ure hunt, I
don't think there's a single party aboard that he hasn't given the
sleuthy once-over to.

I understand he was dead set against takin' any outsiders along from
the first, even protestin' against Mrs. Mumford and old Professor
Leonidas Barr. I expect his merry little idea is that they might get
their heads together, steal the map showin' where all that pirate gold
is buried, murder the rest of us, and dig up the loot themselves.
Something like that.

Anyway, Rupert is always snoopin' around, bobbin' out unexpected and
pussy-footin' up behind you when you're talkin' to anyone. I didn't
notice his antics the first day or so, but after that he sort of got on
my nerves--specially after the weather quit actin' up and it come off
warmer. Then folks got thicker on the rear deck. Mrs. Mumford with
her crochet, Auntie with her correspondence pad, the Professor with his
books, and so on, which was why me and Vee took to huntin' for little
nooks where we could have private chats. You know how it is.

There was one place 'way up in the bow, between the big anchors, and
another on the little boat deck, right back of the bridge. But, just
as we'd get nicely settled, we'd hear a creak-creak, and here would
come Rupert nosing around.

"Lookin' for anybody special?" I'd ask him.

"Why--er--no," says Rupert.

"Then you'll find 'em in the main saloon," says I, "two flights down.
Mind your step."

But you couldn't discourage Captain Killam that way. Next time it
would be the same old story.

"Of all the gutta-percha ears!" says I to Vee. "He must think we're
plottin' something deep."

"Let's pretend we are," says Vee.

"Or give him a steer that'll keep him busy, eh?" says I.

So you see it started innocent enough. I worked out the details durin'
the night, and next mornin' my first move is to make the plant. First
I hunts up Old Hickory's particular friend, J. Dudley Simms, him with
the starey eyes and the twisted smile. For some reason or other,
Rupert hadn't bothered him much. Too simple in the face, I expect.

But Dudley ain't half so simple as he looks or listens. In his own
particular way he seems to be enjoyin' this yachtin' trip huge, just
loafin' around elegant in his white flannels, smokin' cigarettes
continual, soppin' up brandy-and-soda at reg'lar intervals, and
entertainin' Mr. Ellins with his batty remarks.

The only thing that appears to bother Dudley at all about bein' cut off
this wa