HE Flamingo sped on across the sapphire waters of uncharted lagoons that reflected, mirrorlike, the leaning palms and the dense green tangle of jungle thicket and the flaming flowers. An occasional egret winged aloft, and great armies of fiddler crabs scuttled across the exposed sand bars.
The world about them was saturated with a deadening, oppressive beat, for no breeze from the Gulf tempered the secluded, inner recesses of that silent region bordering the Everglades.
The deck became a scorching furnace. A pitiless sun beat down upon Brant's unprotected head, adding to the misery of his cramped and aching limbs. The beat seemed to fester his open wounds; a consuming thirst blistered his parched throat. Still he did not complain, or indicate by word or look his torment.
Brant's restless eyes, shifting about, alighted suddenly upon a crumpled bit of paper that had been tossed upon the deck and lodged against a coil of rope near at hand. It recalled to mind the one bit of mystery yet unsolved.
“Look there!” he whispered. “Your message! Kerry found it when he searched my pockets.”
“Yes,” the girl answered. “I was watching when he confronted you with it.”
“The thing is bewitched,” Brant said. “It's a blank sheet of paper to-day. Two nights before, when I removed it from Dixon's table, it contained a message in your handwriting. What magic have you used?”
“The writing is still on it,” she told him; “but it can be read only under a certain light. Mr. Dixon gave me the prepared ink, which is used for official communications. He urged me to use it in case I wished to send a message.”
The phenomenon was accounted for; the mystery dispelled. “I remember that Dixon held the letter under a lamp when he read it,” Brant said, his thoughts drifting back to the house in Calle Huerjanos. “I recall now that the light was of a peculiar hue, but I attributed it at the time to the shade. Of course the envelope was addressed with ordinary ink.”
“I didn't think to explain this to you before.”
“I intended questioning you the night we fled from Dixon's house,” Brant said. “I couldn't figure out why you didn't want the police to find the message. When I looked at it after my affair with the man who tore open the envelope, the paper was blank. But when I picked it off the table I saw it was covered with writing. The thing baffled me. Now I understand. The lamp was on the table, and under its light the message was visible.”
A silence fell between the two.
Presently Brant spoke again. “What a part the message has played in our little drama,” he remarked musingly. “It brought us together; it was responsible for Dixon's passing; and it's given no end of trouble to Korry. If I shouldn't see you again”—his voice grew wistful—“I'd like to get and keep it as a dear remembrance.”
The girl did not answer him, and Brant did not trust himself to turn; but her fingers caressed his hand with a gentle tenderness that bespoke more than words and filled his comforted heart to overflowing.
Hours later, so it seemed to Brant, the Flamingo glided into a quiet, sheltered bayou. A bell sounded faintly below deck, and the throbbing engines ceased their labors. The forward anchor was cast out, splashing noisily.
It aroused Brant from his rose-tinted dreams and brought him back to earth again as his air castles tumbled softly down.
“Watch out!” he warned the girl. “Keep away from the window! They mustn't suspect!”
He twisted about, changing his position to ease his cramped limbs, moving carefully for fear of disturbing the nearly severed bonds. The unexpected awaited him, but he faced it with unfaltering courage. Whatever the end he would meet it—on his feet and fighting.
Presently Meech lurched into view from above the engine-room hatch and squinted toward the shore, mopping at his sweat-beaded face. He cast a sharp, malicious glance at the prisoner, but did not approach, probably because Korry already had started aft.
“Goin' to land the monkeys here?” Meech inquired, when the chink runner had come within earshot.
“Soon's I find Thatcher,” Korry answered curtly.
Much to Brant's surprise and relief, the men ignored him. He lay back on the hot deck, his eyes closed against the blistering sun, his arms doubled under him, a picture of abject helplessness; but his ears were alert, and they absorbed the talk that went on about him.
Korry was frankly outspoken and made no attempt to conceal the nature of his plans. The skipper knew precisely what he wanted done and had steered a course for the present rendezvous with a definite purpose in mind.