In the week that followed at Papeete Grief caught numerous and bizarre
glimpses of Aloysius Pankburn. So did everybody else in the little
island capital; for neither the beach nor Lavina's boarding house
had been so scandalized in years. In midday, bareheaded, clad only
in swimming trunks, Aloysius Pankburn ran down the main street from
Lavina's to the water front. He put on the gloves with a fireman from
the _Berthe_ in a scheduled four-round bout at the _Folies Bergères_,
and was knocked out in the second round. He tried insanely to drown
himself in a two-foot pool of water, dived drunkenly and splendidly from
fifty feet up in the rigging of the _Mariposa_ lying at the wharf, and
chartered the cutter _Toerau_ at more than her purchase price and was
only saved by his manager's refusal financially to ratify the agreement.
He bought out the old blind leper at the market, and sold breadfruit,
plantains, and sweet potatoes at such cut-rates that the gendarmes
were called out to break the rush of bargain-hunting natives. For that
matter, three times the gendarmes arrested him for riotous behaviour,
and three times his manager ceased from love-making long enough to pay
the fines imposed by a needy colonial administration.
Then the _Mariposa_ sailed for San Francisco, and in the bridal suite
were the manager and the trained nurse, fresh-married. Before departing,
the manager had thoughtfully bestowed eight five-pound banknotes on
Aloysius, with the foreseen result that Aloysius awoke several days
later to find himself broke and perilously near to delirium tremens.
Lavina, famed for her good heart even among the driftage of South
Pacific rogues and scamps, nursed him around and never let it filter
into his returning intelligence that there was neither manager nor money
to pay his board.
It was several evenings after this that David Grief, lounging under
the after deck awning of the _Kittiwake_ and idly scanning the meagre
columns of the Papeete _Avant-Coureur_, sat suddenly up and almost
rubbed his eyes. It was unbelievable, but there it was. The old South
Seas Romance was not dead. He read:
WANTED--To exchange a half interest in buried treasure,
worth five million francs, for transportation for one to an
unknown island in the Pacific and facilities for carrying
away the loot. Ask for FOLLY, at Lavina's.
Grief looked at his watch. It was early yet, only eight o'clock.
“Mr. Carlsen,” he called in the direction of a glowing pipe. “Get the
crew for the whale-boat. I'm going ashore.”
The husky voice of the Norwegian mate was raised for'ard, and half a
dozen strapping Rapa Islanders ceased their singing and manned the boat.
“I came to see Folly, Mr. Folly, I imagine,” David Grief told Lavina.
He noted the quick interest in her eyes as she turned her head and flung
a command in native across two open rooms to the outstanding kitchen. A
few minutes later a barefooted native girl padded in and shook her head.
Lavina's disappointment was evident.
“You're stopping aboard the _Kittiwake_, aren't you?” she said. “I'll
tell him you called.”
“Then it is a _he?_” Grief queried.
Lavina nodded.
“I hope you can do something for him, Captain Grief. I'm only a
good-natured woman. I don't know. But he's a likable man, and he may be
telling the truth; I don't know. You'll know. You're not a soft-hearted
fool like me. Can't I mix you a cocktail?”