REDHAIR &
. LU E D S EA JjfeL
* OSBORN
*!ws ILLUSTRATIONS BY HENRY JAY LEB
COPYRIGHT FY CHMTJB SCRJBtrtRS SONS
CHAPTER 1
HAND OF THE GENII
When the square sun-browned
hand with the lace mitt upon it
was thrust from the outer dark
ness in through the port of her cabin
aboard the yacht Rainbow, Miss
Palmyra Tree had been lying for
sometime, with eyes closed.
And then, when she opened her
eyes at last, it was to discover the
sinewy sun-browned hand with the
black lace mitt upon it. The hand
had come thrusting in from outside
the yacht. The girl became aware
only just in time to see it raised,
seemingly in benediction. For an in
stant the hand remained thus. Then
it receded, grasped the lowed edge of
the opening as if supporting a body,
let go and disappeared.
The girl sat back, seriously dis
turbed. Her first thought had been
that a teaman was overside on some
dangerous duty, that he was swept
away. She would have given the
alarm. But she had restrained her
self on a positive perception that
the hand was not torn from its grasp.
It had deliberately let go. And there
had been no cry.
The girl laughed uncertainly in a
growing appreciation of this last cir
cumstance. The apparition had been
silent as a ghost. Was it really a
hand at all, or only a dream? It seem
ed very real, but she'd had only an
instant .. .. .
Again Palmyra laughed;; this time
in musical mirth.
Yes, when one thought it over, the
whole vision had borne that exag
gerated impressiveness common to
dreams. As she opened her eyes the
hand appeared to be rising above her
is a gesure, solemn, warning: a
something of ineffable portent.
Palmyra shivered once again in
the chill air. She slammed shut the
port. Then she dived back into the
covers; drew them up to her chin.
With the chiming of five bells of
the morning watch—half past six
o'clock —the girl awoke to a serious
mood.
Why this voyage?
She could not doubt it had, in
some way, to do with Van Buren
Rutger, John Thurston. For she had
seen a great deal of those two While
the family, from Boston, had been in
Southern California.
When Mrs. Crawford and the
Wampold sisters and Dennis Mc-
Cathy and Constance Crawford had
come idling up the coast in the Rain
bow, the girl had not suspected. But
five days later her parents were
bundling her aboard'—without any
explanation that explained and
the family was bound, at least for
Honolulu, perhaps even* Japan. Had
Van alone been asked as a fellow
voyager she would have understood.
But with John also here, she was at
a loss.
She was inclined to look upon
this yachting as indelicate, brutal;
penning her up, as on a stage, to
play for them all an endless tri
angle of courtship.
As if in protest there rose from
the main cabin the earnest voice
of John Thurston, followed by the
gay laugh of Van Buren Rutger. Be
fore her the strong interesting face
of Thurston formed itself. What a
splendid quality of brain and will and
courage; to haye forced oneself up,
at thirty, from nothing at all to rec
ognition in one's profession. But
shortly his features were replaced by
the handsome highbred visage of his
rival. Van, she defended, had done
none of this because there was none
to do. And her parents, in favoring
him, had her happiness as their sole
consideration.
Warned by the voices that it was
time to dress, Palmyra jumped out.
And only now, did she think of the
hand she had seen.
She had dismissed the appearance
as a dream, but it seemed so real
now that when she had clothed her
self, she climbed upon the berth,for
another look through the port.
Bending down to gaze out, she be
came aware of a something on the
polished metal of the opening that
caused her to start back in surprise:
the print of moist and dirty fingers.
She sat, astonished. The hand,
then, had been no dream, but real
flesh and blood?
Palmyra had an unexpected sense
of evil. She jumped down and hur
ried for the companionway to in
vestigate.
The girl was unly a moment in
verifying her impression of the eve
ning before.
She shot a glance toward Captain
Pedersen's hands. Big and square
enough, heaven knew, but fiery red
and flaxen bristled. At the wheel
stood one Johannsen, his huge paws
gripped on the spokes. A scarlet
ballet girl danced, disqualifyingly,
on the back of one and of the other
the index finger was missing.
Presently seven bells came, with
breakfast for the whole crew, so that
she was able to scrutinize, not only
the men who had been on deck, but
also those of the watch below.
"But Captain Pedersen," she ask
ed at last—the apparition of the
cabin had seemed very dark skinned
—haven't we still a Jap or a Mexican
aboard, or maybe a colored chef?"
The sailing master shook his head.
The girl hurried away to her cabin
to make sure those prints had been
real. The normality of everthing on
deck had quieted her alarm. She
was glad now that some instinct had
kept her from explaining. Of all on
board, she alone knew.
Palmyra began to giggle in the
most juvenile fashion. "Never be
fore," thought she, "except in the
theatre or between the covers of a
book, have I come within hailing dis
tance of adventure. But now, with
the yacht scarcely out of sight o*
land, fascinating mystery makes its
; presence known."
• In the not remote past this girl
had been a devoted reader of Treas
ure Island. And today, startled by
her sudden realization of responsibili
ty in this new and adult problem of
Van and John, she was in a mood to
flee away back to those irresponsible
days.
So, as she jumped up on the berth
again, she was demanding that pir
ates lurk aboard. "Yes, undoubt
edly," she affirmed, "they have mis
taken the yacht for a treasure
seeker."
The girl sat staring at the finger
prints. She was serious again.
Ought she to tell Captain Pedes
sen, Mrs. Crawford She sat for a
time, x disturbed. Then, all at oncc.
a laugh. Her expression became
ominously mischievous.
"I must," she announced, "see our
pirate chief at once and ••lore, for a
very special and secret reason."
Palmyra was searching the Rain
bow. She had penetrated as far, in
the 'tween-decks, as tlfe, space set
aside for the heavy baggage of the
guests.
Van and John and the Wampolds,
who had followed her, stood clinging
one to another, laughly puzzled at
the way she had poked and peered
into dark corners.
Van regarded her severly. "Real
ly," he said; "really I marvel at any
one trying to examine the fabric of a
yacht without a microscope. Such
superficality. Deplorable."
The others laughed, but not the
girl.
As she had reached out for a big
trunk a dip of the Rainbow drove
her extended hand on and down
over. Her fingers came, rather aw
fully, into contact with a something
warm and furry, but solid. And—the
something moved!
"Last night," she said a little
breathlessly, "I felt like Aladdin. But
now, now it's Ali Baba. Ali Baba,
and a thief—l mean a pirate—behind
every one of these trunks. Every
one."
"A pirate?" Van was commenting.
"Then, let's go. I shouldn't want to
walk the plank till I'd had my tea."
The tone was light. But he was,
for the second time in five minutes,
dusting with a handkerchief at his
hands. Born to the American aristo
cracy, he had an almost hereditary
distaste for the dinginess and grime
of the under places. Give him ever
the prepared and proper stage of life.
There, indeed, he could be a sure and
gracious figure.
Palmyra assented. "I go," she said,
but I shall return. I like i;hese low-
T regions; so still, so dark, so mys
terious. I shall return—" she paused
significantly— "tonight. I shall come
back ..."
"She means," interpreted Van, "to
sneak pickles and ham, chicken and
THE FOREST CITY COURIER, THURSDAY, MARCH 22, 1528
jam for one real uninterrupted . .
The girl laughed. "As you havr
said: with food and drink, I shall re
turn at the sacred hour qf midnight."
She gave them a covert glance. But,
unaware of the hand, of that hidden
presence, neither Thurston nor the
others realized that her, to them, idle
chatter held any purpose of return,
'ipy moved to go.
And once more there came from
out the dark that stealthy wraith of
sound—intimidating, sinister.
Midnight.
Palmyra swung the bulkhead door
open.
Now that she was alone, how dif
ferent it was down here; the dark-
ness menacing, alive with groaning
whispers of sound, yet empty save
for that unseen presence. She was,
unexpectedly, a little afraid.
But she had her definite purpose.
Palmyra entered, placed sand
wiches, a bottle of water, an electric
torch on the deck. Then she shut the
heavy door.
"Here I am," she announced cheer
iiy-
Silence.
She got up, waited, the torch
casting a moon of light upon the
food and water.
In the center of the spotlight were
two feet. were small encased
fn button shots. They dangled,
juvenilely, six inches from the deck.
For a moment she thought that here
was a boy.
But as the disk of illumination
moved upward it revealed the body
of a man, small plump; dressed in a
way one night associate with the
racetrack, ringside. The checked
I suit,, fancy vest, bright tan gloves,
I above all the walking stick, were
ludicrously unnautical.
The face now broke into a grin
and the man said: "I ask you, lady,
is it fair t'keep me hove to under
yer light, when I cant make out a
line o' yer rig?"
She took up the water and sand
wiches and put these on the trunk
next to that on which he sat. Then
she backed away to a seat opposite,
turned the torch upon them.
One of the gloved hands snatched
up the water, and he drank eagerly.
"Not every lady," he went on ad
miringly, "would lay below at mid
t'fetret out a stowaway."
As the Rainbow drove into another
sea there came again that fettered
clink and clank of iron away some
where in the dark. At the sound
Palmyra stirred with a returning dis
quiet, vague but insistent, that could
scarcely have been a response to any
thing in the man's tone.
She shifted the light to his face.
"Why are you aboard?" she demand
ed.
v He hesitated. "Because," he ex
plained presently, "I'd sooner be here
than in the cold, cold grave. Not,"
he added with a shiver which set the.
plump cheeks atremble, "that I ain't
cold here, too."
"Grave?" inquired Palmyra.
"Bullet," explained the stowaway
The girl smiled invisibly. She did
not think anyone would feel it neces
sary to shoot such a plump little man.
"As for who I am," he continued,
"I'm asking you, lady; do y'know the
Line? The Line islands, I mean —the
Gilberts, Marshalls, Carolines?"
She shook her head, Then realizing
he could not see, added a spoken
negative.
( "If 'ywas knowing t'the Line, lady,
i you'd savvy Ponapa Burke. Named
[after the biggest o' the Carolines by
admirers —" a titter — "and also
them as is not so admiring. As I says
before, I follow the sea. Master o'
my own craft."
Palmyra was amused, sceptical.
"But why . .
"I'm stowed away 'cause I had
t'make my westing quiet! If this
yacht puts back with me," he added,
"I'm a corpse. That's why I thank
you. Y'kept still and those hours
counted. Now, she'll more likely hold
her course.
The girl smiled delightedly. Once
again, Arabian Nights, ahoy!
There had been, it seemed, a
Chinese merchant of Bagdad no,
Honolula—who was sending a cargo
to California that would go under
the hatches rice and tea, but come
out coolies and opium. He wanted
just the right sort of man along to
smuggle them through, and Ponape
Burke, who had been idling about the
town, was chosen.
"But, lady," he explained earnest
play, "don't mistake. I sure meant
to play fair and square with Uncle
Sam. I planned both t'make a
piece o'side money and do my plumb
duty as a citizen by tipping off the
contraband." *
His countenance beamed with en
joyment of the intended coup; inno
cent of any slightest perception of
the shame of bad faith.
As he went on, however, his fea
tures turned ugly with disgust. Uncle
Sam had proved an unbelieveable
tightwad, and the Orientals had dis
covered Burke's attempt.
They had set gunmen after him. And
"for a reason" —which the man did
not explain—he was conspicuous.
"I could of laid up ashore," he con
cluded, "but some ulavale devil
Shanghaies my bankroll and leaves
me just plain on the beach. So I
stows away here."
Palmyra thought it safe to believe
he might really have been robbed.
"So, then," she inquired in a tone
of regret, "you're not, after all, a
pirate? I felt you might have heard
the Rainbow was seeking buried
treasure."
Ponape Burke shot a look of in
terest in her direction. Then, ap
parently antioyed that, for even a
moment, he could have taken her se
riously, he voiced a protest.
I Presently: "Miss, why did y'lay
below her?"
\ She had lain below mischievous
ly to consult a buccaneer. So, "I'm
sorry you don't smack more of the
Spanish Main," was what she said.
; Then he asked: "But what did
y'have in mind? Maybe we could
do better'n y'think."
Palmyra shook her head invisibly.
i"Oh, no," she said, you're not at all
the sort." But she explained. When
she had found there was someone
aboard, she recalled a popular com
'edy: a burglar entrapped, all un
known to the others, with a house
party under guard in quarantine; no
jend of mystery, excitement, before
he'd been discovered. "And I hop
ed," she concluded, "we could get
up a little plot. Something pirati
cal, thrilly. ißut," she added resign
edly, "not a one would be scared at
you."
From the dark there came a pro-
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longed chuckle. "Well," hesitated
Burke at length, "if y'insist on
pirates. . . . But why not some stunt i
a little more genteel? A concert'
say? Know a lot o' native songs." I
In sample he gave her a phrase;!
a chanting fragment, rhythm with-1
out music; low-voiced words, mel- j
lifluous, polysyllabic.
"There," he concluded with a
touch of pride. "Something like
that."
But the girl scorned minstrelsy.
He relapsed into the laugh—to her
irritation. "Pirates it is," he as
sented. "And even if yer bunch
ain't scart o' me, maybe we could
frame 'em up a startle. Wouldn't be
a bit surprised. Not a bit." He
was much amused.
She remained unconvinced and he
laughed again.
There was silence for an interval.
Then, "D'y' know where the gang
way is y'came in at?" he asked un
expectedly.
The girl looked puzzled, toward
him; turned her gaze in the direc
tion of the door. "Yes," she said
wonderingly, "I know exactly where
it is."
"Then," said Ponape Burke, "just
give it one flash with yer torch."
The girl was, suddenly again, a
little afraid. Hark? Was that a
sound of Burke, moving?
Her thumb touched the torch. As
a lightning flash, its ray shot for
ward, landed full upon the plump
vest, the chubby infantile face.
Burke still sat on the trunk.
Again darkness, impenetrable, in
intimating.
Before Burke couid have moved,
she whirled toward the entry, switch
ed on the light.
The shaft leaped across, and then
in its circle, vivid against the door,
there sprang into 'being a savage
face. Wild, eopper-hued, it held rigid
as jungle lion caughjt photo-flash
light. Under a great mat of - hair,
fierce staring eyes, grinning lips
drawn back from two rows of
square teeth that clamped upon the
blade of a ten-inch knife.
It was not the face of Burke.
It was not the face of a white
man.
(Continued Next Week)
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