[Illustration: “_This is it. It’s got to be._”]
A BIFF BREWSTER
MYSTERY ADVENTURE
HAWAIIAN
SEA HUNT
MYSTERY
[Illustration: Compass]
By ANDY ADAMS
GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK
© GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC., 1960
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I Peril in Paradise 1
II A Disturbing Call 5
III Worried Twins 11
IV Aloha! 18
V Detective Biff 25
VI The Letter 33
VII An Important Find 41
VIII The Police Call 51
IX Mysterious Message 61
X Starting a Search 70
XI Wharf Rats 76
XII Bomb Away 87
XIII A Near Miss 97
XIV Storm! 108
XV Men Missing 117
XVI Held Prisoner 123
XVII A Dangerous Dive 130
XVIII Exploring the Depths 141
XIX Reunion 152
XX Dawn Attack 160
XXI A Human Fish 166
XXII Check-Out 175
HAWAIIAN SEA HUNT MYSTERY
CHAPTER I
Peril in Paradise
In the tropical, jungle-like garden behind the hotel, a man stood
absolutely motionless. The broad trunk of the coconut palm tree behind
which he lurked protected him from being seen by anyone on the hotel’s
wide, sweeping porch.
The tense set of the man’s features showed his growing impatience.
The broad porch ran around all four sides of the white, sprawling Royal
Poinciana Hotel on Waikiki Beach, in Honolulu, Hawaii. The porch was
called the “deck,” and it had been designed to resemble the promenade
deck of an ocean liner. It was an open porch, or deck, with brightly
colored floral-patterned umbrellas spreading welcome shade. The deck was
spotted with lounge and captain’s chairs, and its teak-wood floor was
marked off at regular intervals with shuffleboard courts.
The fore deck, that part of the porch running across the front of the
hotel, overlooked the beautiful beach and its rolling, coiling breakers.
Chairs and tables scattered on it were occupied by people waiting for
the noon meal. On the rear deck, overlooking the carefully planned,
luxuriant jungle-garden, only one couple could be seen.
“Will they never leave?” the man muttered to himself. He looked at his
watch, then carefully peered around the tree, looking up at the deck
jutting out from the hotel’s second floor.
Just as he did so, the couple got up from their chairs and walked
leisurely away, heading for the other side. The man waited until they
rounded a corner and were out of sight. Then he moved swiftly.
His linen-clad figure was a white flash against broad green leaves as he
dashed for the steps leading up to the now unoccupied porch. Once on the
deck, he moved casually, as though he were just another tourist. He
walked softly on crepe-soled shoes, making not a sound.
Nearing the center of the porch, the man pressed his back against the
white-painted wall, almost blending into it except for his dark, swarthy
face. Now he moved sidewise, crab-like, until he reached a partly opened
latticed door. He stopped, pressing his head against the slight crack
where the door was hinged.
Moments passed. Then he heard the sharp jangling sound of a telephone
ringing from within the room beyond. Next he heard the soft pad of feet
on thick piled carpet as the room’s occupant crossed the floor to take
the call.
Now the prowler abandoned his extreme caution. He looked through the
partly opened door. He saw the back of a man sitting at a telephone
table. The prowler carefully pulled the door open and slipped into the
room. Its occupant had the phone’s receiver to his ear.
“On your call to Mr. Thomas Brewster in Indianapolis, Indiana, sir,” the
operator was saying, “they are ringing that number now.”
The prowler crept closer until he was within an arm’s length of the
seated man.
“Yes,” the man said into the telephone. “I’ll hold the line.” With his
free hand he pulled a well-used pipe from his jacket pocket and stuck it
in his mouth. Then he patted the table for matches. He opened a drawer
and felt in it.
The prowler watched his prey anxiously. He was an old man, with shaggy
white hair hanging down almost to his collar.
Unable to find a match, the old man had just started to turn when the
operator spoke again.
“This is Honolulu, Hawaii, calling Mr. Thomas Brewster,” she said. A few
seconds passed. “Here’s your party, sir.”
The prowler stood there, arms raised, the fingers of his cupped hands
spread like talons just over the old man’s shoulders.