“What he means,” Wilson said, explaining, “is that a much more economical method would be to keep striking him smartly on the soles of the feet. With something unbreakable, of course.”
“You’ve been awake all the time!”
“Well, it really is difficult to sleep with a good fight going on.” Da Silva smiled at the girl. “I might say you look very well after that terrible ordeal.”
“It wasn’t a terrible ordeal, and I never said it was.” Diana Cogswell sniffed. “I’ve been in much worse places. The idiot handcuffed me with my hands behind me and took away the ladder of the barn loft. I don’t know what made the little mon think that would keep me for very long. I merely sat down and pulled my arms around my legs so that my wrists and the cuffs were in front of me; then I simply looked for one of the wooden posts that had to be there to hold up the loft. And managed to slide down it to the floor. It wasn’t anything at all.”
“You mean, you think even I could do it? With practice?” Wilson asked curiously.
Da Silva frowned at the nondescript American and hastily interposed a question to prevent the renewal of hostilities promised by the look on Diana Cogswell’s face.
“But I thought — I mean, the way you were found, Diana. Lying down, unconscious—”
“I was sitting down, not lying down. And I certainly wasn’t unconscious. They really love to build these things up, don’t they? My slippers weren’t made for climbing down hills and my feet hurt. The slippers were ruined and I kept stepping on rocks, so I sat down to rest and this car came along. That’s all there was to it.”
Wilson stared at Da Silva resentfully. “You see? And you wanted to give up our visit to the Badger!”
Da Silva disregarded him, speaking to the girl quietly.
“Well,” he said, “I’m glad it wasn’t any worse. Sit down, Diana. I’m sure you have a good reason for being here this early in the morning, and I’d also like to know what McNeil had to say last night.”
Diana sat down on Wilson’s unmade bed and looked from one to the other.
“If Mr. Wilson’s jokes are all finished,” she said, barely able to keep her triumph from showing, “then I’ll be happy to tell you. Last night Mr. Bill McNeil told me where the jewels are.”
Da Silva stared; even Wilson looked respectful.
“That’s right,” she said, and smiled brightly at the two of them.
“And where are they?”
“On an island called Green Hell Island. They—”
“But” — Da Silva frowned — “we flew over it, and the pilot told me that was the one place we could be sure McNeil would never hide them because there was a leper colony there.”
“There is today,” Diana said, agreeing, “but there wasn’t fifteen years ago. The pilot must have been rather young, I should judge; he probably doesn’t even remember when they put the sanatorium there.”
“And whereabouts on the island are they?” It was Wilson, returning to the important part of the report.
Diana Cogswell leaned forward a bit, speaking to Da Silva.
“There’s a cliff, a hill, on the southernmost end of the island; he said one can’t miss it. It’s shaped like a breaking wave with a rock overhang. About halfway up the face of it is a cave, probably covered with some brush but not hidden; he said the opening is unique in that it’s wider at the top than at the bottom. It’s about fifteen feet deep, and at the end the wall looks like ledge, but it’s merely rocks he set into clay. And behind that fake ledge is the package of stones.” She looked proud of herself.
“He went there, then,” Da Silva said thoughtfully. “He was probably hidden in one of the coves when we flew over.” He looked up. “So why didn’t he get them when he was there?”
“For the same reason your pilot was sure he hadn’t hidden them there,” Diana said quietly. “Because he has all the old superstitious notions about leprosy that so many people have. The mon is frightened to death of the thought of the disease. He thinks if a leper even breathes on you, you automatically get it, or if you walk on land he’s walked on; and then you start getting big ugly sores right away, and your fingers and toes fall off, and things like that.” She shook her head. “It’s utter nonsense, but not to him. Nothing in this world, no matter how valuable, would ever get Bill McNeil to set foot on that island.”
“So he wants you to get them?” It was Wilson again.
“Heavens, no!” She smiled at him. “Bill McNeil’s grown quite fond of me at this point; he has, you know. He certainly wouldn’t want me to get the disease. I might just give it to him.”
“Then, who?”
“Who?” Her smile widened. “Why, you two gentlemen, of course. He thinks you’re crooks and that you’d go for any story of getting your hands on a dishonest biwi, especially if I were the one to tell you the story. Mr. Wilson is right; he doesn’t like you at all. So what better way to get back at you than seeing to it that you get leprosy? Bill McNeil couldn’t think of a more fitting revenge for someone he hates. And he hates the two of you.”
Da Silva swung his feet over the edge of the bed, pulling the sheet with him, bunching it in his lap. He ran a large hand through his black tousled hair and looked up, frowning.
“I don’t get it,” he said flatly. “Suppose we did everything he wants us to do; go to the island, get the stones, so what? Leprosy or not? How would it benefit him? Sure, he’d get his revenge, as he sees it, but he’d still lose the package. I’m sure he must have something more in mind.” He looked at the girl. “What else did he say, Diana?”
Diana Cogswell took a deep breath before answering; both men automatically looked at that lovely bust and then, a bit reluctantly, back to her face.
“He said he’d see to it there would be a powerboat at the end of the Brighton pier this morning; charts for getting to the island are in the cabin, and he explained to me how to get there. He knows I can handle a boat; we discussed sailing and powerboats more than once at the bar. Anyway, the island is two degrees north of true east, he said; a fifty-mile run. He wanted me to run the boat because he didn’t know if either of you two could do it.”
“But he didn’t want you to get off the boat, I imagine.”
“He didn’t say, but I assume not.”
“And what about him?”
“I asked him, and he said he’d be around when the time came. And that’s all he said.”
“So why don’t we take a seaplane there?” Wilson asked. “And leave Mr. McNeil’s too-convenient powerboat tied up to the Brighton dock from now until it falls apart?”
Da Silva shook his head decisively.
“No. You’re forgetting that at this point we not only want the stones, but that there’s an all-points out for McNeil on a murder charge.”
“Murder?” Diana stared at him, her eyes widening.
“Yes. He’s wanted for killing the little man who stuck you up in that loft.” He frowned, thinking, and then looked up. “No. We follow the plan he laid out, and play it by ear. After all, we wanted him to make a move, and this is it. Now the only way we can find out what he has in mind is to go through with it with no variations.”
“All right, I agree,” Wilson said. “But I do suggest one small variation. I suggest we leave Diana behind. Whatever his plan is, or whatever happens, there’s almost sure to be some danger, and there’s no point in putting her in needless jeopardy. I can handle any powerboat and navigate, too. That’s no problem.”
“Not on your life!” Diana Cogswell came to her feet instantly, her black eyes flashing in anger. Her usually soft island voice hardened. “I happen to be a peace officer, too, you know. And if I say so myself, I’m the only one who’s done anything on this case at all, so far. Mon, mon! Now that it’s coming to a conclusion — on information I got, not either of you two — you think you can leave me out of it, eh? All the credit to the gents, and the ladies go stand in the corner, is that it? I think not!” She swung about, glaring from one to the other. “As a matter of fact, I don’t know that I need either one of you at all. I couldn’t care less about Bill McNeil’s idea of revenge. Whatever he has in mind, he’ll be about. And I can pick up the stones and I can pick up Mr. Bill McNeil, too, as far as that’s concerned! You’d think I was never in on an arrest! My word!”