The Best Wadsworth Camp Mysteries. Charles Wadsworth Camp
answer when I hail. Maybe he will though. In spite of what I’ve seen myself and all you and Anderson have told me, I can’t conceive of his not either welcoming or resenting my presence in some positive way.”
“If he isn’t there at all?” Morgan asked.
“No doubt about his being there sometime. And where else, in heaven’s name, would he be?”
“Anyway, don’t take any chances,” Morgan warned.
“I shan’t,” Miller answered. “Besides, Tony will be with me. You see, Morgan, things have come to a point where it’s difficult for me to remain inactive. Tony’s affair last night has brought matters to a head, and I feel something ought to be done.”
Morgan spread his hands.
“I’ve said that for a long time, but what to do!”
Miller laughed.
“Perhaps the fisherman can tell me. I’m sorry to have kept you from your sport so long. Maybe the snappers will be all the hungrier. Good luck.”
Morgan swung away. As he chugged down the inlet he waved his hand cheerily, but Miller saw that his face was still troubled.
Miller stared after him. The fisherman temporarily left his mind, for Morgan’s receding back was a reproach. To be sure he had practically promised the girl not to speak about her to her father, and his reward had been that unexpected and singular caress. Yet, perhaps, it would have been the wiser part to have fulfilled his threat and have had the whole thing out with Morgan. In spite of the man’s attitude yesterday Miller could have nerved himself to that course this morning. And, after all, what could Morgan have said! Was an expression of disapproval to be weighed against the possible advantages of such a step? Beyond displeasure, such as he had exposed in the cupola, Miller felt sure Morgan could have offered no obstacles to the interview. He could have convinced the father of his right to demand a frank discussion of the girl and of her apparent elusive alliance with the atmosphere of Captain’s Island. Sooner or later that interview must take place, unless, indeed, Miller’s boasts were shown to be quite empty and the girl’s morbid prophecies were beyond all doubt accomplished.
Miller could not seriously forecast such a state of affairs. If he lived he would marry the girl. Since the very mystery of Captain’s Island had hurried him to that conviction, certainly he would not let its manifestations intervene.
As he stared after her father he wondered at his determination. While his love had grown the puzzle of the girl’s personality had, instead of diminishing, grown equally with it. She was less tangible, more exceptional than she had been that morning on the beach when the waves had played about her bare feet. “What was this girl that he loved! If it were not for the memory of his blind folly and the one quick caress she had offered of her own will, she would have seemed scarcely more real than the mystery in which apparently she was involved.
Had that caress held a meaning which he had not yet sounded? Had she possibly intended it to convey to him some significant message?
Morgan had disappeared behind the sands at the lower end of the inlet. Miller stirred, shaking his head. Inaction became more and more difficult. There was nothing to draw him to the island until after luncheon, but it occurred to him that he had not yet walked northward through the dunes. It would give him something to do, although he expected nothing in that direction except a glimpse of the marshes where Anderson had said the wild oystermen lived and worked.
“Tony!” he called.
The native came up the ladder and waited by the rail.
“I’m afraid you heard all that Mr. Morgan and I said.”
Tony nodded.
“I’m sorry,” Miller went on. “You slipped my mind. Still it gives you something to which you can look forward—our call on that fisherman after luncheon. We might not receive a gracious welcome. I fancy, Tony, you wouldn’t mind fighting that fellow if he turned nasty, in a way you could thoroughly understand.”
Tony’s grin was sickly.
Miller sighed.
“And he’d be too large for you alone. I’ve never been much of a brawler, but, I don’t know, Tony, it would be really diverting to fight something here you could get your hands on.”
Tony pointed to the end of the island around which they had sailed the night of their arrival
“I said—” he began.
Miller raised his hand.
“Don’t begin to crow too soon. Don’t misunderstand me. I haven’t said the things aren’t there, waiting for our hands, because they are if only we can drag them from under cover. They must be. If you ever persuaded me they weren’t I’d apply for admittance at the first comfortable lunatic asylum I could find. I’m no nearer believing in your ghosts than I was at first.”
Tony’s smile showed he was unconvinced.
“At least don’t get the jumps over what you heard,” Miller said. “I’m going to take the dingy now and row to the dunes. I thought it might be pleasant to wander north along the seashore for a few miles. Do you think I’ll meet any spirits in that direction?”
Tony’s face was impassive.
“Good!” Miller laughed. “The sands aren’t as spooky as the island or you’d warn me back.”
He lighted a cigar, descended to the dingy, and prepared to push off.
“A couple of hours at the most,” he called.
Tony smiled again.
“Breakfast then?” he asked.
Miller whistled, but he was shame-faced—a little shocked. Breakfast was a meal he customarily awaited with impatience. Tony, of course, had been busy with its preparations while Morgan and he had talked. For the first time he became aware of the appetizing odour of those preparations. He had completely forgotten breakfast. The fact furnished a disquieting illustration of his state of mind. It warned him that Captain’s Island was, as Molly had promised, increasing its influence upon him.
He took his cigar from his mouth. It was of large size and heavy quality. Usually that brand served as the last ceremony of his morning meal. He had lighted it absent-mindedly. Only now he appreciated its unfamiliar and harsh taste.
He threw the cigar in the water with a quick gesture. As he stepped back to the deck of the Dart his mind groped for an answer to Tony’s comprehending smile.
“Foolish to light that, for your bacon smells good, Tony. After all, I’ve plenty of time.”
He realised its inadequacy. The innuendo would fail with Tony who had had so much experience of his master’s appetite.
He went down the ladder and settled himself on the tapestry cushions. As a matter of fact he ate little, for his mind would not release the unpleasant recollection of its slip.
As he walked northward among the dunes afterwards he was more than ever glad he was to spend the night at the coquina house. Before, he had only been anxious to force the fight. Now, to do so impressed him as a necessity.
The dunes, when he had left the familiar section near the Dart’s anchorage, lured him on for more than two miles before they altered their character. He threaded his way among the graceful, sparkling mounds, catching, now to the left, a glimpse of the inlet, and, now to the right, the flash of the ocean.
Even here he walked carefully, watching the sand ahead of him. He didn’t care to take any unnecessary chances with snakes.
After a long time he scrambled up the side of a high dune and looked around him. He had walked past the curve of the inlet. The end of the island was more than a mile to the south. Across the sands, the marshes, and the water it frowned at him moodily. Even in this warm sunlight it looked forbidding.
He recognised a gleam of white among the trees for