Jim Lyman had not begun to gauge the intricacies of the riddle.
The girl turned questioner and her inquisition showed that her knowledge of sea-craft was not merely inherent, but acquired, and that she knew how to apply it.
“You said that the captain of the Whitewing took an observation that would give the position of the island?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“And set it down in the ship’s log?” Jim nodded. He saw what she was driving at.
“I suppose he had the ship’s papers with him when you took to the boats?”
“Yes. I saw the entry in the log and copied it. I have a master’s certificate and I have always kept a log of my own, as a matter of habit, whether acting as first or second. Just a pocket diary that trip. I told the skipper about the ship in the jungle and he noted it. He didn’t seem to attach much importance to it. We had troubles of our own. And all of us in my boat were in pretty bad shape when we were picked up. The Portugee that rescued us wasn’t over well found, though we were grateful enough to them. But they didn’t have much of a medicine chest and Spigotty grub needs lifelong training. We had boat sores and scurvy on top of being famished, and we just about crawled ashore at Panama. I didn’t know then but what our skipper might have been picked up or made a landing. It was his duty to report such a find and he would have turned in his log. But there’s no question but what he’s perished at sea, I’m afraid. I was in hospital on the Isthmus for awhile with Stallings, the steward—the rest, too, for that matter. I got a quick chance with Stallings to work north on a fruit freighter when I got out, and—though it may seem strange to you, being personally interested—I forgot about the Golden Dolphin until I saw your sign. It all came back in a flash when I saw the model in the window.”
“Naturally. But you’ve got the position?”
“Yes. The diary is with my things in my room here.”
“Ah!” The girl stood up with shining eyes. “Mr. Lyman, I am going to make you an offer for those figures.”
“Why, they’re yours Miss, of course, without the asking.” She checked him.
“Wait. I am positive my father is alive. We were closer than most fathers and daughters. I have sailed with him and been his constant companion up to the trip of the Golden Dolphin. There were special reasons why he would not take me on that voyage. But if he had died I should have known it. I am sure of it—here.”
She put her hand over her heart, speaking with a ring to her voice that carried the assurance of an ancient sybil. Jim supposed many people had felt that way about their loved ones, desire fanning the flame of hope. Again he felt the force of her conviction against his own force of logic.
“And now you have come here, a special messenger, coming as you thought by chance or coincidence. I do not believe in such things. It was not by chance you forced your way through that jungle; God brought you to me. I am a sailor’s daughter. I am going to that island and I know that there I shall find the clew that will help me find my father, alive.”
Jim sat dumbfounded. He looked appeal at the spinster cousin and managed to convey a meaning in his glance that he had something to tell her in private. That the girl did not realize the magnitude, the expense, the forlorn chances of the quest she so proudly announced, he was certain.
“I shall find my father,” she said again. “You are a sailor; you have been a mate; you have a master’s certificate and you have been looking in vain for a berth. I offer it to you in exchange for the position of the island. More than that, I offer you a share in a fortune that is hidden safely aboard the Golden Dolphin.” She paused for a moment with her forehead wrinkled. “I am not alone in the matter,” she went on, “but I have a third interest in the affair, my father another third. I offer you a sixteenth of all that we recover, in addition, of course, to your pay as master. Your share should be in the neighborhood of sixty thousand dollars.”
Jim wondered if the girl was insane; if grief for her father had unsettled her mind. But the eminently practical face of Miss Warner showed no such apprehension.
“It would cost a lot of money,” he said. “And the chances of finding your father are—”
“I shall find him. I can find the money for outfitting. I have had good offers for this business. This old furniture is valuable. I have collected it personally and sold much at a good profit already.”
“But I do not want pay for giving you your clue. I should despise myself if I did. Common humanity—”
“It is common justice that you should share if you bring the means of restoration. The money means nothing to me compared to the finding of dad. You are the only person in the world who could have furnished me with this clue. You have been brought halfway across the world to me. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you. You found the ship; I ask you to go back to it with me. I cannot take your information unless you agree to my terms. You would not rob me of my chance to find my father?”
This was placing him in the small end of the horn with a vengeance, Jim reflected. Common justice, she called it. He supposed it was the working of the New England conscience. But it was a fool’s errand.
“You’ll have to tell me more about it,” he temporized.
“I will. But that should come with a full consultation. The Golden Dolphin was outfitted for a special purpose. There are others, two others, who have a third share between them. My uncle—the husband of my aunt, and his son. I can get in touch with them by telephone. We will hold a meeting tonight. I think it can be arranged. I’ll see.”
She went toward the front of the shop where the telephone stood upon a wall table. If she was insane, there was method in her madness, Jim told himself. He could imagine her capable in business. But this wild undertaking? He seized his opportunity and leaned toward the spinster, whispering:
“Did Captain Whiting have a gold bridge in his lower jaw?”
Lynda Warner’s own jaw sagged momentarily, but she rallied to the occasion. Here was a keen-witted woman. Jim realized. And she did not answer one question with another.
“No. Every tooth in his head sound,” she answered in the same tone. “Why?”
Katherine Whiting had got her connection and was talking over the wire.
“Found a skeleton beside the ship,” said Jim. “Skull had gold teeth. I was afraid it was her father. Afraid to tell her.”
“You needn’t have been,” retorted the spinster. “Though I appreciate your idea. Any signs of foul play?”
Jim nodded. The girl had hung up and was coming back. But how did Lynda Warner come to suspect that there should have been murder committed?
“They’ll be over by eight o’clock,” the girl announced, excitement glowing in her face. “You’ll stay for supper, Mr. Lyman. We—we can’t lose sight of you.”
“But—” Jim wanted to spruce up a little. Here was an atmosphere of refinement, of elegance to which he was not accustomed. He felt suddenly self-conscious, unkempt. “I should get that diary,” he suggested.
“That will keep for a little while. I have a thousand questions to ask you, lots to tell you. Will you wait for a few minutes here, alone? Lynda, will you come with me?” She vanished.
Her cousin, lingering at the door, said softly, “I will tell her.”
Meaning the skeleton, Jim told himself. His head buzzed a bit. Here were adventure and opportunity hand in hand, bowing to him, like a pair of friendly djinns. Things had happened too swiftly for him to properly adjust them. He was like a player given a hand by a swift dealer. He had picked up the cards, glanced at them, but he had yet to arrange them in sequence, separate them into suits, appraise their true value. At first glance he saw he had some heart cards, but he was doubtful about them. Jim had not considered himself the type to fall headlong into love. On the other hand, he had never met a girl