did not come back and when Peter heard his
housekeeper's clogs on the stones outside he got up and crossed the
floor, to get his hat. Old Bella was curious and he did not want to talk,
but there was something to be done in the barn and when his heart was
sore it was a relief to work.

PART II--ON THE CARIBBEAN

CHAPTER I

THE OLD BUCCANEER

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon and Kit Askew lounged in a
chair on the bridge-deck as the _Rio Negro_ steamed slowly across the
long swell of the Caribbean. The wrinkled undulations sparkled with
reflected light in a dazzling pattern of blue and silver, and then faded
to green and purple in the shadow of the ship. A wave of snowy foam
curled up as the bows went down and the throb of the propeller quickened
as the poop swung against the sky. Then the lurching hull steadied and
the clang of engines resumed its measured beat.

The _Rio Negro_ was old and ugly, with short iron masts from which clumsy
derricks hung, tall, upright funnel, and blistered, gray paint. Her boats
were dirty and stained by soot, and a belt of rust at her waterline
hinted at neglect, but no barnacles and weed marred the smoothness of the
plates below. Her antifouling paint was clean, and her lines beneath the
swell of quarter and bows were fine. In fact, the _Rio Negro_ was faster
than she looked when she carried her regular load of two thousand tons
and her under-water body was hidden. She traded in the Gulf of Mexico and
the Caribbean, and at certain ports Customs officials carefully
scrutinized her papers. At others, they smiled and allowed her captain
privileges that strangers did not get.

Kit wore spotless white clothes, a black-silk belt, and a Panama hat of
the expensive kind the Indians weave, holding the fine material under
water. A glass occupied a socket in his chair, and when the _Rio Negro_
rolled a lump of ice tinkled against its rim; a box of choice cigars lay
on the deck. Kit, however, was not smoking, but drowsily pondered the
life he had led for the last three years. He was thinner and looked older
than when he left Ashness. He had lost something of his frankness and
his raw enthusiasm had gone. His face was quieter and his mouth set in a
firm line.

He remembered his surprise when he first met his uncle at a luxurious
Florida hotel. Adam Askew wore loose white clothes, a well-cut Tuxedo
jacket, a diamond ring, and another big diamond in his scarf. His skin
wa