"What does it mean?"
"That whoever made this map put in an island which did not exist."
"I believe it is somewhere. There could be an error as to where. You see, the map was made from memory. Long ago the man who made the original visited this island when he was shipwrecked... and he made the map from memory afterwards."
"Coming from a family of map makers you would know that to trust to memory is no way to make maps."
"I know, I know. But there must be a reason behind all this."
"Unless your man dreamed up the island."
"That is a possibility. He was shipwrecked after visiting the island. He was picked up in an exhausted state."
"Dreams perhaps. Hallucinations."
"I had thought of that. But where is Philip?"
"Several things could have happened to him. He could have been wrecked at sea. You have been in the outback. You see that life is cheaper in some places than in others. He could have fallen among thieves. There are countless possibilities."
"What can I do?"
"Call in help," he said.
"Where from?"
"Here."
"Are you offering your services?"
"Didn't you know I was yours to command?"
I felt so happy that I could not hide the fact. I looked at him and I knew that gratitude shone from my eyes. I was going to shed a tear in a moment, if I were not careful.
He saw it and said: "How I love you. In all moods I love you. Determined and strong and sometimes faintly acid. And now tremulous and sweet—and let's admit it, rather helpless."
He put his arms round me and held me against him.
"Admit this, too," he said. "You'd be rather pleased if I came into the project."
"I just have a notion that you will succeed in everything you undertake."
"It could be well for you to remember that."
"I should be so glad of your help."
"Well," he said, "the first thing we must do is see if we can find that island. We need a fairly large boat... not like the one you came in from Sydney, of course ... but not just a little rowing boat. We'll take the map with us and we'll go off. The first thing to do is to satisfy yourself that there is no island, at least not in the spot indicated on the map."
"Thank you. Oh thank you."
"There is one thing to be considered," he went on. "When you have solved this mystery, will you return to England?"
"That is my plan."
"And marry the young man who is quite happy to lose you for months... in fact has helped to arrange it?"
"He is very understanding. He knows that I will never settle down until I find out what has happened to Philip."
"So he lets you go off..."
"He understood ... perfectly."
"I should never have let you go alone. I should have come with you."
"When shall we go on this boat trip?"
"It will depend on the weather. Leave it to me. In the meantime I shall try to find out all I can about your brother's stay on this island. Also I want to show you something of the island. I shall pick you up at five o'clock this afternoon. It will be cooler then. I want to show you the plantation, and you will dine with me. I advise you to stay in your room during the heat of the day."
He stood up. I rose with him. He took both my hands in his.
"If it is possible to find out where your brother is. we shall do it." he said. "Come with me."
We went out to the desk where Rosa was sitting smiling to herself.
He said he wished to speak to Mr. Selincourt and Rosa immediately left the desk to find that gentleman. In due course we were ushered into a room where Milton was greeted effusively by a short coffee-coloured man. to whom I was introduced and who turned out to be Mr. Selincourt. the manager of the hotel.
Milton asked to see the records of the last three years and I could see roughly at what time Philip must have come here. There was his name in the book. He had stayed here three weeks.
Mr. Selincourt remembered him. He had been a very agreeable guest. Yes. he had paid his bills: no. there had been no mysterious disappearance. He had paid his bill like anyone else and left.
"Did he leave on the boat to Sydney?" I asked.
Mr. Selincourt said that was the likeliest possibility'. But according to the date of his departure he had not left on the day the boat called. He had left on a Sunday. That was strange.
No, Mr. Selincourt had not seen him leave. He would make enquiries of his staff to see if any of them remembered.
This seemed good progress—and it was all due to Milton Harrington.
In spite of my anxiety about Felicity. I felt rather elated.
My hopes ran high during the days which followed even though Mr. Selincourt's enquiries among his staff produced nothing. No one saw Philip leave. He had just been there and then he had gone. But as he had left on a Sunday he could not have gone on the Sydney ship.
That was disconcerting, but Milton was sure we should find some clues which would lead to his discovery sooner or later. And at least I was doing something about finding him.
I was no longer so acutely worried about Felicity. She was very
quiet and aloof, but she was better. She liked to stay in her room and had ceased to have those fearful nightmares. The doctor had warned me that they could return at any time and probably would, so I must be prepared. She needed to be soothed and assured all the time.
She slept a great deal which was what the doctor wished for her. She was mentally as well as physically exhausted, and she needed sleep and complete peace to recover.
I was seeing Milton Harrington every day; he would come to ask after Felicity and take me off somewhere. I rode round the island with him on my newly acquired mare and I began to enjoy the days.
He had taken me round his plantation which was an entirely novel experience. I had no idea how sugar was produced and because of the enthusiasm he brought to everything, he made it sound completely fascinating.
We walked on foot through the little paths between the canes— some of them dwarfing us by their height, for they were at least twelve feet high and about an inch and a half thick. He explained how the climate was just right for sugar—warm, moist, with sea breezes and some very hot spells. I had a peep at the roller mills which looked formidable, and at the boiler house. The people—mostly natives of the island—stopped their work to grin at me. One of them showed me a mongoose who was there to keep down the rats and the white ants which were the plague of the plantation.
I said: "You would hate to leave all this. It is your life."
"No, no," he said. "It's a means to an end. My father started the plantation. He made a success of it. He made the island what it is today. I have gone on with it. But his plan was to go home when the moment was ripe. That moment never came to him, but it will to me."
"All these people depend on you."
"I should not go until I found the right person to take over my place..."
"Then you will."
"You know, there is one thing—even more important—that I am determined on."
"What is that?"
"You."
"That is not so easy."
"No. But not insuperable."
"I know you believe you could never fail."
"It's a good way to live."
"Tell me more about the plantation."
Blithely he went on to explain the system of pan boiling.
After our tour of the plantation, I dined with him again.
He said: "When you are tired of the hotel you can always be my guests— you and Felicity."
The hotel is comfortable," I replied. "They take good care of Felicity and really seem concerned about her. She only has to ring a bell and they are on the spot. And the view of the harbour is fascinating. It constantly changes."