certainly could have been done with an ulterior motive. Second, he
moved Uncle Mose out of his cabin up to the other end of the island.
Uncle Mose used to live in sight of the hospital dump pile. Also he has
a look-out in the pine thicket.”
“A look-out?”
“Brad climbed the pine after we got Billy down Sunday. It’s wired to
make climbing easy. There’s a seat at the top with a marvelous view of
the entire marshes and out to sea.”
“But you didn’t mention all this Sunday.”
“We thought right away it was connected with the whole dirty business.
Hazel was along, so we decided to say nothing until we could figure
things out better.”
“Is that all?”
“We figured that a small radio could be carried up on Beeson’s back, so
he could direct action from his look-out. He could watch people coming
from any direction, and warn small boats coming in from the subs.
Seemed like a perfect set-up.”
Her father looked at her a moment and a slow smile spread over his
face, in spite of the anxiety still in his eyes. “Kitten, you show
remarkable talent for becoming a first-class detective.”
She pursed her lips. “Too nerve-racking, Dad.”
“Is that all you’ve picked up about Beeson?”
“Beth Gilcrist, a Canteen worker over in Bayport, who meets all the
troop trains, told me Beeson meets most of them, too.”
“Hm-m, so he does, eh? He seems to have no scarcity of gas for these
trips back and forth.”
Mr. Carter sat down on the couch, and stared into space, as he thought
over what she had told him.
“And another thing. Brad found out from the man who looks after the
incinerator that repair parts have come for it twice, and were not what
he ordered.”
“Hm-m, looks like somebody at the factory may be cooperating in keeping
it out of order,” Mr. Carter surmised.
“That’s exactly what Brad and I figured out. That’s why we feel so
certain the barge goes into the marshes for more reasons than to haul
off garbage.”
Mr. Carter made no reply to this but just sat staring ahead of him.
Kitty recalled what he had said as they were coming home that evening.
The inspector was coming down and there was a shortage in his
department. She had thought when he mentioned it that he meant a
financial shortage. Now an appalling possibility entered her mind.
“Dad, could your shortage have anything to do with all this?”
“Definitely it could, Kitty. The amazing things you have just told me
may help me clear up a very embarrassing situation.”
Kitty recalled that he had said once that there were some things he
couldn’t talk about even to his own daughter, but she now ventured to
ask, “Can’t you tell me about it now, Dad?”
“I’m going to,” he retorted in a tone that implied his desperation.
“But this is for you alone, Kitty. Not even Brad is to know.”
Her eyes widened. “But you think he is trustworthy, don’t you?”
“Of course—absolutely! Nevertheless this is to go no further.”
“Certainly. If that’s the way you want it.”
“As you have probably guessed Willard Dawson lost out here for the very
shortage I am now facing.”
“But I’m sure he was not to blame either. Who could look at his fine
face and believe him capable of—of anything dishonest? He simply
couldn’t be a traitor any more than you, Dad!”
“Of course we feel certain of that. That’s why I asked to be sent here.
I’ve been in hopes of clearing up the situation.”
“Hazel came here for the same reason, didn’t she?”
“Yes, she did. But so far—that is until you told me all this tonight
I’ve run into nothing but snags.”
“Just what did you mean when you said there was a shortage?”
“All medical supplies must pass through my hands. I have to O.K. all
orders. I have been most careful in making those orders—yet at the end
of each month the sum total of materials used far exceeds the normal
use of a hospital our size.”
“You mean medicines, bandages and things like that, Dad?”
“All expendable supplies used in the hospital—medical supplies, of
course.”
“Those are the kind of things they’d be badly in need of on a German
sub?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Do you suppose those sneaks are getting some of the stuff out of the
hospital along with the food?”
“In fact, Kitty, the whole set-up may be for the purpose of getting our
medical supplies instead of food. Almost anyone can get hold of food to
let the enemy have, but the drug business is quite a different thing.”
Kitty felt the gooseflesh prickle along her spine.
“Oh, Dad, suppose I hadn’t paid any attention to all those queer
things!”
“Don’t be too complacent about it all, Kitty. We haven’t caught the
saboteurs yet, nor pinned anything on anybody.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: _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.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A NARROW ESCAPE
“You got time to cross yonder an’ hide in de marsh,” Uncle Mose told
Kitty and Brad when they heard the sound of the approaching motorboat.
“Let’s get going,” said Kitty, picking up her oar. “You’d better hide
your tobacco and new pipe, Uncle Mose.”
“Yas’m, sho will.” The old man’s sunken eyes turned toward the inlet.
“You kin hear de motorboat a long time ’fore she come in sight.”
“I’m glad you told us what you did, Uncle Mose,” said Kitty. “Don’t you
worry. Mr. Beeson will never buy this island.”
“T’ank de Lawd! You tell young Massa I keep de trus’ an’ look atter de
place like he ask me to.”
Brad was impatient to be off, and Kitty bent her back to the oar as he
pulled away from the little harbor. Glancing at Uncle Mose before they
turned a point in the shore, she saw him waving his battered felt hat
at them and pointing straight across the marsh.
Instead of turning north by the way they had come they headed for the
tide-filled creeks that cut the marshy wastelands into jig-saw
patterns. They could have used the motor for greater speed, but Kitty
knew the noise would carry for quite a distance across the empty
wastes. Not until they had gone almost a mile up one of the winding
creeks did they pause behind the shelter of some tall marsh grass.
“Hope we don’t get stuck in here,” said Brad. “Tide’s so low.”
“But it’s already turned. That’s a help.” She rubbed her tired hands
together a moment and said, “Uncle Mose gave us an earful, didn’t he?”
“I’ll say!”
“Looks as though that’s the final piece to complete the puzzle.”
“Maybe and maybe not, Kit. We’ve got to catch ’em with the goods before
we can really bring conviction.”
“Sure is risky for that poor old negro. Beeson doesn’t look like the
kind of man who would hesitate to put the old man out of the way if he
interferes with his plans.”
“You’re right.”
“Maybe we should have brought him away with us just now.”
“Oh no, that would never do. Beeson would be sure you were
responsible—after what happened at the troop train the other day.”
“I guess you’re right. That would make him cut off his traffic with the
Germans till suspicion dies down.”
“Kit, it’s come to the point where we no longer have a right to keep
all this to ourselves.”
“You mean the FBI should know?”
“Certainly. It’s not mere surmise now. What Uncle Mose told us bears
out accurately the theories we’ve been forming.”
“You’re right, Brad.” Even though they had prided themselves on their
discoveries so far, Kitty had to admit that the affair was now too
dangerous for them to handle. She could never forgive herself if,
through their bungling, Uncle Mose lost his life.
“But we’ve got to get out of here first,” said Brad. “It’s beginning to
look as though we’re in for a real blow, Kit.”
“A real sou’easter.”
Suddenly Brad half rose and peered above the strip of marsh grass
behind which they were hiding. “Listen, Kit, sounds like Beeson’s boat
is coming right in here.”
“Good heavens! What’ll we do?”
She crawled over to the stern locker and hunted for the field glasses.
As she adjusted them she stood in the boat and scanned the western
horizon. Finally she concentrated her gaze on a section of the inlet
near the pine bluff.
“No. He isn’t in the marshes. Even with the wind taking the sound from
us, the bluff must be a sort of sounding board to throw it back.”
“We’ll have to be careful—wind’s blowing from us to him,” cautioned
Brad.
She let Brad have the glasses and he watched while Beeson towed the
barge to the dock. “Uncle Mose is already there to carry the food
scraps up to the hogs,” he explained as he watched.
“Can you see anything that looks like supplies for the Germans?” she
asked.
“Not at this distance.”
He handed her the glasses and she watched until Beeson went stomping up
to the house in his knee boots.
Great masses of purple clouds boiled in the western sky, while the tall
marsh grass lay almost level under the rushing wind.
“We’d better beat it for home!” exclaimed Kitty. “Looks to me as if
this is turning to a hurricane.” On the Gulf coast she had often seen
storms come up like this in a very short time.
“There was a hurricane reported south of here—guess we’re getting an
edge of the gale,” said Brad.