Almost Away
Charles Keene was winging his way back to Curaçao. Derek Zook was in La
Trinité across the Island of Martinique from Fort-de-France. Biff
Brewster was still a prisoner in the cellhouse outside Willemstad.
Herman Dietz and Specks Cade were at the Fisheries Commission Office in
Fort-de-France, giving a cowering clerk a very hard time.
A tall, gaunt man, his body wasted away by a long siege of fever, lay on
a narrow cot in a monastery high in the Pitons du Carbet.
The time was approaching when all these people would be drawn closer and
closer together, the magnet attracting them being a small but rich pearl
fishery in the Baie du Trésor.
When Charlie dropped Derek off at La Trinité, he had had one suggestion
as to where the Dutch lad could best start his search for his father.
“The post office, Derek,” Charles Keene had said. “That would be your
best bet. Your letter and mine both bore the La Trinité postmark. See
what you can find out there.”
Derek was now following Charles Keene’s advice.
“A tall man, you say. Very fair with light-brown hair?” the postal clerk
asked.
“Yes. My father,” Derek said. “I know he was here about three months
ago, perhaps a little longer than that.”
The postal clerk thought for a moment. “There was such a man as you
describe. I recall him. His appearance was in such contrast to the rest
of us here in Trinité. But I have not seen him for months.”
“I know. I haven’t heard from him either. I am desperately anxious for
any hint as to where he might have gone.”
“Zook. That was his name, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, yes,” Derek replied eagerly.
“Again, the name I remember because it is so different from the names of
the people who live here. Yes, many of us knew about this man. He was
searching the waters of our treasure bay.”
“That was my father, all right.”
“It was rumored that he searched for pearls,” the clerk went on. “The
people of this village had great interest in his activities.”
“Would there be any one person who might have known him well?”
“When he was not out searching the ocean floor, he stayed at a small
_pension_ not far from here. You could inquire there.”
“Where is the place?”
“It is called by the name of Pension Sans Souci. You will have no
trouble in finding it. It is on this very street. When you go out, turn
to your right. A walk of two blocks will bring you there.”
“_Merci._ Thank you very much,” Derek said.
His hopes were high as he walked down the street under a blazing
tropical sun. But these high hopes were short lived. At the Sans Souci,
the boardinghouse whose English name would be “Without Care,” Derek
learned little more.
“I am so sorry, young man, that I cannot give you news of your father,”
the manager of the small boardinghouse told Derek. “We were very fond of
him.”
“He left no word as to where he was going?”
“No. We didn’t even know he had left us. One morning, quite early, he
came to our modest establishment. I thought he seemed quite distraught.
He was not his usual cheerful self. He had hardly a word with me. And it
was his custom to chat with others here. He went to his room. To rest, I
supposed. I went to awaken him for the noon meal. His room was empty.”
“And that is all you can tell me?”
“As much as I regret it, that is all I know. There have been rumors—”
“What? What are they?” Derek wanted any information that might be a clue
to his father’s whereabouts.
“It was reported, shortly after your father left us, that such a man of
his appearance had been seen in the foothills of the Carbet Mountains.
But these tales were discounted. It would be highly unlikely that your
father would explore the mountains. His interest was in the ocean and
what might be on the bottom of the sea. I am sorry, young man.”
Derek left the Sans Souci very disheartened. If the rumors were true,
why would his father have gone into the interior of the island? And if
he had gone there, why had he stayed so long?
“I’m going to find out,” Derek said to himself determinedly. “Every
chance I get, I’ll go into those foothills and peaks. I’ll find him.”
* * * * * * * *
In Fort-de-France, Herman Dietz could hardly contain his anger. Specks
had never seen the boss so furious.
“But it could not have been,” Dietz said angrily. He and Specks were in
the Fisheries Commission Office. The clerk they were talking to cringed
at Dietz’s words.
“You’re a fool!” Dietz raged. “I tell you Derek Zook _couldn’t_ have
signed for those papers. Derek Zook is in Curaçao. Right this minute.”
The clerk could only shake his head.
“You remember what I promised you?” Dietz continued. “I told you you
would share in the proceeds of the pearl fishery. There was little you
had to do. Only hold up those rights until I could act.”
“I tried, Mr. Dietz. I delayed as long as I could. Keene and the boy
were here over two hours. I expected you here to lodge a protest. But
when you failed to appear, I had to issue the permit.”
“Well, I’m going to lodge a protest now. With the Commissioner himself.
I’ll tell him how badly you botched your job! How you permitted an
impostor to fool you.”
Dietz stormed out of the office, followed by Specks, and made for the
office of the Commissioner.
* * * * * * * *
“Another day is coming to an end, Crunch,” Biff said to the giant Carib.
“And I’m getting hungry. How about my moving that alarm clock up half an
hour?”
“Crunch hungry, too. Here.” Crunch handed Biff the alarm clock. Biff
moved the alarm, setting it back from six-thirty to six.
“There, we’ll have dinner half an hour earlier.”
During the long day, Biff had made great progress in gaining Crunch’s
confidence and friendship. He had drawn the simple-minded giant out
about his brother. The crime the brother had committed was a petty
crime, a small theft. Biff felt almost certain that the police had long
since wiped the charge from the books. Even if they hadn’t, the theft
had taken place so long ago that Biff thought the statute of limitations
would have erased the charge.
Dietz, of course, had blown up the seriousness of the theft into a major
crime. He had put a real fear into Crunch and his brother.
The brother had paid a high price for his deed. Forced to hide out on
Martinique, he had been separated from his wife and children for years.
“Little brother very much want to come back to Curaçao. Want to see
family.”
“Too bad, Crunch,” Biff sympathized. “I can imagine how he feels. Does
he write? How do you hear from him.”
“No write letters. Can’t write. Friends tell about him. Friends who come
to Curaçao from island.”
“From Martinique?”
“That’s right. From Martinique Island many, many boat days away.”
“You know, Crunch, I wouldn’t be surprised if I could help your brother
come back to Curaçao. He might have to go to jail. But only for a short
time. I don’t know about that. If he did commit that crime, he’d have to
pay for it. But wouldn’t it be better if he faced the charge? His
sentence would be light. At the end, he would be free.”
Crunch leaned forward to Biff. Big and powerful as the man was, he had
the feelings of a small child. Biff could see tears in his eyes.
“You do that, Crunch your friend!”
“I can’t promise, Crunch. But I do know that Dietz has been using you.
Misusing is a better word.”
Biff wasn’t sure Crunch understood. He couldn’t be sure. But he felt
that he was getting to the giant Indian. At first, it had been Biff’s
plan to gain Crunch’s confidence, outwit him, and escape. He still
wanted to escape, but by now, he felt a great sympathy for the simple,
friendly man. He really wanted to help him.
The alarm bell went off. Crunch stood up.
“No magic. You still be here when Crunch come back?”
“I’ll be here, Crunch,” Biff replied.
Crunch went out, still careful to lock the door behind him. There could
be no doubt that his liking for Biff was growing, but fear of Dietz
still guided the Indian’s actions.
Crunch had been gone about five minutes. Biff stretched out on the cot
and turned on his left side. “Ouch,” he said as the pen clipped to his
shirt pocket dug into him. He changed the pen to his hip pocket and
settled, face down, relaxed. Suddenly he sat up again, took out the pen,
and stared at it thoughtfully....
Minutes later, Biff was startled by a call, a call from a voice that was
good news to Biff.
“Biff! Biff! Where are you? Sing out so I can come to you.”
“Here, Uncle Charlie! I’m here! In this house. It’s the one farthest
from the big house.”
“I’m on my way, Biff!”
Biff leaped to the door. He stood there, hands grasping the bars,
straining his eyes to spot his uncle.
He saw him coming at a run.
“Hi, Uncle Charlie!” Biff called. “I knew you’d be back for me!” He
could see the big grin on Charlie’s face as he drew nearer.
Biff’s smile of happiness changed to one of dismay. His uncle was only a
few feet away. From behind a clump of bushes, Crunch appeared. He leaped
out as Charlie passed. His huge arms wrapped around Keene.
“Look out!” Biff cried. It was too late.
Charles Keene, a powerful man himself, was helpless in the giant
Indian’s grasp.