The Best Wadsworth Camp Mysteries. Charles Wadsworth Camp
He overcame his embarrassment. He drew Anderson to the opposite rail.
“There’s some truth,” he confessed, “in what Molly said down there. I did experience some discomfort last night during the storm, but of course it was the loneliness, the oppressive atmosphere, this vicious tide.”
“I was afraid you might feel it,” Anderson answered, ” although I’d hoped you’d keep above it.”
“Nothing has developed since we talked yesterday!” Miller asked.
“Nothing—the night at the coquina house was more than usually disturbed. That’s all.”
“Well—diet’s see—that girl of whom you spoke—you called her ‘queer.’”
Anderson glanced up, interested. Miller lowered his voice to a halting whisper.
“Isn’t there something more you can tell me about her?”
“You haven’t seen her!” Anderson asked quickly.
Miller couldn’t go the whole way. Either a sense of discomfort caused by his attitude towards the girl, or a desire to isolate the knowledge of the adventure to its two protagonists, made him glide over Anderson’s question.
“I’m only more curious since I’ve seen the place. You can’t blame me. Such a girl as you describe, wandering about this lonely island! Since you think it best I’ll wait and see for myself. But her father—Morgan—he’ll run out and do the honours?”
“Of course,” Anderson said, ” unless that girl—”
“Always that girl!” Miller said irritably. “Why do you make such an enigma of her?”
“Because,” Anderson answered simply, “that is what she is—an enigma, a mystery; and, after all, I couldn’t tell you much beyond that.”
CHAPTER VI
THE SNAKE’S STRIKE
It was clear and still that night. Although he was not entirely free from the oppressive, indefinable sensations of the previous evening, Miller slept better. Tony, on his part, behaved in the same disturbing manner, sitting silent and motionless in the kitchen doorway until Miller went to bed, then extinguishing his lamp with evident reluctance.
The daylight, however, brought Miller’s cheerfulness back to him. He was early on deck, scanning the dunes expectantly; but the girl did not come to the beach that morning. Miller was sorry. He grew discontented.
A small gasoline launch rounded the end of the island at eight o’clock. Miller reawakened to a sense of interest as it chugged noisily in the direction of the Dart. It probably held Morgan. By deft questioning he might learn something of the girl’s personality from her father. Why not, indeed, say to Morgan: “I met your daughter on the beach yesterday”! But he remembered he shared the secret of those early morning excursions with her. Moreover, his effort with Anderson had convinced him that he could not speak casually of her.
Morgan was a small man, past fifty, with a stout, pleasant face and a ready smile. He stepped aboard, introducing himself easily.
“Please be frank if you don’t care to be disturbed. I thought I’d run over and see. I live in the house at the end of the island. My name’s Morgan.”
“I’m glad you’ve come,” Miller answered warmly. “I hoped some one from that delightful house would.”
“I suppose you’re cruising up the coast.” Morgan said.
“Yes—anchored here night before last. I find it so attractive I’m in no great hurry to go on.”
Morgan laughed.
“When the impulse comes, think of us and resist it. A boat in the inlet is an event. Yours is the first in three months.”
Miller pointed at the apparently deserted fisherman’s craft Morgan shrugged his shoulders. A shadow crossed his face.
“No company. A sour native. You see the Andersons and my household are the whole community. Have you met the Andersons!”
“They rowed out yesterday.”
“Now that you know us all you must let us see a lot of you.”
“I want to,” Miller said. “I’m anxious to look at that old place of yours. It must have a history.”
“Too much history,” Morgan answered drily. ” Still it doesn’t do to run down one’s own possessions—particularly when economy chains one to them. Come when you wish. Naturally, you’re never likely to find me far away. “
Morgan remained, chatting, for only a few minutes. Miller pressed him to stay, for the little man amused him with his genial air and a dry humour. Morgan, however, refused, saying he had promised to go to Sandport with Anderson that morning.
As he watched the launch disappear around the bend Miller lost patience with himself. Why had he found it impossible to speak of the girl to her father? That afternoon, at least, he would take himself in hand. He would open a campaign. He would call on the Andersons early, and afterwards return Morgan’s call. He had told the girl to see him at the plantation house, and he recalled the shrinking obedience in her eyes. If he did not see her he would throw off this unaccustomed embarrassment. He would force himself to speak of her to Morgan.
As soon as he had lunched he told Tony to row him ashore. They landed a quarter of a mile below the fisherman’s tub. He directed Tony to return to the Dart. He said he would hail him when he wished to leave the island. Then he took the path which Anderson had indicated.
Stunted cedars and oaks met in a thick roof overhead, and an undergrowth of scrub palmettos and creeping vines was tangled waist-high between the trunks. The thought of snakes was inevitable. An army of them might have lurked unseen within a foot of where he walked. He stepped carefully, looking at the ground, keeping his ears open.
Before he had gone half a mile the path widened into a small clearing from the rear of which the coquina house rose with grey, uncompromising solidity. The trees cast heavy shadows across its square front, and over the roof of the tiny stable to its left, Miller paused. The agent had been right. This was lonelier, more enclosed than Morgan’s place.
Molly had evidently been on the lookout, for she ran eagerly down the verandah steps to meet him.
“Jim! I’m so very glad you’ve come,” she called.
“Where is Andy?” he asked, taking her hand.
“Had to go to Martinsburg,” she answered, “—simply had to. An important letter from his brokers. He had to see a lawyer right away and sign some papers. You can imagine how he hated it. If he hadn’t known you were coming—”
“But he’ll get back on the little boat this afternoon!”
“Unless this business positively chains him. In that case he thought you would change your plans and stay here with Jake and me.”
“Of course I’d stay. That would be necessary.”
“We’ll know a little after six,” she said. “Mr. Morgan went as far as Sandport with him to order some things for us both. I’ve been expecting him to come by.”
She laughed uncomfortably.
“You see, Jim, I’ve been stark alone in this ghastly place since luncheon.”
“Jake?” he asked.
“He started for a walk.”
“Here! Without company! I gathered yesterday—”
“Jake,” she said, “Was trying to ripen an acquaintance with the Morgans’ cook. You’re right