connie blair #9 the brown satchel mystery
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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 intoa 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 her
and why? Did Conniealmost 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!
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The CONNIE BLAIRMystery 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 PinkThe Silver Secret
The Mystery of the Ruby Queens
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A CONNIE BLAIR MYSTERY
The BrownSatchel
Mystery
By
BETSY ALLEN
Grosset & Dunlap
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
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1954 BY GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
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1. Pelican Island 1
2. The Escape 13
3. Shelling 26
4. The Clutching Hand 39
5. Where Is Connie? 496. Terror at Night 63
7. Who Is Sterling Witherspoon? 74
8. Shore Trip 86
9. Another Disappearance 99
10. The Mangrove Jungle 110
11. The Lost Lake 127
12. The Search Continues 13813. Plot to Capture 150
14. Where Is the Loot? 162
15. The Laughing Chimpanzee 174
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CHAPTER 1
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-hourdrive, 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 thatone 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 tohave 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 anunexpected piece of paradise. Before them the
Thousand Islands stretched, in a mangrove
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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 greatfluttering of wings. In the grass on a point of land a
white egret stood like a statue, poised on one pencil-
slim leg, and from the branches of a dead pine tree abald 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? Amomentary 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 shesaid, 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 aboutrepeating an adjective, but alone with her twin sister
for the first time in many months, she felt utterlyrelaxed and contented, unconcerned with such
mundane detail. By a great stroke of luck Reid andRenshaw, the Philadelphia advertising agency for
which she worked, had decided to send her to
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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 wellspent.
On the long-distance telephone plans were made.
Mr. and Mrs. George Renshaw, who were staying atthe 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 andsedans facing the canal which ran beside the dock.
According to Mr. Renshaws letter, we
announce ourselves at the Shore Station, and thecaretaker there sees that the club launch picks usup.
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 andexpensive homes built of pastel-tinted limestone,
and beyond the cottage, with its dooryard gardennudging the dock, there was a grove of trees half-
hiding a trailer camp.
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I think it looks like the best bet, Connie
decided. Lets try.
A plump, pleasant woman answered the door andglanced beyond the girls to their luggage, sizing up
the situation in a second. Youre the new guests at
the club, she decided before Connie couldintroduce 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 asmile.
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 bothchanged, that morning, into summer cottons, buteven 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 forthalong the pass between the mainland and the cluster
of islands immediately visible. Id like to catch asnook, she told Connie dreamily. I was reading
about them just the other day, and theyre supposedto be terrific scrappers.
Connie chuckled. For a girl who looks as
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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 lookat 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 swoopeddown 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 pelicansplaying 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 collectingshells along the beach, an old man casting again and
again into the pass, two men in dark wool trousersand T-shirts tinkering with a small boat pulled up on
the shore at the trailer camp. It didnt matter muchthat the launch was late.
They chatted, quite contentedly, about the scene
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around them and about their probable activities at
the club. It was Connies conjecture that the men
working on the boat were northerners, likethemselves, 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 oldman 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 withtheir 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 supposewell have time for a swim before dinner?
I dont know why not,Connie replied.
But suppose Mr. Renshaw wants you to get rightto 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 theafternoons. The crowd at the office have the plans
for this hosiery campaign pretty well worked out. Ithink Mr. Renshaw will go along with most of the
ideas, after hes had a chance to really study them.
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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 awhole 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 isSterling 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 moreunlikely guest at the exclusive fishing club Mr.
Renshaw had described in his letter she couldntimagine. This man could have walked straight from
New York Citys Broadway. From the tips of hispointed black shoes to the shadow of his rakish
hatbrim he spelled New York, although his voice
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was cultivated enough, in an unexpected kind of
way.
My sister and I are waiting for the launch,Kitmanaged, realizing that Connie was so absorbed as
to be, for once, speechless.
Ah, yes, the stranger said abstractedly. Thelaunch. 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 themanager, you knownever would permit it, though
they once got permission to string a cable under the
pass. He believes, and quite rightly Pete says, thathis guests come to Pelican Island for rest andrelaxation, 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 afifteen-minute trip across.
By now it was completely apparent to bothConnie and Kit that the caretakers wife was a very
loquacious woman. Her words lacked mentalsupervision, and she appeared to have forgotten that
her original remark was that she intended to call
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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, butanxious 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 caretakerswife 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 theclub launch too, sir?
The sirwas spoken almost as an afterthought,
and the obvious hesitation preceding it made a smiletickle the corners of Connies mouth, but the man inthe 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. Youyou 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
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teeth. Of course I am expected.
Well, then, said Mrs. Mabee, backing off
hesitantly, I guess Id betterBut her call to the island was again forestalled,
this time by a young and masculine and very
definitive whistlethe whistle of a boy when hesees 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 fromthe 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 ofmock scolding, Thats no way to greet new guestsat 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 ChipWight, one of the guides, and this is Rusty
Longbow, my roommate.Mrs. Mabee introduced the twins and Mr.
Witherspoon, who was regarding the Indian withpeculiar intentness. Youre a guide too?he asked
at once.
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Yes, sir, Rusty replied courteously, in
unaccented English.
Hes the best darned guide in the wholeshebang, 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 becausehe 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 inappreciation. He builds me up, though sometimes
too much.
Connie smiled in return, immediately liking this
dark-skinned young man who talked so surprisinglyin everyday vernacular. Im sure he doesnt, she
murmured in reply.
Meanwhile, Chip was saying, Hey, MamaMabee, 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 sirenmade both Connie and Kit jump. It started low, a
mere moan, then increased in intensity until the calmFlorida air was rent with a crescendo of sound.
Cheezit, the cops!Chip hissed as he noted thetwins reaction, then explained, Thats just Mrs.
Mabee signaling the launch.
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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 camphad 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 diedaway 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 careeningoff 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 fingerstretching out into the Gulf came an answering wail,
half-human, a hollow ululating reverberating sound
that covered the chug of the outboard motor andseemed 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 nomechanical siren.
Goodness! she said, turning to Chip when shecould catch her breath. Whator whowas that?
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CHAPTER 2
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 apet 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 nappingguest, 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 deliberatelytrying to be soothing. Is this chimpanzee quite
harmless?she asked.
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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 thePhiladelphia 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 andterror, 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 fishingboats 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 Kitand said in a whisper, What would a man do with
twoportable typewriters?
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Kit shrugged. Is that a riddle?
No. Look.
Kit looked and shrugged again. Hes a queer sortof person, isnt he?
Connie, whose business experience had made her
more worldly than her twin, nodded in very positiveagreement. Hes a character,she murmured under
her breath.
The character, as soon as he had climbed
aboard the launch, which was built like a miniatureferryboat 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 atthe bow.
On the short trip across the pass he told them a
little about the territory. Pelican Island, heexplained, 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 buttouched the adjoining islands.
Some great fishing grounds along the insideshore 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
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added rather wistfully.
February and March are a little early for tarpon,
Chip confessed, but sometimes they come in aheadof time, and when they do!brother, almost
anything can happen, and usually does.
The fishing talk, which continued as they nearedthe 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 practicedhand. 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 otherears, If youll string along, Ill make it worth your
while.
Connie glanced at the guide, who seemed to bedeliberating.
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 theboat. Then he turned to give Kit a hand. Connie,
who had already leaped onto the dock, was lookingthrough a grove of pine trees at the low-lying
clubhouse, which was approached from a cluster ofsleeping cabins by a myriad of pulverized seashell
paths.
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Oh, isnt it pretty! she said spontaneously.
Vines and bright-colored flowers which were
unknown in the north softened the outlines of thehospitable 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 Kitsbags. 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 thebags nearest him, which happened to be Sterling
Witherspoons.
He had the bulging suitcase in one hand and atypewriter case anchored securely under the otherarm, 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 meanConnie, meanwhile, was listening to the
interchange without actually looking at either theboy or the man. She did, however, glance curiously
at the satchel. What on earth?she started to say
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in an undertone to Kit.
But Kit was halfway along the white shell path,
following Mr. Mabee. And Chip, starting off with asmany 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 meantto 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 girlin the rear.
With an amused chuckle, Connie hurried up.
You have the wrong twin, Mr. Renshaw,she toldhim. 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 youwere 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 soundeniably attractive about Connies six-foot-three
boss that she found herself wondering what his wife,
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whom she had never met, might be like.
A moment later she discovered that Mrs.
Renshaw was just as full of personality as herhusband. 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 shewas 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 andhandsome, 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 couldmake the trip together!she said.
Then, preceded by Mr. Mabee and the luggage,
she showed the girls to their room and bath in one ofthe sleeping cabins which nestled in the pine-treegrove. 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 thetime she had unpacked she realized that the boat
traffic might be even more fun to watch than thewavelets rippling calmly onto the broad empty
beach. There was never a dull moment at thedockside or around the boathouse beyond.
Remarking on their good fortune, the girls changed
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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, towhich 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 anythingthey had ever known.
How different they had no possible idea!
Nothing about the atmosphere, that first
afternoon, gave them warning of what was in storefor the guests at the Scotch Bonnet Club and for
Connie Blair in particular. The crescent-shaped
beach lay calm and peaceful beneath a summerysky, 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 saton the sand for a while and talked. She admitted to
Connie that her husband came to Florida primarilyto fish, but that she herself was more interested in
the swimming and the shelling, which on PelicanIsland was particularly good.
Shelling? Kit asked, repeating the unfamiliar
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term.
Collecting shells, Mrs. Renshaw explained.
Its quite a pastime, down here, because the varietyof shells you can discover is so varied and so
infinite.
And theyre so beautiful! Connie added. Thecolors . . .She picked up a tangerine-tinted, wafer-
thin shell from the sand beside her and turned it in
the palm of her hand.
Wait until you see the collection under glass atthe 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 apecten or a murex or any of the other varieties ofFlorida 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 passedKulus cage.
When they had first arrived at the sleeping cabinthey had come by a different route, but the path
which they now followed led toward the beach sideof the clubhouse, meandering past a thicket of close-
growing trees which half-hid the thatch-roofed
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enclosure Chip had described. The chimpanzee
himself was crouched in a corner, shredding a
cigarette someone must have tossed him and tastingthe tobacco curiously.
At the sound of the girls voices he looked up,
threw the cigarette aside, then leaped from his perchto 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. Dressedalike in white pique frocks, she was conscious thatthey 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 untilthey 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 usedto having people look after them, because they were
twins, and they were completely unaware that had
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they been less glowing and youthful the interest
would not have been so great.
Bowls of fruitbananas, tangerines, and thegreat temple oranges for which sections of Florida
are famousdecorated a huge center table, and tall
spikes of gladioli, waxlike in their perfection, werearranged 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 theyknew the difference between lace, rose, and apple
murexspiked, armorlike houses which protected
the soft bodies of the snails they had once shelteredfrom attack. They had discovered the Latin and thecommon 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, hiswife insisted blandly. And might even prove
productive; who knows? She winked slyly atConnie but said no more at the dinner table, adroitly
shifting the focus of the talk to fishing, which was
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more to George Renshaws taste.
Im afraid there arent many young people here
at this season,the advertising executive said as theywere served dessert and coffee. Except for the
guides.
The guides, incidentally, are uncommonly niceboys,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 good-
looking 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 hadquite captivated him. Ill see to it you have a daywith 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 onthree sides with louvered glass windows, and in the
corners there were triangular wells of earth fromwhich 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
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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 agreen 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 inalmost 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, whenMr. 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 ofannoyance 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 himshortly, we havent as yet. Perhaps, though, it wouldbe wise to go to your cabins or around the grounds
in groups. He might become mischievous.
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CHAPTER 3
Shelling
Mischievous!
Kit repeated the word in a manner containing
both doubt and alarm, which told Connie veryclearly 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 traceof 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, withevery 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 thebranches of an old sycamore.
Toby should be here, Connie said aloud.
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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 onfishing 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 whomight 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 thanfrighten 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 standand chat before the blazing fires. The heat was
welcome, because the twins discovered that as soonas 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
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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 thebald 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 thoughtsto 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 thejoint.
Deciding that she would make some tactful
inquiries concerning Mr. Witherspoons identitywhen opportunity offered, Connie joined Kit andMrs. 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 hadcollected 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. Ihave a couple of really beautiful fans.
Since Mr. Renshaw was engaged in conversation
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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 Renshawcabin, 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-shellpath.
Several of the guides, however, were starting
toward the adjacent woods armed with ropes and
flashlights. They looked slightly disgruntled but farfrom 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 inboxes almost as absorbing as Connie did, and the
three spent a happy and instructive hour.
There was an especially interesting collection ofbright-hued cochinas, tiny as pearls and polished toa 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 someof the other miniature shells on box tops. Combined
with fake jewels, theyd be gay and different, dontyou think?
She illustrated her plan by placing a number on
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top of a powder compact, where they made a
colorful and decorative design.
Dont mention this to George, she warned thetwins, 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 dressing-
table accessories. They were infinitely feminine and
delicate, with a different sort of fillip, which sheknew, in the department-store business, smacked of
style.
Finally, however, Kit started to yawn. Youll
have to excuse me,she apologized. I think its allperfectly 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 girlsrun 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 verycomfortable and cozy. The last thing Kit murmured
before she drifted off to sleep was, I wonder if theygot 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
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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 thechimpanzee obviously was not inside.
Connie raised her eyebrows in surprise, and Kit
started to walk a little faster, a frown creasing herusually serene forehead. I wish theyd get him
locked up again, she murmured. I just dont feel
safe.
Fiddlesticks!Connie chided her. Nobody elseseems 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 diningroom. 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 getreally 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 locateKulu, he told the guests, but dont be alarmed.
Last time this happened he came home, when he got
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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 Connienoticed that her apprehension didnt lessen her
appetite. She ate her scrambled eggs and bacon and
two sticky cinnamon buns with as much enjoymentas 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. Ithink 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 offfishing or do as you please.
Connie agreed to the proposal readily, and Kit
went over to the boathouse to arrange for a boat anda guide while Connie hurried back to theEverglades,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 housewhere 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,sheexplained. He was engaged for the daywith that
Mr. Witherspoon, incidentallybut I found Chip
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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 needsweaters?she asked.
Oh, I doubt it,Kit replied. The suns blazing
hot.
From their window they could see Chip easing asmall 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 onthe mainland, were boarding the launch; picnickers
were stowing thermos bottles and lunch boxes in
boats; guides were hurrying back and forth with baitand tackle, and the dock seemed to be a clutter of allmanner 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 heldthe boat steady against the side of the dock while
they got in, then tripped the motor and started offwith a great flourish, making a wide arc from the
inlet into the pass.
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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 themultitude 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 theclear blue water behind them.
As they moved along they chatted in a carefree
fashion about any number of thingsthe islands, theclub, even the chimp, who seemed less menacing toKit 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 beenraised 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 diedhe left everything he had to Rusty in the hope that he
could get a college education. It wasnt enough to
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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 agrove of tall trees midway along the island.
No doubt about it, those birds do dress up a sky
line,Chip said admiringly, and Connie thoroughlyagreed.
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 intentlyover 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. Theypassed 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 clubbuildings 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 youreno novice at this sport,he said.
Connie was always happy to hear her sisterpraised. 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
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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 amallet 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 goshelling 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 manyyoung men, the pickings in Meadowbrook were
rather slim.
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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 pairplanned 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 helives, 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 Conniecached 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 inletson the other side.
It was utterly quiet and deserted on this hidden
stretch of sand, which was edged with saw grassbacked by hammocks of pine and palmetto. Connieknew 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 anycompanion but a blue heron, who stood looking at
her curiously from across an inlet leading back intothe swamps.
She ambled along slowly, bending now and again
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to pick up an especially interesting shell. She had
already discovered some beautiful orange pectens,
and now, turning inland, she saw some imperfectfighting 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 ofyears.
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! Thenshe 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 bea 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 boltfrom the blue.
One moment she was a pretty girl playing happilyon vacation. The next she was a crumpled heap,
collapsed upon the shell pile, and her mind wasswirling downward into a black and bottomless pit
from which there seemed to be no return.
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CHAPTER4
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 cootsskittered 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. Withan 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 thepalms of her hands and looked around.
Everything was just the sameor was it? Here
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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 beworried 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 thecrunching 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 inconsecutive order. She had just found the fan. Yes,
here was the shell, intact, in the pocket of her pink-
and-white striped sport shirt. Then, without anywarning, without any faint glimmer that she was nolonger 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 shehad been wandering before she was attacked. Time
passed with surprising rapidity when one wassearching for shells, and it had been after two
oclock when Kit and Chip had started off in theboat.
But now it must be well past five. Late enough,
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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 ofstrangeness. 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 hadfive 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 itmerely 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. Staggeringslightly, 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, butwhen she had walked that distance there was still no
sign of open water beyond. Weak as she was, the
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enveloping trees seemed to make the passageway
dank and airless. She could remember no such
feeling when she had wandered along the slopingshore line earlier that afternoon.
Where was west? The sun yesterday had set over
the water, straight out from the clubhouse porch. Butbeyond 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 otherrecourse but to follow it, because the mangrove
roots offered only the most treacherous footing, and
Connie felt sure that snakesand even alligatorsmight be lurking in the brown water beneath thosetwining 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 bluewater and not the slightest premonition of danger
had disturbed her placid wanderings along thebeach.
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
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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 beneathher feet, and Connie started back in momentary
terror. All I need now is to hear an alligator
cough, she said aloud, her own voice soundingharsh 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 aschoolgirl.
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 thesun 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 shewaited hopefully but only an echo answered.
Hey! she tried. Ho, there! Wisely, shechanged to the carrying vowel sounds and persisted
until she was hoarse. She frightened a waterturkeyan anhinga, Rusty would have called it
but she managed to elicit no other response.
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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 onething 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 narrowshore. 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 clearlyshe remembered that during dinner the night beforeMr. Renshaw had mentioned that diamond-backed
rattlers and deadly coral snakes abounded in the
Everglades, although tourists seldom encountered
them. Tourists, Connie decided ruefully, seldomfound 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
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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 cypresstree. But it was only a cottonmouth moccasin, which
she knew had the same attitude toward humans as
most humans hold toward snakes. In relief shewatched 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 inthe 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 starsbegan to twinkle through the treetops. The stream
widened abruptly to a circular pool, ringed with sandstill 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
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hands, sitting hunched in a miserable little ball, her
knees almost touching her chin.
For the first time she began to realize that shemight be forced to spend the night in this
wilderness. She was rapidly becoming exhausted,
and it seemed utterly senseless to try to walk fartherinto 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 suchhopefulness.
Now the immediate problem was how to keep
warm. Chilled and weary, Connie sneezed twice,
violently, and wished she had worn a long-sleevedshirt 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 fingerswere 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 anotherpart of the island she might have found a bed of pine
needles which could be gathered for a blanket, buthere the vegetation was of an entirely different type.
The immediacy of this new problem did one thingfor Connie. It kept her from imagining possible
terrors which lurked in the night. Her mind didnt
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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 hadtold 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 toldherself 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 apair 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 breathcoming 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 wasundoubtedly as astonished by her presence as she byhis.
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 wasboth thirsty and hungry, two other complications to
add to a fast-growing list. It was hard for her toaccept the fact that her chances of rescue, for the
night at least, were diminishing to the vanishingpoint. Yet her common sense told her she must
prepare for the worst.
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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 tothe neck.
She chose a spot as far from the water as possible,
and scooped up a mound from the surface, diggingonly 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 fromsatisfactory, but at least the sand was warmer than
the air.
Graduallyvery graduallyConnie began to
relax. Her tired body became less tense, her eyelidsfluttered a few times, then closed. Mosquitoes
buzzed around her face but she didnt hear them. A
larger humthe hum of an outboard motor off anot-far-distant beachdidnt penetrate herconsciousness.
Exhausted beyond endurance, Connie slept.
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CHAPTER 5
Where Is Connie?
Kit was completely absorbed in learning, under
Chips competent tutelage, the bullet cast.
The technique was exacting, but she wasrewarded 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 wristand 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 linerolling out in a horizontal plane, pulling the lure
along with it to drop snugly under the reaching
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branches of the mangrove bushes.
Kit cast once more, but this time she was
overanxious and her line caught on a limb andwrapped 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 taughther 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. Toosmooth, he said after a few seconds. Try short,
well-spaced jerks.
Kit made ready to cast again and grinned at Chipruefully. Maybe these snook dont like poppingbugs,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 thefirst five or six feet of the retrieve.
At that very moment Kit felt a sudden strong tugand her line swirled out, the reel screaming. Ive
got a strike! she cried in excitement, her browneyes shining.
Keep your head! Chip ordered, smiling at her
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pleasure. Hell wind your leader tight in the
mangrove roots if you dont watch out.
Already, however, Kit had regained control. Fiveminutes later she landed her snook, a good four-
pounder, 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 poutedprettily.
Chip laughed at her. Youre a real fisherman!
he said.
In the next half-hour, however, neither of themhad 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 fouroclock?
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 likedthis young guide, not only as a teacher but as a
person. She wondered where he had learned somuch about fishing, and why he happened to be
down here in midwinter when most young men hisage were either in college or occupied by some more
conventional job.
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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 aspretty as you are, he said with a smile that was
almost tender, you have an astonishing amount ofgood common sense.
The starting of the motor made a reply bothunnecessary and impossible. Chip turned the boat
and started back to the mouth of the narrow
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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 theblue, 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 shadingthem with her hand. I dont even see her,she said.
Maybe shes fallen asleep on the sand. Theresone 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.
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Kit whistled. Still, you dont know Connie.
Shes tireless, sometimes.
Chip gunned the skiffs motor and pointed herbow 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 invitingagainst 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 calledConnie!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 whenshe makes them, on the button. Shes a
businesswoman, remember, though she may notlook the part.
She shouted again, calling her twins name over
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and over, until Chip persuaded her that his
suggestion was at least worth a try. Then she
climbed back into the skiff reluctantly and satscanning the deserted beach as the guide headed at
half speed toward the Scotch Bonnet Club.
Her eyes burned and her throat felt parched anddry 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 toConniesomething 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 orangebathed 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,hesaid half to himself, where she could have got to.
Even if shed started walking, I dont see how shecould 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.
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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 ofthe 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 heronstanding 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 amoment, 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 feelthe 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 itsdangerous to be so casual about him. Though I dont
believe for a minute he has anything to do withConnies disappearance,he finished rather weakly.
For the rest of the ride they scarcely spoke. Chippulled into the club dock neatly but abruptly, and
while he made the boat fast Kit clambered out.
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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, shestarted 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 golook 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. Butit 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 unhappyfrown.
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 hadunloaded 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.
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The advertising executive looked puzzled but
unalarmed. I wouldnt start to worry yet, he
advised the pair. If I know Connie, shell turn upsafe and sound before dinnertime. Aside from
drowning, there isnt much danger of any serious
accident occurring on Pelican Island, and Connieswims 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 ahaunted 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 toMr. Renshaw. When did they capture thechimpanzee?she asked.
George Renshaw chuckled. They didnt capture
him,he replied. Kulu apparently just got tired of
roaming and came along home. Nobody even sawhim arrive.
But that seems impossible!Kit protested.Mr. Renshaw shook his head. Not really, if you
consider that this place is practically deserted inmidafternoon. Everybodys either off fishing, down
at the beach, or in their rooms napping. Weve often
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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 thewiser.
I wish we could establish the time Kulu got
back, Kit persisted, scarcely listening to thisdigression.
Why?Chip wanted to know.
Because if he was here at two oclock, or even
by threeShe paused. How long would it take achimp 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 makefourteen 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 hadanything to do with Connies disappearance, Kitsaid.
Mr. Renshaw looked astonished. You werent
actually thinking?
Kit was extremely tenacious. Id just like to besure,she replied, looking him directly in the eyes.
It should be easy enough, Chip said, to findsomeone who passed here during the afternoon and
noticed that the cage was still empty.Mr. Renshaws eyebrows raised. Easy? Want to
bet?
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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 hourspersistent questioning of every club employee and
every guest whom he could find he discovered a
waitress who had carried some ice water over to aguest 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 minuteseemed like ten, and each was wasted. Something
should be done, she felt. Mr. Renshaw should take
this situation more seriously. And Chip. Had Chipdeserted 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 curvingwhite path that skirted Kulus cage.
The guide watched her approach with mingledadmiration and concern. He hated to tell her what he
had discovered, but he was too honest to keep theknowledge from her, alarming though it might be.
Kit took the news quietly. Then there is the
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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, wellspeak 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 stripof white sand which led toward the far end of the
island.
With the dying light the dead cypresses stood outin bold relief, a grim study in black and tan. Gonewere 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 herlight 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 anhour, until night had fallen and the lights of the club
were the only beacon, the birds alone shared the
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beach with her. There was no human being within
sight.
Back at the club, the dining room was fast fillingwith 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 withher 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 guidestogether 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. Hepatted Kit on the shoulder comfortingly. Now yougo 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 shejoined the Renshaws and went with them into the
dining room she shivered in spite of herself. Pickher up.It had an ominous sound, as though Connie
might not be able to get aboard a boat unaided.
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CHAPTER 6
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 treeor 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 tiredchild, 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 tothe 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
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trees. For a moment she couldnt imagine where she
was. Then, with a shock, the whole incredible
sequence of events flooded back into herconsciousness and she was aware that she was stiff
with cold.
The sand which covered her no longer seemed tohave 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 toher 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 thatmight remain of the night. But the fear that shemight fall asleep again and lose her balance
dissuaded her. The