THE MYSTERIOUS COQUINA SHACK
"Hot Ziggetty! so _this_ is where he dropped down, is it?" Perk was
muttering in subdued excitement as his astonished eyes fell upon a plane
bobbing on its pontoons in a sheltered little cove, "meet that spruce
Lockheed-Vega bus, partner, that clipped past away over our heads, an'
the woozy pilot never dreamin' our crate was within a hundred miles o'
him. Kinder guess the pirate roost must lie around here somewhere."
"That's a dead sure thing, Perk," whispered Jack, "and chances are it's
hid in the midst of that live-oak clump yonder, where I take it the land
lies high and dry."
"I swan but this is gettin' real excitin' an' suits me okay," breathed
the duly thrilled Perk, who felt there was no longer any reason for
calling things tame.
"By changing our base a bit," suggested Jack almost as equally pleased
over their success as his nervous chum, "we might even be able to get a
squint at the shack, let's try, buddy."
He lost no time in creeping inch by inch along toward the right, having
apparently figured out that such a course would give them a better
all-around opportunity to gratify their curiosity.
It proved to be a wise move for presently they managed to glimpse what
seemed to be the corner of a small cottage, built of coquina rock and
altogether attractive in appearance, proving that the Big Boss never
hesitated to spend money when he could secure results.
"Huh!" gurgled Perk, stretching his neck so as to see better through the
narrow opening that served them as a lookout, "some toney, strikes me,
considerin' the desolate country round-about this section. Must be his
high-hat tastes foller him, no matter where he goes--sorter dude, I'd
call him, partner."
"That may be," agreed Jack, "I understood he ran in that groove but just
the same they say this Kearns is a real he-man an' can put up a warm
scrap when necessary--the dude racket is only a thin veneer hiding the
genuine article. I was warned never to let him get a chance to beat me
to the draw--some call him a rattlesnake, only he lacks that reptile's
honesty in always giving warning when about to strike. Don't forget,
Perk, in dealing with this slick article you've got to be on your guard
every minute of the time."
"Glad you told me that, Jack, I might a'been fooled, an' treated him as
a soft guy. Looky thar, will you, boy--two--three fellers jest swarmed
out o' the shack an' gone into a huddle like they had some sorter game
to set up. Wonder now if one o' the bunch could be _him_!"
"I reckon not, Perk," came in a low tone from Jack, whose head was only
a few inches away from the other's, "none of them answer the description
that was given to me. I even saw a snapshot taken of several society
folks in front o' his Miami castle, with him standing in the center. One
of this lot's the flying man connected with that crate--you can see he's
still wearing his greasy dungarees and has his helmet on his head, like
he expected to be hopping-off any minute now; a second chap is short and
thick, not at all like the one we've come so far to buck up against,
while the third, while tall, looks like a roughneck skipper of a
speedboat."
"Guess you hit the nail on the head, Jack," muttered the convinced Perk,
for they were at some little distance away from the consulting trio, and
their whispers could never have been heard with the dead leaves on
nearby palmetto trees keeping up their harsh clashing when whipped by
the gusts of wind.
Both of the spies must have had a host of speculations passing in review
through their active minds as they lay there watching the conspirators
so earnestly talking and gesticulating. From time to time Jack and his
chum would cast further glances in the quarter where the trim aircraft
lay anchored, bobbing up and down like a restive horse eager to be off.
What did they fetch on their voyage through the upper air lanes, coming
from some unknown port--hardly "case stuff," Jack told himself, since
space aboard the Lockheed-Vega crate would be limited--then it must be
either yellow Chinks trying to crash the gates of the country that
banned some of their race as undesirable aliens, or possibly the winged
courier carried a batch of precious stones from far-away Paris,
forwarded in a round-about, surreptitious way and intended to reach a
ready market in the wealthiest country in the world, of course, without
paying the usual heavy customs duty--which saving alone would likely
reach well into six figures.
The trio seemed to have finished their discussion, whatever its nature
might have been, for they sauntered down to the edge of the water where
the man in the dungarees proceeded to embark by means of a small boat
that he could leave secured to the mooring rope of the amphibian when he
took off.
"Making off to pick up another cargo, I reckon," Jack ventured. "And so
this is where our friend has his secret hideout at such times when he so
mysteriously disappears from his big show place near Miami? Mighty
interesting, I'd call it and the chances are he's been keeping up this
double play racket for many months, perhaps even for years, for he came
to Florida not long after the war, fishing for tarpon down around the
Ten Thousand Islands where we lay concealed lately."
"But what's the big idea, partner?" Perk wanted to know--"why under the
sun does he play both ends o' this queer game--what's the sense o' his
havin' this wee shack in the wilderness when he could carry on his
racket just as well on the eastern shore?"
"Just because he fancies the idea of keeping his two personalities as
far apart as possible, Perk. Uncle Sam's Coast Guards, revenue officers
and even Secret Service men fairly swarm around Miami most of the year
so they'd be apt to make it more or less unpleasant for the elegant
Oswald Kearns in his society functions if he had his pals dodging in and
out of his princely palace. He prefers to drop over here in this
desolate place instead when he has a lot of business to transact. He's a
wonder, all right, in his double line, Perk, and not to be underrated,
understand."
"Seems that way, partner," grumbled the other quickly adding, "there
goes the Lockheed-Vega spinnin' out o' the lagoon to the open lake so's
to get up enough speed for the take-off. Must be somethin' mighty
special to coax that pilot to risk bein' seen in open daylight. So he
used to fish in them passages 'tween the mangrove islands years ago, did
he, Jack?"
"Sure did, and they told me his guide some years ago down there used to
be a notorious smuggler and gulf-stream pirate, no other than Jim
Alderman, right now in the jug over at Fort Lauderdale on the eastern
shore and waiting to get a hempen collar for murdering three law
officers in August two years back. Of course, he hadn't started his real
career of crime when he used to be a guide for Roosevelt, Zane Grey, the
writer, and some other famous sportsmen."
"Do tell," murmured Perk, duly thrilled by what his pal was telling him
concerning one of the most turbulent characters known along the Florida
coasts since those days of old when buccaneers like Blackbeard,
Gasparilla and others of their ilk roamed the subtropical waters and
swarmed aboard such unfortunate Spanish galleons as chance threw their
way.
"I wouldn't be surprised," Jack went on to whisper, "if he goes under
quite another name while over in this hideout and even manages to alter
his looks more or less. He's capable of playing many parts if he's half
as good an actor as I suspect. But we'll be apt to know a heap more
before a great while slips by."
"There he goes, Jack, swingin' off toward the east in the bargain, but
then it's just as easy for a flier to strike across the lower end o'
Florida, if the notion strikes him, day or night. Crates are gettin' to
be a common sight these days down here. I read they expected to have a
full hundred at Miami this very winter, takin' part in a big air derby
that's scheduled to be pulled off."
They watched the other two men walk back and enter the coquina bungalow
and a little later Jack was saying:
"Strikes me we'd better pull up stakes and clear out of this, Perk,
don't forget we've got to pass that rattlesnake cove on the way back,
and for one, I'm not so keen about doing it in pitch darkness."
"Don't get me goofy, partner," whimpered Perk with a shudder. "But hold
on a bit--mebbe now somethin's a'goin' to strike up we'll both be sorter
glad to set eyes on--looky there, old hoss, what do you see?"