was still empty.
Mr. Renshaws eyebrows raised. Easy? Want to
bet?
59

Chip shook his head, but nevertheless he went up

to the lodge and made inquiries. George Renshaw
was right. It wasnt easy. But after half an hours
persistent questioning of every club employee and
every guest whom he could find he discovered a
waitress who had carried some ice water over to a
guest in the Everglades at four-fifteen, and she said
positively that the cage door had been standing
open, and that Kuluthank goodness as far as she
was concernedwas nowhere around.
Kit, meanwhile, at Mr. Renshaws behest, had
gone to her room to change for dinner. As the hour
crept toward six and the twilight began to deepen,
she became more and more anxious. Every minute
seemed like ten, and each was wasted. Something
should be done, she felt. Mr. Renshaw should take
this situation more seriously. And Chip. Had Chip
deserted her too?
Then a familiar whistle sounded outside her
window, and she looked out to see him standing
below her on the dock. He beckoned to her to join
him and she hurried out, running down the curving
white path that skirted Kulus cage.
The guide watched her approach with mingled
admiration and concern. He hated to tell her what he
had discovered, but he was too honest to keep the
knowledge from her, alarming though it might be.
Kit took the news quietly. Then there is the
60

possibility she murmured to herself, without

finishing the sentence even in her thoughts.
Its very remote, Chip assured her.
But its there.
Yes, its there, he had to admit. Though I
wouldnt start to worry, yet.
When do I start to worry? Kit wanted to know.
Calmlymore calmly than he feltChip said,
Id take Mr. Renshaws advice and wait until
dinnertime. If she doesnt show up by then, well
speak to Mr. Talmadge and see what can be done.
All right, Kit agreed. Dinner was served at
seven. Meanwhile, in the dusk, she walked down to
the beach and peered along the crescent-shaped strip
of white sand which led toward the far end of the
island.
With the dying light the dead cypresses stood out
in bold relief, a grim study in black and tan. Gone
were the gay colors of midday, gone the happy
vacation atmosphere. The squawks of the gulls and
terns seemed evil and menacing, the swoop of a
hawk a clutching, voracious thing. Kit pulled her
light sweater around her shoulders and shivered. If
only, in the distance, she could see Connies slim,
erect figure come striding along.
But although she waited, watching, for nearly an
hour, until night had fallen and the lights of the club
were the only beacon, the birds alone shared the
61

beach with her. There was no human being within

sight.
Back at the club, the dining room was fast filling
with laughing, chattering guests, but Kits face was
strained and drawn when she walked into the lobby
and went straight to the desk. Mr. Talmadge,
fortunately, was in his small office, and he came out
to her at once. She stated her case clearly and
concisely, without omitting the possibility that the
chimpanzee might have had some connection with
her sisters disappearance, and asked if some sort of
search party could be organized.
Of course. Chip Wight has already spoken to me
and I gave him instructions to get the guides
together as soon as they have finished their evening
meal. Well send all six of them out in motorboats
and they can circle the island in short order. He
patted Kit on the shoulder comfortingly. Now you
go in and try to eat some dinner, Miss Blair. I think
you can count on the fact that the boys will pick up
your sister.
Kit thanked him with a weak smile, but as she
joined the Renshaws and went with them into the
dining room she shivered in spite of herself. Pick
her up. It had an ominous sound, as though Connie
might not be able to get aboard a boat unaided.

62

CHAPTER

Terror at Night

Connie slept. Insects buzzed about her head but she

didnt hear them, any more than she heard the owl
which kept hooting from the top of a lone palm tree
or the shouts of the searchers who patrolled the coast
half a mile away. The wound in her head no longer
throbbed with pain. All sensation was drowned for
the moment in exhaustion. It was the sleep of a tired
child, very like the sleep of the dead.
A loon screamed and a raccoon family came by
and sniffed her but she never knew. A boat nosed its
way through the tunnel of mangroves which led to
the cove where she lay, then backed out again
without finding her. Connie slept for about six
hours; then, as though jerked upward by wires, she
awoke and tried to sit up.
The night was pitch black. The stars were gone
and no moon showed through the canopy of the
63

trees. For a moment she couldnt imagine where she

was. Then, with a shock, the whole incredible
sequence of events flooded back into her
consciousness and she was aware that she was stiff
with cold.
The sand which covered her no longer seemed to
have the slightest vestige of warmth. Achingly, she
drew out her pinioned arms and pushed herself
backward with the palms of her hands until her legs
were free. There was a splash in the water close to
her and she tensed, wondering if it were fish or fowl,
wishing she had thought to ask the Renshaws
whether these swamps harbored alligators or
crocodiles.
Fear swept through her at the possibility, and she
wondered whether it might be wise to hunt for a tree
that she could climb and sit out the long hours that
might remain of the night. But the fear that she
might fall asleep again and lose her balance
dissuaded her. The ground, at least, was solid, and
therefore vaguely comforting.
Connie got to her feet and stamped the loose sand
from her clothing, then rubbed her arms and legs
until the circulation began to return. Shells crunched
under her sneakers with a dry, crackling sound
which made her feel more alone than ever in this
wilderness.
The important thing, she told herself, was to keep
64

her head. They would be looking for her, certainly,

and if she listened she might hear the sound of a
motorboat. For several minutes she stood quite still,
straining her ears, not knowing that it was past three
oclock, and that most of the weary searchers had
given up and returned to the club to await daylight.
All too clearly Connie could imagine Kits
anxiety. In order to keep from succumbing to stark,
unreasoning terror she tried to reconstruct the
feelings of her twin when she wasnt waiting on the
beach. At first, she thought, neither Kit nor Chip
would have been actually frightenedexcept that
Kit might think of Kulu at once. . . .
Kulu! Suddenly the blackness could no longer be
warded off. It pressed in on Connie with the
thickness of velvet, dense and smothering. Yet the
dark was cold rather than warm. Connies teeth
began to chatter, uncontrollably, with nervous chill.
The picture of the chimpanzee was so vivid in her
mind that it dominated her usual good common
sense, but after a few minutes she clamped her jaw
shut determinedly. She would not let herself lose
control.
Instead, she tried to believe that the ugly pet was
once more safely back at the club, and that, while
she was far from alone in this wilderness, the
creatures with whom she shared it would be more
terrified of her than she of them.
65

If only she had a packet of matchessome way

of making a fire, or even a momentary flickering
light. But there was nothing in the pockets of her
shorts except a crumpled handkerchief and two
forgotten shells.
Trying to keep warm, Connie started to pace back
and forth. Four steps one way. Four steps the other.
The action was good. It stimulated her circulation
and helped restore her sanity. After about half an
hour she had conquered the worst of her fear.
Then, very gradually, the sky overhead began to
change in color. It was so subtle and so slow a
change that at first Connie thought it might be her
imagination, willing it to be dawn. But no!the
light was gray now, the branches black by contrast,
the shapes of the trees discernible at last!
Friendly trees! Welcome, welcome light!
Soon, Connie thought, I can start walking
again, because now it will be no problem to tell east
from west.
Directly away from the pink blush of dawn, that
was the direction to take. Because the sun set over
the Gulf, and it was the beach that she wanted to
gain.
She waited until she could see clearly enough to
avoid stumbling, then set forth. For several minutes
the crackling of twigs or the crunch of the shellstrewn sand beneath her feet were the only sounds.
66

Then she stopped, alert to a familiar vibration.

Somewhere, not far away, there was a boat traveling
at low speed.
Connies first impulse was to shout. Her lips
parted, her head raised, and then she checked
herself. Who might it be? Friend or foe? The blow
on her head was still too painful to forget. Caution,
at this point, might pay.
The boat was coming toward her, because the
noise of the motor became momentarily more clear.
Connie scrambled back over some mangrove roots
to the shelter of a thicket which screened her
effectively from the creek. Her heart pounded and
her breath came fast as she peered out. In a few
seconds more she should know . . .
From around a bend the bow of a skiff nosed into
view. It contained a single figurea man
Rusty! Connie cried in delighted relief. Rusty!
Here I am!
Hurrying toward him, she tripped on a root,
stumbled to her knees, and picked herself up with a
smile. The Indian guide looked at her in disbelief
mingled with a relief that equaled her own. I was
beginning to wonder if wed ever find you! he
confessed. What on earth happened? Did you get
lost?
Then, as he put out a hand to help her into the
skiff, he noticed the bloodstains on Connies
67

rumpled shirt. Why, youre hurt! he stammered in

alarm. How?
As the Indian guide backed the boat out through
the overhanging tunnel of green to open water
Connie told him, as briefly and as clearly as
possible, just what had happened.
Rusty listened carefully, without interrupting,
though he indicated that he was completely
mystified by repeatedly shaking his head.
Darnedest thing I ever heard, he muttered when
she had finished.
Isnt it! Connie agreed. Ive thought and
thought, and the only thing Ive come up with that
seems even vaguely plausible is that Kulu
Could have turned mischievous and chucked a
coconut at you, finished Rusty as she hesitated.
That might have knocked you out easily enough.
Did you find any old coconuts lying around?
Connie shook her head with a grin. No, she
admitted. But he could have picked the weapon up
and carted it away. By the way, is he still on the
loose?
No, thank goodness. He got back to the club late
yesterday afternoon and apparently just walked into
his cage and curled up. At least thats the guess.
Nobody actually saw him return.
Gosh, I wish Id known he was home safe and
sound! Connie sighed. It would have saved me a
68

few bad hours.

You poor kid! You must have been scared to
death! Rusty sympathized.
It wasnt any picnic, Connie replied ruefully.
It was so pitch black back there.
I know, Rusty said with understanding. And
you must have been half frozen, to boot.
Connie told him how she had dug her way into
the sand and he looked at her admiringly. Youre a
clever girl, and an unusually good sport, he told her
with great sincerity.
Flushing, Connie shook her head. You wouldnt
have said so last night.
Im saying it now, Rusty insisted. After an
experience like that most girls would be in a state of
collapse.
I just about ambut from hunger not from
fright, Connie said with a chuckle. Brother, will
breakfast taste good!
Rusty laughed. And brother, will the whole
Scotch Bonnet Club be glad to see you! Especially
your sister. Shes been worried almost out of her
mind.
Poor Kit. In many ways it must have been worse
for her than it was for me, Connie murmured. At
least I knew I was alive.
Thats right, Rusty agreed as he turned out into
the Gulf and pointed the boat toward home. Hold
69

tight now. Here we go!

The morning sun beamed down on them as they
sped over the water. Spray tickled Connies face and
glistened in her hair. It was so wonderful to be safe
that she felt like laughing aloud with the sheer
delight of it. Never had the world seemed more
beautiful, never was the sky more serene nor the
water more deliriously blue!
Although it was still very early there were several
small boats in the distance, all headed toward them,
and in a few minutes it was obvious that they were
filled with guides and club guests who had
volunteered to join the search party once more
starting out.
They hailed Rusty and his prize with uproarious
pleasure, and turned and followed him, one and all,
back to the dock.
So Connie had quite a reception committee,
masculine except for her sister! Kit was pacing up
and down the dock restlessly, unable to sleep, when
the little flotilla, with Rusty and Connie in the lead,
and Chip Wight running a close second, roared into
the pass. She nearly fell into the water in excitement,
and gathered her bedraggled twin into her arms
ecstatically, her brown eyes shining with unshed
tears of relief.
Between them, Kit and Chip managed to fend off
the inevitable flood of questions and get Connie to
70

her room, where a doctor who was a guest at the

club dressed her wound. Rusty was left at the dock
to pinch-hit for Connie until she had a chance to
shower and change.
At breakfast, however, Connie was besieged. It
was quite a gala occasion, for all of the guides had
been invited to the main dining room in appreciation
of their hard nights work. Steak was served, as a
special favor from the management, and both the
searchers and their returned quarry were amply fed.
Rusty was hero for the day, and Connie, of
course, was the reluctant heroine of a mystery drama
which apparently had no solutionat least as yet.
Many were the theories advanced, but none seemed
quite so plausible as the one in which Kulu was the
culprit.
This the club guests as a whole accepted, and Mr.
Talmadge was heard to make a resolution to see that
his chimpanzee escaped no more.
When Connie and Kit walked back to the
Everglades together, arm in arm, Kit shook her
finger at the big ape. Arent you ashamed! she
scolded. If I were Mr. Talmadge Id give you to the
nearest zoo.
Because Mr. Renshaw had insisted that Connie
get some sleep, work had been postponed until
afternoon. I think you need sleep even more than
I, Connie told Kit when they were alone in their
71

bedroom. Ill bet you didnt get a wink.

I tried, Kit said, but I just couldnt. Oh,
Connie, I was so terribly worried. I kept imagining
the most horrible things.
To her twin, who seemed almost like a second
self, Connie admitted, So did I, in the night. I was
sure I heard an alligator splash in the creek. You
know, I may have, at that.
Kit shuddered. Dont talk about it. Im not as
brave as you are. Id just have died!
Oh, no, you wouldnt! Connie teased. Youre
a sturdy character, really, just as I am. You just
refuse to admit it, thats all.
She got into her pajamas and crawled gratefully
between the cool sheets, tucking her arm under her
pillow and pulling it into a comfortable position
under her cheek. Ah, this feels heavenly! she
sighed. See you about lunchtime.
Kit, in the other twin bed, also snuggled down
and closed her eyes, but for a little while neither girl
slept.
Kit? Connie whispered questioningly.
Yes?
Kit, if it wasnt Kulujust supposingwho
could it have been?
Heavens, Connie, I dont know. Some tramp,
perhaps.
Or some club guestany one of the fishermen
72

who were off for the day. But why? Connie probed.
Kit yawned. I havent the foggiest idea.
And even stranger, why was I movedand Im
almost certain I wasfrom one cove to another.
No answer, mumbled Kit.
Why? Why? Why? Connie repeated drowsily.
Its such an important little word.

73

CHAPTER

Who Is Sterling Witherspoon?

Connie awakened on the stroke of twelve oclock

feeling fit as a fiddle and quite ready to tackle a full
afternoons work. She assured Mr. Renshaw, who
was still solicitous, that she was anxious to review
the plans for the hosiery campaign with him, and
that it would be foolish to wait until tomorrow,
because she had had all the rest she really needed.
So after lunch they went down to the beach house
together and spread their papers out on a table.
Within ten minutes they were both utterly
engrossed. Mr. Renshaw had a challenging,
inquisitive mind that was very quick, in direct
contrast to his leisurely manner of speaking and
moving, and Connie always enjoyed listening to his
ideas. There were angles of the campaign with
which he was not quite satisfied, and they thrashed
the difficulties out, making changes here and there
74

which Connie would pass on to the office staff on

her return.
For three hours Connie didnt once think of her
recent accident. She even forgot the wound on her
head, and yelped in surprise and momentary pain
when she absent-mindedly stuck a pencil into her
hair and touched the sore spot. Mr. Renshaw had not
forgotten, however. He looked at her with
penetrating eyes and said, Just for the sake of
supposing, Conniesuppose it wasnt Kulu who
was your assailant
Yes?
Have you any idea who else it might have been.
Was there any clue whatever?
Connie shook her head. Not a thing.
No footprints?
No. But of course you dont leave footprints on
shells, or on a creek bed.
Thats very true.
Connie thought for a minute, then decided to tell
Mr. Renshaw about her feeling that she regained
consciousness in a different cove from that in which
she was attacked. But they all look so much alike,
she admitted, of course I may be quite wrong.
George Renshaw scratched the back of his neck
thoughtfully. It may, he said, have been a trick of
light and shadow. Ive seen mangrove rootsor
clouds in the sky, for that matterthat have
75

assumed certain shapes in my mind very clearly at

one moment. Then Ive looked again and the shape
is gone. He shrugged. It hardly seems logical that
you could have been transported from one place to
another. Why? Thats the question. Why?
Connie couldnt find an answer. Yet why had she
awakened with that illusion of strangeness, and why
had she looked for the mangrove root that resembled
a clutching hand? There were a great many whys
with no answer, if it came to analyzing the situation
in its entirety. And some of the questions seemed to
have no bearing whatever on her actual attack.
Connie glanced at Mr. Renshaw, about to confide
one of these unrelated enigmas, but her boss was
glancing at his watch.
He whistled softly. Gosh, its getting late. Lets
call it a day. He grinned at Connie disarmingly. I
want a swim before dinner. All work and no play
makes Jackand George tooa dull boy.
They walked companionably back toward the
club together, Mr. Renshaw reminding Connie that
this was to be a gala evening. Once a week the club
served a buffet supper and provided some kind of
special entertainment, movies, or music, as the
opportunity presented itself. Tonight I believe
theres to be dancing, he mentioned. Ben
Talmadge is picking up a couple of musicians from
the mainland. It sounds rather amusing, so put on
76

your prettiest frock!

Connie smiled back at the older man. I certainly
will! she promised, then hurried off to find Kit and
go for a late afternoon dip.
The water was delightfully warm and the air was
mild, so the girls lingered late on the beach, only
running back to the Everglades to dress when the
sun had dropped below the horizon.
Shall we dress alike? Kit asked as she slipped
into a negligee and started to brush her hair.
Yes, lets, Connie replied. Then you can share
some of the questions that are bound to be asked
about my misadventure. Otherwise, Ill spend the
whole evening doing nothing but trying to explain
how and why I was hit on the head.
But what will I say?
Connie laughed. Oh, you can just say because.
Because why?
Dont mention that word! Connie retorted. Its
my bugaboo. Then she looked at her sister with
smiling eyes. Oh, its so nice to have you with me,
Kit. To be able to share things again and laugh
together. You dont know!
I do too, Kit said affectionately. Dont you
think I miss you? Meadowbrook and Philadelphia
seem ever so far apart.
They chatted about home, about their mutual
friends and their family, while they dressed, wearing
77

the starched lace dresses they had bought together in

the department store in Philadelphia where Connie
had once worked and where she had helped to solve
the mystery of The Clue in Blue. The frocks were
black, ballerina length, and the skirts were very full
and frothy. With their pale hair the girls looked very
glamorous and more alike than ever, somehow.
Connie, as usual, was ready first, but she waited
for Kit and they started out together. Then, on the
steps, she paused. I think well need some sort of
wrap later, she murmured. You go on, and Ill go
back and get our coats.
So Kit started across to the clubhouse alone, and
Connie went back to their room and rummaged in
the closet for their short wool toppers, then switched
out the light and started forth again. Because she
was wearing high heels she took the longer route to
the main lodge, following a path which led past
other sleeping cabins and came in on the beach side.
Most of the guests had already gone to the
clubhouse, few lights showed, and there was little
sound of activity. But from a small single cabin set
well back in the trees a mans voice reached
Connies ears with startling clarity.
Next time, came a deep-throated growl, will
be different.
Connie stopped in the path, listening. It sounded
like Mr. Sterling Witherspoons voice, but it had a
78

compelling, evil quality which made a shudder trace

its way up her spine.
Whaddaya mean next time? There was a whine
in the answer, which was higher pitched and had no
familiar ring.
Next time The first man paused, not
hesitatingly, but for effect, and there was a mounting
tension in Connies throat as she stood and waited
for him to continue. Next time there wont be any
coming back!
A door slammed suddenly and Connie jumped,
her heart pumping. With assumed nonchalance she
walked on, keeping her step light and easy with the
most determined effort, trying to pretend, for any
possible onlooker, that she had heard nothing, that
there was no thought in her mind but the probability
of a pleasant evening ahead.
But again and again the sentence pounded in her
head, hammering home the possible implication.
Next time there wont be any coming back.
coming back!
Could they, conceivably, have been talking about
her?
And who was it, plotting in the dusk, speaking
with such a deliberately malevolent voice
threatening, promising?
Trying to appear casual, Connie glanced back.
The third cabin on the left. Hibiscus, it was called.
79

Who occupied it?

That was the first thing she must ascertain, and
certainly it should be easy enough to discover.
Manufacturing a smile, she hurried up the steps to
the screen door which led into the lobby and walked
directly across to the desk.
The managers secretary, who was filing some
cards, glanced up with a smile. Good evening, Miss
Blair. How is your sister feeling?
Oh, shes fine! Connie didnt tell her that she
had mistaken her for Kit.
Splendid. Mr. Talmadge will be happy to hear
it.
Is there a guest list with sleeping cabin
assignments included? Connie asked. Then, fearing
that she might have sounded too abrupt, she added,
Mr. Renshaw was making an inquiry and let the
sentence trail off.
Yes, of course. The secretary didnt seem to
find the request odd. She reached under the counter
and handed Connie a typed memorandum.
Connie glanced down the page. This will be
fine. Thank you. Ill just make a note. She pulled a
small pad from her evening purse and scribbled the
name of a perfect stranger on it. But the name that
she discovered opposite the cabin called Hibiscus
she did not write. It was, however, engraved on her
mind when she handed the list back to the secretary.
80

And as she turned away from the desk she forgot

to smile, because the implications of her discovery
were, for the moment, overwhelming.
Sterling Witherspoon, she whispered to herself.
The man with the fishy stare and the great
curiosity. The man with the satchel which couldnt
be touched. The man with the wrong clothes and the
high-pitched voice
The man himself at that moment walked through
the doorway. Connie, ignoring him, started for the
dining room. Then, on impulse, she turned and
favored him with a gracious smile. Hello, Mr.
Witherspoon, she said. A good days fishing, I
hope?
Whywhy, yes, yes, very. He looked at her
uncertainly. Your sister, he said, your sister is
recovering?
Oh, yes, shes fine, said Connie again, letting
her eyelids flutter prettily. It was a very bad
experience, though. And soso unbelievable.
Quite, agreed Mr. Witherspoon. She had a
wretchedly uncomfortable night, Im sure. And there
was no cluenothing?
Connie opened her eyes innocently wide. Not a
thing. But in spite of herself she was trembling.
What was this strange, bony-nosed creature trying to
find outwhether or not he was in any way
suspect? Well, he was, now! And she couldnt wait
81

to tell Kit about the overheard conversation. For the

moment, however, there was no opportunity to do
anything but cover her dissembling. Sidling up to
her twin, who already had a plate in her hand and
was standing beside the buffet table, Connie spoke
in a whisper.
If Mr. Witherspoon starts pumping you, pretend
you are me. Make up anything you like about last
night, but dont give me away. Ill explain later.
Kits eyes twinkled. This was a game she had
played before and always enjoyed. Then Id better
be you to other people too.
All except Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw. Theyd
guess. Ill tell them, though, and swear them to
secrecy.
So Connie was Kit, and Kit Connie, for the
duration of the evening. Every now and again
Connie came upon her twin making up the most
startling tales of her experience in the mangrove
swamp for the benefit of some unenlightened but
sympathetic acquaintance. By now the twins were
known to all of the fifty-odd guests, and Connies
misfortune was bound to be a popular subject of
conversation.
Connie herself, meanwhile, in the role of the
unmolested twin, had time to give her attention to
the really superlative supper. She confessed the ruse
to the Renshaws, who were amused at the little plot
82

and helped the cause along, even to the point of

calling Connie Kit to their friends.
It was during dessert that the musicians promised
by Mr. Talmadge appeared on the scene. One played
the piano and the other wandered among the tables
playing a harmonica. Neither was exceptional but
they had a sense of rhythm and a repertoire of new
and old dance music which brought a number of
couples to their feet. Mr. Renshaw danced first with
his wife, then with Connie. As he whirled her past
the piano she looked at the player in puzzlement.
I have the strangest feeling, she confessed,
that Ive seen those men somewhere before.
Then, suddenly, she knew where. A scene flashed
before her minds eye with abrupt clarity. Two men
were tinkering with a boat, two men in dark wool
trousers and T-shirts. A siren wailed and one of the
men fell in the water while the crowd at the launch
stood by and laughed.
Of course! she said. I saw them over at the
trailer camp!
George Renshaw, introducing a new step which
Connie followed readily, nodded. Thats where
Ben frequently picks up his talent, he explained.
Last winter he came back with a really marvelous
Portuguese. Played anything you liked, from opera
to New Orleans jazz.
Just then the music stopped and he led Connie
83

back to the small table where Mrs. Renshaw was

sitting alone. Now for the other twinl he said gaily
and bowed.
Connie glanced across the room to where Kit was
standing, near the fireplace, apparently engaged in
reluctant conversation with Mr. Witherspoon. She
saw the expression of relief which crossed her
sisters face at the approach of Mr. Renshaw, and
heard him call her Connie with a chuckle in his
deep, expressive voice. Then the pianist struck the
first notes of a rhumba and couples began to move
out on the floor, Connies boss and Kit along with
them.
Connie turned to Mrs. Renshaw with a smile.
This is fun, isnt it? she asked.
Mrs. Renshaw nodded. Though Im tired
tonight. I walked rather far along the beach today.
She pulled her chair a trifle closer to Connies and
leaned forward. This cove you described at
breakfast this morning, she said, could you tell
me about it again?
Obligingly Connie repeated as much as she could
remember. She diagramed the curve of the beach,
the tunnel of green which almost concealed the inlet,
the shell pile in which she had been rummaging.
Then she grinned. The thing that seems most
vivid, she admitted, may be pure imagination.
There was a mangrove root along the bank that
84

reached out into the water exactly like a clutching

hand.
Alicia Renshaw snapped her fingers, and her gray
eyes glistened with sudden interest. Thats it! she
cried. Thats the place!
What do you mean? Connie asked. Have you
been there?
Mrs. Renshaw glanced around, then leaned
forward in a conspiratorial fashion. Yes, she said.
When? Not today?
No. A couple of days ago, just before you
arrived. Im sure its the same spot, because I
noticed the very same formation in the mangrove
root you describe.
Really?
Mrs. Renshaw leaned still closer, but in her
excitement she unconsciously raised her voice. Im
positive! she said, speaking above the sound of the
nearby harmonica player. And the strange thing is
that it was in this same cove that I made my find!
Its utterly fabulous, my dear! Can you keep a
secret?

85

CHAPTER

Shore Trip

Connie nodded, naturally curious.

Then let me tell you! Once more Mrs. Renshaw
cautiously lowered her voice. Ive never seen such
shells. I found my first yellow pecten!
No!
Yes, actually. And I brought home a lace murex
as large as this. She illustrated the size with her
forefingers and thumbs. The freshest one Ive ever
seen. Not to mention half a hundred other shells that
will be marvelous for my compacts, if I ever
develop the idea.
You should, you know, Connie urged. Ive
thought about it a lot since you told Kit and me. It
has great sales possibilities, Im sure.
Alicia Renshaw smiled. You really encourage
me, but dont tell George! I want to experiment with
the notion completely on my own.
86

It amused Connie that Mrs. Renshaw was so

anxious to keep her scheme a secret from her
husband, yet she understood the urge. Women
needed to have a certain independence of action and
thought occasionally, she had long since decided. It
made them feel more individual, more adventurous.
It was a very healthy attitude.
She was still smiling to herself when Kit and Mr.
Renshaw rejoined them. Phew! Kit whispered in
an aside to Connie. Did I ever get the third degree
from Mr. Witherspoon!
Did you? Connie was immediately interested.
What did he want to know?
Everything but the middle name of Great-Aunt
Minnie, Kit replied. He thought he was talking to
you, of course.
He was curious about my accident?
Curious as a cat. Downright snoopy, Id say. I
wonder why hes so interested, anyway?
Connie frowned. I dont know, but he certainly
is a queer duck. Remind me to tell you about a
conversation I overheard, she added in an
undertone.
Then she turned back to the Renshaws, who were
talking about the itinerant musicians. They look
like characters escaped from Damon Runyon, Mr.
Renshaw was murmuring to his wife.
He echoed Connies sentiments so precisely that
87

she laughed and told him so. But they play music
thats easy to dance to, she confessed.
For the rest of the evening she and Kit had no
dearth of partners. They danced with all of the
younger men and several of the older ones, and
Connie even had a turn with Mr. Witherspoon. She
accepted his invitation to waltz reluctantly, because
she distrusted him so completely that he was
distasteful to her. When he made a remark about the
fact that it was confusing to find such identical
twins, she murmured a monosyllabic reply.
Arent you ever tempted to trade places, just for
the fun of it? he asked as he whirled her around the
room. His black eyes seemed narrow as a ferrets,
and his smile looked forced.
Connie opened her own eyes wide, trying to look
innocent. But why? she asked. What would be
the point?
Mr. Witherspoon shrugged. It was just an idea.
I can see youve never known many twins,
Connie said, to throw him further off the scent.
She left him with the definite impression,
however, that she had been carefully studied. She
had a feeling that he rather suspected that the twins
were masquerading, and she wondered why it
should make a difference. The overheard
conversation flashed back into her mind with all of
its ugly implication. Next time there wont be any
88

coming back! Was Sterling Witherspoon trying to

make sure that his cold-blooded confederate got the
right girl?
The possibility made her shudder. Yet her stern
common sense told Connie that, actually, she was
building up an improbable situation in her mind. The
conversation in the cabin was scarcely likely to be
related in any way to her attack. But then what was
it all about?
Later, after she and Kit were in bed, she told her
twin everything, and together they lay in the
darkness trying to find some meaning in it all. To
Connie the chain of circumstances was widening
like the ripples left by a pebble cast on the smooth
surface of a lake. She wondered, as she fell asleep,
whether they would eventually fade away.
The night was quiet, and the girls slept deeply,
with the happy ability of young people to divorce
their minds from unpleasantness. Then, at dawn,
Connie suddenly was awakened by the sound of a
boat engine down at the nearby dock. She rubbed
her eyes and sat up in bed, wondering who might be
starting off so early, on a cloudy Sunday morning,
when the rest of the Scotch Bonnet Club was still
asleep.
The side window of their bedroom looked out
directly on the water, and she had only to twist her
head to see. Rusty Longbow was holding the boat
89

steady for a passenger whose back was turned to

Connie. The man was stooping to hand in some
supplies, but when he straightened, the back of his
head was instantly recognizable. Sterling
Witherspoon!
Connie glanced at Kit, who still slept quietly.
Then she pushed back the covers and tiptoed to the
window, just in time to see Mr. Witherspoon crawl
awkwardly into the skiff. She noticed that the boat
was riding low in the water, as though it were
heavily laden. Then, a moment later, as quietly as
possible, Rusty shoved off.
Connie raised her eyebrows and glanced at her
watch. It was just five-forty-five, early indeed even
for the most avid sportsman! She wondered where
they could be bound, and what big-game fish they
could be after. If, indeed, they were after any fish at
all!
Back in bed, she couldnt go to sleep again. Her
thoughts kept turning to the Indian guide, and she
remembered that Rusty had a very deep bass voice.
Could\ it possibly, she wondered, have been his
voice that she had heard, coming from
Witherspoons cabin last night?
But she discarded the thought. It had been the
voice of a protagonist, a deep, commanding growl.
No, it hadnt been Rusty. But then how did the
Indian guide fit in, if at all? She decided to quiz
90

Chip Wight after breakfast. There were a lot of

questions she suddenly wanted answered, and today
would be uncomplicated by work.
Chip was completely approachable. Connie found
him sitting on the boathouse steps, untangling a
snarled fishing line. She squatted down
companionably beside him, and after chatting in a
desultory fashion for a few minutes, said, Chip,
how long have you known Rusty Longbow?
Chip thought for a moment. About three years.
Youre good friends, arent you?
You bet.
Ever met his family? Connie asked, trying to
appear casual.
Nope, Chip replied promptly. Hes an orphan.
As I told you, an uncle practically raised him and
left him a little money. Then a Judge Thomas who
used to winter here managed to get him a university
scholarship. That was good for two years. Now
Rusty and I are in the same boat, both of us trying to
earn enough money to see us the rest of the way
through.
Connie drew a pattern in the sand with the toe of
her sneaker. He needs moneybadly?
Chip shrugged. We both do. Then he looked
up. What are you getting at, anyhow?
Connie shook her head and smiled disarmingly.
I dont quite know myself.
91

Well, look, the guide said, just get this

straight. Rustys a really good guy. Why, he knows
more nature lore and more about these islands than
anybody Ive ever met. There isnt another guide at
the club who can hold a candle to him.
I dont doubt that, Connie murmured.
Then what?
Connie looked Chip straight in the eyes. Ive got
to ask you something, she said. You dont think
theres a possible chance, if Rusty needs money so
badly, that he might be corrupted? She stopped
abruptly, appalled by the expression on Chips face.
For he looked at first horrified, then amused.
Corrupted? Rusty? Not a chance. He whooped
with laughter, then considered Connie curiously.
You havent been imagining that it could have been
Rusty who bopped you on the noggin with a
coconut, have you? he wanted to know. Because if
you have, get it right out of your pretty little head.
Hes not that much of a nature boy, Miss Blair.
Connie felt properly abashed, more because she
realized Chip was laughing at her than because she
had asked a foolish question. Ill take your word
for it, she promised, but far in the back of her mind
she was still not quite satisfied.
A few minutes later Kit strolled over to join them,
after waving good-by to Mr. Renshaw and Ben
Talmadge, who were just starting off in the
92

Talmadges boat on a days fishing excursion to

Marco.
How come youre not acting like a guide? Kit
wanted to know. No customers?
This is my day off, Chip told her. As a matter
of fact, I was wondering if youd care to go
exploring on the mainland. We could ride around
Naples a bit and then go out and look over a real
Seminole village, if youd like. His glance included
Connie in the invitation along with Kit.
The twins looked at each other and their eyes
agreed. I think that sounds like fun! Kit replied.
As a matter of fact, weve both been talking about
trying to find some real Seminole Indian skirts to
take home.
Theyre so gay and different, Connie put in,
and theyd be conversation pieces back east.
Im your man! Chip replied. I know a little
missionary lady in Everglades City who has a house
full of them. Shes a middleman for the Seminoles
and I think she might sell you a couple, even on a
Sunday, if you explain that its the only day you
could get away.
How soon can we start? Connie clapped her
hands.
How soon can you be ready?
Ten minutes?
Ten minutes! Chip agreed. Meet you at the
93

dock. Ill get a skiff.

The girls hurried back to their room for
sunglasses and pocketbooks. On the way they
passed Alicia Renshaw, who was just starting for the
beach with a box lunch and a large knitting bag
slung over her shoulder. She was wearing slacks and
a sweater, because the sky was still cloudy and the
air was far from warm.
Going off all alone? Connie asked, hesitating
because she wasnt quite sure where her
responsibility might lie. Perhaps she should offer to
accompany her.
Yes, indeed, Mrs. Renshaw replied. Thats
what I like about this place, the chance to get away
from everything and everybody. I always go back to
civilization completely restored.
Were going shopping for Indian skirts, Kit
said. With Chip.
Splendid. Have a lovely day. And watch for
unusual birds along the Tamiami Trail. The last time
George and I drove to Everglades City I saw a
purple gallinule.
Whats that? Kit wanted to know as soon as
they were out of earshot.
Connie shrugged. Better ask Chip.
Oh, theyre amazing little birds about the size of
a squab, the guide told them when questioned.
They look like something out of a Disney cartoon,
94

with a blue and green body, bright yellow legs, and

a red and yellow beak. But you dont often see them.
Theyre among the rarest of protected birds.
It was fun to go excursioning with Chip, because
he knew so much about this west coast of Florida.
He told them all sorts of tales, about the Seminoles,
the natives, the flora and fauna, while Connie drove
at his direction, first around the luxurious outer
sections of Naples, then along the famous Tamiami
Trail to Everglades City.
They were all feeling very gay and carefree, and
when the sun broke through the clouds about noon it
added a finishing touch to a perfect day.
Look! Connie cried, pointing upward in
delight.
Look out! Kit warned laughingly, sighting a
Road Under Construction sign ahead.
Connie slowed down and drove carefully over the
bumpy twisting detour, which fortunately was only a
few hundred yards long. The cars ahead were
slowed almost to a standstill, but coming toward
them was a yellow taxi which seemed to be taking
the rough going blithely in its stride.
Ouch! I bet its springs hurt! Chip teased.
Connie looked curiously at the taxi. It seemed
like an unusual vehicle to be jouncing along this
desolate section of the Trail. Then she said, Say!
Look whos riding in the back.
95

Who? Kit asked, peering around the wheel.

Our friends, the wandering musicians. The lads
who played at the club last night.
Why, so it is! Kit turned and looked after it as
the taxi rolled on toward Naples. Those men turn
up in the darnedest places. I wonder where well see
them next.
Probably on our way home, in a hearse, the way
theyre driving, Connie retorted. I wonder what
they can be in such a hurry about?
But neither Kit nor Chip bothered to answer and
the subject was dropped as the detour ended and
Chip hastened to point out a Seminole village lying
off the Trail to the right.
The three lunched in Everglades, then visited the
little missionary lady and spent a fascinating hour
talking about the Seminole handicrafts and trying on
the gay-striped skirts. Connie selected a full-length
skirt for evening, and Kit bought a short one in
bright and blazing colors which made her look like a
girl in a poster. Quite happily they took their
purchases out to the car and started home, with Kit
at the wheel.
Connie switched on the car radio. We ought to
listen to some news, she remarked. We havent
seen a newspaper or heard a radio since we arrived.
Pelican Island does that to people. Chip
chuckled, but nevertheless he listened with interest
96

to the commentators review of events. One item

especially caught his interest. Listen to this! he
urged.
Kit, who had been chattering along, ignoring the
radio, stopped talking.
. . . National City Bank, came the reporters
voice, of three hundred thousand dollars.
Manhattan police, alerted at once, failed to
apprehend the robbers, and Wednesday turned the
case over to the FBI. Latest reports indicate that two
men answering the description of the thieves were
believed seen in Rome, Georgia, heading south.
Heading south! murmured Connie. Oops,
maybe it wasnt Kulu who bopped me on the head
after all. Maybe it was the bank robbers, who
knows? She giggled at her own sense of the
ridiculous.
Chip joined in the game. Seems like an odd
thing for big-city bank robbers to be doing, going
around bopping blondes.
Kit laughed. Besides, theyd have to have
traveled fastfrom Rome, Georgia.
Oh, no faster than we did, Connie commented
factually. Say, you dont suppose our strolling
musicians?
Kit took one hand off the wheel and snapped her
fingers. The FBI, she said. In masquerade. Ill
just bet!
97

Chip looked at her in wonder and approval. You

know, you could be right, he said, at that. It would
explain the taxi.
And the little boat, added Connie, abruptly
abandoning her original train of thought.
And everything, murmured Kit.
Well, not everything, Connie demurred, but
its just the kind of ruse FBI agents might dream up.
Well, its nice to know we have them handy!

98

CHAPTER

Another Disappearance

For the rest of the trip back to Pelican Island Connie

was unusually quiet. As they drove out to the Shore
Station and parked the car she listened with one ear
to the repartee between Kit and Chip, but actually
her mind was on other things.
There was no doubt about it, the news she had
just heard over the car radio might be vitally
important. Certainly it opened up several
possibilities which had never before entered her
head.
Assuming, for instance, that Kits half-joking
supposition could be right, and the strolling
musicians were actually government men in
disguise, they might conceivably be on the trail of
these very criminals.
Then, Connie asked herself, why were they so
interested in the Scotch Bonnet Club guests? Why
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had they gone to such lengths to gain access to the

place? Might one of the recent arrivals be mixed up
in the Manhattan bank coup?
Her thoughts flashed to Sterling Witherspoon.
From the very moment of his arrival his actions had
been suspicious. Why, he might even have the actual
money secreted in that precious brown satchel of
his!
But she discarded this theory almost the moment
she formed it. It was too obvious by far. More than
likely, if he was involved, he had a confederate
hiding out somewhere. Perhaps he was even
contacting him when he went off on these trips with
Rusty.
Rusty! Somehow she must manage to talk to him.
Maybe he could give her a clue, if he was innocent.
But if he were involved himself he would, of
course, put her off. She wondered . . .
Connie, didnt you hear me?
Im sorry. What was it, Kit?
I asked if you didnt think it would be fun to
have our usual late swim before dinner. If we hurry,
there should be time.
Of course. Connie turned to Chip. Can you
join us, perhaps?
The guide was untying the skiff and pulling it
around so that the girls could climb in. Youd
better count me out, he said. Id like to, but I have
100

a couple of chores I ought to do.

He let the twins off at the club dock, then ran the
skiff on over to the boathouse, while Connie and Kit
hurried along the path to the Everglades to change.
Kulu, securely caged, looked at them balefully
and muttered some chimpanzee imprecation which
made Connie laugh. I dont think hes learning to
love us, she admitted. He seems to grow more
surly every day.
Kit shivered. I hope he doesnt get loose again
while were here, she murmured.
But Connie paused for a moment beside the cage
and stared through the bars. I wish you could talk,
Kulu, she said. Because if you could maybe I
wouldnt keep spinning this web of mine. Maybe
youd know all the answers Im trying to find.
Maybe
Connie!
Coming!
You are the limit! Kit complained.
Daydreaming along.
Connie was still daydreaming as she walked with
her sister across the deserted beach to the water. She
had about decided that one of two things must be
true. Either there was some incriminating relation
between the New York bank robbery, Mr. Sterling
Witherspoon or some other unsuspected guest at the
club, the itinerant musicians, and her own strange
101

attack in the cove, or there was none at all and she

was building up a ridiculous situation in her own
mind.
If there was some connection, she was involved
in something far too hot to handle. If there were
none, she might as well forget the incident of her
assault and settle down and enjoy herself, as Kit was
doing right now, swimming lazily out into the
magnificent sunset.
Logically, the second proposition seemed the
more likely. The first seemed next to incredible, but
Connie had been involved in equally incredible
mysteries before and she was not inclined to
discount it entirely. Sometimes, she remembered,
the most improbable of all solutions had proved to
be the right one.
As she swam out in Kits wake, she wondered
whether she should confess her evanescent
suspicions to Mr. Renshaw. Would he give them any
credence at all, she asked herself, or would he just
consider her a foolish, excitable girl? Turning over
in the water she practiced her back stroke. If only,
she thought with a sigh, her mind was as well
organized as her arms and legs!
They were very late for dinner. This Kit and
Connie knew even while they were dressing,
because the voices of guests drifting toward the
main clubhouse had long since ceased. They took
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the short cut to the dining room, running along the

crushed-shell path as quickly as possible, hoping
that the Renshaws hadnt waited for their delinquent
guests.
But although the dining room was well filled the
Renshaws table was empty. George Renshaw was
pacing up and down in the lobby, looking unusually
concerned. He started toward Connie the moment
she appeared. You havent seen Alicia, have you?
he asked.
Why, no. Not since this morning. Why?
We had an engagement for tea with some friends
on the mainland and she didnt show up. I cant
understand it. Mr. Renshaw frowned and shook his
head. It isnt like her at all. Then he repeated
himself, thereby emphasizing his anxiety. It isnt
like her at all.
Mr. Talmadge came out of his office just then.
Ive asked Chip Wight and a couple of the other
boys to follow the beach line in the boats. He
smiled and clapped Mr. Renshaw on the shoulder.
Just because Miss Blair, here, met with a real
mishap, dont start worrying, man. Your wife
probably just walked farther afield than she realized.
You know what an enthusiast she is about shelling,
and there always promises to be a treasure around
the next bend.
But George Renshaw refused to be placated. It
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isnt like her, he repeated still again, and Connie,

looking into his dark, troubled eyes, had a
premonition that his concern was justified.
It was eight oclock, however, before Mr.
Talmadge became sufficiently alarmed to call in the
local constabulary. He waited hopefully for the
small boats to come home, and as, one by one, the
guides returned to the dock with negative reports, he
kept shaking his head as though he couldnt believe
that this was the case.
Finally Mr. Renshaw lost his temper. All right,
Ben, if you dont call in the Naples police, I will!
he said. It looks to me as though youre
deliberately stalling.
Connie glanced toward the manager in surprise.
Stalling? Why would he want to stall? Certainly Mr.
Talmadge wasnt involved in this peculiar chain of
circumstances! Or was he? It was certainly a new
and novel idea.
Nothing of the sort, the manager was
stammering uncomfortably. All right. Ill go to the
Shore Station and put in a call. But if Mrs. Renshaw
turns up in the meantime, get somebody to sound the
siren. I dont want to appear a fool.
You let me take that responsibility, Mr.
Renshaw suggested between clenched teeth. He had
the look of a man who was frantic with worry, and
who was being balked at every turn.
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Connie went over to where Kit was standing near

the launch. I think we ought to try to find those two
men you think are FBI agents, she whispered.
This thing might be very serious, and if it is, it will
be too big for the local police.
But were not sure theyre FBI men, Kit
protested.
Well, we can jolly well find out.
How? Kit asked.
If we can find them, we can ask them, cant
we? Connie grasped her twins hand. Come on!
Pulling her along the dock, she called to Mr.
Talmadge, who was just starting the launchs motor.
May we ride along?
But how are we going to get back? Kit
murmured when they were allowed, grudgingly, to
come aboard.
Lets cross that bridge when we come to it,
Connie whispered in reply. We can always spend
the night in the car.
The minute Mr. Talmadge disappeared inside the
Shore Station to telephone, Connie and Kit set out
for the trailer camp where they had first seen the two
men they were seeking, and from which the club
manager was reputed to have secured his
entertainers of the night before. It looked far
different in the darkness than it had in the daylight, a
confusing and intricate labyrinth. The dark
105

rectangular shapes of the trailers fenced off a maze

of paths crisscrossed by wires and ropes.
Clotheslines flapped untidily, lights flickered, and
radios squawked in a strange cacophony of sound.
Kit hesitated. Do you think we should? she
asked.
The place looked just as unappealing to Connie as
it did to her twin, but she had great determination.
Oh, Im sure its safe enough, she said
encouragingly. Come on!
Their footfalls silent on the pine needles which
served as a carpet in the cluttered grove, the girls
approached the most likely of the trailers, climbed
the couple of wooden steps which led to the door,
and rapped.
A woman with frowzy hair and heavy-lidded
eyes, wearing a robe clutched around her bulging
frame, opened the door and peered out. Watcha
want?
Were looking for a couple of men who are
renting a trailer or a cabin here. At least we think
they are, Connie said. Do you happen to know
whether any of the places are being occupied by
transients?
Transients? The woman repeated the word,
which was apparently unfamiliar to her.
People who are staying for a night or two.
The woman peered more closely at Connie and
106

frowned. Nope, she said abruptly. Dont know

em. And before either of the girls had time to say
another word she shut the door.
Kit tugged at Connies arm. Really! she began.
But Connie was adamant. Dont be
discouraged, she told her twin. Weve got to try.
They hurried on toward the next light, but just as
they approached, it was put out. Connie stopped,
thinking. Maybe we have the wrong approach, she
whispered. Maybe we should ask for the person
who runs this camp. There must be somebody who
leases the land and attends to things.
They selected for their next port of call a trailer
which had a look of permanence about it. White
shells lined an excuse for a front yard and a few
flowers struggled through the sandy soil. A man was
sitting on the doorstep, smoking, and he looked up
curiously when the girls appeared.
Could you tell me who manages this trailer
camp? Connie asked pleasantly.
Sure. Jim Keeley. Youll find him two streets
over, last place back.
Back. You mean to the right?
Yup. Away from the water, toward the main
road. He looked from one girl to the other as
though he were trying to figure something out. You
want parking space, is that it? he asked.
No. No, we just want to ask a question. Were
107

trying to find two men who have been staying

around here.
What are their names?
II dont know, Connie stammered, suddenly
aware that her explanation might sound
questionable. But thank you, she hurried on.
Thank you, anyway. Maybe Mr. Keeley can be of
help.
She backed down the walk to rejoin Kit, and the
pair walked hastily away. Kit was trying to smother
a fit of giggles. You gave him an entirely mistaken
idea! she whispered when they were out of earshot.
Ill bet he thinks were looking for dates.
Oh, Kit!
It wasnt intentional, I know. It was just funny.
They counted the paths they crossed, then turned
right according to directions. The Keeley place was
a shack, not a trailer, but it had the dismal,
disorderly look of the rest of the encampment, and it
made Connie shudder. Imagine living in a spot like
this, she murmured to her sister. Right in the midst
of such beautiful country, too.
She went up and knocked, however, without
apparent reluctance, and waited several minutes
until a light was switched on within and a scrawny,
middle-aged man with thinning hair appeared at the
screen door.
Good evening, she said politely. Do you rent
108

trailers or cabins by the day or week?

The man shook his head, then scratched his neck
with one hand. No, he said, without mincing
words. Theyre all owned. He glanced from
Connie to Kit as though these two young and pretty
girls had dropped from another planet. You must be
strangers round here, he said.
It was opening enough for Connie. We are, she
admitted readily. And, frankly, were trying to get
in touch with a couple of musicians who came over
to the Scotch Bonnet Club to entertain the guests the
other night. One was a pianist and the other played
the harmonica. I understood they lived in your
camp.
Was she imagining it, or did Mr. Keeleys
attitude undergo a subtle change? No fellows like
that around my place, he muttered, without meeting
her eyes. Sorry. He backed into the shack and
seemed about to shut the door.
You meanyou mean you havent even seen
two such men? Connie persisted. You havent
rented them a boator anything?

109

CHAPTER

10

The Mangrove Jungle

Jim Keeleys watery eyes narrowed and he closed

the door until it was merely a crack. Look, young
lady, he said to Connie, I dont know nothing, not
anything at all, about any such fellows, you
understand?
Yes, of course, said Connie uncertainly. But it
seems awfully odd that they should be launching a
boat from your beach.
Mebbe they just pulled it up there, suggested
the trailer camp manager. People do funny things.
How should I know? The crack of light behind the
door became a mere sliver. You better go home
now, miss, Mr. Keeley suggested wearily. Its
gettin kinda late and it dont do for young girls to
be wanderin around the woods alone.
Kit tugged at Connies arm. She completely
agreed with him. But Connie turned away from the
110

shack reluctantly. She had an uncomfortable feeling

that Mr. Keeley knew more than he was telling, and
wondered if the better part of valor wouldnt be to
come right out and say that they were in need of
help from the FBI.
But the door was closed now, and a bolt slipped
into place behind it. The encampment seemed darker
and even more dismal than before, and she began to
share Kits desire to get away from the place.
A cat sidled across their path and disappeared like
a shadow into a hole under a trash can. Black, Kit
murmured with a shiver. Bad luck.
Oh, pooh! Connie retorted, yet she let herself
be hurried back toward the shore. On one hand she
felt frustrated and regretful that their expedition had
proved a failure; on the other, she was beginning to
pursue a new train of thought. Kit, she said after a
few minutes, do you remember seeing Mr.
Witherspoon at dinnertime?
No, but what of it? Kit asked. Maybe he ate in
his room.
Or maybe he didnt, muttered Connie. Did you
see Rusty go out on the motorboat search with the
guides?
I wasnt paying too much attention, Kit
admitted. Oh, Connie, come on. Lets get back to
the island, if we can.
She spoke as they came within sight of the dock,
111

which was completely deserted. The launch was

gone, and though a night light showed in the Shore
Station, there was no sign of activity anywhere. The
girls went up and knocked on the door but
apparently the Mabees were either sound asleep or
over at the island. Connie guessed that the latter was
more likely to be the case, because by now the
Naples police must be on the job and the excitement
must be heightening.
She went back to where Kit waited disconsolately
on the landing steps. Well, we could swim, she
suggested with a feeble chuckle. It really isnt too
far.
Carrying our clothes on our heads? asked Kit.
A lovely thought.
Connie leaned against a piling, cradling her head
in her arms, and looked across the pass to the
twinkling lights of the island, winking like so many
stars between the trees. Well, she said with a sigh,
somebodys bound to show up sometime. We can
always wait.
Well, you might as well wait comfortably. Kit
smiled, moving over on the step. Come on. Sit
down.
Even burdened with concern for Mrs. Renshaw as
she was, Connie found it comforting and even
pleasant to be sitting next to Kit on this lonely dock
a thousand miles from home. It was all too seldom
112

that she was able to spend a few days with her sister,
and though Kits nature was a great deal more
cautious and conservative than her own, they were
extremely close. In fact, she could speak her
thoughts aloud as though she were talking to herself,
and she did so now.
Kit,
Connie
said,
suppose
Sterling
Witherspoon were one of the men who robbed that
New York bank?
Oh, Connie, isnt that rather farfetched?
Maybe. But the time element would be right.
Hed have had time to get down to Florida, if he
were traveling by car.
But why would he stay at the Scotch Bonnet
Club? Of all places!
Thats trueof all places, Connie said. But
of course hes traveling under an alias. And it would
be a perfect hideaway, after all. Temporarily.
Very temporarily, Id say, Kit murmured.
But just supposing! Connie cradled her chin in
her cupped palms and stared out over the black
water. Supposing, too, that our strolling musicians
are FBI agents. They came yesterday to put the
finger on Witherspoon but found that his
confederate had flown the coop, so they desisted.
Now today maybe Witherspoon made off with the
loot in his boatheaven knows he was packed to
the gunwales when he left this morningand the
113

FBI is in pursuit. That leaves Mrs. Renshaw in hot

water, in case she happened to get in the middle,
doesnt it?
Kit laughed out loud. Connie, youre a panic!
she teased. You should have been a dime novelist,
the way you can dream up a detective thriller out of
thin air.
Connie felt deflated but grinned ruefully. Very
thin air, I guess, she admitted. Still, if there were
even one kernel of truth in the idea
Just at that moment a small boat came racing
through the pass from the Gulf beyond. Both girls
stood up and waved their arms and shouted. OOooh-hoo!
For a split second they were within the beam of
the boats bright light. It was enough. The small
craft swerved in a swift arc toward them and a
minute later Chip Wight pulled in at the dock.
For Petes sake, he said, what are you doing
here?
Connie told him. There seemed to be no other
way to explain their conduct, so she told him exactly
what they had been doing and everything she had in
mind. She made the story as brief as possible, but
she omitted none of her suspicions, either about
Sterling Witherspoon or the Indian guide, even
though she was fully aware that Rusty was Chips
great and good friend.
114

Chip looked at her in mingled alarm and respect.

He didnt tease her, as Kit had. He just said, I dont
believe Rusty has a thing to do with it, but about
everything elsetheres an off chance that you
could have put your finger on something very hot.
And, Connie persisted, that would mean that I
might have been knocked unconscious by one of the
thieves.
Its a possibility, Chip admitted.
Then the same thing might have happened to
Mrs. Renshaw, if she was unlucky enough to be in
the wrong place at the right time. Suddenly Connie
snapped her fingers and put a hand to her forehead.
Oh, what an idiot Ive been! she cried. Thats it.
Of course!
Of course what? Kit and Chip wanted to know
simultaneously.
I know where she went today!
You know?
Im practically positive. I dont know why I
didnt think of it before. She went back to the same
cove in which I was attackedthe cove where she
found the yellow pecten. She wouldnt have told her
husband because hed be bound to object, because of
what happened to me. But shes not afraid of a
thingnot Mrs. Renshaw! Ill bet thats just where
she was headed when she started out this morning.
Oh, Chip, cant we go there? Right away?
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In those clothes? Chip looked at the girls light

dresses.
It wont take a minute to get into dungarees and
sweaters. Connie clambered excitedly into the boat.
The Everglades is right by the dock.
Chip held out his hand to Kit. You certainly do
love to go chasing after trouble, he grumbled, but
he didnt actually refuse.
At the club landing Connie didnt give him a
chance to change his mind. She scrambled to the
dock, pulling Kit after her, and called, Well be
back in a jiff!
All over the island lights were twinkling. The
entire club seemed to be in a state of unrest.
Silhouettes moved behind drawn blinds, and in his
cage Kulu paced up and down, muttering to himself
and pausing every once in a while to shake the bars
impatiently.
From a bedroom in the Everglades came the
sound of a portable radio, turned to the news, and as
they approached the steps Connie heard something
which made her stop and clutch Kits arm with
trembling fingers.
Listen!
. . . traced as far south as Fort Myers, Florida,
the commentator was saying. Here the bank
robbers abandoned the stolen car and apparently
have been proceeding on foot, heading for the
116

Thousand Islands which lie off the west coast, from

which they may be able to gain access to Cuba.
See! Connie whispered.
The Coast Guard has been alerted, continued
the radio voice, and the FBI are continuing to
follow the trail. Further news in a few minutes, but
now I should like to turn you over to our sponsor
The radio was switched off abruptly, and Connie
and Kit hurried along to their room. Previously
reluctant, Kit suddenly became inflamed with some
of Connies excitement. Without protesting she
slipped out of her dress and into her jeans and a pair
of sneakers. Both girls grabbed up warm sweaters
and hastened back to the dock.
Chip was waiting anxiously. Im not sure wed
better he started, but Connie was already settling
herself in the boat. We just cant take time to make
a lot of explanations to Mr. Talmadge or Mr.
Renshaw, she said soothingly. Besides, we may be
quite wrong.
But if were not?
If were not well come back for help, of course.
But if we should go to anyone with such an
improbable story right now, theyd just spank us
soundly and send us to bed.
Chip had to agree. But it gets less improbable,
he said moodily. I just found out neither
Witherspoon nor Rusty has showed up. Of course
117

they might have gone on a camp-out, but its funny

he didnt mention it to me.
You mean Rusty? Connie asked as they
chugged away from the dock.
Chip nodded.
Connie was silent, knowing the faith that Chip
had in his friend. Kit, however, attempted to be
comforting. Maybe you werent around to be told,
she put in. After all, youve both been pretty busy. I
dont think Rusty has a thing to do with the whole
affair.
She sounded so defensive that Connie smiled. I
hope he hasnt, she said with sincerity, but in a
case of this kind I also think its wise to keep an
open mind.
The pass was dark and silent, but from the
distance, along the shore, came the sound of the
motorboats patrolling the coast. Lights twinkled
along the beach at intervals, and the bright beams of
search lanterns occasionally crossed their bow.
Against the night sky the stark stumps of dead
cypresses rose like sentinels, standing in a grim
huddle with their feet planted in the sea. Palms
waved and pines whispered, and a screech owl
hooted his lonely call to the sky.
Kit, sitting in the bow, shivered. Lets not take
any foolish chances, she urged as Chip sped the
boat along.
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We wont, honestly! Connie promised. The

cove is just a stones throw off the beach. Well be
quite safe. After all, there are three of us.
But were unarmed, Chip reminded her. Lets
beach the boat and try to be very quiet, just in case.
They pulled the skiff in close to the spot where
they had picnicked two days before, pushing and
tugging until they had it half-hidden behind a shelf
of shells. Then, like conspirators, they crept toward
the little inlet Connie had discovered, watching for
any footprints that might be imprinted in the sand.
Connie carried a tiny pencil flashlight, which
threw a small but satisfactory beam. Chip
extinguished his large light the minute they came
within sight of the passageway between the
mangroves, but Connie kept hers trained on the
beach beneath her feet.
Look! she whispered after a few minutes and
crouched to examine an indentation left by a long,
narrow sole. Mrs. Renshaw was wearing sneakers,
Connie murmured, half to herself and half to her two
companions. This footprint could be hers.
It was turned inland, away from the beach, and
the trio picked out several other similar prints which
led toward the half-hidden trail. If it could be called
a trail! It was hardly more than a spoor of broken
foliage, a tunnel in the reaching green vines and
branches which at night had turned to an inky black.
119

Into this tunnel Connie turned, inching forward

on quiet catlike feet, feeling rather than seeing her
way along the little creek. She remembered her
terror on that other night of blackness, and her heart
went out to Alicia Renshaw, wherever she might be.
This time Connie took courage from the fact that
she was not alone. Chip was at her shoulder, Kit a
pace or two behind. Ears straining for any sound that
might come to them out of the stillness ahead, they
crept along carefully.
None of the three spoke a word. To betray their
presence, they knew full well, might bring disaster.
Connie blinked against the encompassing dark,
trying to judge by instinct rather than by eyesight
when the well-remembered cove might lie ahead.
A breeze told her. She couldnt see the opening in
the tunnel but she could feel the sudden current of
air that swept across the break in the foliage. It
meant that the passageway through which they had
been crawling was ending. She put her hand up to
warn Chip and Kit, then stood still, listening, aware
of every minute sound.
In the wilderness quiet even the sound of her own
breathing seemed accentuatedloud and harsh. She
could hear the midnight twitter of a bird, disturbed
in sleep, the sighing of the branches of the trees. Kit
stifled a sneeze, and it was as loud as a bullet report.
Sh! Connie warned.
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But a moment later Chip whispered, Theres

nobody here, and flashed his light around the cove.
For a few moments its beam seemed so bright that it
made the girls blink. Then they became accustomed
to it and investigated the empty amphitheater that
should have housed a drama and which had yielded
nothing.
Here, Connie noted, was the same shell pile in
which she had been probingdisturbed, perhaps, by
other searching hands. Here was the mangrove root
shaped like a clutching hand, here was the shallow
brackish water of the meandering creek. Footprints?
Not a single one. The water covered them in the
sand; the shells held no message. She felt cheated
and angry.
Kit, on the other hand, looked relieved. She let
out her breath with a sigh and seemed to relax all
over, with the spent nervous exhaustion of a young
child.
Chip, masculine to his finger tips, shared neither
of the girls emotions. He stood, legs apart, in the
center of the clearing, flashing his light back into the
mangroves and frowning to himself.
After a few minutes, Connie said, Well?
Where do we go from here? Chip asked,
belligerence in his tone.
Home, I hope, and to bed, murmured Kit.
But Connie and the guide were looking at one
121

another intently, trying to discover whether each

harbored the same idea. I think she was here,
Connie said after a while. The footprints all pointed
this way.
Then? Chip asked.
Then, if she were attacked, and carried away
Connie hesitated.
You still think that perhaps Witherspoon?
Neither seemed able to finish a thought, or a
sentence, but each was straining in the same
direction. Connie nodded slowly. Who else?
Chip shrugged. It could have been half a
hundred other guys, he said lamely. But Ill admit
its odd that Witherspoon hasnt shown up. If only
he hadnt gone off with Rusty Id begin to suspect
him myself.
Very softly Connie said, How can you tell
whether a person is corruptible, Chip? Even a best
friend?
Chips jaw stuck out belligerently. I trust
Rusty, he said.
But if Connie persisted. If! Its such an
important word, right now.
You mean if Rusty is in cahoots with
Witherspoon?
Thats right.
He isnt, Chip insisted. But if hes working,
against his will, under Witherspoons direction, I
122

know just where theyd hide out, particularly if they

had a hostage in tow.
Connie caught her breath. This is what she had
been waiting and hoping for. Where?
Chip looked as though he were half sorry that he
had spoken. He sighed deeply and said, as though he
were betraying a confidence, Rusty and I had a
secret camp last year. Nobody knows about it but us.
Its on one of those lost lakes youve been told
about, and we found it quite by accident, when we
were off alone on a fishing trip.
Lost lakes, Connie murmured. The alliteration
rang a bell in her mind. Suddenly she snapped her
fingers. It had been Sterling Witherspoon who had
been so abnormally curious about the lost lakesat
the very moment of their meeting, back on the dock
of the Shore Stationwhen they had first arrived.
Kit, dont you remember? she asked.
Kit nodded, and together the twins told Chip
about Mr. Witherspoons strange introduction, when
he had burst into their casual conversation to inquire
about these lost lakes.
And later, on the launch, Connie added, I
heard him talking to Rusty. He was saying, in a very
secretive tone of voice, If youll string along, Ill
make it worth your while.
Chip turned the flashlight directly on Connies
face. Are you quite sure of that? he asked
123

searchingly.
Quite sure. Connie met his eyes.
Did you hear Rustys reply?
Connie shook her head. No, but hes been acting
as Witherspoons guide quite frequently, she
reminded him. Isnt that circumstantial evidence
enough?
Okay. Chips voice was toneless and flat. Ill
string along with you this time, Connie. Ill take you
to the lean-to we built on our lost lake, and maybe
well find our quarry there. His eyes narrowed.
But I wont believe it, he said between clenched
teeth, until I see it with my own eyes.
Connie reached out and put a hand on Chips
arm. Her brown eyes were soft and understanding as
she said, I hope Im wrong, but weve got to try.
Kit, in the background, wisely refrained from
taking sides. She just asked, with a rising inflection,
You mean were going now?
Chip nodded. It wont take more than threequarters of an hour by water. Then theres just a
short haul through a cypress swamp. I know the
territory by heart.
You have plenty of gas? Connie asked as they
started back, single file, through the tunnel of
foliage.
Plenty. I tanked up just before starting out.
Kit swallowed a sigh, thinking how good bed
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would feel. She scratched at an insect bite and

wished she were either more rugged and
adventurous, like Connie, or had the good sense to
keep out of harms way.
The return trip was quick, because the light which
Chip flashed on the ground at their feet was a great
help. They were back at the boat in less than ten
minutes, and found that the tide had risen just
enough to make it easy to set her afloat.
The lights twinkling on and around the island
were fewer now, and Chip turned away from them,
heading into the backwaters where he had taken Kit
fishing just the other afternoon.
But within the next half-hour he twisted and
turned and ducked in and out of so many tributaries
and creeks that Connie thought, without saying so,
that only a wild creature could find his way out.
Each creek looked the same, each cypress grove,
each island of palms seemed like one they had
passed before.
Finally he pulled the boat over under a web of
reaching mangroves and tied her securely to a
branch. From here on the going gets rough, he
admitted. Its good youve got on sneakers. Just
watch your foot doesnt slip.
One by one he handed the girls out of the boat,
then edged past them and began walking with the
sure-footed tread of a cat or a monkey over the
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treacherous matting which found its foothold in the

black swamp water below.
Connie went second, steadying herself with her
hands whenever she could reach the trunk of a tree
or an overhanging branch, and Kit uncertainly
brought up the rear. The roots were slippery and
firm ground was nonexistent. She gritted her teeth
and followed only because she feared the alternative
of being left alone in the skiff even more than she
did this insane trek through the mangrove jungle
which surrounded them.
There were snakes in that black water! Chip had
admitted it, with his warning, and Connie flinched
and fell back against Kit as one uncoiled and
slithered away from almost under her feet. But
neither of the girls mentioned their fear of them.
They were in this thing, for better or worse,
together, and unless they were extremely careful
they were likely to be in it up to their necks!

126

CHAPTER

11

The Lost Lake

From now on, Chip warned the twins a few

minutes later, speaking in an almost inaudible
whisper, be careful not to make a sound. The
crackle of a twig or the splashing of water would be
sure to give us away!
Connies heart began to pump with excitement.
Although the mangrove wilderness through which
they were traveling still seemed as unearthly as
before, she knew that they were within a short
distance of Chips lost lake.
The territory certainly looked unprepossessing.
The mangroves behind them, lighted by the stars,
were mute and bleached shards of stumpage, the
passage mark of a hurricane which must have flailed
a path through this section. And as yet there wasnt a
square foot of firm ground on which to stand.
Normally, Chip had told them, he would have
127

approached the lake by water, steering the skiff

through a tunnel of mangroves such as that through
which Connie had approached her unlucky cove.
Tonight, however, the chance of discovery was too
great to risk such an entrance. Their only recourse,
he had decided, was to creep up on the spot from
behind.
Ahead, the foliage became dense and dark. The
mangroves soared suddenly again, shutting out the
sky. Connie kept very close to Chip, aware that even
a few feet away he would be completely out of sight,
and struggled on.
Kit was panting in the rear. Her breath came in
short, audible jerks, although she tried to stifle the
sound. The roots were slippery and her sneaker soles
were old and smooth. She was having more
difficulty than the other two in keeping her balance.
Abruptly, up ahead, Chip stopped. He put out a
restraining arm as Connie very nearly plowed into
him, and pointed to an opening among the matted
trees.
A fire! No one spoke but all three saw it, a
compact campfire in the wilderness, sending a thin
trail of smoke into the night sky. Then Connie
became aware that the j very fact that they could see
the sky at all indicated they had reached open
country. She looked down, and the stars began to
dance on black water. The lake lay just ahead.
128

The camp, she knew from Chips description, lay

on a small island of hammock land, unexpectedly
high and dry in the midst of the surrounding swamp.
She squinted, and thought she could make out the
darker shape of the lean-to, but there were no people
distinguishable.
Even more cautiously than before Chip led them
on. Step by perilous step, Connie felt her way ahead.
Warily she tried to keep close to the tree trunks so
that she would be in impenetrable darkness. Kit
followed her lead.
In another few minutes voices reached them
distantly. Apparently there were menhow many
was anyones guesssitting on the far side of the
campfire, back in the shelter of the lean-to, well out
of sight.
The trio crept still closer, then stopped again, at
Chips signal, and listened. They could make out no
words, but Connie thought she recognized
Witherspoons voice, and a minute later Chip
nodded. She knew then that he was certain it was
Rusty, and she was glad she could not see the regret
and disappointment in his eyes.
There was no sign of Mrs. Renshaw, nor did any
womans voice join the mens. No third person
seemed to be present at all, and Connies suspicion
that an accomplice might be hiding out in the islands
seemed, for the moment at least, to have no
129

foundation in fact.
In a whispered consultation they had agreed to a
plan. If they discovered their quarry they would
return to the club for help, because it would be
patently impossible to capture the abductors without
weapons. This decision, however, had been made
with the assumption that they would discover Mrs.
Renshaw as well. Now, as they waited and watched,
Connie wondered just what they had expected to
findthe captive chatting cozily with the criminals
by the fire? The fact that the woman might be
gagged and bound in the lean-to was a possibility
impossible to explore since they were unarmed, and
without actual knowledge of her whereabouts they
would have little or nothing to report to Mr.
Talmadge and the police.
If only she could get a little closer!
If only she could hear what they were saying!
Ififif! That hopeful, hopeless little word.
In the very next second the smooth wet rubber
sole of Kits worn sneaker slipped on a slimy tree
trunk and her right leg plunged into the water up to
the knee. There was a very distinct splash.
Quick as a flash Rusty Longbow was on his feet,
rifle in hand, and before Chip or Connie could either
move or turn, the bright beam of a powerful
flashlight, held by Sterling Witherspoon, pinned
them against the trees.
130

Stand still, Chip ordered in an undertone. The

jigs up.
Connie froze, blinded by the light.
Then Rusty lowered his gun with an exclamation
of surprise and incredulity. Well, for the love of
Pete!
Chip, sure-footed as a mountain goat, leaped
across the mattress of mangrove roots to dry ground.
Hi, he said sheepishly.
Connie frowned. This wasnt going according to
schedule. Everybody was making the wrong
remarks.
Kit, meanwhile, was murmuring apologies.
Gosh, Im awfully sorry! I wasnt really clumsy.
These sneakers are just so slippery. Like glass. She
was talking half to herself and half to Connie, as
though she had quite accepted the fact that they had
walked into a den of thieves and that it was as
natural to be here as in her own living room.
But Connies eyes narrowed. Rusty sounded
sincere enough, but wasnt this just the attitude hed
take if he were guilty? Wouldnt he try to act
perfectly natural, full of surprise at this midnight
visit but friendly as always? In his shoes thats what
she would do.
She glanced from the Indian to Sterling
Witherspoon, whose beady eyes were darting from
one face to another, glinting with an expression
131

impossible to define. If Rusty were the dupe, as she

had always suspected, here was the real scoundrel.
She decided to try a surprise verbal attack. It
sometimes worked, because of its very
unexpectedness. If she could trick him into a show
of emotion, no matter how heinous, it would be at
least a partial score.
Abandoning Kit, Connie jumped from one root to
another until she was standing beside Chip. She
faced Witherspoon, however, rather than Rusty, and
asked in a clear, accusing tone, Where have you got
Mrs. Renshaw? Gagged and bound?
Sterling Witherspoons mouth sagged. His thin
lips parted and he tried to speak, but for several
seconds no words came. Rusty had turned to look at
Connie, as had Chip, but she didnt take her steady
gaze away from the older mans piggish little eyes.
Well? she said.
Mrs.Mrs. Renshaw? Mr. Witherspoon
stammered finally. What on earth are you talking
about?
Theres no use trying to dodge the issue at this
late date, Connie said firmly. I heard you say,
Next time there wont be any coming back! As
she spoke she was fully aware that the ruse might
not workbut if it did!
Then Rusty Longbow laughed. He laughed loudly
and heartily, with the complete abandonment of
132

honest amusement. Good gosh, Mr. Witherspoon,

he exploded when he could catch his breath, tell
her!
But Sterling Witherspoon was still staring at
Connie, openmouthed. For several seconds more he
couldnt seem to collect himself. Then he countered
Connies question with another. Do you have me
mixed up with Kulu? Do you think it was Iand not
the chimpanzeewho conked you over the head?
I think more than that, Connie admitted, but she
didnt say what.
Mr. Witherspoon shook his head. Im sorry to
tell you that youre wrong, he said sadly, but it
would make a lovely story. Its really too bad.
Oh, stop talking in riddles! Chip cut in
impatiently. He turned to Rusty. Whats the score?
Rusty looked nonplused. Were just out for an
overnight camping trip, thats all, he said,
spreading his hands. Has Mrs. Renshaw
disappeared, or what?
Youre doggone right shes disappeared, Chip
retorted. The guides, the guests, and the Naples
police have been combing the island for her. Youve
missed plenty of excitement, thats for sure.
Darn! said Mr. Witherspoon, looking at Rusty.
Wouldnt that be just my luck!
Kit, who had come up behind, touched Chips
arm. Whats this all about? she asked. Nothing
133

seems to make any sense.

Thats for sure, Connie agreed, quoting Chip
with emphasis.
Suppose we each tell it our way, Chip
suggested. Bowing ironically he said, Mr.
Witherspoon, its your deal.
Sterling Witherspoon pulled his long nose
thoughtfully. I really havent anything to tell,
except that Ive always been anxious to see one of
these hidden lakes, and this was my opportunity. So
I persuaded Rusty to camp out with me overnight.
Its a remarkable experience, I can assure you, to
feel completely alone in this water wilderness. He
looked from Connie to Kit, then glanced at Chip.
But I guess the feeling was a trifle premature.
Rusty didnt try to stifle a grin. You bet, he
agreed. Forty-second and Broadway, thats us!
Not a bad line, murmured Mr. Witherspoon,
clasping his hands. You know, this may turn out to
be very profitable!
Profitable? Connie murmured curiously.
Yes, indeed. Grist for the mill.
Oops, here we go again, whispered Kit to Chip.
Riddles have never been my line.
Overhearing, Mr. Witherspoon said, My dear
young lady, Ill diagram it. You see, I happen to be a
novelist, a mystery-story writer, to be precise.
It was Connies turn to look astonished. Her eyes
134

fled from Chip to Rusty for confirmation, and the

Indian nodded and smiled.
I came to Florida for atmosphere, Mr.
Witherspoon went on, and Im certainly getting it.
Rusty, here, has been an invaluable help.
Mr. Witherspoon has a very interesting way of
working, Rusty put in. He dictates into a tape
recording machine.
Oooh! Connies exclamation was next to
inaudible, but it was heartfelt. So thats it! She felt
like a deflated balloon, the bubble of her
imagination pricked, and all at once the truth of the
situation was evident. Were you dictating into the
recorder before dinner last night? she asked.
Mr. Witherspoon looked thoughtful. Yes. Yes,
as a matter of fact, I was. I had reached such an
exciting part I couldnt bear to stop, so I worked
quite late.
Can you play your dictation back? Connie
wanted to know.
Very easily. Would you like to hear how? I have
my recorder rigged up with a battery and converter
right over in the boat, because I was planning to
work tomorrow, while we fish.
Id very much like to hear the chapter you were
dictating last night, Connie said. It was the only
way of making absolutely certain that the fellow
wasnt pulling a colossal bluff.
135

Why, certainly! Mr. Witherspoon turned

toward the beached boat with the rest of the party
trailing him, and within a few minutes they were all
looking at a machine concealed in a box the size of a
typewriter case, watching a tape race from one reel
to another at the turn of a switch.
Mr. Witherspoon looked up. Ready? he asked
Connie.
She nodded.
This should be about the spot where you came
in, he said, smiling.
From the tape recorder came Sterling
Witherspoons normal voice:
Milo Chambers started the motor and pulled away
from the curb, then made a U turn in the middle of
the block, managing to beat the red light. Through
his clenched teeth he spoke to Kalecki.
Next time will be different!
Whaddaya mean next time?
Next time there wont be any coming back!
Ya mean youre set to slug the guy?
You got the angle, chum, and not with a
dumdum.
Connie listened, wide-eyed. These were the same
voices she had heard coming from the sleeping
cabin. Sterling Witherspoon was exonerated so
clearly and completely that she felt ashamed.
She turned to the novelist and put out her hand.
136

Will you accept my sincere apology? she asked.

Of course! Mr. Witherspoon was very gracious.
And may I ask you just one more question?
Of course!
Why were you so reluctant to let Rusty carry
your satchel when you arrived at the club?
Because it contained the microphone for this
machine. Its a very sensitive instrument, so I
always make sure it wont be jarred by carrying it
myself.
Connie nodded ruefully. I understand, she said.
There goes a very beautifuland a very false
clue!
You were misled by a strange chain of
circumstances, Mr. Witherspoon replied. Actually
you followed a very logical clue. But why did you
think Id want to conk you on the head?
Because I thought you were one of the men who
robbed the National City Bank, Connie confessed
reluctantly.

137

CHAPTER

12

The Search Continues

Suppose, said Mr. Witherspoon, you begin at the

beginning! He was looking directly at Connie,
while Rusty Longbow poked up the dying fire.
The beginning, said Connie, was when I
regained consciousness in the wrong cove. She
paused, thinking back.
The wrong cove? The novelist looked
questioning.
Connie nodded. I had the definite feelingmore
than a feeling, a convictionthat the place wasnt
the same. The cove where I had been searching for
shells was only a short distance from the beach, but
when I tried to walk back the way I had come I got
completely lost. Thats why I dont think it could
have been Kulu who hit me with a coconut or
anything else.
Mr. Witherspoon pulled his nose again, a
characteristic gesture. Im inclined to think youre
138

right, he agreed. Aside from your feeling about

the change in location, it seems to me it would have
taken a pretty severe blow to keep you unconscious
for an hour or more. That doesnt sound like the
trick of a mischievous monkey. He turned to the
group squatting around the fire. Does it now?
But weve never had a bit of trouble with
trespassers on this island, Chip said with a frown.
Club guests, women and girls, have wandered all
over the place unescorted, and Connies the first
person who ever came to any harm.
And the fact that her attack coincided with
Kulus day off the reservation did sort of indicate
murmured Rusty, half to himself.
I think that was just a coincidence, Connie said.
I honestly do, Rusty. Much more significant is the
fact that Mrs. Renshaw has disappeared, and that I
have every reason to believe she was heading, just
this morning, for the cove we both knew about, the
spot where I was knocked unconscious, and where
we had both found several rare shells.
She reviewed the conversation she had with Mrs.
Renshaw the night of the buffet supper, and
mentioned that the older womans memory of the
oddly shaped mangrove root along the bank of the
creek coincided with her own.
Thats in the first cove, Mr. Witherspoon
murmured. The one in which you were assaulted?
139

Right, Connie agreed.

Sounds as though a lunatic were hanging
around, muttered Chip.
Maybe, maybe not, said the novelist
thoughtfully. He looked at Connie with his sharp,
beady eyes. Whats your theory, Miss Blair?
Connie flushed. Mine sounds very farfetched.
She paused and chuckled. And of course youve
knocked it into a cocked hat, Mr. Witherspoon, by
being a perfectly respectable novelist instead of a
criminal.
Leaving me out of itor rather, substituting Mr.
X for yours trulytell us what you have been
thinking. In my trade wed say, Tell us your storyline.
Biting her lip, Connie still hesitated. Im afraid
its pure fiction, she murmured.
All the better. Maybe Ill swipe the plot!
By now the others were all sitting cross-legged on
the ground around the fire. Its flickering light picked
out Rustys long, lean face, Chips short blond hair
and alive eyes, and Kits apricot-tinted skin, where
her throat rose above the collar of her sweater. Each
of them was looking at Connie, waiting, wondering
what she was going to say. Not one of the group
realized that it was well past midnight, that the tide
was turning, and that before many hours the sun
would be rising on a new day.
140

Connie sighed. This is all the wildest kind of

conjecture. But youve got to start somewhere,
havent you?
Mr. Witherspoon nodded. Like in a book.
All right. Sunday afternoon, while Chip and my
sister and I were driving back from Everglades City,
we heard an announcement on the car radio that in
New York City a big bank had been robbed of a lot
of money and that the robbers were heading south.
Theyd been seen somewhere in Georgia. At first we
joked about it. Making a game of it, you know! I
said, gosh, maybe it wasnt Kulu who bopped me,
maybe it was a bank robber. Then, sometime later, it
began to make sense. I got a sort of premonition that
it wasnt such a silly idea after all, particularly when
a report came through after Mrs. Renshaw
disappeared that the thieves had been traced as far as
Fort Myers.
Why, thats only about thirty-five miles from
Naples, murmured Mr. Witherspoon.
Connie nodded. And what could be more logical
than that theyd hide out along the coast somewhere,
waiting for a boat to get them completely away.
The writer bit his lip thoughtfully, and his little
eyes widened. Its a beautiful theory, he said. Of
course its only a theory, but as we both agreed, you
have to start somewhere.
Following it a little further, Rusty broke in,
141

you think these fellows might have kidnaped Mrs.

Renshaw because she came upon their hiding place,
just as you did?
Connie nodded again. Something like that.
Except, of course, I had Mr. Witherspoon tagged as
one of the robbers, and I thought you were being
dragged in as his stooge.
Instead its Mr. X, added Chip. It still makes
the same kind of sense.
Mr. X and Mr. Y, murmured Kit. There were
two of them, remember?
Of course, Rusty said sensibly, thats only one
possibility out of thousands. The chances are a great
deal greater that Mrs. Renshaw got herself into a
jam by other means. Maybe she just got lost. People
do, sometimes, in these mangrove labyrinths. Or
maybe a snake bit her. Thats an unpleasant
possibility, but its got to be considered.
But going back to Connies theory, said Mr.
Witherspoon, theres one flaw in it that bothers me.
Even supposing you ran straight into the bank
robbers the other day, and they conked you on the
head for fear of discovery, why would they still be
hanging around the same spot? Why wouldnt they
have made their getaway long since?
Connie shook her head. I dont know. As I said,
you can poke all kinds of holes in the hypothesis.
Chip whistled. Dollar-fifty words were
142

getting!
Unabashed, Connie grinned at him. And I never
went to college, she teased back. I hope youre
properly impressed.
Kit yawned. Im properly sleepy, she
murmured. Dont you think its time we all went
home? Her head had been dropping lower and
lower by the moment, and only the most determined
effort had kept her eyes open.
Glancing at his wrist watch, Mr. Witherspoon
said, By golly, do you know what time it is? Threeforty-five. Why, the nights nearly gone!
Then lets wait for daybreak, suggested Chip,
when the going wont be so rough. Kit, he added
solicitously, why dont you curl up in Rustys
blanket and take a nap?
It didnt take much persuading to get her to go
back to the lean-to and wrap herself in the guides
Army blankets. Within five minutes she was sound
asleep.
Connie, however, was as bright-eyed as a night
owl. She sat on with the three men around the fire,
discussing the many angles of the situation and
trying to decide what should be done next.
Of course the police and the other guides have
been searching all night, Chip reminded her. By
now Mrs. Renshaw may be back at the club, safe
and sound.
143

Lets hope so, said Rusty, but he looked

skeptical, and Connie felt rather sure that he
considered the likelihood slim. No one knew better
than the Seminole how little chance a search party
would have in the Everglades at night.
It was Rusty who finally made the suggestion
they decided to act upon. Id like to see the cove
where you were attacked, he told Connie. Ive got
a gun in case of any trouble. Could you take me
there?
Certainly. Its just a little way back from the
beach, but its completely hidden by a tangle of
greenery.
Then why dont we handle it this way? Suppose
we go back to Chips boat, at dawn, leaving the rest
of the crowd to pack up and go back to the club in
the skiff Mr. Witherspoon and I were using. If they
find that Mrs. Renshaw is still missing, they can
come back and meet us somewhere, and we can go
on from there.
Where? asked Mr. Witherspoon practically.
Connie glanced at Chip. What about that spot on
the beach where we picnicked? she asked. Both
you and I know it, so there should be no chance of a
mistake.
A good idea.
But, in the meantime, we should have something
to eat, Rusty said. Breakfast may be a long way
144

off.
This is the time to give special thanks that the
Scotch Bonnet chef is always generous with
supplies, mentioned Mr. Witherspoon. It wont be
like the loaves and the fishes. I noted with a good
deal of amusement that they gave us a pound of
bacon and a dozen eggs.
And a frying pan, I hope? Connie asked.
And a frying pan!
There was also a loaf of bread, a thermos of hot
coffee, all the makings of a feast in the wilderness.
Kit awakened hungrily when the odor of frying
bacon reached her, and as the first soft glow
presaging dawn lighted the sky above the lake, the
five crouched around the dying fire and ate.
I feel a million times better! Kit said when she
had finished. I may even last through another day.
You look like a sturdy enough character, Chip
told her, not without admiration. He glanced at
Rusty and winked. Ill wager if I suggested going
fishing youd say yes.
You bet! Kit smiled, and her eyes lighted with
anticipation. Any time.
Chip shook his head. Rusty, the girls
incorrigible. Shed rather fish than sleep.
Rusty looked at Kit and said in a stage whisper, I
know somebody else who would too. He indicated
Chip with a nod of his head and said, Lets get
145

going. Who knows? We may make it yet!

But although his words were light he viewed the
disappearance of Mrs. Renshaw just as seriously as
Connie did. He discussed nothing else as they made
their way back to Chips boat over the mangrove
swamp. The night was beginning to thin into dawn
in earnest. The beam of Rustys flashlight paled and
he snapped it out, and led the way in silence for a
while.
For the first time since she had heard the snake
slither away from under her feet Connie shuddered.
Somehow the half-light was more eerie than total
darkness. All about her an insect chorus whispered,
and the twisting roots of the mangroves looked
ghostly and gray against the black water beneath.
Suddenly she felt herself no longer the hunter but
the hunted, and the mangrove swamp became a
place of terror, of shadows and whisperings and
watching eyes. Only by gritting her teeth and fixing
her mind on the availability of Rustys gun did she
keep from succumbing to stark, unreasoning panic
of the unknown.
By the time they reached the boat she was wet
with cold perspiration, and when she clambered into
the skiff, her teeth were chattering.
Solicitous, Rusty asked, Why, Connie, whats
the matter?
Dont pay any attention to me, she answered.
146

Ill be all right.

And in a very few minutes she was all right. By
the time Rusty had started the motor, the courage
which had deserted her so unexpectedly returned,
and the focus of her thoughts was again directed at
Mrs. Renshaw rather than inward, toward herself.
The guide brought the boat around and turned it
toward the mouth of one of the twisting rivers which
led away from the broader stream in which it was
moored. They began to move slowly through the
green tunnel.
Somewhere beyond that dense green screen Mrs.
Renshaw might be lost or held captive. Connie
remembered her own night of horror and tried to
quiet her imagination. This was no time to succumb
to nightmare fancies. This was the time to keep her
head.
Steering the boat skillfully to avoid a protruding
stump, Rusty looked thoughtful. Wasnt it Bacon
who said Supposition is greater than truth? he
asked.
I dont know, Connie admitted, but sometimes
I guess thats the case.
Im going to take a gamble, Rusty said slowly,
on the notion that I may be wrong and you may be
right. Maybe the New York bank robbers are loose
in these parts. Maybe they did apprehend Mrs.
Renshaw in that cove, just as they did you. What
147

then?
That I cant answer, Connie admitted.
Neither can I. Rusty smiled. But if we find any
evidence of a fracas, I can make a mighty good
guess.
Whats that? Connie asked immediately.
But Rusty refused to reply. Lets not cross our
bridges before theyre hatched, he said, laughing,
garbling the platitudes to tease her. Then he gave his
complete attention to the intricacies of the narrowing
creek.
Half an hour later they beached the boat and
approached the cove warily. Rusty led the way, gun
in hand, while Connie followed at his heels.
There were signs that other searchers had
preceded them, because twigs were broken and
leaves crushed in the overgrown passageway which
led to the sheltered spot. Rusty acknowledged these
but discounted them. He was primarily interested in
the cove itself.
Apparently it was quite deserted, but the Indian
combed every inch of the ground and the
surrounding trees. He was as alert as a wild animal
and as cautious. His nose positively quivered as he
sniffed out the scent of their quarry, and Connie
watched him with admiration. He was the pilgrim on
the pilgrimage, the hunter on the trail, his black eyes
no longer soft and liquid but as bright and quick as a
148

predatory birds.
Finally he turned to Connie. Theres been a
scuffle here, he said positively.

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CHAPTER

13

Plot to Capture

Connie looked astonished. But how can you tell?

The Indian shrugged. There are a dozen signs
known to my people, but it would only waste time to
enumerate them. We must decide what to do next.
Both of them, in the next few moments,
considered the same idea. The other cove! The cove
where Connie had awakened from her enforced
sleep, the cove which looked so very much like this
one, but which was so much more inaccessible, near
as it was to the coast.
Connie glanced at her watch. They had arranged
to meet the other group in an hour at the point where
they had beached the boat. Would they have time?
Rusty answered her unspoken question. I think
so, he said. Theres a short cut to the other cove
up this creek. It may be dangerous. Are you game?
Of course. Connie nodded emphatically. She
150

had a feeling that they were drawing closer and

closer to a solutionand, hypothetically speaking,
she wanted to be in on the kill.
But one question nagged at her mind. Now that
she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Sterling
Witherspoon was no rascal, for whom were they
searching? Person or persons unknown? She
doubted it. She was imbued with a premonition that
the bank robbers, if she ever encountered them,
would have familiar faces. But whose?
As she followed the Indian guide through the
overgrown passageway cut by the creek she tried to
do two things at once: keep branches and vines from
slapping her in the face and think back over the
happenings of the past few days.
What other suspicious characters had she met?
Certainly the Renshaws themselves were beyond
reproach, as were their friends at the club. She
paused for a while when she considered Mr.
Talmadge. Could he be in cahoots with a New York
gang? It was possible but decidedly doubtful. She
remembered hearing that he had managed the club
with great success and no shadow of criticism for
the past seven years.
The other guides? They seemed like nice men,
rugged and likable, outdoors enthusiasts all, unlikely
to have criminal tendencies. Besides, none of them
had been in New York at the time of the robbery.
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The vacationists at the club outside their

immediate circle? Connie had to admit that here was
an unknown quantity, but the Scotch Bonnet was old
and conservative. The guests admitted were
carefully screened.
Carefully screened. She felt as though she were
standing on one side of a curtain, and on the other
lay the answer. If only the fabric were transparent
and not opaque. If only, just for a second, she could
see through!
Swatting at a bug which was biting her left ear,
Connie stumbled on in Rustys wake. Both of them
had to walk crouched over, and it was getting tiring.
After only five minutes Connies back was aching
and her legs were beginning to cramp.
Look out!
Rustys whispered warning came too late. The
shallow creek suddenly deepened, and Connie fell
forward in water up to her waist.
She landed with a splash on all fours, then
glanced up at the guide in such manifest surprise
that he stifled a laugh as he helped her rise to her
feet. Excuse me, he apologized, but you looked
so funny! He chuckled silently.
But Connie had suddenly sobered. The splash and
Rustys laughter had recalled to her mind a similar
incident. She and Kit and Chip had been standing on
the dock at the Shore Station, waiting for the launch,
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and Mrs. Mabees sudden twist of the siren had set

off a chain reaction. She and Kit had at first been
startled, then amused when one of the two men
tinkering with a small boat had fallen into the water.
What had Chip said at that moment? Cheezit, the
cops!
Connie clutched Rustys arm. Of course! she
whispered tensely. How could I have been so
blind?
Rusty looked puzzled but he didnt speak. He
stood looking down at her, waiting, as though he
knew there would be great import in what she was
about to say.
The men in the boat, Connie breathed, thinking
out loud. They were in such a terrible hurry. And
then later. Posing as itinerant musicians. She
squeezed Rustys arm even tighter. The men who
came to play at the club, she told him, theyre the
ones. We thought they were FBI men, but they
arent. Theyre the robbers who got away with the
loot from that New York bank, Ill bet my hat!
Talking in a whisper, she reviewed the situation
for Rusty, from the moment the pair of city
fellows, a Kit had dubbed them, careened off
toward the Gulf in their small boat to the previous
morning when they had been seen racing back
toward Naples in a cab.
Something has gone wrong with their plans,
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she deduced. I dont know what, but something. I

think I stumbled into their hide-out, where they had
the money cached away. They didnt like me
digging around. They thought I was on their trail,
looking for something, so they made sure that I
wouldnt find it and carted me off to another cove.
Rusty frowned. But why would they still be
hanging around? Theres been plenty of time since
then to make a getaway. It scarcely seems logical
that theyd spend several days on this coast, or that
Mrs. Renshaw could have met with your same fate.
Ill admit that, Connie said, biting her lip.
Of course they may be waiting for a boat that
hasnt come.
But every hour of waiting would be dangerous.
And why werent their plans better laid?
Rusty shook his head. Its all conjecture,
anyway.
Connie looked up. Remember Bacon.
Supposition is greater than truth.
Sometimes! Rusty retorted with a grin.
This time, Connie murmured, Ill bet
supposition and truth match!
Using special care to be quiet, the guide and
Connie struggled on. After a few minutes more
Rusty squinted at the sun, then cut off at a 45 angle
from the creek. No trail led through the mangrove
jungle into which he signaled Connie to follow him,
154

but she knew that the Indian was as familiar with

this terrain as she was with the Philadelphia streets
in which she worked and lived. He leaped nimbly
from one root to another, graceful as a young deer,
and as silent as the wildcats who still stalked these
woods.
Connie was panting at his heels, but her eyes
were shining. She was sure she was right.
Everything added up, even the effort of one of the
musicians to overhear the conversation between
Mrs. Renshaw and herself. When Rusty turned and
put a cautionary finger to his lips she nodded and
her heart began to race. They must be getting close.
Then, through the wall of green which lay ahead,
a faint sound reached Connies earsa muted,
anguished a-a-ah, repeated again and again. With
the nose of his gun the Indian parted the foliage, and
together they peered into the clearing on the other
side.
For a moment they saw no sign of life. Then the
low moan was repeated, and Connie whispered,
Look! and pointed to a distant tree. A rope was
tied around it at intervals, and beyond its trunk
Connie caught a glimpse of a familiar plaid cotton
shirt.
Tossing caution to the winds, they clambered
through the vines and ran forward. Mrs. Renshaw!
Connie cried an instant later, and Rusty pulled out
155

his fishing knife and handed Connie the gun.

Gagged, Mrs. Renshaw had been doing her best
to attract attention with the only sound she could
make. Bound to the tree by her legs and arms she
was completely helpless, but she had by no means
given up.
Rusty was about to cut the rope when Connie
stopped him. Untie it if you can, she urged.
The guide didnt question her advice. He took it.
Working as quickly as possible, he tugged away at
the knots. His hands were strong and capable, and in
a very few minutes the captive fell forward, too stiff
to keep her balance, into Connies arms. The gag
was more difficult. The knots were very tight, but
finally they were loosened, and Mrs. Renshaw
breathed a sigh of relief and worked her jaw in order
to relax it.
Have they got them? were the first words she
said.
Got who? Connie asked.
The musicians who played at our buffet supper.
They robbed that New York bank!
Connie glanced at the guide. Then we were
right! She turned back to Mrs. Renshaw and shook
her head. No. Theyre still at large, she admitted.
Why have they got you here?
Without wasting words Mrs. Renshaw said
quickly, Their loot has been stolen from the cove
156

where they buried it. Theyre sure either you or I

took it. They questioned me all night. She bent and
rubbed her legs with her hands, trying to restore the
circulation, then glanced at the stream which led
inland. Wed better get out of here. We may not
have much time.
But Connies agile mind was working in another
direction. Where are they? she asked.
They have a hideaway farther up the creek,
Mrs. Renshaw explained in a whisper. I think
theyre sleeping now, but theres no telling when
they may come back.
Are they armed? Connie wanted to know.
Mrs. Renshaw nodded. And Ill bet theyre dead
shots. She glanced at the gun Connie had returned
to the guide. It would be rank foolishness to try to
capture them without help.
Connie was forced to agree. Could you stand
being tied to that tree a while longer? she asked
Mrs. Renshaw. While Rusty goes back to the club
for the police?
For a moment she thought the older woman was
going to refuse, and she couldnt have blamed her. It
must have been pure torture to stand for hours
without being able to move a muscle, and to be
gagged to boot. But as she had known all along,
Mrs. Renshaw had amazing stamina, and she now
discovered that a great deal of personal courage
157

could be added to that estimate. If it means the

arrest of those scoundrels, she said with blazing
eyes, I can stand anything. Whats your plan?
If the men come back and find you gone theyll
know were on to them, Connie replied. And
theyll get away from here while the going is good.
They have a boat, havent they?
Mrs. Renshaw nodded. A skiff with an outboard,
but its adequate.
If they ducked back into this water wilderness
behind us theyd be hard to catch, wouldnt they,
Rusty?
The guide nodded. You bet!
But if somehow or other I could lure them back
to the original cove, near the beach, you could
surround them in a jiffy. Right?
Right, Rusty agreed.
A daring sparkle lit Connies eyes. I can do it!
she promised. But they mustnt discover its a ruse.
The first thing theyll do will be check on their
captive. i must get to their camp from another
direction, and Mrs. Renshaw must be just as they
left her, or Ill be in trouble for sure!
Rusty looked extremely dubious. I dont like the
idea of your running headlong into real danger.
But its the only way!
Connies right, Mrs. Renshaw agreed, coming
to her aid unexpectedly. Its a sound plan and I
158

think it will work.

All the time they had been talking she had been
exercising her arms and legs. Now she walked over
to the tree that had been her prison and ordered, Tie
me up again. Every minute may count.
Ill tie her, Connie told Rusty. You hotfoot it
for home. And bring a posse. These are really tough
guys, you know. Theyre not small-town crooks.
I hate to do this, she told Mrs. Renshaw as she
wound the rope once more around her legs and
arms. But it wont be for long. And Ill make the
gag look tight but Ill keep it as loose as possible.
She worked as she talked.
Then, just before she once more became
speechless, Mrs. Renshaw told Connie the direction
of the camp. Im sure its on this same creek, she
added. You cant miss it, because its in a pine
grove, and theyre the only pines around.
In the ten minutes that followed, Connie had
reason to be thankful that the thieves had none of
Rustys woodland lore to draw upon. The pines
towered above the mangroves like a beacon, and she
had only to look up to assure herself that she was on
the right track.
Very cautiously, being careful not to snap a twig
or dislodge a stone, she edged forward. The going
was rough, because she had to keep a screen of
foliage between herself and the camp site. But
159

finally she reached the creek on the far side, and

from there could approach the grove.
She stood still for several minutes, catching her
breath and collecting her wits. This was a scene
which could stand some rehearsing if it was to have
a ring of authenticity.
What might happen if they doubted her play
acting Connie didnt dare let herself imagine. These
men were desperadoes, and they were playing for
big stakes. If they really thought she was responsible
for the disappearance of the three hundred thousand
dollars they had risked their lives to get, there was
no telling what punishment they might mete out.
One thing was certain. She mustnt let them know
she suspected them of being criminals. It would be
far smarter to return to her original theory and
pretend that she trusted them absolutely, because she
thought they were connected with the FBI. The
maneuver would still their fears and make them
consider her a little fool, which was just what
Connie would find most convenient. She took a deep
breath and crossed her fingers, her lips forming the
words I hope!
No longer making an effort to keep quiet, she
splashed along the shallow bed of the stream and
blundered through the overhanging bushes directly
into the grove she knew lay beyond.
Even before she straightened she heard a wild
160

scrambling and knew that the two men must have

awakened. Then she was looking from one ugly face
to the other, and forcing herself to smile in assumed
surprise and pleasure, even though the muzzle of a
revolver was pointed directly at her head.
Why, hello! she said. Did I scare you? She
clasped her hands in vapid delight and cried, Im so
glad to have found you! I desperately need your
help!

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CHAPTER

14

Where Is the Loot?

Sh! cautioned the man who held the gun. Pipe

down, for Petes sake!
Oh! Connie apologized in an undertone. Im
sorry. I know I should be careful. I suppose those
bank robbers may still be hanging around these
parts. But somehow I always feel so safe when Im
with FBI men. I just didnt think.
She spoke in a rush of words which she hoped
would sound as unsupervised as Mrs. Mabees
conversation, but which would still get her meaning
across, and was relieved when one man looked at
the other and stammered, FBI?
Now dont try to tell me youre not FBI agents,
Connie said in a light, teasing tone. My sister and I
had you spotted days ago. And when we read in the
papers about the bank robbery we were so excited
because we knew you must be on the trail of those
162

bad men!
Yeah? Oh, yeah! The man with the revolver
looked at the weapon and suddenly stuck it in his
pocket. Squirrely, he said to his companion in an
undertone.
Connie ignored the aside. She wanted to act like a
dumb blonde but she mustnt overdo it. The pit of
her stomach felt pinched, as though she were
walking a tightrope high up in the air and there was
no net to cushion her if she fell.
She wet her lips. You havent got them?
Huh?
The robbers, I mean.
The man with the gun answered. Nope, not yet.
The other man was more acute. But were on
their trail, he added. We think they have their loot
stashed away not far from here.
Connie nodded eagerly and clasped her hands.
Youre absolutely right! she cried. I know.
At that moment she wished a camera could record
the expressions on the two greedy faces. The thieves
exchanged a glance of mingled avarice and relief,
then each impulsively took a couple of steps toward
her. You know? breathed the man with the gun.
Hey, listen, Jake, what the young lady says.
Yeah, muttered Jake. Tell us about it, can you,
miss? Itit might help a lot.
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His belated effort to impersonate a government

agent was so forced that Connie, in spite of her
precarious position, was almost amused. But she
kept her eyes big and serious, and maintained the
vapid attitude she had assumed as the most useful
disguise possible under the circumstances.
Stalling for time, she began slowly, Well, you
see, it was like this. My sistermy twin sisterher
name is Katherine but we call her Kit
Yes, yes, go on, Jake urged anxiously.
But Connie, through apparent stupidity, refused
to be hurried. Actually her mind was working on the
double-quick, trying to decide just how she could
phrase this story without giving herself away. She
lacked one very important fact, the kind of container
in which the loot had been buried. Without this
knowledge they could trip her up in a hurry if she
professed to have hidden it in a different spot.
Well, Kit and I were digging for shells early the
first morning we arrived, and what do you suppose
we found? Her brown eyes widened still further
and she looked from one man to the other with an
expression she hoped would pass for delighted
innocence.
What? rasped the man who had held the gun,
and Connies heart fell like a plummet.
But Jake, impatient from the start, came to her
rescue. A brown satchel, of course, wadded with
164

bank notes. Then, recovering himself, he

stammered, At least thats what the bank robbers
are reported to have carried the dough off in. We
have it straight from headquarters, havent we,
Gus?
Yeah, agreed Gus, without taking his eyes off
Connie. But how about lettin her go ahead and tell
it her way?
The slight respite gave Connie her second wind,
and with considerably more assurance she
proceeded to spin her manufactured tale.
Well, we thought what shall we do? It was an
awful lot of money, we could see. At first we
thought it might be counterfeit, there was so much,
but then KitI forgot to tell you Kit just loves
mystery stories, reads them all the timeKit said it
wasnt likely because some of it looked pretty dirty,
as though it had been used a great deal.
She paused for breath, but this time the men
didnt interrupt her. Jake looked resigned, as though
he now knew he was going to have to wait a while
before she got to the all-important point.
I thought we ought to take the satchel straight
back to the Scotch Bonnet Club, Connie said
positively, because after all we found it on club
property, so it belonged by rights to the people who
owned the land.
Yeah? You figure things queer, sister, muttered
165

Gus.
Do I? Well, you see, I havent had much
experience in these matters, said Connie
innocently. Kit knows more about such things,
because of her reading, and she said we should hide
it in a different place and then get in touch with the
police. Looking as pleased as though she had just
received a diploma for special merit, Connie said,
So thats just what we did!
Again the men exchanged a meaningful glance,
and Gus said, Huh? You briefed the cops?
Well, as a matter of fact, no. And Ill tell you
why. For a moment Connie paused, stricken
because she couldnt think of any good reason why
they shouldnt have gone at once to the police. Then
Kits spurious interest in detective fiction came to
her rescue. She swallowed and began again.
My sister didnt want to do anything hasty,
because it was such a lot of money. She thought
maybe it would be better to skip the Naples police
and go straight to the FBI, but we didnt know how,
except to write Washington.
So? prodded Jake.
So we didnt do anything, right away. After all,
we knew the money was perfectly safe.
Then the most awful thing happened! That noon
we had a picnic lunch on the beach near where we
had found the money, and then my sister and the
166

guide we were with went fishing, and I went back to

this little cove, because when we ran across the
satchel I had just found some beautiful shells. It
never occurred to me to be frightened that the people
who had hidden the money in the first place might
be hanging around, but of course I didnt know then
about the bank robbery in New York, or dream that
the criminals were on Pelican Island. Heavens! Id
have been terrified!
Once more Connie paused for breath. She knew
her account must sound garbled and vague, but she
didnt much care. She just wanted to use up time.
As though she were revealing a special secret, she
said, Somebody hit me from behind and knocked
me out cold. Imagine! She managed to shudder,
quite realistically, at the thought.
No! croaked Gus and Jake in chorus.
At first everybody thought it was Kuluhes the
chimpanzee at the clubbut now Im sure it must
have been the bank robbers, and I certainly hope you
capture them soon!
Sister, you havent got a thing to worry about!
promised Jake. We always get our men.
But what about the dough? cut in Gus
impatiently. We ought to pick that up first, if you
can take us to it, like you said.
Oh, yes! Connie replied eagerly. I can.
Where is it? Jakes voice was hoarse with
167

agitation. He was in a fever of excitement, Connie

could see, intoxicated with the thought of getting his
hands on the lost loot once more.
Its in the other cove, she reminded them. Can
you show me the way from here?
Sure, Jake said, but Gus hesitated. Weve got
to be darned careful, he muttered unhappily.
Connie deliberately misinterpreted his remark.
Oh, I know! she murmured. Those men must be
desperate. Goodness, Im glad youre on the job,
because Kit and I have been awfully worried, not
daring to tell anybody what we knew because we
were afraid of talking to the wrong person. She
heaved a sigh of apparent relief.
Well, come on, lets get going, Jake urged.
But, for Petes sake, keep quiet. We dont want to
stir up a hornets nest.
Hornets? Connie chattered. No, indeed, they
sting just terribly.
Meanwhile, Gus had pulled the man called Jake
aside, and they held a whispered consultation,
remembering midway through it to mutter, Excuse
us, miss.
Connie smiled and nodded, knowing quite well
that the subject of their discussion was probably
Mrs. Renshaw. She wasnt surprised when Jake told
her that theyd go on ahead and that Gus would join
them after he reconnoitered a bit.
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It was a relief to know that the bandit would find

Mrs. Renshaw just as he had left her. That, she
hoped, would dissolve his last suspicion that this
dumb blonde was pulling off a hoax. She followed
Jake with apparent willingness, but she made a great
show of finding the going rough, because she
wanted to give Gus plenty of time to check the
prisoner and catch up. Otherwise, her plan might go
awry and she would find herself able to deliver only
one thief to the authorities!
The route Jake took was circuitous, because he
wanted to give the tree where Mrs. Renshaw was
bound a wide berth. Connie scrambled along in his
wake, panting heavily, although actually she was too
excited to feel the least bit tired.
One thing troubled her. Suppose they reached the
cove too soon? By what further artifice could she
continue to stall? She had no idea where the money
actually was.
The fact that it had disappeared was really
astonishing. Who else but herself or Mrs. Renshaw
could have stumbled into the criminals lair? Who
could have seen them bury it, then seized the
opportunity to make a coup? It was certainly a
strange and incredible series of circumstances.
Connie remembered, to her regret, that return
trips always seem short. Jake seemed to be making
remarkable time, and before Gus had caught up they
169

had reached the cove.

Jake fixed Connie with a cold and fishy eye. All
right, sister. You tell me.
In that one second, in those three words, he
revealed every criminal tendency he possessed, all
the greed, all the avarice, all the worship of the
Great God Gold, for which he was willing to steal or
perhaps even to kill. But he didnt have enough
perception to realize that his disguise, paper-thin at
best, had ripped completely asunder. He just stood
and waited for Connie to place the spot where he
should begin to dig.
Connie looked around the open space ahead a
trifle wildly. She had a feeling they were too early,
that Rusty had not yet had time to get to the club and
return with the posse. Furthermore, without Gus she
had accomplished only half her purpose. Yet she
could think of no other way to procrastinate, to
delay the moment of discovery.
Vainly she searched her mind. She might pretend
to hesitate, might demand some proof from Gus that
he actually was connected with the FBI. But that
would at once imply suspicion, and she had a feeling
that Jake would have no part of further
postponement. She might find herself searching
hopelessly in the sand at pistol point, and if she
didnt produce in a hurry, what then?
There was a crackling noise behind them in the
170

underbrush, and Jake whirled around, wary as a wild

animal. But it was only Gus, fighting to catch up,
and her first glimpse of his eyes told Connie that she
need not have feared; he trusted his accomplice so
little that he was bound to be in at the finish.
Otherwise, he might find himself dealt out of this
high-stake game!
Jake grunted. Dont break your neck, he
advised.
Then he turned to Connie once more. Okay. You
go and get it. Well wait here.
Screened as they were by foliage, Connie realized
they were effectively hidden from sight. The thieves
were ordering her to cross the open space, to dig for
the loot and to get it, while they had every
opportunity to keep a gun trained on her back.
Each moment, now, counted. Every second she
could procrastinate might help. But Jakes
expression told her that time was running out. She
couldnt hold them off much longer. She would have
to act.
Squinting thoughtfully, she seemed to consider
the terrain before her. Now let me see. Its six
paces beyond those reaching roots of the dead
mangrove tree, then turn left and twelve paces out to
the beach. She started across the sand toward the
creek, counting as she walked, and hoped she looked
more purposeful than she felt.
171

During the next few instants Connie lived as

many hours. Her mouth felt dry, her hands were wet
with cold perspiration, and she could almost feel the
cold muzzle of the revolver aimed at her back. Her
steps were leaden, as though the soles of her
sneakers were weighted, and the clutching hand of
the mangrove seemed about to grasp her feet.
So menacing did it appear that she started,
instinctively, to hurry. She half stumbled, and
forever after she would feel that the misstep saved
her. Because a second later she stumbled
deliberately, pretending that she had caught her foot
in the mangrove root. Making it appear that her
ankle had twisted under her, she fell with a sharp cry
to her knees.
Assuming an expression of pain, she rocked back
and forth, clutching her ankle and moaning. Oh,
goodness! However did I do such a thing? I think
my ankles broken. Can you help me, please?
Such an appeal couldnt have suited the bank
robbers less. As FBI men they were bound to go to
the ladys rescue. Otherwise, they must give
themselves away. Even as she waited Connie could
imagine how they were weighing the alternatives.
Each was chancy. Which might serve them best?
Apparently they decided, without words, to stay
in the character this balmy blonde had ascribed to
them. Treading softly, as though they were walking
172

on glass, they came toward her. By the time they

reached the middle of the clearing Connies heart
was in her throat.
Then, in a tone of hard-bitten authority, a strange
masculine voice said, Stick em up!

173

CHAPTER

15

The Laughing Chimpanzee

Relief swept over Connie like the soft waves of the

Gulf breaking over her head. From the beach and
from the bushes on every side men stepped out, men
in police uniform, men in sports shirts, FBI men in
plain clothes. The robbers gave one quick glance
around, judging their chance to make a break. Then,
beaten, they slowly raised their arms.
Rusty leaped to Connies side and put his capable
hands under her elbows, helping her to her feet.
Did you really hurt yourself? he asked in concern.
Grinning, she shook her head. It was just a ruse.
I wasnt sure you were here, and besides, I had to
get them out in the open so you could cut them off
from the rear.
Good girl!
Then somebodya strangerwas pumping her
hand and congratulating her. The FBI owes you a
174

great deal, Miss Blair! And all of a sudden Connie

was surrounded by people who wanted to tell her
how brave she had been, how clever and
resourceful. In the midst of it all she managed to
ask, Mrs. Renshaw? What about her?
One of our men has gone ahead with Mr.
Renshaw to release her, the FBI agent in charge
told Connie promptly. He watched one of his
associates slip handcuffs on the bank robbers and
nodded with satisfaction. This is the end of quite a
chase!
Not quite the end, murmured Connie sadly.
You havent recovered the three hundred thousand
dollarsor have you?
The FBI man shook his head. But well get it,
he said with certainty. That big a sum cant get lost
for long. These city crooks are very slick in some
ways but not in others. They may even have made a
mistake about where they buried it. You may be
standing on the cache right now.
The remark, half-jocular, had astonishing
repercussions. The news that the money was still
undiscovered and that a reward of one thousand
dollars was offered to the person or persons who
turned it over to the police traveled from the island
to the mainland like wildfire. Mr. Mabee, who was
in the posse, told his wife, the loquacious Mrs.
Mabee told her next-door neighbor, and from there it
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spread to the tourist camp and to the Naples

drugstore. By noon, while Connie and Kit, the
Renshaws, and the guides were getting some wellearned rest, all manner of craft were whisking
through the pass, bound for the end of Pelican Island
where the most frantic and excited digging was
going on.
The evening papersalong with news of the
capture of the bank robbers, with front-page pictures
of Connie Blair, the heroine in the caseran an
account of the sudden gold rush to Pelican Island,
renamed Treasure Island by one ingenious reporter.
The same story cleared up some of the side issues
in the case. Connie discovered that Mr. Keeley, who
had seemed like a questionable character, was
actually an accomplice, a former New Yorker who
was not specifically involved in crime, but who was
definitely guilty of sheltering the two bank robbers.
The newspaper account also disclosed that the
well-laid plans of the criminals had gone awry when
the boat which they had engaged to pick them up on
the lonely coast and ferry them to Cuba had failed to
arrive on schedule. They had been forced, then, to
bury the loot and try to make new arrangements.
Then, after the disappearance of the brown valise,
they had apparently become quite frantic. Engaging
a cab, they had driven to Miami to inform their
boatman of a change in their plans, and returned to
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capture the unsuspecting Mrs. Renshaw. But now,

though the money was still missing, at least Jake
Moroney and Gus Nichols were safely in jail.
Even after dark the hunt for the fortune in bank
notes didnt stop. Searchers worked by lantern and
flashlight, and the much-touted peace of the Scotch
Bonnet Club disappeared in a blaze of publicity such
as it had never before known.
Mr. Talmadge was helpless, although he had the
guides post No Trespassing signs all around the club
grounds proper. He apologized to each of the guests
in turn, and seemed surprised that they werent
especially concerned. As a matter of fact, some of
the younger vacationists went to Naples, bought
shovels, and blithely joined the search.
Connie, however, was not one of these
opportunists. She accepted with great modesty the
congratulations which came her way, and the next
morning, after she had finished working with Mr.
Renshaw she wandered along the beach for a while,
then returned to sit on the dock, wearing an
abstracted expression. Even Mr. Talmadge was
aware that she had lost her previous joie de vivre.
Kit was well aware of why her twin sister was
brooding. Even though her courage and daring had
facilitated the apprehension of the criminals, the
money was still on her mind.
Connie admitted to Kit that she thought all the
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digging was pure foolishness. It doesnt make

sense that the thieves could have forgotten where
they buried the loot. I think that FBI man was just
making a joke.
But then who? Kit asked.
Connie shook her head. Who, who, who? She
grinned. Ive asked myself that same question so
many times Im beginning to feel like an owl.
Then why not forget it and start to enjoy
yourself again, Kit suggested sensibly. We have
only a few days left.
But it wasnt in Connies nature to let half a
mystery go unsolved when she had even one chance
in a thousand of getting at the truth. While Kit went
off fishing with Chip, she stayed at the club,
swimming or playing shuffleboard or just lying on
the beach thinking. Who could have stolen the loot
from the thieves, making the robbery a double one
and doubly difficult to trace?
She reviewed the facts. At the admission of the
bank robbers, the money had been contained in a
brown satchel. Mr. Witherspoon and his precious
traveling bag flashed into her mind, and even though
she had given him up as a suspect, Connie found an
opportunity to question him concerning its contents,
just to be on the safe side.
She wasnt surprised to find that he admitted,
quite readily, that the bag had contained two
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hundred pages of finished manuscript, along with

the microphone for his recording machine.
I always carry that bag myself, he told her once
more. Then, with the quick perception of a mysterystory writer, he realized why she was quizzing him.
I wish I could accommodate you but Im really
quite honest, as my publishers will assure you, he
teased.
Connie smiled. It is inconvenient, she admitted.
You made such a lovely suspect. Everything
dovetailed so beautifully. Then she added with a
sigh, But I guess it all was a little too pat. Thats
rarely the way mysteries work out. Bemused, she
walked away from the writer and went back toward
the Everglades, deciding that perhaps it would clear
her brain if she went for a swim.
Mr. Talmadge was standing on the path by Kulus
cage, and he turned and greeted her. I guess Im
going to have to send Kulu off to a zoo, he told her
sadly.
Knowing his affection for the big chimp, Connie
felt sorry for him. Oh, Mr. Talmadge, why?
He makes too much noise, answering the siren
the way he does, the club manager admitted. The
guests are beginning to complain. He peered into
the cage regretfully, and the chimpanzee came over
and stuck a paw through the bars in a
companionable fashion. The affection between the
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two evidently was mutual.

I dont think he likes being caged, sighed Mr.
Talmadge. Up until last year he ran loose most of
the time. Then he was perfectly happy. He never
howled the way he does now. And all the guests
seemed to like him. Have I ever showed you the
pictures of Kulu when he was a little guy?
No. Id like to see them, Connie said politely,
although she knew it would mean giving up some
time from her projected swim. Delighted, Mr.
Talmadge led her over to his office and showed her
a photograph album dedicated entirely to pictures of
Kulu from the time of his arrival on the island to the
present day.
When he was young we used to dress him in
boys clothes and let him carry suitcases up from the
dock to the sleeping cabins. He got a terrific charge
out of it, and so did the guests. See.
Connie looked at the grotesque, hairy figure, long
arms weighed down with leather luggage, and
nodded. He does look as though he were enjoying
himself.
And heres another shot.
Kulu was accepting a valise from a portly
gentleman just getting off the launch. Connie closed
her eyes. Valises were beginning to haunt her, these
days.
Then her eyes popped open suddenly, the pupils
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fixed on a strange image, fantastic, improbable, and

yet
As Mr. Talmadge rambled on about the early
exploits of his pet, Connie listened with only one
ear. She was spinning a new web in her mind, a web
of circumstance that could have happened, if
There was that little word again, nagging her,
leading her on. It was so weighted with possibility,
yet it was evanescent as a will-o-the-wisp.
If only we hadnt had to pen him up, Mr.
Talmadge was saying as he turned another page of
the photograph album.
But why did you? Connie asked. Was it just
because he got too big?
Oh, no. His size wasnt the reason. He just got to
be a rogue. Used to carry things off with him,
sweaters, eyeglasses, fishing equipment. Mr.
Talmadge grinned ruefully. That was another time
when the complaints of the guests forced me into
action. And at first Kulu liked his cage, maybe
because he wasnt in it all the time, the way he is
now.
Connie looked intensely curious. You mean he
stole things? she asked.
It wasnt really stealing. He was just being
playful, Mr. Talmadge assured her defensively.
But again Connie was dreaming, her eyes fixed
on an unfathomable distance. If
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Once he got a dinner bell from the kitchen, Mr.

Talmadge remembered with a grin. He must have
carried it back to his cage when nobody was
looking, and he hid it under the flooring, just within
reach if he stuck a hand through the bars. Early the
next morning he raised the roof, ringing it. Ill never
forget the din!
The manager, fully launched now on anecdotes
about his pet, told Connie one story after another,
but few of them interested her as much as this
particular tale. When she left the main lodge to go
back to her sleeping cabin she walked past the
chimpanzees cage thoughtfully. If only Kulu, she
murmured to herself, could talk.
Then it occurred to her to play a hunch. At midafternoon there were no guests whatsoever in sight,
and she could do what she had in mind without
much danger of interruption or questioning. A
gardeners spading fork was leaning against a tree,
and with it she began to prod the earth under the
raised wooden floor of Kulus pen. Feeling a trifle
foolish but nonetheless determined, she worked
systematically around the cage, walking clockwise,
while the chimpanzee shook the bars and laughed at
her in high and vocal glee.
Connie flushed. Oh, be quiet! she scolded, but
she giggled at the picture they must be making.
Now all I need is to have someone discover me and
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be forced to explain what Im doing! She began to

work a little faster, prodding and probing without
success.
Then, unexpectedly, the prongs of the spading
fork caught in something solid yet soft. Connies
heart leaped to her throat and she began to scrape
pine needles and earth toward her, caring not a whit
that her sneakers became covered with the loose leaf
mold.
With a cry of relief and excitement she suddenly
dropped to her knees and began to tug at the handle
of a large satchela brown leather traveling bag!
and a moment later she had it in her lap and was
tugging at the clasp with frantic hands.
It was fat! It was heavy! And it opened, to reveal
its dazzling contentspacket after packet of bills in
denominations such as Connie had rarely before
seen. Hundreds, thousands! Three hundred thousand
dollars in greenbacks. Intact!
Closing the satchel hastily and gathering herself
to her feet, Connie began to run toward the main
lodge in high glee. Then a halloo from the dock
stopped her. Kit and Chip were just coming in, and
Kit was waving an impressive string of fish against
the blue sky.
Look! she cried.
And Look! Connie cried in return, waving the
satchel.
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Then, from nowhere and everywhere, people

appeared. Mr. Talmadge came running out from his
office, the Renshaws came hurrying from the beach,
and a dozen or more guides and guests had Connie
surrounded.
The money! she breathed, opening the brown
satchel for their inspection. Im pretty sure its all
here. I found it under Kulus cage, right where it just
had to be!
When the uproar and the exclamations had
quieted down, George Renshaw asked curiously,
But, Connie, how did you ever guess?
It wasnt guesswork, really. It was a process of
deduction, Connie admitted. Someone must have
seen the thieves bury their loot, that was obvious.
Otherwise, there wasnt a chance in a hundred
thousand that it would have been dug up. All along
Kulu was the unknown factor in the case, because he
was loose the day I was attacked, as well as the
night before. The minute I found out how
mischievous he was I began to suspect him, but even
if he had dug up the bag, I didnt see how wed ever
find out what hed done with it. Unless we dug up
the whole island, of course!
Then Mr. Talmadge was telling me how Kulu
used to carry guests luggage, and also how hed
occasionally hide things in or around his cage.
After that, it was like the story of the fool and
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the lost horse. I just dug where I thought he might

have buried itand here it is!
And here it is indeed! Unnoticed by Connie, the
FBI agent who had led the posse that had captured
the bank thieves had approached the outskirts of the
group. He glanced from the girls earth-stained
shorts to her bright brown eyes, then edged forward
and held out his hand.
I always seem to be congratulating you, he
said, smiling. But this time its even more of a
pleasure than before, because a cash award of a
thousand dollars is a pretty fine thing!
Connie looked up in delighted surprise. Gosh,
Id forgotten! she breathed in wonder and unbelief.
Then she suddenly flung her arms around her sister.
Oh, Kit!
Kit, smiling over Connies shoulder, hugged her
twin in excitement and unselfish pleasure. What are
you going to do with it? she asked.
Connie held Kit off and looked at her earnestly.
What shall we do with it? she asked, using the
plural quite automatically. Do you know what
might be lots of fun?
No, what?
When we get home, Connie suggested
dreamily, we might buy us a secondhand car.

185