She studied the crudely drawn map he handed her, while he sat on one of the beds and began to strip off his sweat-sodden shirt. “A drawing of one of the islands?”
“Yes. The one they call the Big Island.”
“Where did you find it?”
“Sewn into the lining of Nagle’s coat. Perhaps drawn by him, perhaps not. The key word is ‘auohe’ — hidden place. The other words are the names of villages on the Kona Coast.”
“What sort of hidden place?”
“That remains to be learned.”
“Where does the clock or cloak fit in?”
“Good question.” John recounted his conversation with the man named Gomez. “He claimed he didn’t know which it was.”
“The truth?”
“I think so. Whichever it is, it has to be something or part of something of great value.”
“I can’t imagine any kind of clock or cloak being worth enough to bring those two all the way here to Hawaii. Can you?”
“No,” he said darkly. “But I’ll find out.”
She waited until he washed his hands and face at the basin and put on a clean shirt from the wardrobe trunk, then said as she returned the map, “Naturally you intend to go after Vereen.”
“Naturally. I’ve already booked passage to the Big Island on an inter-island steamer.”
“Leaving when?”
“Early tomorrow morning.”
Sabina repressed a sigh. “Sure to be a lengthy trip. Several days if not longer.”
“No doubt. And before you suggest it, my love, the answer is no, you cannot accompany me. Too dangerous, too much of a hardship. The Millay ranch is more than thirty miles from the nearest port of entry, over what promises to be rough terrain and primitive roads.”
“I wasn’t going to suggest going with you.”
“Weren’t you? You had that look in your eye.”
“What look?”
“The same one as in Sacramento last fall, when you insisted on joining the hunt for the head of the gold-stealing ring.”
“An entirely different situation,” Sabina said. “You misinterpreted what I’m thinking, John.”
“And what is that?”
“For one thing, that you’ll need clothing, incidentals. How will you carry them? All we brought with us are these trunks.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” No, of course he hadn’t; one of his minor faults was a tendency to overlook practical matters in times of stress. “The Pritchards must have a carpetbag I can borrow.”
“Yes, but they may not want to lend it to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“That is the other thing on my mind — the Pritchards. We have to tell them exactly what sort of consultants we are and the primary reason why you’re here. As soon as possible.”
“That isn’t necessary—”
“Yes, it is, for more than one reason.”
“What reasons?”
“Use your head, John. You can’t just disappear for days, leaving me behind, without a credible explanation. And for all we know Margaret and Lyman may not want me to remain as their guest until you return.”
“Why wouldn’t they want you to remain here?”
“We haven’t been completely honest with them, have we? They’re respected members of the community; they may not want to become involved, even peripherally, with criminals, one of whom may have been murdered by his partner.”
John started to tug at his damaged ear, fluffed his beard instead. “I see what you mean,” he admitted. “But they can’t be told about Nagle.”
“Not that, no. Nor of Vereen’s identity or any other particulars of the investigation.”
“All right, then. But suppose they don’t want you to remain here? What will you do?”
“Move,” Sabina said. “There must be a hotel that has an accommodation available for a new guest.”
The statement produced a scowl. “I don’t like the idea of that.”
“Neither do I, and perhaps it won’t be necessary. But if it is, we’ll arrange to move right away.”
“Tonight? What if a hotel room can’t be found on short notice?”
“Then you may have to postpone your voyage until Wednesday. A day’s hiatus won’t make that much difference, will it?”
“It might.”
“A bridge to be crossed if and when, in any event,” Sabina said. “You do agree that our hosts must be told?”
He made grumbling noises, but he knew she was right and he put up no further argument.
The Pritchards were somewhat nonplussed but not in the least upset. Margaret, in fact, seemed intrigued by the revelation that both John and Sabina were professional detectives of long standing. Lyman, as befitted a successful business executive, was more reserved; he gave his ginger mustache several thoughtful strokes before saying, “I do wish you’d told us all this on the ship.”
“It would have required more explanation than we felt comfortable providing,” Sabina said. “We seldom advertise our profession unless absolutely necessary. But we do apologize for misleading you.”
John asked in his blunt fashion, “Would you have invited us to be your guests if we had revealed ourselves?”
“Well...”
“Of course we would have.” Margaret’s color was high, her chocolate-drop eyes agleam. She said to Sabina, “Detective work must be thrilling. But isn’t it dangerous for a woman?”
“Hardly ever.” A little white lie.
“Is there any danger from the confidence man you’re after?”
“Very little,” John said. “Guile is his stock-in-trade, not violence.” A little white lie of his own.
“Whom has he gone to see on the Big Island?” Lyman asked. “Or do you know?”
“I know, but I would rather not give you a name or any other details now. Perhaps after I have my man in custody.”
“How long do you expect that will take?”
“I can’t say. Possibly as long as a week, given the amount of travel involved.”
Sabina said, “And I have no desire to impose further on your hospitality while John is gone. Perhaps it would be best if I moved to a hotel until his return—”
“Oh, no, Sabina,” Margaret said, “that isn’t necessary, not at all. You’re perfectly welcome to stay on here. Isn’t she, Lyman?”
“Yes, of course,” her husband agreed without hesitation. “You’re friends, not just guests. The nature of your profession doesn’t change that in the slightest.”
Rain fell again during the night, but it was relatively light and intermittent — not much of a storm this time. Sabina would have liked to share John’s bed with him, but it was too muggy for close contact of any kind. She contented herself with the thought that he would be spared any lingering concern for her welfare while he was away. The Pritchards could not have been more understanding or accommodating; Lyman had not only loaned John the carpetbag he needed, but had arranged for Alika to drive him to the inter-island steamship dock in the morning.
She did not expect to find much pleasure in the days until his return, but the company of friendly faces would make the waiting easier than if she had to tolerate it alone.
12
Quincannon
The night’s rain had re-choked the morning with steaming humidity. Banks of black-rimmed cumulus clouds blotted out the sun. Quincannon knew without asking either Lyman, who was on his way to his job at the Spreckels office, or Alika on the buggy ride to the inter-island steamship dock, that another kona storm was in the offing. He could only maintain the dismal hope that it would hold off until he had completed passage to the Big Island.
It didn’t, curse the luck.
The storm struck when the little steamer Lehua was an hour out from Honolulu Harbor, a more intense blow than the one on Saturday night. Crackles of thunder, slashing blades of lightning, heavy rain, gusting wind combined to boil the sea and toss the ship around like a toy. Quincannon endured it as he had those two days on the Alameda, flat on his back with eyes shut and teeth gritted against an ebb and flow of nausea.