Dudley goes it strong. He plants himself in a chair just
outside the wireless man's little coop, and begins feedin' Meyers
monogrammed cigarettes and frivolous anecdotes of his past life.
Havin' the scene set like that made it easy. All I has to do is sketch
out the plot to Vee and wait for Rupert to come gum-shoein' around.
"Just follow my lead, that's all," says I, as we fixes some seat
cushions in the shade of one of the lifeboats on the upper deck. "And
when you spot him--"
"He's coming up now," whispers Vee.
"Then here goes for improvisin' a mystery," says I. "Is he near
enough?"
Vee glances over her shoulder.
"Go on," says she. Then, a bit louder: "Tell--tell me the worst,
Torchy."
"I ain't sure yet," says I, "but take it from me there's something
bein' hatched on this yacht besides cold-storage eggs."
"Hatched?" says Vee.
"S-s-s-sh!" says I. "Underhanded work; mutiny, maybe."
"O-o-o-oh!" says Vee, givin' a little squeal. "Who could do anything
like that?"
"I'm not saying," says I; "but there's a certain party who ain't just
what he seems. You'd never guess, either. But just keep your eye on
J. Dudley."
"Wh-a-at!" gasps Vee. "Mr. Simms?"
"Uh-huh," says I. "Listen. He knows about Nunca Secos Key, don't he?
And about the gold and jewels there?"
"That's so," says Vee.
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