A note of sympathy had crept into Ames’ voice, and with it a tinge of warning. Donald felt that only a strong discretion prevented the doctor from advising him to turn back and leave the Tuckerton family to its own devices. He tried to read more of the message from the doctor’s black eyes, but found them noncommittal. Ames looked away, staring far out over the water toward the key. A shadow crossed his face. He rose. “I think I’ll go in and get my things together. Don’t lose your nerve.”
“I won’t,” Donald assured him heartily. “I’m sticking.”
It is doubtful that either of them could have turned back had they wished to do so. The crafty web of destiny, started in a swamp a hundred years before, had spun its ghostly threads around them. Power to glimpse the future might have helped them break the strands. But neither of them knew, nor could know, how soon they would be standing together in the moonlight, helpless to aid a swimming girl before she was torn to pieces by the barracuda.
Chapter III
They were met at the train by a tall, grave mulatto with straight, black hair and deep, fathomless eyes. He was clothed in spotless white ducks. As Ames and Brennan descended the steps of the car, he touched his yachting cap and displayed a set of even teeth as white as the uniform he wore. Both men shook hands with him, and Donald followed suit when the doctor introduced him with: “This is Mr. Buchanan, Charlie. He is taking charge of the power plant for the winter, and acting as Mr. Tuckerton’s companion. Charlie is the best fisherman, boatman, and guide in Florida, Don.”
Charlie’s deep eyes quickly appraised the newcomer; then he said courteously, and without a trace of accent, “I’ll try to give you all the help I can, sir. The plant seems to be running nicely. If you gentlemen will come with me—the Alamo is tied up a little further down the dock. Eddie will bring your baggage.” He motioned to a short, powerful negro, dressed in a sailor suit, who came forward and acknowledged his instructions with a grin.
The train had stopped right on the pier. As they followed Charlie, Don could see ahead of them the trim lines of the P. & O. liner which plied between Key West and Havana. A number of passengers were lined along her rails watching some negro boys dive for money. Across the dock from the liner a curious crowd of negroes and longshoremen indicated the presence of the Tuckerton cruiser.
The Alamo was a sixty-five foot twin-screw cabin cruiser. Her shining mahogany and gleaming chromiumplate were dazzling enough to guarantee a crowd anywhere she docked. As Don grew to know her better, he found she represented the very best in the art of designing. She was specially fitted for fishing, with a low aft deck containing a fish box and two swivel fishing chairs. A drum-type, mile-ray searchlight was mounted on top of the bridge deck. Powered with two large six cylinder motors, the Alamo could slip along at an easy twenty knots.
As the party went on board, Donald had a feeling of vicarious importance, induced by the envious murmurs of the watching loungers. He remembered having had the same feeling several years before, when a wealthy friend of his father’s had allowed him to drive his Rolls-Royce through the streets of New York. After all, it was a long jump from O’Shanigan’s to the Alamo.
Don was the last on board. Through a door which opened from the bridge deck into the lounge, he saw Dr. Ames and Andrew Brennan talking with a man and a woman seated at a table set for lunch. Obviously the heirs to the Tuckerton fortune had not thought it necessary to leave the Alamo in order to greet their guests.
It was Don’s first sight of the couple about whom O’Shanigan had taken pains to warn him. Like their father, they did little to put Don at his ease. When he appeared in the doorway the conversation stopped. Brennan’s introduction brought a frigid smile from Cornelia, and a limp, uninterested hand from her brother.
“Oh, the mechanic,” Beverly said, and turned back to Dr. Ames.
Donald stifled a crazy desire to punch Beverly’s patrician jaw, and asked if he might wash up before lunch. It was Brennan who showed him to the owner’s cabin, and added a few words to what Dr. Ames had said on the train.
“That’s just their manner. That is to say—the Tuckertons are all rather—”
“I think I understand.” Don grinned in spite of himself. “He did irritate me.”
“They irritate each other just as much. Take a real pleasure in it. You’ll get along with them if you don’t pay any attention to what they say. They’re sore.”
“Sore?” Don asked, puzzled. “At me?”
“It’s rather hard to explain. You see, Aaron likes to annoy them, too, and they know it. He insists that his companion live and associate with the family—mainly because of the effect it has on Beverly and Cornelia.”
“So I’m hired as an annoyance.” Don was beginning to get sore himself. “Well, Mr. Tuckerton and his damn family can go to the devil—”
Brennan laughed. “Forget it, boy. What do you care? When you will have known Aaron Tuckerton as long as I have, you’ll learn not to let him get under your skin—nor his family. Let’s go to lunch. I’m hungry.”
The meal passed off more pleasantly than Don had expected. He left it to the other four to carry on the conversation. Cornelia ignored him very effectively. Don, in turn, ignored Beverly’s pointed remarks to Dr. Ames about Aaron’s trait of mixing with the servants. Don was determined, since his position in the strange family was revealed by the banker, to speak only when spoken to.
He had been hired to run an electric plant, with a side line of acting as companion to Aaron. He intended to do just
