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

Connie Blair #9 The Brown Satchel Mystery

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Transcript of Connie Blair #9 The Brown Satchel Mystery