Mystery Of The Sea Horse (5 page)

"Why don't we stop this?" said the girl. "I'd like to go home."

"Diana, I went to great lengths to arrange all this," he insisted. "Simply so you and I could be alone together on my little island. Don't rob me of

this romantic interlude."

She looked again in his direction. "You may have, somehow or other, gotten everybody else off the island," she said. "But it wasn't for romantic reasons, Chris."

Laughing, Danton stood up, harsh yellow light outlining his tall figure. "Very well, let's stop the

fencing," he said. "You were in the library yesterday afternoon, weren't you?"

Diana said, "Yes, I was."

"And you discovered how to get the wall to open?"

She nodded. "That's right, yes."

"At the risk of sounding like Bluebeard, Diana, I must say I wish you hadn't done that." He was moving slowly toward her.

"Chris," she said, "please just take me back to Santa Barbara. I don't want to know anything more about what's going on here. I'm quite willing to forget I was ever on your island ... or that I ever knew you."

Danton laughed yet again. "Oh, I'm certain you would, Diana," he said. "The niece of a retired police official. No, I'm afraid you've walked into something you can't simply walk out of." He was quite near her now. "Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, did someone suggest you get to know me in order that you could come out here and search my house?"

Diana smiled up at him, a rueful smile. "Nobody but me suggested I get to know you. Now I'm wondering why."

Danton stood above her, watching her face. "Well, well find out all about your motives later," he said at last. "I feel a certain amount of disappointment, Diana, because I actually am fond of you. If only you hadn't gone poking into my business."

"I don't care about your business, Chris," she said. "Whatever it is."

"Ah, but I care," he said. "Right at the moment this little Sea Horse operation accounts for a healthy chunk of the Danton fortunes. I'm sure you must have at least a faint notion of what's going on."

"I haven't given it much thought."

Danton reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. "Whether you're working for anyone or not, Diana, you're not naive," he told her. "You found out how to open the passageway entrance; you got into the secret part of the villa. You overheard certain of my employees talking. And, unfortunately for the future of our relationship, you dropped the book you were carrying—a book on bangalla with many loose clippings pertaining to the country stuffed between its pages. You neglected to pick up one of those little pieces of newspaper, Diana, and I found it. Much to my sorrow."

His thumbs were pressing hard into her shoulders, hurting her. She didn't allow herself to complain. "We've established I was there, Chris," she said in an even voice. "There's no need to prolong the discussion."

"Forgive me," he said, "perhaps I was bragging a bit too much about my detective abilities. Let me get to the point." He let go of her and stepped back. "You—and excuse me for using such a melodramatic phrase—you know too much, Diana. I'm truly sorry."

She said quietly, "And so?"

"I have ways, or rather a certain fellow in my employ has ways, of making you forget."

Diana's eyes widened. "What are you talking about, Chris?"

"It will be quite simple and painless I assure you." He smiled at her. "The process may, however, take a few days. Which is why I had to arrange for us to be relatively alone."

"How do you expect all the people who were here not to . . ."

"Most of them, with the exception of those somewhat nondescript Baylors, work for me," he said. "And the Baylors, especially the dowdy Mrs. Baylor, were quite ready to believe I wanted to be alone with you so our courtship could progress at a more rapid rate."

"What about Uncle Dave?"

"By now Laura has called him from her apartment in Santa Barbara and told him my phone service is disrupted," replied Danton. "She has conveyed a message from you to the effect that you'll be staying on for a few more happy days on San Obito."

"I see," said Diana.

Across the wide white table from her, Danton said, "I'm pleased you decided to join me for dinner, Diana."

"I thought I'd make one more effort to persuade you to take me back to Santa Barbara, Chris."

"You're not eating," he said, ignoring her request.

"I'm not hungry."

"A pity. I cooked this entire meal myself. The
Coquilles San Jacques
are one of my specialties."

"Chris, really, you can't be serious about keeping me a prisoner here."

"Oh, yes, I'm quite serious, Diana." He drank some of his white wine.

"When you finally do let me go," she told him, I'll be able to tell about what you . . ."

"No, no, you didn't quite comprehend what I explained to you this afternoon." Danton gave all his attention to setting his wine glass back on the white tablecloth. "When you return to the loving arms of your uncle, you won't remember any of what's been done to you. You will honestly believe you had a pleasant vacation here on San Obito with me. The rooms concealed beneath the villa, I he activities of the Sea Horse . . . all—all—will have faded completely from your mind."

"How do you propose to bring that off?"

"I'm expecting the arrival at any moment of a long-time friend of mine, a Dr. Moeller ... no, es- cuse me, calls himself Dr. Martinson these days. Quite an old man, but extremely gifted. Gifted in what one might call the techniques of persuasion, and in the inducing of forgetfulness."

"Brainwashing, you mean?"

"An outmoded term," replied Danton, smiling at her. "Dr. Martinson's techniques are much more sophisticated, and hence much more rapid."

"Suppose they don't work on me?"

"Oh, they always work," he assured her. "And, if by some unforeseen and highly unlikely accident, you ever did remember and try to talk . . . well, I'm afraid you'd have something unpleasant happen. I wouldn't like to see that, which is why I'm relying on the more pleasant methods of the good doctor." He gestured at her plate. "None of your food or drink is drugged this evening, if that's what you're afraid of. I didn't feel it would be necessary."

"That's a comforting thought." Diana continued to ignore her dinner.

From the far doorway came a dry cough.
"Gu- tenacht,"
began the small, bent old man who stood there.

Danton cut him off with,
"Sprect englisch bitte."
He stood at his place. "Diana Palmer, permit me to introduce my old friend, Dr. Martinson.

"I'm anxious to get started," said the dry old man.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Low fog was drifting through the boat marina. The sign hanging over the small white shack was faded, blistered by its nearness to the sea. It announced "Boats for Hire." From inside the shack came a ghostly gray light and the sound of gunfire and fast cars.

The Phantom knocked on the peeling red door.

After a moment, a voice called out, "Closed for the day. Good night."

The Phantom knocked again.

The guns and the squealing cars suddenly were silent.

"What in the hell do you—?" A short fat man of fifty yanked the door open. He got a look at the big powerful man standing out there in the mist and amended his approach. "What I mean is, I'm closed up. I'm sitting here with a brew, taking my ease and—"

"I need a motorboat," the Phantom told him.

The fat man rubbed at his thick neck. "Afraid I can't help you, mister. I'm not about to take a boat out at this—"

"I won't require your services, only a boat."

A puffy left eyelid almost closed. The man studied his visitor. "Where do you want to go?"

"San Obito Island."

The boatman glanced back into his shack, at the still-playing now-silent, television set. "San Obito, huh? Never taken anybody there. Guy who owns it is a rich snooty kind of guy, got his own boats, two

beauties, and he's also got him a yacht that'll put your eye—"

About the launch?" said the Phantom.

"You invited out there? I know he throws a lot of shindigs, but usually he sends his own boats over. Besides, this is an odd hour to . .

Producing a wallet from an inner pocket of his belted raincoat, the Phantom said, "I'll pay you double your usual fee."

"Double, huh?" His glance drifted again to the television screen. "Every Sunday night I try not to miss
Bill Nolan, Private Shamus.
My favorite show, but still I-"

"You can stay here and watch it. I'll leave a de
posit
on the boat."

The boatman massaged his fat neck again. "Don't get an excuse to take a look at San Obito Island every day. Like to run you over there myself
,
if that's okay by you."

"As long," said the Phantom, "as you do what I t ell you."

"There she is," announced the fat boatman from the wheel of the launch. He had introduced himself as Cap Nordling. "What you can see of her."

The island was a jagged silhouette in the night fog. "Circle it once," the Phantom instructed. "Keep at this distance."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Walker."

When they had made their circuit of Chris Danton's private island, the Phantom said, "Take us in a little closer to that inlet we passed."

"Don't you want to land at their dock?" asked Nordling. "I hear as how they got some kind of big nasty dogs roaming the place at night."

The Phantom did not reply.

The boatman followed orders. "Right over there."

"Now cut your engines for a few minutes. Then you can get back to your TV detectives."

Nordling turned his fat head to squint at his passenger. "How you figuring to get home?"

"I noticed two boats around at the private dock," answered the Phantom. "I'm sure one of those will do."

"You going to swim over to the island?"

Beneath his clothes, the Phantom wore his tight-fitting costume. Now he transferred his wallet to a waterproof pocket in his broad black belt. "You can give my clothes to charity."

"Your clothes to charity . . . huh?" Nordling tinned again to look at the man who'd hired his boat.

There was no one there, only a neatly folded pile of clothes sitting on one imitation-leather seat.

"Huh," repeated the fat boatman.

The first dog came at him when he had been on the island less than five minutes. A huge, silky- black Doberman pinscher, it did not bark or growl. It simply came hurtling out of the fog straight at the Phantom.