CHAPTER SIXTEEN   FURTHER REVELATIONS

They brought Billy home from the hospital the next day. Like most husky youngsters he was soon playing around the house, and by the end of the week seemed none the worse for his experience.

“I’m afraid you have a somber rival in your son,” Kitty said one evening to her father.

“How’s that?” asked Mr. Carter, forcing himself out of his preoccupation.

“He has quite a crush on Hazel—talks of her constantly.”

Her father laughed in a self-conscious manner. “Oh, he has, eh?”

“He wants me to invite her to supper again and let him sit up late.”

Mr. Carter laughed. “You must do that, Kitten. But for Hazel’s watchful care Billy might not have recovered so quickly.”

“I’m sure of that.”

“And by the way, my dear, I’ve talked with Hazel about what you told me the other night.”

“Oh, did you?”

“She told me about the chess playing—Lieutenant Cary hobnobbing with Krome, Punaro and men from the galley.”

“When I saw him playing with Punaro I thought they must be two of a kind. I was already suspicious of them both. But Krome seems a good-natured sort. Somehow I hate to think he may be in on the dirty work.”

“Hazel doesn’t think he is—quite the contrary. And it wouldn’t be very likely. A man who’s been in the service ten or twelve years.”

“Did Hazel tell you why she’s been learning to play chess? I was very curious but didn’t dare ask.”

To Kitty’s surprise her father laughed heartily. “Hazel’s keen, and certainly has done a grand job as detective since she’s been here, but I doubt if she’ll make a go of the chess racket.”

“What do you mean?”

“She has a theory that Lieutenant Cary engages Krome in a chess game every time Punaro wants to get away with something in the galley.”

Something clicked in Kitty’s mind. “And there’s every reason to believe she’s right!”

“Huh, so you’re backing her up in the far-fetched idea!”

“Not far-fetched at all, and I’ll tell you why. The other night when Brad and I ran into Punaro down at the dock, we told him we were looking for Chief Krome. Right away he said, ‘He’s upstairs in the recreation room, playing chess with Dr. Cary.’ Note he said Dr. Cary, not Lieutenant.”

There was a slightly quizzical expression on Chief Carter’s face as he asked, “Well, is that significant?”

“Very. A man who had known Cary before he went into the service would call him doctor under excitement, and Punaro was not only excited, but furious at us.”

“Kitten, I become more certain every day that you should give up your Canteen work and join the FBI.”

“No, indeed! I have more pleasant ambitions for service to my country,” she retorted.

“So Punaro knew just where his Chief was the other night?”

“Just like that!” said Kitty, snapping her fingers. “It certainly looks as though Hazel’s got the right idea—that Lieutenant Cary keeps Krome occupied while Punaro has a free hand below.”

“Does sound plausible,” her father conceded.

“But you haven’t told me Hazel’s idea in learning to play chess herself.”

“Oh, I think she hopes to engage Cary sometimes in a chess game, when he would prefer to have Krome as a partner.”

Kitty laughed. “She thinks then that Krome may go below and find Punaro at his dirty work.”

“She said if that could happen it would be worth the discomfort of sitting opposite Cary for a game of chess.”

On Friday evening over a cup of coffee and a doughnut at the Snack Bar Kitty and Brad made plans to go to Terrapin Island the following afternoon, as Brad would have the afternoon off.

When Kitty went to town Saturday morning she spent the dollar the veteran had given her for smoking tobacco, and bought a new pipe as her own gift to Uncle Mose. This time she left Billy in good hands, for her father was taking Hazel into Bayport to a picture, and Billy was to go with them. So Kitty started off with Brad in their launch early in the afternoon with a free mind. With patriotic zeal they put their hands to the oars, instead of using the gasoline in the tank.

“Kit, I’ve been doing a little spying since we last had a chance to talk,” Brad told her.

“Hope you picked up something valuable.”

“I’ve been watching the barge movements.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve wondered if that could be done.”

“Punaro takes the stuff off to the dump every second morning. He uses a fast little motor boat for towing, which ought to make the haul in about an hour over to the dump and another hour back.”

“Is that his schedule?”

“Oh, no! He leaves at dawn and barely gets back to the hospital in time for chow at noon. Last time I had a day off I made it my business to watch his movements.”

“Does anybody go with him?”

“No. It’s really a one-man job, which suits his purpose very well. I figure Punaro has at least two hours leeway to contact his accomplices.”

They rowed past the hospital and soon turned south through the marsh-bordered inlet. The water was rather choppy and there were ragged, wind-swept clouds overhead, but neither of them were afraid of a little rain.

They were almost in sight of the pines on Terrapin Island when Kitty said, “There’s probably someone else upstairs in the hospital who’s involved in all this—someone besides Cary and Punaro.”

“What makes you think that?”

She had to be careful not to reveal anything her father had told her. But she thought Brad might be in a position to pick up information her father couldn’t get.

“If Punaro is actually supplying the subs with fresh food, doesn’t it seem possible they might take other things, too—medical supplies, for instance?”

“You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Brad’s pull on the oars quickened as his thoughts raced ahead with this new idea.

“Slow up!” exclaimed Kitty, when she was out of breath trying to keep in rhythm. “This is no marathon, you know.”

Brad suddenly drew in his oar and turned to face her. She was glad enough to drift for a few minutes and rest.

“Kitty, now that you mention that fact I recall seeing Punaro talking several times with Petty Officer Brinson.”

“Brinson?”

“One of the ward attendants. I thought it was only about clearing the trash from the wards. But I bet Brinson could get away with plenty if he had a mind to.”

“I’m glad you told me about him, Brad. I haven’t had a chance to tell you I talked to Dad about all this.”

“You did?”

Kitty nodded. “I was so unhappy about it all when Billy got sick. I felt that somehow I was to blame, so I just told Dad everything.”

“What did he think?”

“Plenty!”

“I mean what does he think we ought to do with all this information we’ve been picking up?”

“He didn’t say. You know a man in his position can’t say much, even to his daughter.”

“That’s true, of course.”

“The inspector’s coming down soon, he said. I have a feeling he plans to take it up with him.” Kitty decided she had better change the subject, for fear it might slip out that her father was dangerously involved.

Brad Suddenly Turned to Kitty

The tide had carried them in closer to Terrapin Island while they talked. As Kitty saw the beautiful pine-clad bluff rising out of the surrounding green marshes she said, “Wouldn’t that make a grand place for a summer home?”

“I’ll say. And if the old Hindu your father told us about was right, those pines ought to have enough vitality to make us immortal.”

Kitty laughed and picked up her oar. “We’d better go on and see Uncle Mose, or this storm’s going to catch us before we get home.”

They didn’t stop at their former landing place, but rowed on along the inlet flowing east of the island. It was indeed a lonely spot. They now had a good view of Mangrove Island beyond a mile strip of marshy flats, which were interlaced with tidewater creeks. A couple of cranes stood knee-deep in water, but took flight at the sound of approaching oars, their long legs trailing behind them like streamers. A line of pelicans moved out toward sea, their wings alternately flapping and poised, as they followed the impulses of their leader.

“Don’t you love it here?” exclaimed Kitty.

“I’ll say. It’s really God’s country.”

They passed the spot where they had found Uncle Mose fishing, and saw his log cabin far back among the trees.

“What’ll we do if Beeson won’t let us see Uncle Mose?” asked Kitty a little nervously. “The old negro told us his new house is right back of Beeson’s place.”

“Surely he wouldn’t be so rude as to prevent us seeing the old darky.”

“You never can tell. Those ‘No trespassing’ signs may apply to callers also.”

A half mile farther on they came in sight of the Tradds’ old summer home. No doubt it had once been a fine residence, but even from the water they could see that its tabby walls were crumbling, and the paint had long since worn off the columned porch. Though the grounds were neglected and weed-grown, old azaleas, in full bloom, made gorgeous splashes of color. Wisteria vines had been left to run riotously over several pines, and the lavender blossoms were now hanging far up the brown trunks.

“Seems a shame for a man like Beeson to have such a heavenly spot,” said Kitty, when they shipped their oars, and Brad made the boat fast to a rickety dock in front of the house.

The tide had just begun to rise, so that their boat was eight or ten feet below the level of the dock. There was a ladder, however, by which they could go up. Brad had just given Kitty a hand to help her up when there came a furious baying of hounds from the direction of the house. A moment later they saw three vicious-looking dogs making for the dock.

“We can’t take a chance on them!” exclaimed Brad, realizing at once that this was how Beeson kept intruders away from his house.

Kitty tumbled back into the boat, while Brad released their line, so they could push off. He was not a moment too soon, for the dogs dashed along the dock and hung over the edge, their fierce jaws dripping as they barked furiously.

“What a reception!” exclaimed Kitty. “It really looks as though Uncle Mose won’t get his smoking tobacco today.”

“No launch tied up here. I suppose Beeson is away, and this is the guard he has set.”

“Would an honest man be so careful that nobody comes prowling around?”

“I doubt it.”

“Sally and Lana Bright have lived in this low country all their lives. They say the doors of their country house are never locked.”

“Those who do the most skulduggery are likely to be very suspicious of other people.”

Their boat was carried off toward a shelving beach by the current. Noting this the dogs left their high perch on the dock and ran around to head them off from landing anywhere else.

“Well trained, aren’t they?” Brad commented.

“Sure looks like it.”

“I suppose we can turn around and go home the way we came,” Brad said ruefully.

“I hate to be checkmated like this,” Kitty said in disgust.

She reached for her oar when suddenly Brad exclaimed, “Wait! There comes somebody.”

Kitty glanced in the direction he pointed. “Why, it’s Uncle Mose himself!”

The old man came hobbling down the weed-grown path. When he was in hearing distance Kitty called out, “Hi, Uncle Mose! It’s your friends. Call off the dogs.”

Uncle Mose came to the water’s edge and peered at them with dimming eyes before he said, turning to the dogs, “Shut up, you hounds! Quit dat racket! Don’ you know quality folks when you sees ’em?”

He finally had to get a stick to send the hounds slinking back toward the house. Brad pushed their boat closer to the shelving shore where the old man stood.

“After that reception I guess we’d better stay in the boat,” suggested Brad.

“I have good news for you, Uncle Mose,” Kitty said when they were close enough to speak without yelling.

“Yassum. I sho be pleased to hear it.”

“I got young Tradd’s address.” Then Kitty told him of meeting Tradd’s buddy on the troop train. “He gave me a dollar to buy you some tobacco so I brought it along.”

She stood in the prow to offer the gift while Uncle Mose waded a few feet into the water.

“And here’s a pipe I brought you, too,” added Kitty.

The weathered old face crinkled into a smile. “I sho proud o’ dis, Missie. Hit moighty thoughty o’ you to come way out here to brung it to me.” He crammed the gifts into his coat pockets.

“But I promised to write a letter for you, too. If you’ll tell me what you want me to say I’ll write to Mr. Tradd.”

“Oh, Missie, would you do dat fer sho?”

“Of course.”

“We ain’t got much time, Missie. Mah boss due back here pretty soon now. He done tole me I ain’t to pass no words wid y’all if you come back here again.”

Kitty glanced uneasily north along the inlet, but it was empty in the slanting sunlight that had broken through ragged clouds.

“So he warned you, eh? He was down at the station the day that boy gave me the money for your tobacco.”

“So dat how he know you’s gwine come again. I don’t hafter mind whut he say. I ain’t he nigger. I’ll be a Tradd nigger till I die, an’ I ain’t gwine set here an’ see him bring disgrace on dis island.”

“What do you mean, Uncle Mose?”

The old man came closer, almost knee deep in water now. His gnarled brown hands gripped the side of the boat as he said, “I ain’t able to row no boat crost to de mainland where us got ole fr’en’s, so I ain’t hab no one to trus’ ’bout whut gwine on round here till y’all come.”

“Then I’m very glad we came,” said Kitty encouragingly.

“I’s been libin’ on dis earth nigh on to a hunnert year, an’ I’se larn to know people you can trus’ at fust sight. Y’all sho belongst to dat class.”

“Thank you, Uncle Mose. We’ll try to live up to your good opinion of us.” Kitty saw it was useless to try to hurry him, though she was terrified for fear Beeson would come and catch them here.

“What was it you want her to write?” asked Brad, not quite so patient as Kitty.

“Suh, I sees you’s a sailor an’ defender o’ our country like mah young Massa. You wear de same color uniform, too, an’ I knows you’s to be trusted.”

“I hope so, Uncle.”

“An’ you knows as well as I does dat it ain’t right fer no white man in dese times to be hobnobbin’ wid furriners. Dis war we’s fightin’ is wid furriners, ain’t it?”

“It sure is, Uncle Mose,” replied Brad. “But what white man is hobnobbing with foreigners?”

“Mr. Beeson. Dey comes here right often at night—an’ always goes away wid boxes an’ bundles.”

Kitty and Brad exchanged startled glances.

“How do you know his callers are foreigners?” asked Brad.

“Dey talks a langwidge I ain’t never heard round dese parts.”

“You were close enough to hear them talk?” asked Kitty.

“Mr. Beeson think I’se sleepin’. Mah sight ain’t so good no mo’, but mah hearin’ keen, an’ I know when dem stranger come ashore.”

“You heard their motorboat, I suppose,” said Brad.

“Naw suh. Dey don’ come in no motorboat. Nothin’ but ole bateau. Whilst dey was up to de house one dark night I went down to de water an’ seen it.”

Kitty’s cheeks were pale, her eyes apprehensive when she met Brad’s troubled glance.

“I hear Mr. Beeson talkin’ ’bout buyin’ dis island. You tell young Massa fer me, Missie, not to sold it. Reckon Mr. Beeson bootleggin’ or somepen. He gwine bring disgrace on dis place.”

Kitty didn’t take time to tell him that the bootlegging of other days was mild to what she now knew Mr. Beeson was doing. But suddenly she lifted her head in alarm. She had caught the sound of a distant motorboat.

“Reckon dat him now! Y’all bettah lef’ out o’ here right now,” warned Uncle Mose.