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ISLE O' DREAMS
[Illustration: _"Come up closer so I can look into the boat,"
commanded Trask_]
ISLE O' DREAMS
BY
FREDERICK F. MOORE
_Author of_
_"The Devil's Admiral," "The Sailor Girl," Etc._
[Illustration]
FRONTISPIECE
BY
RALPH PALLEN COLEMAN
Garden City New York
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1920
COPYRIGHT, 1917, 1920, BY
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF
TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES,
INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
To
MARJORIE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Robert Trask Arrives in Manila from Amoy 3
II. Dinshaw Tells of His Island 19
III. Captain Dinshaw Pulls a Long Bow 33
IV. Captain Jarrow Goes Cruising in Strange Waters 50
V. Jarrow Does and Says Queer Things 64
VI. Mr. Peth Is Particular About Where He Sleeps 74
VII. Trask Has a Talk With Doc Bird 92
VIII. How the Schooner Arrived off the Island 104
IX. Trask Undertakes a Private Investigation 124
X. Captain Jarrow Admits He Is Suspicious of Peth 144
XI. Mr. Peth Does Most Amazing Things 161
XII. Trask Makes a Discovery 179
XIII. What Happened to Doc and the Dinghy 191
XIV. What Jarrow Wanted and What He Got 203
XV. An End and a Beginning 220
ISLE O' DREAMS
ISLE O' DREAMS
CHAPTER I
ROBERT TRASK ARRIVES IN MANILA FROM AMOY
As the tubby little China Coast steamer marched up Manila Bay,
Trask stood under the bridge on the skimpy "promenade deck" and
waited impatiently for the doctor's boat to come alongside. He was
the only white passenger among a motley lot of Chinese merchants
and half-castes of varied hues, and he was glad the passage was at
an end.
He had made the trip with a Finnish skipper, disconcertingly
cross-eyed, a Lascar mate who looked like a pirate and had a voice
like a school-girl, a purser addicted to the piccolo late at night,
and fellow-passengers who jabbered interminably about nothing at
all in half a dozen languages. So Trask regarded the spires and
red roofs of Manila with the hungry eyes of a man who has been
separated from civilization and his own kind too many days to
remember.
Before the steamer anchored, Trask saw the _Taming_ passing out for
Hong Kong, white moustaches of foam at her forefoot and her decks
alive with men and women. She was as smart as a big liner.
But he looked away from her to the Luneta and the villa-like Bay
View Hotel, white and stately, at the lip of the bay. That was his
goal, for he had promised Marjorie Locke he would be in Manila the
day before, and he was now a day late.
The customs boarding officer took him ashore with his bags and
graciously allowed him to depart in a _quilez_, after holding his
baggage for examination. Trask went whirling up Calle San Fernando,
through Plaza Oriente, Calle Rosario, Plaza Moraga, over the Bridge
of Spain and into shady Bazumbayan Drive, skirting the moat of the
Walled City. It was a roundabout way but the quickest, for the
_cochero_ made his ponies travel at a good clip for a double fare.
The rig shot across the baking Luneta, and ere it had come to a
full stop before the Bay View Trask was out and into the darkened
hall of the tourist headquarters of the Philippine capital.
The place appeared deserted except for a sleepy _muchacho_, who
staggered out from some palms, looking for the new guest's baggage.
"Have you got an outside room?" demanded Trask of the drowsing
English clerk behind the railing, as he pulled the register toward
him and scanned the open page.
"I say! Mr. Trask!"
The young man looked up. "Correct," he said. "Where did we----?"
"I'm Wilkins, sir, G. O. H., Colombo. You were there last year,
sir, in from Singapore. You had an argument with a 'rickshaw man. I
was managing the bar at the time."
"Sure enough, Wilkins! How d'ye do!" and Trask extended a hand
which Wilkins shook with fervour, striking a bell with the other
for the Chinese bar-boy.
"Two stone gingers with a finger of Scotch," said Wilkins. "Fine
room on the bay-side, Mr. Trask. And you'll find it quiet enough."
"It does look quiet for you," said Trask, as he wrote his name in
the register and took off his helmet. It was plain that the tropics
had put their mark upon him, for in contrast to the deep tan of
burnt umber over cheeks and chin, the upper part of his forehead
showed a white band of skin, the helmet line of the veteran
traveller in low latitudes. His black eyes were embedded in nests
of tiny wrinkles, the "tropical squint," which no mere _griffin_
ever has as a passport.
"Yes, sir," said Wilkins. "The China boat cleaned the place up this
morning. Not a tripper left."
"No?" cried Trask, with sudden concern. He turned to the register
again and flopped back the pages. "You must have a man here named
Locke, an American, travelling with his daughter."
"Gone," said Wilkins. "Left on the _Taming_ to catch the Pacific
Mail at Hong Kong."
"If that isn't my blooming luck!" moaned Trask, shutting the
register with a slam and turning his back to the desk, a picture of
limp despair.
"Yes, sir," continued Wilkins, coming out from behind his barrier,
"the Lockes left here Friday for Dagupan, to be back in time to
sail this noon. They must have caught the _Taming_. I sent their
spare trunks down this morning to be held for Mr. Locke. He wasn't
to come back here, but go right aboard from the morning train.
Friends of yours?"
"Yes. We were shipmates from Honolulu coming out, three months
back."
"Very respectable people," said Wilkins. "I understand Mr. Locke's
quite wealthy."
"I imagine so," replied Trask, despondently. It was hard luck, for
he had managed to take a month's vacation for no other purpose than
to meet Marjorie Locke for a few days in Manila and here he was,
like a man marooned, with nothing to do, and the Lockes out in the
China Sea, bound for the "States."
"But why shouldn't they go?" thought Trask. The fact that he was
secretly in love with Marjorie Locke, and had allowed himself to
believe that she rather liked him, was no reason why she should
wait in Manila merely because he had told her that he expected to
be in that city on a certain date.
"Oh, that reminds me!" said Wilkins suddenly, as he ran in behind
the railing again. "Look here! I've a letter for you. Been here a
couple of days, never struck me at the time it was you, never
dawned on me until I saw you at the desk, then I remembered your
name."
"Mail for me?" asked Trask. "Why, nobody knows I'm in Manila. I'm
supposed to be up in Korea."
"Not mail, precisely, sir. It was left here a few days ago."
"Who left it?" Trask was suddenly hopeful.
"Can't say, sir. I found it on the desk. Rather mysterious, you
know. I'd say it was----" He paused, to rifle the letter-rack.
"Was what?"
"If you don't mind, sir, I'd say it was queer, rather extraordinary
circumstance. Now where could I have put it?"
"How was it queer? Don't keep me on the grid. What about it?"
"The fact is," said Wilkins, "I'd consider it a bit irregular. The
backing was done with a typewriter, but the paper--I'd say the
envelope was business, but not house stationary. It struck me that
way, if you don't mind my saying it. Quite involuntary on my part,
but natural, sir, considering the name looked familiar. Of course,
I never remembered you in connection with Colombo until I'd seen
your face----"
"Certainly, certainly," said Trask, impatiently.
"Stupid of me not to think of it before," went on Wilkins,
musingly. "We hotel men get to notice things, and I shouldn't like
to be so slow as a usual thing with---- Ah, here it is! Got in
among the steamer guides."
Trask reached across for the letter. It was a large, square
envelope of a bulky woven paper. On it was typed in purple:
_Mr. Robert Trask. Consolidated Mines Syndicate.
To be called for._
The letters of the words were topped by a faint and blurry purple
line, showing that the heavy envelope had undergone troubles by
being rolled into a typewriter.
"Excuse me," said Trask. He tore it open just as the bar-boy
appeared with a tray decorated with stone ginger jars and glasses.
The letter read:
DEAR MR. TRASK:
Thank you so much for the flowers you sent me at the King
Edward in Hong Kong. They were lovely. So sorry we shan't see
you again. I remember you said you'd be in Manila the tenth of
this month. Dad has changed his plans and wants to get back
home, so we leave Manila by the _Taming_ on the eleventh. We
are going up to Dagupan by train and will reach Manila to sail
by noon. So, if you do get to Manila on the tenth, I think it
would be jolly to see you on board. We'll go directly from the
station to the tender. I'll address this on the machine, so
it'll look most businesslike, for Mr. Wilkins, the clerk, is
prone to gossip. Thank you again for your kindness in Hong
Kong and your many kindnesses to Dad and me on board the
_Manchuria_.
Sincerely,
MARJORIE LOCKE.
Trask, smiling broadly, put the letter into his pocket.
"That must be good news, sir. Hope it is. Shall we go out on the
big veranda for our nip? Cooler out there."
"What? Yes, certainly," said Trask, reminded of where he was as he
looked up to see the bar-boy standing beside him and Wilkins
waiting. In spite of the fact that the letter was ample proof that
Miss Locke was gone, it had put his head in a whirl. At least she
hadn't forgotten. He followed Wilkins.
"You look quite bucked up now," said Wilkins, as he pulled out a
chair beside a marble-topped table.
"I do feel better," admitted Trask. "Just the same, I'm bitterly
disappointed. No doubt I'm ungrateful, but I've played in rotten
luck."
"You expected to meet the Lockes?" suggested Wilkins. "Too bad."
"Yes," said Trask, and taking a glass from the bar-boy, sat down.
"Here's luck and a long stay, sir," said Wilkins.
"Thanks." But Trask was rather listless and tired, frankly bored by
the clerk. He stared out over the sickle curve of the bay along the
Cavite shore, where a line of white beach made a barrier between
the water and the green jungle. The red-roofed buildings of Cavite
lay out on the end of the sickle like a clutter of bleached bones
cast up by the tide.
The bay lay like a great shining shield before him, blazing with
millions of mirrors that danced on the shoulders of the sleek and
lazy swells, lifting in the sun-dazzle from the entrance, some
twenty-five miles away.
Trask looked at his watch. It was well after one, the hour when men
take shelter from the sun in cafes to talk over prolonged tiffins
and wait for the heat of mid-day to wane.
A hush had fallen over the city, like the lull which precedes the
breaking of a typhoon, a panting sort of hush. Heat waves rose from
the bare expanse of the Luneta like siroccos from the nether
regions, and the palm trees of the Malecon Drive, seen through the
shimmering air, appeared to dance like souls in torture.
Beyond the Luneta the tawny walls of the city fairly cracked with
the heat, and over them could be seen the sea of roofs of the
intra-mural section, the heart of Manila, inside its ancient
bastions. Spires rose from the ruck of low buildings like dead
trees denuded of their branches. Down the bay a streamer of smoke
hung over the Bataan hills, the last vestige of the outward-bound
_Taming_, a sort of farewell pennant left behind to tell that she
was driving jauntily toward Hong Kong.
"It'll be cooler in an hour," ventured Wilkins.
"If you'll order a rig for me," said Trask, "I'll roll down to the
customs house and see about my baggage."
"How about tiffin, sir?"
"Good idea. I'll have it with you. Never mind the rig now. By the
way, I heard some gossip coming down. Did you ever hear of a man
named Dinshaw? A sailor?"
"Looney Dinshaw? Raw-ther! He's a joke."
"How a joke?"
"Oh, the poor old blighter, he sells pictures which he paints
himself. They're pictures of an island he says he was wrecked on,
that's full of gold. Comes up here and sells 'em to trippers."
"But the island?" persisted Trask. "There was a Swede yarning with
the skipper, but they wouldn't let me hear."
"Dinshaw's _loco_," said Wilkins. "Lost his ship on this island
three or four years ago. It's somewhere up the north coast. He was
taken off by a Jap fisher crew blown down from the Rykukus. He lost
his ship right enough, and his mind with it. To hear him talk you'd
think it was solid gold."
"Solid gold is what I'm hunting for when I'm working," said Trask
with a smile. "I'd like to look into this business."
"There's plenty who's looked into it, sir, but they can't get
anything but babble out of the old fellow. He thinks everybody
wants to cheat him."
"Where can I find him?"
"In the Sailors' Home, kept by Prayerful Jones in Calle San
Fernando, a charity place for sailors on the beach. I say, you're
not serious?"
"Indeed I am. Not that I expect to find a solid gold island, but if
it's off the coast of Luzon it might give me a lead to something up
in the mountains. The Igorrotes find some gold up in the rivers and
I've heard the rocks were mighty heavy. May be iron pyrites, or it
may be the real thing."
"I can have him up here," suggested Wilkins. "Just drop a word over
the 'phone to Prayerful Jones. Nobody need know what it's about.
I'll hint he may sell a picture."
"Shoot!" said Trask. "I've got a month to kill, and some money to
gamble on my own hook. I may take a flyer on it, if I can get
anything definite out of this Dinshaw."
"You'll have half the waterfront on your heels if you let it out
that you're taking Dinshaw to his island. Plenty would go if he'd
tell 'em where it is, but they want to skin him."
"Then we'll keep it mum! Hello! Who's coming?"
He heard the rattle of hoofs and looked across the Luneta to see a
victoria whirl out of Bagumbayan Drive. It was occupied by a man in
a pongee suit and a young woman in white with a blue parasol which
rose above the rig like a porcelain minaret.
"The Lockes!" cried Wilkins.
"Hush!" said Trask. "Don't say a word about me. I'll surprise 'em!"
He picked up a copy of the _Cablenews_ from the table and hid
himself behind its ample pages.
"We'll stick right here until the next boat," he heard Locke saying
as the victoria stopped. "I'd like to see somebody pry me loose
from this porch."
Trask looked over the top of his paper to see Marjorie Locke, in
duck skirt and linen coat, climb down from the victoria. Her hair
was as yellow as her wide-brimmed "sailor" and her eyes as blue as
her parasol. She was laughing gaily as she mounted the stoop.
"You missed the boat!" exclaimed Wilkins, as he came out.
"Missed it forty miles!" said Locke, taking off his floppy Bangkok
hat and using a handkerchief on his face as though it were a
blotter. His nose was peeled from sunburn, but his round and
rubicund face fairly oozed good humour.
"Your luggage--I sent it, sir," said Wilkins.
"Hang the luggage! I'll have a soda bath right away. I've got the
prickly heat so bad I feel like a human pincushion!"
"Yes, sir," said Wilkins.
"Be game, Dad! You always told me you liked the tropics."
"So I do--at home in the winter time. I believe you knew we'd miss
that boat, Marge. I'm wise! You want to see where Magellan landed
and where Legaspi gasped."
"I can't say you're a born tourist," said his daughter.
"Yes, I am. Just now I'd start for the North Pole. Wow! Those
Spanish fellows sure liked a hot climate when they went out to take
up land! Whoof! I'd give a lot for ten cubic feet of 'Frisco fog
right now! Turn the blowers on in our rooms, Wilkins, and say, aim
mine at the bath water. Well, look who's here! If that isn't Trask
I'll----"
"Mr. Trask!" cried Miss Locke. "How jolly! Fancy meeting you!"
"Fancy meeting him!" exclaimed Locke, derisively. "It's a frameup,
that's what it is, a frameup on me and my prickly heat!"
Trask climbed out from behind his paper and stood up, bowing and
grinning.
"I'm sorry you missed your boat--almost," he said.
"Oh, shucks!" said Locke, taking his hand and pulling him forward.
"I don't give a whoop. Marge, I'll bet forty dollars you knew that
Dagupan train wouldn't catch the _Taming_!"
"Don't be absurd, Dad. We're so glad to meet you again, Mr. Trask.
We were stupid about the train, but----"
"You'll have to excuse me," said her father, "I hear the bath
going. Wilkins! Feed us tiffin till we're blue in the face," and he
disappeared into the _sala_.
"And there isn't a boat to connect with the Pacific Mail for
twenty-six days," said Trask. "I'm on a vacation."
"You know so much about Manila, too," she said. "But we may go on
the Thursday boat."
"The Thursday boat?"
"Yes."
"If there's a Thursday boat, I'll wreck it," said Trask, and
clapped his hands for the _muchacho_.