mind if we just take a peep. It would be a pity to leave Little Tango without finding the fern."
"Lady, I said this was private property."
Bedelia's head loomed from the open car door--bee-hat and all. It was quite a sight. "You sound," she said reprovingly, "as if you had something to hide back there.
Have you, my good man? An alcohol still, or some such nuisance? I shall report that you have a still. I'm convinced you do have! Martin! We will stop at the office of the Peace Justice. Better still--when we get to Miami--"
"Lady," said the old man resignedly, "there is no still back there. No nothing.
There is a dock where my son keeps his fishboat. He's outside fishing now. For Lord's sake, go back and see the danged ferns!"
The professor drove past the dilapidated garage and proceeded beneath the locked branches of trees toward a spot of water shining at the end of the long, green tunnel.
Inside her bee-hat, Bedelia was chuckling.
Presently she said, "There are the danged ferns."
"And the marl!"
They got out. The ruts in the road were deep. They showed signs of frequent use.
He bent over. The alternating diamonds and dots of automobile tires were plainly embossed here in the earth. "This is it," he murmured.
They walked toward the water, mosquitoes rising about them. The trees thinned and the ferns began. They were perhaps four feet in height, and the fronds of dozens had been broken off by whatever had passed on the road.
The water off the end of the wharf beyond was disappointingly shallow. Two feet, perhaps--weed beds and sand shoals. Sun-blanched tree limbs marked what was not so much a channel as the least shallow approach from the light blue sea over the distant reef and the far, purple line of the Gulf Stream. A lazy chop splashed on the low, white clay like shore. The lighthouse was a distant, dim finger. No boats were in view--nothing save the flat prospect of the ocean and the cloud-patterned sky. The dock foundation had been in place for a long time. But its jerry-made decking was nailed on two-by-eights and could be hauled inland at the prospect of rough weather.
The old man limped out on the wharf behind them. Professor Burke noticed the sag of his right suspender and the bulge in his pants pocket. "Find the still?" he chuckled.
"We found the ferns," Bedelia answered. "And small thanks to you!"
"Don't like snoopy people."
"No more do I like tobacco-chewing old gaffers!"
There was a clearing where a vehicle could be turned. Professor Burke spun his wheels in the deepest, slipperiest hole. Then they were on the road--the insects left behind. Bedelia removed the bee-hat. "Now what?"
"Honestly, I don't know. I don't believe I really expected we'd find anything.
However, we have found quite a bit. The car did go to that wharf--and that wharf is on the sea side of a Key. Boats could be rowed up to it. At high tide, one of the commercial fishermen's boats might get in. A light down there at night would be visible for several miles. But it does seem a devilishly unlikely and inconvenient place to bring anybody ashore. And if it was at all rough, it wouldn't be possible."
"Which may be the reason they use it. So unlikely."
"Quite." He drove frowningly. "What I must do, is reconnoiter."
"Reconnoiter? 'Way down here?"
"My vacation," he reminded her. "And it need be only on calm nights--as you point out. I'll watch."
"Shouldn't you go to the police?"
"They would laugh at me. We need definite information."
She shook her head. "You can't watch, Martin. Don't you realize the insects would eat you alive? Especially on the kind of nights when they could land there. Still nights.
That's probably one more reason they use such a spot."
"Insects!" he said. "Mosquitoes and sand flies! One would hardly be rendered hors de combat by a few pests."
Chapter X
It does not require a profound philosophy to expose the ironies of life. And one of the ironies is this: the good deed of a good
"Lady, I said this was private property."
Bedelia's head loomed from the open car door--bee-hat and all. It was quite a sight. "You sound," she said reprovingly, "as if you had something to hide back there.
Have you, my good man? An alcohol still, or some such nuisance? I shall report that you have a still. I'm convinced you do have! Martin! We will stop at the office of the Peace Justice. Better still--when we get to Miami--"
"Lady," said the old man resignedly, "there is no still back there. No nothing.
There is a dock where my son keeps his fishboat. He's outside fishing now. For Lord's sake, go back and see the danged ferns!"
The professor drove past the dilapidated garage and proceeded beneath the locked branches of trees toward a spot of water shining at the end of the long, green tunnel.
Inside her bee-hat, Bedelia was chuckling.
Presently she said, "There are the danged ferns."
"And the marl!"
They got out. The ruts in the road were deep. They showed signs of frequent use.
He bent over. The alternating diamonds and dots of automobile tires were plainly embossed here in the earth. "This is it," he murmured.
They walked toward the water, mosquitoes rising about them. The trees thinned and the ferns began. They were perhaps four feet in height, and the fronds of dozens had been broken off by whatever had passed on the road.
The water off the end of the wharf beyond was disappointingly shallow. Two feet, perhaps--weed beds and sand shoals. Sun-blanched tree limbs marked what was not so much a channel as the least shallow approach from the light blue sea over the distant reef and the far, purple line of the Gulf Stream. A lazy chop splashed on the low, white clay like shore. The lighthouse was a distant, dim finger. No boats were in view--nothing save the flat prospect of the ocean and the cloud-patterned sky. The dock foundation had been in place for a long time. But its jerry-made decking was nailed on two-by-eights and could be hauled inland at the prospect of rough weather.
The old man limped out on the wharf behind them. Professor Burke noticed the sag of his right suspender and the bulge in his pants pocket. "Find the still?" he chuckled.
"We found the ferns," Bedelia answered. "And small thanks to you!"
"Don't like snoopy people."
"No more do I like tobacco-chewing old gaffers!"
There was a clearing where a vehicle could be turned. Professor Burke spun his wheels in the deepest, slipperiest hole. Then they were on the road--the insects left behind. Bedelia removed the bee-hat. "Now what?"
"Honestly, I don't know. I don't believe I really expected we'd find anything.
However, we have found quite a bit. The car did go to that wharf--and that wharf is on the sea side of a Key. Boats could be rowed up to it. At high tide, one of the commercial fishermen's boats might get in. A light down there at night would be visible for several miles. But it does seem a devilishly unlikely and inconvenient place to bring anybody ashore. And if it was at all rough, it wouldn't be possible."
"Which may be the reason they use it. So unlikely."
"Quite." He drove frowningly. "What I must do, is reconnoiter."
"Reconnoiter? 'Way down here?"
"My vacation," he reminded her. "And it need be only on calm nights--as you point out. I'll watch."
"Shouldn't you go to the police?"
"They would laugh at me. We need definite information."
She shook her head. "You can't watch, Martin. Don't you realize the insects would eat you alive? Especially on the kind of nights when they could land there. Still nights.
That's probably one more reason they use such a spot."
"Insects!" he said. "Mosquitoes and sand flies! One would hardly be rendered hors de combat by a few pests."
Chapter X
It does not require a profound philosophy to expose the ironies of life. And one of the ironies is this: the good deed of a good
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