Vicki Barr #5 The Clue of Broken Blossom

THE CLUE OF THE BROKEN BLOSSOM

THE VICKI BARR AIR STEWARDESS SERIES Silver Wings for Vicki Vicki Finds the Answer The Hidden Valley Mystery The Secret of Magnolia Manor The Clue of the Broken Blossom Behind the White Veil The Mystery at Hartwood House Peril Over the Airport The Mystery of the Vanishing Lady The Search for the Missing Twin The Ghost at the Waterfall The Clue of the Gold Coin The Silver Ring Mystery The Clue of the Carved Ruby The Mystery of Flight 908 The Brass Idol Mystery

THE VICKI BARR AIR STEWARDESS SERIES ________________________________________________________

THE CLUE OF THE BROKEN BLOSSOM BY JULIE TATHAM ________________________________________________________

GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS New York

© BY GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC., 1950 All Rights Reserved

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

CONTENTS ________________________________________________________

CHAPTER

PAGE

I

FLIGHT TO HAWAII

1

II

THE MISSING HEIRESS

18

III

BOB’S STORY

31

IV

A STRAND OF WHITE FLOWERS

50

V

LOST: A JADE RING

65

VI

THE TAXI DRIVER’S STORY

80

VII

HAWAIIAN FEAST

96

VIII

THE FOUNTAIN LILY LEGEND

115

IX

VICKI MEETS THE WALRUS

130

X

A FUGITIVE

149

XI

VICKI’S PLAN

166

XII

IN THE LION’S DEN

186

XIII

THE HEEL OF ACHILLES

202

XIV

“TILL WE MEET AGAIN”

213

CHAPTER I

Flight to Hawaii

A chilly November wind swept the observation deck at LaGuardia Field. Even the pale moon in the cloudless sky looked cold to Vicki. She shivered and tugged the flapping skirt of her flannel coat around her slim body. “Let’s go inside, Jean,” she said, deliberately making her teeth chatter. With one hand Jean Cox tugged her beret down over her short bob. With the other, she kept Vicki firmly pinned to her side. “I told the girls we’d meet them here,” she said grimly, but her eyes twinkled merrily. “And here’s where we’ll meet them.” “But why?” Vicki wailed. “There’s a lovely warm waiting room inside and a restaurant where we could have a nice cup of hot coffee while we wait for them to show up.” For answer Jean merely shrugged, edging Vicki closer to the rail. Vicki groaned. “One would think you’d never 1

seen an airport at night before. We’re flight stewardesses, remember? Besides, I’m dressed for the tropics.” “That’s the point,” Jean told her cheerfully. “Now me, I’m quite comfortable in this tweed topcoat.” “Then stay out here and watch the beacon lights,” Vicki said bitterly. “Me, I’ve had enough!” She struggled valiantly to free herself from Jean’s grasp. In spite of her fragile appearance, Vicki was strong and wiry, but athletic Jean Cox was too much for her. Then, suddenly, the five stewardesses Vicki shared an apartment with in New York were all around her, laughing and joking. Her new straw hat, with its pert red bow, slid down over her forehead. Red-haired Dot Crowley impishly tweaked her nose. “Cold,” she reported to the others with evident glee. “Icy cold.” Celia Trimble’s china-doll face dimpled with delight. “And so are her hands. Lumps of ice.” “That goes for my poor feet too,” Vicki retorted, wishing she had worn woolen socks instead of gossamer nylons. “And in case you’re interested, my erstwhile friends, ear muffs would come in handy. How long do I have to stand out here in this gale while you push and shove me around?” “Not ved-dy much longer,” brunette Tessa said in her most dramatic prima donna voice. She popped a toy thermometer into Vicki’s pretty mouth and drew 2

it right out again. “Um-m.” She examined it carefully in the moonlight. “Sub. Ter-rib-bly sub. I guess that does it, girls.” “And about time too,” sweet-faced Charmion Wilson said sympathetically. “Poor Vic! They’re determined to freeze you into an ice cube before the takeoff. The idea is that when you’re basking on the beach at Waikiki tomorrow evening you’ll remember that the rest of us are shivering our heads off back here.” Vicki giggled. “Well, they certainly succeeded. It’ll take a day in the tropics at least to thaw me out.” “Are you numb?” Tessa demanded, arching her dark, carefully plucked eyebrows. “Quite numb?” For answer, Vicki displayed her white chattering teeth. “Completely,” she said. “Frozen solid. Congealed. If I’d known about your evil plot I’d have worn my ski suit.” Jean patted her reassuringly. “I wouldn’t have let you, darling. You’d have looked awfully foolish in it riding out here in a heated limousine to board a heated plane en route to a volcano.” Vicki drew herself up, and, walking as tall as possible, led the way into the restaurant. “I’m not going to live on a volcano,” she told Jean tartly. “I’ve told you all a dozen times I’m spending my week’s vacation with a very attractive young 3

married couple in their beach bungalow.” As the waitress set steaming mugs on the counter, Celia began to chant: “There was a young stewardess named Vic, Who is leaving the continent right quick, To bask on an isle Under the sun’s warm smile While the rest of us sneeze ourselves sick.” “It doesn’t scan,” Vicki told her, wrinkling her nose in pretended distaste. She warmed her fingers on her cup of hot coffee. “I still can’t believe I’m going. I wasn’t sure until the last minute that Miss Benson could arrange for my round-trip flight by air. Irrepressible Jean interrupted. “We were sitting on the phone, breathlessly waiting to hear from our angelic assistant superintendent. I was optimistically packing—” “You couldn’t have been packing,” Dot Crowley said with a giggle. “Not if you were sitting on the phone.” “Well, Mrs. Duff and Vicki were then,” Jean admitted, grinning. “At least our plump housekeeper was hovering around, talking a blue streak, and I was afraid I wouldn’t hear the phone. Then it rang and the caller was Ruth Benson saying that one of Federal Airlines’ top officials had just canceled his 4

reservation. It was the answer to my constant prayer,” she finished, dramatically rolling her eyes. “Vicki owes it all to me.” Vicki gulped down her coffee and stood up. “I’ll owe missing my plane to you if we don’t hurry, Jean. Then I’ll be stranded with the rest of you unfortunates on this frigid isle.” “Don’t rub it in,” Tessa moaned as they all hurried into their coats. Out in the bracing cold again, breathing in the smell of gasoline salted with a tang of the sea, Vicki began to tingle all over with excitement. In ten minutes, at midnight, the big plane would take off. Tomorrow evening she would step down from a trans-Pacific clipper at the John Rodgers airport in Honolulu. “It’ll be like flying on a magic carpet,” she confided to Jean as they waited for the luggage to be loaded into the baggage compartment of the gleaming ship. Jean nodded, serious for once. “No matter how many times I fly, as a pilot, passenger, or stewardess, it always seems like magic to me.” She squeezed Vicki’s arm affectionately. “Remember the first day we met, Vic?” “I certainly do,” Vicki said. “It was my first flight—my flight to a career!” On that day, not so very long ago, her father had 5

driven her from their home in Fairview, Illinois, to board the New York plane at Chicago. Vicki remembered how her twelve-year-old sister, Ginny, had cried when they kissed each other good-bye, and how near to tears she herself had been. She had clutched her curly-haired mother, seeking lastminute encouragement, for Vicki had not been at all sure then that she would graduate from the Stewardess School of Federal Airlines. On the same plane she had met another young aspirant, Jean Cox, who was as excited as Vicki, although she owned and piloted a little Piper Cub. She and Vicki had been the nucleus which soon grew into “the gang.” It was Jean who had found the apartment, and Charmion who had hired the motherly housekeeper, Mrs. Duff. Charmion, a young widow, was kissing Vicki good-bye now. “I’ve got to dash and phone in,” she said. “My free day ends at midnight.” There were hugs and kisses all around before Vicki followed the other passengers through the gate. “Give Mrs. Duff my love,” she called over her shoulder, trying to remember all of the last-minute instructions their excited housekeeper had given her. “Now don’t you come back here in a grass skirt,” she had puffed while Vicki was frantically packing. “And if you expect me to fix you any of those 6

Hawaiian dishes and let you eat with your fingers, you’ll find you have another think comin’.” Someone, probably Dot, was shouting, “Bring me back a real live lei, preferably of orchids.” “Your name, please,” the stewardess said. “Barr. Victoria.” Then she was inside the plane, feeling a little odd in the reverse role of passenger instead of a stewardess in uniform. When the last passenger was aboard, the steward closed the door. The sign up front flashed on: NO SMOKING—FASTEN YOUR SEAT BELT. In a few minutes they were up, and the glimmering lights of New York were fading away in the distance. Someone tapped Vicki’s shoulder. It was the stewardess bringing her a pillow and blanket. Vicki pressed the levers under the arms of her seat and leaned back. Although she was almost as comfortable as though she were home in her own bed, she couldn’t sleep. She had always dreamed of visiting Hawaii and now here she was on her way. Two weeks ago Vicki had received a letter from Helen Kane in Honolulu. “Dear Vicki,” Helen had written, “Bob and I have thought about you so much since we met in September. We often meet interesting people on our trips, but you’re one of the very few we really and truly want to see again. Couldn’t you come and 7

spend Aloha Week, the Hawaiian Thanksgiving with us? “We’d love to have you and the airline will pay for your flight out here and back, won’t it? I’m enclosing a note to your mother, so she’ll know I’m a properly brought-up chaperone, and Bob is adding a P.S. to Professor Barr.” She was thrilled at the prospect of spending her coming vacation in Hawaii and had excitedly shown the letter to Ruth Benson, Assistant Superintendent of Flight Stewardesses, who had promised to do everything possible to secure flight accommodations. Then she had sent the letter air mail to her parents. Vicki’s parents had approved of her accepting the invitation, so she had written to the Kanes saying that she wouldn’t know the exact time of her arrival until the last minute. Finally word had come from Ruth Benson that the round-trip flight had been arranged, and Vicki had promptly sent a cable to the Kanes. She had met them last Labor Day on the New York-to-Chicago run, and when she checked their names with her passenger list, she saw on the manifest that they were returning to their home in Honolulu. That had aroused her interest in the first place, and they looked so young and gay she guessed they were on their honeymoon. 8

As she passed up and down the plane’s aisle with trays she had caught snatches of the Kanes’ conversation without meaning to listen. To her surprise, the word “Vicki” kept popping up. By the time it was the young couple’s turn for luncheon, Vicki’s curiosity had been thoroughly aroused. As she handed them their trays she asked with a smile: “How on earth did you guess my nickname? On the name plate I’m just Miss V. Barr, Stewardess.” They had both stared up at her in astonishment. “B-but,” dark-haired Helen Kane had stammered, “we didn’t. We haven’t any idea what it is.” “It’s Vicki, short for Victoria,” she told them, bewildered. “And I was sure I heard you—” At that Bob Kane had interrupted, his thin shoulders shaking with laughter. “We weren’t talking about you, Miss Barr. We were simply using the Hawaiian phrase for hurry up, which is, wikiwiki. My impatient and always hungry young wife generally punctuates her conversation with it.” Helen, who was as plump as her husband was slender, joined in his merriment then. Soon Vicki had overcome her momentary embarrassment and was laughing with them. “I guess that makes me an egotist or at best an eavesdropper,” she had said with a rueful grin. “Not at all,” Bob assured her. “It simply proves 9

that you have sharp ears. As a matter of fact, when ‘w’ is the penultimate letter in a Hawaiian word, it is pronounced ‘v.’ So I’ll give you a mark of ninetyfive per cent.” “That’s the professor in him,” Helen told Vicki with a chuckle. “Because he knows both languages Bob is a math instructor in a Hawaiian standard school.” “Why, my father’s a professor,” Vicki said. “He teaches economics at the University of Illinois.” “No kidding?” Bob ran his hands through his sandy hair. “Then you must be Lewis Barr’s daughter. I studied under him when I was working for my M.A. A swell person, and can he lecture!” “He is a swell person,” Vicki agreed, thinking fondly of her handsome, blond father. “But he’s not very economical in the kitchen. He drives my mother almost insane when he dons his chef’s cap and invades her domain. Sometimes his concoctions are wonderful, but—oh,” she interrupted herself, “you must be starving. I’m keeping you from your lunch.” Later, when she had gathered all the empty trays and tidied her little galley in the back of the plane, Vicki had stopped again by the Kanes’ seats. “Tell me more about Honolulu,” she begged. “Except for the naval base at Pearl Harbor, which I guess is one of the largest in the world, all I know 10

about Hawaii is that natives in grass skirts dance the hula and wear garlands of flowers around their necks which are called leis.” Bob Kane had indulged in his quiet laughter again. “If that’s all you know about our ‘Forty-ninth State,’ your professor father must be like the shoemaker whose children went barefoot. Honolulu is just like any other big American city.” “Well, not quite, Bob,” Helen corrected him thoughtfully, and added to Vicki, “Most of the streets, even in the business section, are lined with palm trees, and flowering shrubs and vines cover all the homes. Then there are the rainbows, double and single ones, arching across the sunny blue skies. They’re as common as beacon lights at an airfield. And the liquid sunshine—” “Liquid sunshine?” Vicki repeated with a laugh. “Does it get so hot the sun melts?” Helen shook her dark curls. “Oh, no, but if you ever visit there you’ll be glad you have naturally wavy hair like mine. Straight-haired girls have an awful time with their permanents, because it rains a lot, but nobody pays any attention to it, because the sun shines at the same time, and that’s what we call liquid sunshine.” “Time to stop for breath,” her husband advised her. Helen ignored him. “Very often our patio is 11

soaked with rain while our next-door neighbor’s is dry as a bone. We have a bungalow with a tiny beach just beyond the fashionable section at Waikiki. We love it there, although Bob has to drive clear across the island to his school on the other side of the Pali.” “It sounds like heaven,” Vicki said, completely captivated by Helen’s loquacious description. “A real fairyland.” “That’s what it is,” Bob agreed. “There’s an old saying that ‘You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Hawaii.’ ” He grinned at Vicki. “But if you want to see a grass hut outside of a museum, you’d better come during a carnival week. That’s when you’ll see the hula dancers, too, in their hala-leaf skirts.” “In ancient times they were made from ti leaves too,” Helen added. “And mine’s very modern. Stripped cellophane,” she said, smiling at Vicki. “Oh, I do wish you weren’t going to leave us at Chicago. If only you could keep right on going with us straight across the Pacific!” “If only I could,” Vicki had sighed. And now the wish was coming true! It all seemed too good to be true. Suddenly Vicki began to feel nervous. Suppose the cablegram she had sent the Kanes at the last minute got lost in transit? They would have no way of knowing that she was en route to Oahu now. Then 12

nobody would be there to meet her at the Honolulu airport. She shrugged away her worries. “That just can’t happen to me!” Gazing down out of her window she watched the lights of toy villages whisk by, so fast that they seemed to be sucked into a giant vacuum created by the plane’s wings. Even the big city of Cleveland seemed tiny. When all of the passengers were comfortably settled for the night, the steward and stewardess turned off the lights, leaving one pale-blue bulb glowing. A hush descended on the plane as it winged across the continent. It was the kind of hush, Vicki decided, that reminded her of a hospital at night. It was a whispery hush, broken only by the swish of the stewardess’s skirt as she softly walked down the aisle to invite Vicki back to the lounge for a snack. “You looked as though you were too excited to sleep,” she said, after introducing Vicki to the copilot who was there, drinking coffee. At Chicago, a new shift took over, and being so near Fairview filled Vicki with nostalgia for her family and their home which the Barrs called The Castle. As they flew high above Fairview, Vicki wished it were daylight so she might catch a glimpse of the house on the crest of the hill with its tower and high Norman casement windows. Every inch of 13

the sloping grounds had been at one time or another a favorite retreat where Vicki used to go to think things out in peace. Sometimes her sanctuary was in the shade of an apple tree, sometimes in the rock garden, and as often as not, at the bottom of the woody hill that led to the lake. But she was never safe for long from inquisitive Ginny with her pigtails, temporary orthopedic shoes, glasses and braces. For plump, sturdy Ginny was still in the chrysalis stage of her development and yearned to be as glamorously grown up as her big sister. “I’ll certainly miss her, the sweetie pie,” Vicki thought, and fell asleep. When she awoke it was dawn. Flying at an altitude of eighteen thousand feet, the whole west seemed to be unfolding beneath her eyes. There were big, sprawling cities, endless forests, lakes and mountains. She had a bird’s-eye view of San Francisco with its twenty-nine hills before they landed there. Later she boarded the big trans-Pacific clipper, thrilled at the prospect of a flight over the Pacific, but regretting she had so little time for sight-seeing in the Golden Gate City. Now they were flying above clouds that were like beautiful pink cushions, and through an occasional break in them, Vicki could see the ocean, a rippled sheet of glass, sometimes green, sometimes dark 14

blue. After nine hours of nothing but clouds and ocean, everyone was straining for the first glimpse of land. Then Vicki saw it, a brown blob on the horizon. The plane circled in to the windward side of Oahu, and she caught her breath at the sight of the brilliantly colored, rugged terrain below her. The bright blue of the water ended in the white foam of waves breaking on yellow sand. The brown and red cultivated ground in the valleys formed a startling contrast to the lush green of the mountains. On the leeward side they began to lose altitude rapidly. “That’s Molokai, the Friendly Isle on your left,” the stewardess was telling her excited passengers. “And the extinct crater, with the gun emplacements on your right, is Diamond Head. Now we’re above Waikiki Beach.” Vicki stared down at the famous vacationing spot, surprised to discover that it was such a narrow strip of sand, fringed on one side by modern shops, apartment houses, and hotels. An incredibly beautiful sunset was splashing the sky with almost unbelievable colors when the plane circled above the airport. Coral, the stewardess had told Vicki earlier, had been pumped out of the sea for its base. Planes of all sizes and descriptions were taking off or landing, bound for, or returning from, far 15

places. “No wonder it’s called the hub of the Pacific,” Vicki thought. The huge concrete field, interlaced with runways, looked to her like a giant black-and-white checkerboard. Then she was swarming down the steps with the other passengers. Each one was met on the last step by a native girl in Aloha Week costume, and was presented with a lei and a kiss on the cheek. It couldn’t have been a more friendly welcome, but suddenly Vicki felt alone and lost. In the safety zone, on the other side of the big wire fence, a crowd laden with more gorgeous leis, waited, shouting and waving to her fellow passengers. There was no sign of the Kanes. Forlornly Vicki let the milling throng carry her into the terminal building where lovely Hawaiian maidens were dancing the hula, accompanied by men in native costume, strumming their ukuleles. Straining her eyes for a glimpse of her hosts in the waiting room, Vicki threaded her way through potted palms and flowering shrubs. As she wrote Ginny later, “Every other new arrival was literally up to his or her ears in leis.” The air was overpoweringly heavy with the fragrance of tropical blossoms. For a moment Vicki felt as though she couldn’t breathe. Weakly she leaned against one of the tall pillars, wondering what could have happened to the Kanes. 16

Had the cablegram gone astray after all? Or had they been away from home when it arrived? How did one go about finding their bungalow on this strange island? The faces of the people in the crowded room whirled dizzily in front of her tired eyes. She looked away from them, down at the toes of her gay sandals. Then she saw that she was standing in a semicircle of lovely white flowers, a broken lei. The tiny buds looked wilted but the blossoms were still fresh, and it was such a beautiful thing Vicki quickly snatched it up to keep it from being trampled underfoot. “This must be a ginger lei,” she decided. “Helen said they smell rather like nutmeg.” She was bending her head to sniff the perfume of the flowers when someone grabbed her arm and a deep masculine voice said: “I wouldn’t if I were you. Those pretty little buds are toxic!”

17

CHAPTER II

The Missing Heiress

“Toxic?” Vicki dropped the lei as though it were a poisonous snake and looked up into the laughing green eyes of a tall, redheaded young man. He was wearing an expensive-looking white linen suit, and she noticed that his hands, as he caught the garland of flowers in mid-air, were quick and deft. “Well, yes and no,” he said. “The blossoms are ginger flowers and are, of course, quite harmless. But these little buds, which by the way, are extremely rare, contain a fluid which when inhaled deeply has pretty much the effect of a whiff of chloroform.” He nipped off the tip of the one that had not yet wilted, and squirted a colorless, odorless liquid on to the tiled floor. Vicki wasn’t sure whether he was teasing her or not. She had so obviously just landed on this fabulous Pacific island and had, for several minutes, been standing forlornly alone. Was the nice-looking young man using the broken lei as an excuse for 18

introducing himself to her? She stared at him speculatively. He did not look like that type of person. He met her steady gaze without blinking, and then he grinned. “I can read your mind like a book, Vicki Barr,” he said. “And you’re wrong. I’m not trying to pick you up. I’m quite a respectable doctor and a friend of the Kanes. They got tied up in some of the opening-day Aloha festivities at Bob’s school, and sent me to meet you.” He looped the lei around his neck as though it were a stethoscope and shook her hand. “I’m Hank Hoyt, and you’ve just got to be Victoria Barr or I’ll die of disappointment.” Vicki blushed at the implied compliment. “I am, and I guess I was pretty easy to find, being the only person here who isn’t smothered in leis.” “You’re pretty, all right,” he said, tucking her hand through his arm. “But you’re so little you weren’t at all easy to find in this mad crowd. And as for smothering you, we’ll take care of that right away.” He hailed a lei vender and in another minute Vicki was giggling: “Help! One more and I won’t be able to see where I’m going.” He frowned down at her. “Do you give up after a mere eight? I’d counted on ten kisses at least. It is our custom, madam, that if you accept a lei of welcome, you must accept the kiss that goes with 19

it.” Vicki elevated her chin above the mound of flowers. “Speaking of leis,” she said sternly, “how come you’re wearing that toxic one with no ill effects?” “Because,” he explained seriously, “the fountain lily buds have lost their potency now. Once the juice has been squeezed out, they’re as harmless as our African tulips. The kids out here squirt each other with the fluid contained in the tulip buds. Fortunately, the fountain lily is practically extinct, otherwise the little urchins would probably make themselves sick until they learned better.” “I still think you’re taking me for a ride,” Vicki said suspiciously. “Why would anyone make a lei out of toxic flowers?” He shrugged and picked up her suitcases, the only ones left beside the luggage cart. “The fountain lily buds must have been woven in by mistake,” he said. “Everyone has been picking flowers like mad for the Aloha Week celebrations. Some lei-maker’s child must have swiped these without realizing what he was doing.” They were outside now, walking toward the parking lot where Hank had left his car. “Why do you say swiped?” Vicki demanded. “I gathered that flowers grow here in profusion. Why would anyone have to steal them?” 20

He helped her into his chrome-trimmed maroon roadster and climbed behind the wheel before replying. “These buds must have been stolen,” he said thoughtfully. “I’m quite sure that on the whole Island of Oahu there is only one fountain lily shrub, and that belongs to my friends the Walus. You see,” he went on as they drove away from the airport, “back in the eighteenth century the plant was brought from China to the tiny Island of Walu by the Scottish botanist, Archibald Menzies. It was carefully cultivated by the natives for its fluid was highly prized as a painkiller. But now Walu is a prosperous pineapple plantation, so I doubt if there are any of the shrubs left on the island.” Suddenly they were driving through liquid sunshine with mountains looming up on one side of the boulevard and the blue ocean on the other. When they arrived in the busy downtown section of Honolulu, Vicki realized that it was indeed one of the most modern cities in the world. Policemen in trim khaki uniforms directed the heavy traffic on the palm-lined streets which lead in all directions to the mountains and the beaches. In between the big buildings were small Chinese and Japanese stores. The houses were of all sizes ranging from huge estates to small bungalows, but every home was decked with flowering vines and shaded by brillianthued trees. Hedges were bright with the blooms of 21

the many-colored hibiscus. Lush green ferns and orange, red, and purple shrubs grew in profusion around the verandas. “We don’t call them porches out here,” Hank explained. “Lanai is the word,” he said, pronouncing it lah-ny. “And when Hawaiians have a feast they invite you to a luau. The language is like the music, liquid, soft, and fluent.” “Which means,” Vicki said ruefully, “that nobody with an Illinois twang like mine had better try to speak it.” “Oh, but you will,” he assured her. “There are certain words we all use, like pau, which means finished, or the end, and kapu, keep off. All this week the men and boys will wear Aloha shirts which are so bright you can see them half a mile away, and the women will wear their brightest holokus. There’s a particularly lovely holoku now in that shopwindow.” Vicki stared at the colorful print, princess-type gown that was draped on the model. “I hope I won’t have to wear one of those,” she moaned. “I’d be sure to trip over that long train.” He laughed. “The holoku is the result of the evolution from the missionaries’ Mother Hubbard. The story goes that the old-time Hawaiian ladies were so pleasingly plump that their dresses hiked up in the front. Hence the train. Then gradually, with a 22

stitch here and a ruffle there, they changed their sacklike garments into that thing of beauty.” “It is lovely,” Vicki admitted, “but I expected to see lots and lots of grass skirts.” “Then you’ll be disappointed,” he told her, “because they’ll only be worn by the hula dancers. The grass skirt is not ancient Hawaiian at all. King Kalakaua, for whom this avenue was named, imported the idea from the Gilbert Islands in the latter part of the nineteenth century. He also revived the hula which the missionaries had suppressed, not realizing that it was both grand opera and the ballet to the Hawaiians.” He switched on the radio in his car. “Can’t remember what evening the hula festival will be staged, but I’d like to take you to see it.” “I’d love it,” Vicki cried enthusiastically. The avenue was running parallel with Waikiki Beach now. Silhouetted against the flaming sunset were men and women in gay bathing suits riding to shore on surfboards or in canoes. About half a mile out, the waves breaking on the reef created a perpetual line of white foam. Cool, fragrant breezes were flowing down from the mountains as Hank parked his car near the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, a huge, rose stucco building. “The Kanes won’t be home yet,” he said. “Let’s wait here and try and find out from the radio what’s on the Aloha Week program that might interest 23

you.” The announcer was describing the Makahiki Festival scheduled for the next day. “This is the Hawaiian Thanksgiving,” he said, “the time when visitors will see a revival of ancient sports. Fencing; the art of vaulting with a spear and then using it as a weapon; foot racing . . . “And then another, excited, voice cut in: “We are interrupting this broadcast to announce the kidnaping of Miss Frances Millet, daughter of the pineapple king, Gregory Millet.” Hank jumped, stuttering, “Fran Millet kidnaped! Why, I can’t believe it.” “The kidnaping,” the broadcaster continued, “occurred at the John Rodgers Airport less than an hour ago, virtually under the nose of the victim’s father. Mr. Millet told police he had flown from Walu this afternoon to put his daughter on a plane bound for the States. While waiting at the terminal for the flight to be announced, Mr. Millet was called to the telephone. When he returned, there was no sign of his daughter. Airline officials promptly instituted a thorough search of the entire area. Finding no clue to the missing heiress, police were then notified. A description of Miss Millet follows, and a reward has been offered for information leading to her whereabouts or to the identity of her abductors. Miss Millet is seventeen years old, a tall, 24

slender brunette, with unusually large dark eyes, and long hair which she wears in a low figure eight. She is very suntanned, and when last seen was wearing a lemon-colored linen suit, white sandals, and a yellow kerchief. On the third finger of her right hand she wore a large jade stone in a green-gold setting. Keep tuned to this station for further developments.” The voice of the Aloha Week announcer came through then, and Hank turned off the radio, staring openmouthed at Vicki. “Well, that’s the most amazing thing that ever happened in Honolulu,” he said at last. “How could anyone kidnap anybody at the airport? It’s literally teeming with people night and day!” “It sounds incredible,” Vicki said thoughtfully, remembering the crowded waiting room where she had stood so forlornly. And then she remembered something else—the broken lei at her feet—the toxic lei which Hank was now wearing around his neck. She pointed to one of the crushed fountain lily buds, and said, more to herself than to Hank: “Didn’t you say that those flowers were originally grown on the Island of Walu? And didn’t the radio just say that Mr. Millet and his daughter flew from Walu today?” “That’s right,” Hank said. “But what about it?” “I was just thinking,” Vicki said slowly. “Maybe those toxic buds weren’t woven into that lei 25

accidentally. Maybe somebody who lives on Walu made that lei and gave it to Miss Millet on purpose.” “That’s ridiculous,” Hank exploded. “Nobody who lives on Walu would want to harm Fran, and even if he did anesthetize her with the fountain lily fluid, how could he spirit her away from the airport?” “I don’t know about that,” Vicki admitted, “but why are you sure no one who lives on Walu would kidnap the Millet heiress?” Hank sighed. “I guess I’ll have to give you a brief history of the island to make you understand. The word, Walu, you see, means the eighth of his clan. The eighth chief of the island joined forces with King Kamehameha I when that great chief began the unification of these islands around 1790. One by one the warrior chief subdued the other islands, and finally with his huge fleet of war canoes Kamehameha attacked Oahu. The final battle took place on the crest of the Nuuanu Pali, the mountains which divide Honolulu from the windward side of Oahu. There thousands of Kamehameha’s enemies were literally pushed over the precipice. After this defeat the Island of Kauai surrendered without fighting and Kamehameha became the first king of the Hawaiian Archipelago. As a reward for the part Chief Walu played in the victory, Kamehameha deeded his island to him and named it Walu. It’s 26

about three hundred miles southwest of Oahu and is a little paradise. I spent several vacations there with my friends, the last of the Walus, and I’d venture to say that the Waluians are the happiest group of Hawaiians in the whole archipelago.” “But I don’t understand,” Vicki interrupted. “Didn’t you say the Walus lived here on Oahu?” He nodded. “That’s right. About five years ago they sold Walu to Gregory Millet, because, I suspect, they had no children to inherit the island after their death. Mr. Millet converted it to a pineapple plantation and has become the patriarch of the people. He has improved living conditions in every way, and it is now a modern community with up-to-date homes, churches, hospitals, schools, and recreational centers. Whereas before the Waluians were the happiest of people, living in their crude shacks, hunting and fishing, they now have all that and heaven too. Their health record is excellent, and the best teachers available were hired for the kindergarten and the elementary school.” He smiled. “So now you can see, Vicki Barr, why I can’t believe anybody who lives on Walu would want to harm Fran Millet.” The sun had disappeared now and there was a threat of sudden darkness in the brief tropical twilight. It was not cold, but Vicki shivered involuntarily. “Somebody kidnaped her, Hank,” she 27

argued. “And I can’t help suspecting that whoever it was made that lei for the very purpose. After all, I found it in the waiting room where her father left her to go to the phone.” Hank laughed and turned on the ignition. “I guess I exaggerated the power of the fountain lily fluid. Inhaling it doesn’t render you unconscious; it merely makes you feel a little woozy or faint for a very few minutes. The old-time surgeons who used it had to work fast, but in those days anything that gave the patient some relief was highly prized.” He pointed to the coconut trees that lined the path leading to the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. “Now a bop on the head from one of those coconuts would be much more effective. As a matter of fact, the Royal carries coconut insurance. If one should fall on you, you’d collect ten dollars.” Vicki laughed. “I can’t tell when you’re teasing me or telling the truth. But I guess you’re right about that lei. Even if we knew the Millet heiress had been chloroformed, we still wouldn’t have solved the mystery of how her abductor got her out of the terminal without attracting someone’s attention.” “And that is a mystery,” Hank agreed. “I’ve danced with Fran several times at the Outrigger Club when she was here on vacations. And she struck me as a high-spirited, wiry young lady. I gathered that her ambition is to be a social-service 28

worker, and I think she’s got the intelligence and the determination to make a success of such a career. It would take a kidnaper who was both smart and tough to lure her into a trap.” “Whoever it was took an awful risk,” Vicki added. “Her father must be terribly rich.” “He is,” Hank said. “Fabulously rich. He imported breeding stock for his pineapple crosses from all over the world, and I understand that his plants have the record for disease resistance. I guess he must have trebled his investment in the last few years.” Suddenly it was night and Vicki glanced at the clock on the dashboard in surprise. Ten minutes ago it had been broad daylight! The sky was crisscrossed with the red and green lights of planes humming overhead, and the soft mountain breeze was changing into a strong wind. Vicki clutched at her hat with both hands. “This is nothing,” Hank told her with a grin. “On top of the Pali the wind is so strong at night that it has been known to blow off the top of a convertible.” Vicki giggled. “There you go again. Exaggerating;’] “I’m not,” he assured her. “I suppose you won’t believe me when I tell you that the Kanes have for pets a mongoose, a popoki, and a talking myna.” 29

“I not only don’t believe you,” Vicki retorted, “but I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Well, here we are,” he said, slowing to a stop in front of an attractive beach bungalow. “Now you can see for yourself. The ferret-looking animal curled upon the patio is Helen’s darling little Ricki. Guarding the front door is a popoki—cat to you. And the crow that’s screaming insults at us from the branches of the pink shower tree is a myna that’s had its tongue split.” The low, rambling house, with its sloping whiteshingled roof, seemed to be blanketed in the flowers of its vines and shade trees. Through the wide windows facing the patio Vicki caught glimpses of gay rooms with low couches, tropical furniture and bright flowered chintz. And then the double door opened and Helen Kane came running out. “Komo mai,” she greeted Vicki in her sweet, low voice. “Nou ka hale!” “She’s saying ‘Come in. My house is yours,’ ” Hank translated in a whisper. “Don’t prompt me,” Vicki interrupted, laughing. “I know my cue.” And she jumped out of the car, calling: “Aloha! Aloha! Aloha oe!”

30

CHAPTER III

Bob’s Story

From the lanai on the beach side of the bungalow, a masculine voice took up the famous Hawaiian melody “Aloha oe.” Then Bob Kane came strolling through the archway of the outside living room to greet Vicki and Hank. “Sorry we couldn’t meet you at the airport,” he said, taking one of Vicki’s bags. “Helen and I had to help with a dress rehearsal at school. But come on in. Dinner awaits you, complete with poi.” “Oh, dear,” Vicki cried. “Will I have to eat it with my hands?” “Certainly,” Bob said with mock severity. “But it’s a very simple art. You simply dip in your forefinger, give it a rapid whirl until it’s coated with poi, then pop it into your mouth.” Helen laughed as she led Vicki into the charming guest room that opened onto the lanai. “Don’t let him tease you, honey,” she said. “We 31

both detest poi. We’re having chicken served with broiled taro leaves and coconut milk.” “Sounds yummy.” Vicki showered and changed into a sleeveless, flowered frock with a long, full skirt. Helen was wearing a bright holoku and seemed to have no difficulty at all managing her train. She chattered merrily all the time Vicki was dressing, perched on the wide day bed which she called a hikie. “Bob and I were so thrilled when we got your cable saying you were actually on your way,” she said. “You couldn’t have been half as thrilled as I was when I sent it,” Vicki told her. “You were darling to invite me and I still can’t believe I’m here. Better pinch me so I’ll know I’m not dreaming.” Helen laughed. “Don’t worry, you’re not dreaming. Back in the States now you’d be shivering standing in front of an open window in that thin organdy frock. But I guess you won’t feel really oriented until after you’ve had your first surfboard riding lesson.” Vicki threw up her hands in mock horror. “Not me! I’d be sure to drown.” “Oh, no, you won’t,” Helen assured her. “Hank’ll teach you. He’s quite an expert.” Vicki chuckled. “He’d have to be expert to teach 32

me. I’m more at home in the air than in the sea.” “He’s pretty air-minded himself,” Helen told her. “When he heard we’d lured a Stateside stewardess for a visit he could hardly wait to meet you.” Her brown eyes twinkled. “Especially when Bob and I told him how very attractive you are.” Vicki blushed. “You shouldn’t have told him that. He must have been awfully disappointed when—” “Don’t be silly,” Helen interrupted firmly. “You are very attractive. You look like a Dresden doll, but you’re as efficient as a calculating machine.” She tucked her slim brown legs under her. “How did you happen to take up a career, Vic?” Vicki told her then about the day she had read the full-page advertisement in the Fairview Sunday paper with the alluring headline: TO GIRLS WHO WOULD LIKE TO TRAVEL TO MEET PEOPLE—TO ADVENTURE “I wasn’t old enough and I’d had only the minimum two years of college with no real business experience,” she finished. “So I had to get a letter of permission signed by both my parents.” She sighed reminiscently. “I was a nervous wreck for fear Dad would insist upon my continuing with college, but he didn’t. I really have the most understanding parents in the world.” 33

“They sound like angels,” Helen said, nodding. “And so are mine. I feel awfully sorry for girls whose mothers and fathers try to keep them under glass, don’t you?” “I certainly do,” Vicki agreed. “In fact I’ve always thought I was lucky to be poor. Not that we starve in our Castle.” “Not,” Helen added with a grin, “that such a thing could be possible with an amateur chef for a father. But I know what you mean. Rich girls don’t usually have a yen for a career and I think they miss a lot. Isn’t Hank divine?” she demanded suddenly. “So handsome and so rich, and yet completely unspoiled. He inherited a small fortune from his grandfather, but my guess is that he’s slowly giving it away to his poverty-stricken patients. He’s terribly interested in the native children and works overtime in the clinic and also at Bob’s school. That’s where they met, you know. Hank gives the kids their regular checkups, and whenever one of them gets sick, he’s sent to Hank’s clinic. Oh, what a lovely orchid lei,” she rambled on, abruptly changing the subject. “You must wear it tonight. It makes your hair look definitely platinum and your eyes as blue as the sea.” “Then you must wear this double carnation one,” Vicki said, tossing it across the room to her hostess. “It’ll make you look exactly like a Hawaiian 34

princess with your dark hair and smooth tan. And what shall I do with the others? Hank practically smothered me with leis.” Smothered! Vicki suddenly remembered how earlier she had felt she couldn’t breathe in the crowded terminal, almost overpowered by the heavy scent of the tropical flowers. Had someone literally smothered the Millet heiress in leis, and then forced the faint and dizzy girl to walk through that laughing throng to where a car was waiting to spirit her away? “Oh, dear,” Vicki said with a laugh, “the tropical air is making me imagine all sorts of impossible things.” And she explained to Helen, telling her about the broken toxic lei she had found at the airport. “Fountain lily buds?” Helen’s neat black eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Never heard of ’em, and I’ve been doing exhaustive research on the islands for years.” She led the way to the lanai where the men were waiting. “Hank,” she said severely, “what kind of fairy tales have you been telling my guest?” She snatched the white lei from around his neck and examined the buds carefully. After a moment she said, “Well, as a matter of fact, this flower is new to me, and so is the design. I’ve never seen one quite like it.” “I didn’t notice anything distinctive about it,” 35

Hank said. Helen explained. “The ginger blossom stems as you can see have been woven firmly into the strong main cord, one facing inward, one outward. But the long, tough stems of the buds look as though they had been so casually stuck in between that they might fall out any minute.” She looped the broken garland around her neck. “Now you can see why.” The buds of their own weight fell gracefully back against her body, and even Vicki could see this was a distinctive pattern. “A master lei maker,” Helen said to Hank, “thought up this design. What are these buds, anyway?” Hank told her the history of the rare fountain lily shrub then, and the conversation switched to the kidnaping of the Walu heiress. “It’s a funny thing,” Bob Kane said thoughtfully, “we almost never think or talk about that tiny island out in the Pacific, and now we’re full of it. A kidnaped heiress, a rare shrub, and believe it or not, I’ve been trying to get in touch with one of the Walu natives for the past week.” He turned to Hank. “Do you remember an eleven-year-old boy, Loi, one of my favorite pupils? I sent him to you for a chest X ray last year.” Hank nodded. “A swell kid and in good shape, too, although a bit too thin for his age. What about 36

him?” “He’s disappeared,” Bob said worriedly. “Last week his uncle was brought to your hospital with an edema of the brain, and he never regained consciousness. Do you remember the case?” Again Hank nodded. “He wasn’t my patient, and I had no idea he was Loi’s uncle.” “He was more than that,” Bob told him. “He was Loi’s only living relative on Oahu. His father, Kali, is a Waluian. His wife died when the boy was about six, so Kali sent Loi to live here with his uncle and aunt, feeling he needed a woman’s care. That happened,” he said to Vicki, “around the time that Greg Millet bought Walu, and the community was not organized the way it is now, so that motherless children receive the best of supervision while their fathers work on the plantation.” “But why didn’t his father send for him when conditions were improved?” Vicki demanded. “It seems a shame that Kali was separated from his son during his formative years.” “The answer to that, I imagine,” Helen put in, “is that Loi grew so fond of his uncle and aunt that he didn’t want to leave. Added to that was the fact that they needed the money Kali sent regularly for Loi’s support. Kali probably sent almost his entire salary, because, of course, the Waluians have virtually no need for money. Everything is provided for them by 37

the Millet company, and even before the island became a pineapple plantation, the natives were selfsufficient,” She smiled. “As a matter of fact, the Hawaiians have always been an extremely selfsufficient race. Give a man a plot of land in a valley where he can grow his vegetables and a shack on a beach where he can fish, and he is perfectly content.” “But,” Vicki objected, “you just said Lois uncle needed the money Kali sent.” “That,” she said, frowning a little, “is because Oahu has been civilized by the white man. Under the rule of the kings no one paid rent or taxes.” She twirled the broken lei around her bare, brown arm. “I’m one of those who think Captain Cook had no business discovering the Sandwich Islands.” Bob Kane grinned fondly at his pretty young wife. “At any rate, honey, you approve of what Greg Millet has done with Walu, and, if you don’t mind, let’s stick to that subject for a while.” He turned back to Hank. “When my studious young Loi didn’t show up at school for a couple of days, I investigated, thinking he might be ill. As you probably know, Hank, his home is one of a few beach shacks in a cove near the big sugar plantation town where the school and the hospital are located.” “I didn’t know,” Hank said. “And I’m surprised 38

the Walus never mentioned that there was a little Waluian living on Oahu. Those natives almost never leave their own island,” he told Vicki. “You were in the States interning when Greg Millet bought it,” Bob reminded him. “Otherwise, your Hawaiian friends might have told you that Loi was sent then to live with his relatives in that tiny village on the other side of the little forest that forms the northeast boundary of the main town. When I went there on Thursday to find out why he was absent, I learned that not only had his uncle died recently but his aunt passed away several weeks ago.” “I wish I’d known more about the boy,” Hank said, frowning. “I had no idea his father lives on Walu.” Bob nodded. “Nobody else did, not even his neighbors. When I questioned them, all I could find out was that Loi had come home from school the day his uncle was taken to the hospital, and has never been seen since.” Helen took up the story. “Bob was very upset,” she told Vicki and Hank. “He immediately wrote Kali asking him to let him know at once if he had taken the boy back to Walu. He sent that letter by messenger to the daily mail plane of the Millet Company, so he should have received a reply on Friday. But he didn’t, so he wrote again.” 39

She lifted a huge conch shell from a low rattan table and picked up an envelope. She handed it to Vicki. “This is Bob’s second letter, which came back today. As you can see for yourself, scribbled across the envelope are the words: “No longer employed by the Millet Company. Present whereabouts unknown.” Vicki passed the letter on to Hank who glanced at it and said wonderingly, “How odd! I never heard of a Waluian quitting or getting fired, did you, Bob?” “Never,” Bob said emphatically. “No one would leave that island paradise of his own free will. If Kali had become incapacitated so he could no longer work, he would be receiving the best medical care and a generous pension. The only conceivable reason why the Millet Company should discharge an employee would be because he was dishonest.” “And that,” Helen added hotly, “is absolutely inconceivable. An unspoiled group of Hawaiians like the Waluians do not know the meaning of the word crime. They are a proud but simple, peaceloving race, bound by taboos much stricter than the white man’s code of ethics.” “You’re absolutely right, Helen,” Hank agreed. “There must be some mistake,” Vicki said, reading the scribbled handwriting on the returned envelope again. But there it was, sprawling as though written in haste, and yet somehow purposely 40

definite: “No longer employed by the Millet Company.” A dainty little Filipina came in then to announce that dinner was ready and they all trooped into the spacious dining room. Iced banana and pineapple chunks in scooped-out golden pineapple shells awaited them. Then came the main dish which Vicki thought was rather like a fricassee of chicken. When she learned that fresh spinach could be substituted for the boiled taro leaves and cow’s milk for coconut milk, she decided to send the recipe to her father. “Poi,” Helen said, “is made from the root of the taro plant. It’s boiled and skinned and mashed into a pulp. Then it’s put into a sack and fermented overnight. It is to Hawaiians what bread is to us, but Bob and I never could learn to like the pale lavender goo—” “I acquired the taste as a child,” Hank said, “but my favorite Hawaiian dish is pig baked in ti leaves. No luau is a real feast without it.” “I know,” Helen admitted with a rueful chuckle, “but it takes days and days to do one in style. You see, Vicki, the pig is roasted in an imu, or underground oven, and you have to keep adding hot stones and earth until it’s done.” Vicki giggled. “Even Dad wouldn’t attempt such a chore,” she said, and added to Hank, “that reminds me. Don’t make off with that toxic lei. I want to 41

press some of those rare buds and send them to Ginny as a souvenir.” “That’s right,” Helen approved. “And I’m sure she’d love a candy lei. You can send her a long chain of bright, cellophane-wrapped tidbits and tell her that it’s much more Polynesian than an imitation flower lei. When the original settlers came to Hawaii centuries ago they wore necklaces of coral, shells or sharks’ teeth, not ruffs of flowers. And you must send your mother a holoku pattern,” she rambled on happily. “If she’s as young-looking and pretty as you say she is, she’ll look divine in one. You know, don’t you, that holoku means ‘run-stop’? That’s what the Hawaiians called the sewing machines the missionaries’ wives whipped up their hideous Mother Hubbards on.” “Let me get a word in edgewise, puh-leeze,” Bob interrupted with a grin. “Vicki says her mother’s hobby is horseback riding, so maybe she’d rather have a pa-u pattern. The pa-u,” he explained, “is the Hawaiian evolution of the riding habit the missionaries concocted to force them to ride sidesaddle. But the women stubbornly changed it into a lovely flowing garment that enabled them to ride astride as usual.” “They’re really considered court gowns now,” Hank went on, “and you’ll see several of them tomorrow at the opening parade of Aloha Week. On 42

horseback, too, will be the paniolas, the Hawaiian cowboys, with leis on their hats and around their horses’ necks. Do you suppose,” he asked Helen, “you could talk Vicki into giving me a lei to wear on my hat?” Helen shrugged and said mischievously, “I doubt it. Especially if I tell her that doing so means she’s your sweetheart.” Vicki was glad that the diminutive Filipina came in then with a delicious dessert called haupia, a cornstarch and coconut milk pudding. After that, she passed a bowl carved from the satiny red-brown wood of the koa tree. It was heaped high with tropical fruit, and Vicki tasted for the first time the mango and the papaya. “Back to our outdoor living room for coffee,” Helen said, leading them through the arched doorway to the lanai. “And after that we’ll give you a taste of what night life on Oahu is like.” Vicki knew she would never forget her first twenty-four hours in Hawaii. She and Helen tied gay scarves around their hair and they all piled into Hank’s roadster. The moon, rising above Diamond Head, turned the water to silver, and the stars seemed so close she felt as though she could reach up and touch them. They drove around Kapiolani Park and then to the top of Punchbowl for an excellent view of the city at 43

night. Continuing westward, Vicki got a brief glimpse of the gigantic naval base at Pearl Harbor, and nearby, the air force’s Hickam Field. Then they stopped for more coffee in the Sky Room atop the airport terminal building. After that, they went dancing at the Moana and the Royal Hawaiian Hotels, and at various night clubs—the Blue Lei, the South Seas, and Lau Yee Chai’s with its lovely Chinese garden. “I can’t dance another step,” Helen moaned at last, and Vicki agreed that she was weary too. So they left Waikiki, stopping only long enough to consume foot-long frankfurters at a drive-in called Kau-Kau Korner. Back in the Kanes’ comfortable indoor living room, Hank said to Bob, “I can’t help wondering about that boy, Loi, and his father. I’ve taken the day off tomorrow and Vicki promised to spend it with me. Suppose we combine business with pleasure and drive across the Pali to the cove where Loi lived with his uncle. She ought to see Nuuanu Valley and the windward side of the island, anyway, and we just might pick up a clue to what became of Loi after his uncle died.” “Oh, I’d love to try and find him,” Vicki cried enthusiastically. “Not that I’d be much help. But I’ve had him and his father and the Millet heiress on my mind all evening. I can’t help thinking that 44

perhaps all three of the disappearances are somehow tied in together.” Helen stared at her, suddenly wide awake. “What on earth makes you think that? You’re pupule— crazy, Vicki.” “Well,” Vicki said defensively, “They’re all Waluians, aren’t they?” “Not really,” Helen came back. “Frances Millet has spent most of her life in boarding schools in the States. She only visits her father during summers and vacations. And as for Loi, he left Walu when he was so young he probably doesn’t remember much about it. I can’t imagine what’s happened to him and his father, but the girl was obviously kidnaped by a white man—or men, who’ll get caught before long because the Hawaiian police force is one of the most efficient in the world.” “Maybe they’ve been caught already,” Bob said, and turned on the radio. Almost the first words that blared forth were “the Millet heiress.” And after that: “Again we repeat. Police have just been informed by Mr. Gregory Millet, the pineapple king, that his daughter Frances, who was reported missing earlier this evening, was discovered safe and sound at The Citadel, the Millet mansion on Walu. Suffering from temporary amnesia, Miss Millet wandered out of the airport terminal, and, forgetting that she was there 45

en route back to the States, hired a private plane to fly her to Walu. She is now in the care of a doctor who has prescribed rest as a cure for her nervous condition which was brought about by overconscientiousness in her school studies. Reporters and photographers are warned against attempting to land on the island. Miss Millet is still too ill to be interviewed. Again we repeat . . .” “Well, that’s that,” Hank said with a yawn. “And I, a doctor, should have been able to solve the mystery right off. The only answer was a touch of amnesia, because it was obvious Fran must have left the airport of her own free will.” Vicki, who had listened carefully to every word of the broadcast, said thoughtfully, “I don’t believe it.” “You don’t believe what?” Hank demanded. Vicki rubbed her forehead with her finger tips. She was very tired, for it had been a hectic evening and she had only dozed the night before. It was hard to think clearly. “I don’t know exactly why,” she said slowly, “but that announcement seemed a little too pat to me. It reminded me of the quotation from Hamlet, ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’“ Hank roared with laughter and said to Helen, “This lady doth imagine too much, methinks.” Vicki flushed but joined in the laughter. “At any 46

rate, we’re still going to keep on looking for Loi, aren’t we?” “We-ell,” Bob said thoughtfully, “I’ve just about made up my mind to notify the police. I doubt if you and Hank will pick up any clues when you visit his village tomorrow. I’m sure his neighbors have no idea what became of him after his uncle died.” “I doubt if the police will have any better luck than we might have,” Hank argued. “The very sight of a uniform will make them shut up like clams.” “That’s true,” Bob agreed. “Oh, don’t notify the police yet,” Vicki begged. “If all three of the disappearances are tied in together, notifying the police would be the worst thing that could happen.” “Why do you say that?” Helen demanded. “I don’t know exactly,” Vicki admitted tiredly. “I just have a feeling—” Hank interrupted, chanting: “ ‘A woman convinced against her will Is of the same opinion still.’ ” Vicki chuckled. “I don’t mean to be stubborn, Hank, but I would like to help you find Loi. That is, if you think I’d be of any help.” “You’ll be more than a help,” Hank assured her, 47

grinning. “You’ll be fun to be with and the very sight of you will have exactly the opposite effect on the natives that the police will have. My guess is that you’ll disarm them so completely that they’ll tell us more than they did Bob.” He unfolded his long legs and stood up. “What do you say, Bob? Let Vicki and me have a crack at finding Loi and if we don’t get anywhere, then you notify the police tomorrow evening?” “Suits me,” Bob agreed. “A few more hours won’t make any difference. He was a rather independent kid, remember? The type who could get along fine on a desert island.” “That’s right,” Hank said soberly. “The real mystery is what became of his father. Kali would have a hard time finding his way around on Oahu. I doubt if he ever left Walu before he quit the Millet Company, don’t you, Bob?” Bob nodded. “But he’d get along all right, Hank. He could ask directions from the police and the Visitors Bureau, you know.” “Not if he—” Vicki began and then stopped. Later when she was tucked in bed, listening to the pounding of the surf, she scolded herself. “Stop it, Victoria Barr. Just because you’ve run across several mysteries in your brief career doesn’t mean you’re going to find one around every corner.” But a shaft of moonlight, shining through the 48

wide window, pointed a silver finger to the broken lei she had draped around the mirror on her bureau. Vicki got out of bed to press some of the fountain lily buds between the pages of a book Helen had loaned her. “I wonder,” she mumbled sleepily. “I wonder. After all, perhaps these little flowers may have caused what the radio called Frances Millet’s ‘temporary amnesia.’ ”

49

CHAPTER IV

A Strand of White Flowers

The screaming of the Kanes’ pet Myna from the branches of the coconut tree outside her window awoke Vicki at dawn the next morning. It sounded as though he were scolding, “I’m up. Get up. I’m up.” So Vicki obeyed, surprised to find that the air was cold enough for her to be glad she had packed a sweater and skirt. It was almost dark when she started dressing, but by the time she had finished, it was broad daylight. Fleecy cumulus clouds dotted the blue sky as though reflecting the foam-flecked water below. Vicki had planned to take an early-morning dip, but now she shivered at the very idea. As she brushed her silvery-gold hair in front of the mirror her eye fell on the strand of wilted flowers nestling forlornly on the bureau top. And suddenly she knew why she had said to Hank the night before, “I don’t believe it.” “I still don’t believe Fran Millet is safe and sound 50

in her Citadel on Walu,” she told her reflection, narrowing her blue eyes thoughtfully. “If someone kidnaped you, Miss Barr, what would he do? He would promptly send word to your father to call off the police—or else. And what would Professor Barr do, not wishing to have you returned to him piecemeal? He would immediately tell the police that your kidnaping had been grossly exaggerated, and would insist that you were safe and sound in the Barr Castle at Fairview, Illinois. To make the story of your temporary absence more convincing, he would probably explain that you had accidentally got yourself locked in the Castle’s tower and had only just been set free by your kid sister, Ginny.” She smiled at her reflection and said aloud, “If I were a famous Chinese detective on the Hawaiian police force, I’d keep right on looking for Fran Millet. But since I’m not, I may as well try to find Kali and Loi.” Thrilled at the thought of a pleasant day with Hank, whom she admitted frankly to her reflection she liked a lot, Vicki hurried out to the lanai. She was so hungry she would have bolted even a KauKau frankfurter, and was glad when she heard Helen calling: “Wikiwiki, Vicki. Breakfast’s on the table.” Bob and Helen were in the kitchen, cheerfully getting in each other’s way as they cooked coffee, 51

eggs, and toast. Vicki helped them bring the food out to the lanai where they ate informally, gathered around a low Chinese chow bench. “I only have help on special occasions,” Helen told Vicki. “Mostly a Japanese-American girl who comes in for an hour or two after high school. Sue couldn’t come last night on account of a dress rehearsal, but she promised to this afternoon, so we’ll just leave the dishes and the dusting. Bob and I have to dash now to his school. I’m to help decorate the classrooms with flowers—carnations, plumiera, and ginger, I guess. And we’re going to hang one huge orchid lei in front of the building. I guess that sounds extravagant to you, but they grow wild out here.” “Stop talking and eat,” Bob commanded with an affectionate grin. “Otherwise, plenty pilikia.” “What does pee-lee-kee-yah mean?” Vicki asked. “Trouble,” he said. “Pilikia and pau, which you already know means finished, are almost as overworked words as aloha. So you’d better add them to your vocabulary right now.” “Okay,” Vicki said with a giggle. “Before you’re pau, tell me the correct word for doctor so I can greet Hank properly.” “Kahuna,” Bob told her as she followed them out to the garage. “But it also means witch doctor, so maybe you’d better not use it or there’ll be plenty 52

pilikia.” Hank’s car turned into the driveway then, and Vicki waved good-bye to the Kanes with one hand and hello to Hank with the other. “Aloha,” Hank greeted her. “Would you like to go sight-seeing by plane this morning? There’s much excitement over on Hawaii today. The great fire goddess, Pele, in the form of a gas explosion, has set off the volcano Mauna Loa. Lava is pouring down from the snow-capped summit of the crater. It’s something you shouldn’t miss from the air.” “I can’t imagine anything more exciting,” Vicki said. “But isn’t it dangerous?” “Not unless we fly right into the molten lava stream,” he said. “And volcanologists over the radio a while ago said this was only a mild eruption, so even if we got lost in the clouds and flew too close I don’t think we’d get burned alive.” He grinned. “Shall we go?” “Let’s,” Vicki cried enthusiastically. “But how? In what plane?” “Mine,” he said. “I’ve got a fast little four-placer of my own, all warmed up and ready to go at the airport now. I was so sure you’d accept, I telephoned ahead.” An hour later they were flying east to Hawaii, which boasted the name Big Island. “Each one,” Hank told Vicki, “has its own 53

descriptive name. Oahu is the Meeting Place; Molakai, the Friendly Isle; Maui, which as you can see from here looks rather like a bow tie, is the Valley Isle. That crater we’re flying over now is Haleakala, the House of the Sun, the largest dormant volcano in the world. There are several fascinating legends about the demigod Maui. One of them is that he lassoed the sun from the peak of Haleakala and made it promise to slow down six months of the year so that his mother’s tapa cloth could dry properly.” “I never heard that one,” Vicki said, “but last night after you’d gone Helen told me that it was Maui with his fishing line who pulled Hawaii up from the bottom of the sea.” “That’s right,” Hank said. “He and his brothers pulled so hard that the line broke and the land was thus separated into the various islands of the archipelago.” He interrupted himself to point ahead. “Well, there’s your fiery volcano.” Vicki looked and gasped. Towering above the clouds were two gigantic, snow-capped mountains. From one of them, smoke and flames were spouting, and a river of lava spurted from a crack in its side. Observation planes were flying all around this magnificent, terrifying spectacle, and they reminded Vicki of silly moths fluttering dangerously close to something that had powers far beyond the control of 54

man. As they came nearer, she could feel the intense heat, and then at a height of fifteen thousand feet, she was looking down at a mammoth cracked cup, bubbling over with an angry, red-hot fluid. Vicki was so awed she held her breath until they were winging back across the azure sea. Then she let it out in a long sigh. “I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it,” she said in a subdued voice. “No wonder the ancient Hawaiians have so much respect for Pele and her magic.” “I know how you feel,” Hank said. “A thing like that is both beautiful and mystifying, and believe me, it’s indelibly painted on your memory. I climbed to the summit of Mauna Loa once, and I’ll never forget it. It’s sixty miles round trip from the Volcano House and it took three days. Was I exhausted!” “I’ll bet you were,” Vicki said with a laugh. “And many thanks for letting me see it from the air instead.” “Now, what’s on the program?” Hank wanted to know. “All of the morning opening-day festivities are taking place in the schools, so shall we wait until afternoon when the real carnival begins in Ala Moana Park?” “Fine,” Vicki agreed. “Frankly, I’d like to start trying to find that little Hawaiian boy.” 55

It was not quite eleven o’clock when they left the airport, and the air was now so warm that Vicki slipped off her sweater. It began to rain as they drove through the lush foliage of Nuuanu Valley, but now that Vicki was accustomed to liquid sunshine, it was nothing more than a fragrant mist from the mountains. They passed beautiful homes and stretches of junglelike growth where the trunks of beautiful old trees were completely covered with thick vines. “Do you hear the voices of the Menehunes, the little people?” Hank asked with a mischievous grin. “I hear the patter of raindrops, if that’s what you mean,” Vicki said flatly. Hank shook his head. “That’s what you think. What I hear are soft, insistent voices saying that Vicki should give me a lei to wear on my hat.” “I will,” Vicki promised blithely. “Just as soon as I learn how to make one with my own little hands.” Hank groaned. “You couldn’t learn the art in one short week. Why don’t you just stay on forever, Vicki?” “Are you recommending,” Vicki demanded pertly, “that I turn in my uniform and become a beachcomber?” He glanced at her sidewise. “You’d look attractive in any outfit, but seriously, you wouldn’t have any difficulty getting a stewardess job here. 56

And you must admit that this is paradise. Once you leave, you’ll be filled with a nostalgia that will stick with you the rest of your life, an invisible feathered cape which you’ll never be able to shake off.” For a moment Vicki felt bewitched. She could almost feel the weight of the ancient emblem of a warrior falling about her slim shoulders. She was hypnotized by the panorama of the Nuuanu Pali Pass, but once they were through it, the spell was broken. She straightened in her seat. “I guess I’ll always feel a little bit homesick for this lovely place, Hank,” she said soberly, “but not nearly as homesick as I always feel for a little town called Fairview, Illinois.” Hank shrugged. “Okay, spurn the little grass hut I offered you in favor of your Norman castle. But some day you’ll be sor-ree!” Vicki laughed. “Speaking of huts, will there be any in Loi’s village?” Hank shook his head. “Not with straw-thatched roofs. It’s a tiny place, with just a few frame houses, which, since Hawaiians care little about show, are mostly unpainted.” He parked the car. “On our left is the big plantation town, and down in that cove on the other side of this wooded section is where Loi lived with his uncle.” He turned off the ignition. “We’ll have to walk, but it’s only a few hundred 57

feet. Can you make it on those stilts you’re wearing?” “Stilts!” Vicki cried indignantly. “If you’re referring to the latest thing in high heels, the answer is yes! But, Vicki discovered, going through what amounted to a small forest was rough and she was glad when they emerged onto a sandy beach, dotted with small motorboats and an occasional outrigger canoe. Coconut trees towered over the square little shacks in front of which brown-skinned children, clad in brief trunks, were playing. Other children were wading, and everywhere were dogs and cats. Farther out from the shore, men were fishing, some with spears, others with nets. Each house had its own taro patch and some of the women were busy with their poi pounders, while others gathered the edible seaweed from the coral bed in the shallow water. One of these looked up to smile at Vicki and Hank. “Aloha,” she said in a soft, musical voice. “You are looking for someone maybe?” “Yes,” Hank said with his friendly grin. “A boy named Loi. You knew him and his uncle and aunt who died?” She wiped her moist brown hands on her dress and waded out of the water. “I know them all and it still hurts me in my heart that they have gone.” A 58

plump, black-haired child in a short, printed smock, reached up to cling shyly to her mother’s hand. “Loi was to me like one of my own little ones, until he grew as tall and straight as a spear.” She turned and moving slowly but gracefully led them to a nearby shack. “This is their home. We have left it just as it was. It is waiting for Loi to return.” Hank asked her several questions in Hawaiian then, and after each one she replied briefly, shaking her head sorrowfully. “She says,” Hank told Vicki, “that Loi must have come home from school the day his uncle was taken to the hospital, for his books are inside on the table, but she did not notice him. However, her aged grandfather, who was dozing in the shade here, woke up long enough to tell the boy what had happened. He is the only one who saw Loi after he left for school in the morning.” Vicki sighed. “Oh, dear. The old man probably frightened the poor child if he spoke bluntly. I mean, describing the uncle’s symptoms and how he was taken away, unconscious, on stretcher.” “You’re right,” Hank agreed. “The symptoms of cerebral apoplexy are quite unpleasant, shocking, in fact, to a layman. What you’re implying is that Loi may have been so shocked that he ran away and hid?” 59

“I don’t know what else to think,” Vicki replied. “He must have been almost out of his mind not to have gone to this nice neighbor of his for comfort and advice.” The woman flashed her teeth in a smile. “What you say has much wisdom. But you must know that Loi was proud. He was not one to ask for help, and he did not spend his free time playing games. He was like our King Kamehameha, the Lonely One.” “What did he do instead of playing games?” Vicki asked, hoping for a clue. For answer the woman pointed to the trees that marched out to a point, forming the eastern boundary of the village cove. “Beyond,” she said, “there is another beach. It is kapu, but Loi spent many hours there.” Vicki glanced at Hank. “Let’s explore.” He nodded, and after they had thanked the kind Hawaiian woman, they started back through the woods. Halfway across the point they stumbled onto a narrow trail, marked by a large kapu sign. “We’re trespassing,” Hank said with a grin. “But let’s keep going,” and he led the way through the leafy branches of majestic trees. “This is a koa,” Hank said, patting a trunk. “One day you must see the beautifully carved koa bed that was made especially for Princess Ruth of the royal family. It’s big enough for ten people your size to 60

sleep in comfortably.” And then they were out of the woods, facing a kapu sign on the beach. It was another sandy cove, smaller than the one they had just left, and dotted with tiny rock pools. Back, out of the reach of the tide, was a crudely-built bamboo shelter. “Maybe he’s hiding in there,” Vicki cried excitedly. Kicking off her pumps, she raced barefoot across the sand to peer inside. It was empty and she could have cried with disappointment. But Hank was not interested in the tiny hut. He was staring up at the Pali, as though fascinated by its garland of cottony clouds. “Well, I’ll be darned,” he muttered. “This beach must belong to the Walus. That’s their house up on the cliff. I never saw it from this angle before.” “I can’t see it now,” Vicki complained. And then, straining her eyes, she caught a glimpse of something white nestling among green trees and flowering shrubs. “What a lovely place to build a house,” she cried. “The view must be magnificent!” “It is,” Hank told her. “And the house itself is fascinating. It was built so that it seems to grow along the side of the mountain, and I’ll bet it’s the most isolated spot on Oahu. You see, the Walus aren’t young and they were so used to the privacy of their own island that they couldn’t bear the thought of living in one of the residential sections.” 61

“I’d love to meet your Hawaiian friends sometime,” Vicki said wistfully. “No time like the present,” Hank said briskly. “We could try to find and climb the rocky path that winds up there from the cove, but’ we’d be pretty disheveled by the time we arrived. So let’s go back to the car and approach it from the round-the-island road.” As they drove along the twisting highway with its hairpin turns, Vicki said thoughtfully, “Maybe the Walus know what became of Loi.” “Oh, I doubt that,” Hank said flatly. “Why?” Vicki demanded. “His father’s a Waluian, isn’t he?” “True,” Hank admitted. “I didn’t know that myself until Bob told us last night. But it doesn’t necessarily follow that the Walus know where Kali and Loi are now.” “They might have seen Loi playing down on their beach,” Vicki argued. “I’ll bet he built that little bamboo shelter.” “If he spent a lot of time there,” Hank said, “they undoubtedly saw him from their lanai, but they wouldn’t object to a kid trespassing on their beach. They rarely use it themselves.” “Anyway,” Vicki said stubbornly, “please ask them about Kali and Loi.” He nodded and turned off the main road into a 62

steep, winding driveway that led to a lovely hillside home. The sloping grounds were a riot of color; there were banks of lilies, roses, orchids, plumiera, and yellow bird-of-paradise flowers. Shading the spacious lanai were the purple and red tissue-paper blossoms of the bougainvillea, and the long fingers of the fanlike hala. The main part of the house was almost completely hidden by the arching branches of other trees with leaves of all shades of green. “It’s funny they’re not sitting out on the lanai,” Hank said as he helped Vicki out of the car. “Maybe they’re having lunch,” Vicki said. “It’s almost noon. Perhaps we’d better come back later.” He chuckled. “They’re so hospitable they’d never forgive me. Anyway, they wouldn’t eat inside on a lovely day like this.” “Somebody’s inside,” Vicki said. “At least I thought I saw something move at that window when we first caught sight of the house.” She hesitated beside the car, not wishing to intrude. Hank ran up the steps to knock on the door. He knocked several times then turned away. “The garage is empty,” Vicki pointed out. “Maybe they’re in the city watching the parade.” “They haven’t got a car,” he said. “No, they must have gone to Maui to celebrate Aloha Week with their cousins. But just to be sure, I’ll go around in back. If that’s where they are, they’ll have left a 63

note, stopping deliveries.” Vicki sat down on the steps and shook the sand out of her pumps. She was disappointed for she had looked forward to meeting the Walus. She knew that visitors rarely had the opportunity of being introduced to descendants of ancient Hawaiian warriors. And if they were away visiting, where should she and Hank start again to look for Loi and his father? And then she jumped, for hanging from the other corner of the lanai steps was a short strand of white flowers. They were crushed and wilted, but there was no mistaking the fact that woven in between ginger blossoms were the distinctive bulb-shaped buds of the fountain lily shrub!

64

CHAPTER V

Lost: A Jade Ring

Vicki scrambled over to pick up the strand of white flowers, wondering if it could be part of the broken lei she had found at the airport the evening before. She examined it and saw that the stems were in exactly the same relation to each other as they were in the design Helen had said was so unusual. The blossoms were tightly woven into the main cord; the long-stemmed buds in a much looser formation. She stared at the fragment wondering how it had got from the airport terminal to this hillside home. Hank was coming around the path from the back of the house now. “No luck,” he called. “There’s a note on the door saying they won’t be back until Friday morning. That means they’re on Maui.” “Are you sure of that?” Vicki demanded. “Maybe they’ve flown to Walu for a visit this time?” “Not a chance,” Hank said, sitting down on the step beside her. “They made up their minds when 65

they sold it that they would never return. They cherish the memory of the island as it was when it was theirs.” “Oh,” Vicki said, “then they don’t approve of the modernization?” “Well, yes and no,” Hank said. “The Waluians are their children and like all fond parents they want them to have the best that money can buy. But until they sold it, Walu was still virgin, complete with grass huts; in other words a capsule of ancient Hawaii. Every man built his own home and lived on fish and game and whatever vegetables he wished to grow. He made his own clothes, furniture, and utensils from the trees growing in his back yard. He needed no money, for he never had any desire to buy anything, and he was beholden to no man. In other words he lived exactly as he pleased except for the observance of a few simple laws.” “But,” Vicki objected, “I gathered from you and Helen that the Waluians still have all that and heaven too.” He shrugged. “That depends upon your point of view. For one thing, except for a small village on one end and the mountain on the other, the island is now one vast pineapple plantation. From the air it doesn’t look at all as it used to. And the Waluians have been organized so that one group works on the plantation, another catches fish or game, and a third 66

raises vegetables. They’re still self-sufficient and are now wage earners to boot, but they work under direction, no longer when and how they please. It’s all for the best, of course,” he finished, “but you can see how the Walus feel about it.” Suddenly Vicki felt sorry for the old Hawaiian couple. She knew how she would feel if The Castle were sold and the grounds converted into a commercial orchard. Then she remembered the strand of flowers in her hand. “What about the fountain lilies?” she asked. “Were they plowed up and pineapples planted in their place?” “Oh, I imagine so,” Hank said. “They haven’t any real value any more, except to a botanist. There might still be a shrub or two growing there, kept alive for sentimental reasons.” He pointed. “Between those spikey red haleconias and the hibiscus is the Walus’ pride and joy. Say,” he interrupted himself in surprise, “it’s been stripped of all its buds!” “I think I have a few of them here,” Vicki said, spreading her fingers. “I just found this strand on the steps, and I’ll bet it was torn from the broken lei I picked up at the airport yesterday.” He glanced at the fragment. “What makes you think Exhibit A is part of Exhibit B?” “Look at it carefully.” She laid the clusters on her 67

shoulder. “They’re exactly the same flowers, woven in the same distinctive design.” “You’re right,” he admitted after a moment. “Besides, there weren’t enough buds on that shrub for more than one lei like this.” “And the other shrubs, if any,” Vicki added triumphantly, “are three hundred miles away.” He nodded. “What are you driving at?” “Oh, I know you think I’m stubborn, Hank,” she cried impulsively. “But I can’t help wondering if perhaps these little toxic buds had something to do with the kidnaping of the Walu heiress.” Hank covered his face with his hands in mock dismay. “You’re the one who’s suffering from amnesia now. Don’t you remember hearing over the radio last night that Fran Millet left the airport of her own free will?” “Yes,” Vicki answered calmly. “I didn’t believe it then, and I still don’t.” He shook his head sadly. “Your powers of reasoning, Miss Barr, are excellent, but you overlook the fact that pineapple heiresses just don’t get snatched under their fathers’ noses in crowded terminals.” Vicki tossed her head. “I do not care to discuss the matter with you further, but before we drop it, how do you explain the presence here of this fragment of the broken lei I found at the airport?” 68

“Elementary,” he said with an airy wave of his hands. “Mrs. Walu probably made a lei with fountain lily buds to bring her cousins on Maui as a present. When she left the house it snagged on something, but she didn’t realize it was broken until she got to the airport. A broken lei is worse than no lei at all, so she threw it away.” “Oh, for goodness sake,” Vicki interrupted in exasperation. “You’re overlooking the fact that people don’t go around giving each other toxic leis.” “Not to wear, my dear,” he said with a shrug. “But for decorative purposes, and as a souvenir. That shrub over there may be the only one in existence.” “Well,” Vicki admitted, “you know more about the customs out here than I do.” She tucked the fragment into her skirt pocket. “I’m disappointed I’m not going to meet the Walus. I was looking forward to it and to seeing what their lovely home is like inside.” “Why, then, we’ll just walk in and have a look,” he said calmly. Vicki stared at him in surprise. “You mean pick the lock—break and enter?” He pulled her to her feet, laughing. “Not at all. It’s a Waluian law that no man may lock up his home when he leaves it. Because, you see, his neighbor may need to borrow something while he is 69

gone. Locking the door amounts to unthinkable inhospitality.” What a lovely custom, Vicki thought, but said hesitantly, “We don’t need to borrow anything, Hank, so perhaps—” And then they heard a crash from inside the house. It was Hank’s turn to stare at Vicki in surprise. “What on earth was that?” Vicki giggled nervously. “A neighbor borrowing something, I hope. A nice friendly neighbor. I wouldn’t care to meet a burglar in this isolated spot.” “Nonsense,” Hank said with a laugh. “They must have left a window open and the breeze blew down a flimsy screen.” Purposely he turned the knob and walked in calling, “Anybody there? Hello, anybody there?” Silence greeted them, and as Vicki peered over his shoulder she saw that a lovely hand-painted screen lay collapsed in the middle of the spacious living room. But after a careful check they found every window and door tightly closed. “I was sure they would be,” Hank said thoughtfully. “A driving rain could cause a lot of damage. The Walus live simply, without servants, but most of their possessions are priceless heirlooms.” 70

“I suppose the furniture on the lanai is rainproof,” Vicki said. “I notice they took the cover off the divan out there before they went away, but left the cushions. I was wondering why.” Hank shrugged. “Probably sent the couch cover to the cleaners. The lanai was built so that it is protected from the weather during all seasons, you see.” “But,” Vicki argued, “if they sent the couch cover to the cleaners they would certainly have sent the cushion covers at the same time.” Hank grinned. “You’re a woman, so you should know. What difference does it make, anyway?” “None,” Vicki admitted, flushing a little. “I was just wondering if somebody had been here borrowing.” She pointed to a cup and saucer in the kitchen sink. “Or do you think the Walus left in such a hurry they didn’t have time to finish the breakfast dishes?” Hank frowned. “Could be, but it doesn’t sound like Mrs. Walu. She’s a comfortable but rather fastidious housekeeper.” Curiously, Vicki touched her fingers to a burner on the electric stove. It was warm. “Oh, dear,” she sighed. “We just missed them. Actually, their taxi must have passed us on the road.” Hank shook his head. “They left early yesterday morning, according to the date of the newspaper 71

under the back door mat. Whoever delivered it probably did not notice the note stopping deliveries. And I deduce the Walus left early in the morning, otherwise they would have brought in the paper and read it.” Vicki’s blue eyes twinkled mischievously. “My, you’re some detective! How do you explain the warmth of this electric plate?” He touched it with his finger tips, frowning. “You’re right, Vicki. Either the Walus just left or somebody else did.” “And it must have been somebody else,” Vicki said. “Your friends wouldn’t have left a paper lying out there from yesterday morning to noon today, would they?” “Certainly not,” he said. “I vote we give the whole house a thorough search. Whoever knocked down that screen just before we came in may still be hiding here.” But they examined every closet and looked under all the beds and divans to no avail. “Well,” Vicki said at last, “the neighbor has been, borrowed and gone, slipping out the back door as we came in from the lanai. But why, since he was committing no crime according to Waluian law, did he sneak away from us?” “The answer to that, of course,” Hank told her, “is that it wasn’t a Waluian.” 72

“I’m not so sure of that,” Vicki said mysteriously. “I have a hunch that it was Kali, and Loi is probably with him.” Hank thought for a minute. “It makes sense,” he admitted finally, “except for their running away from us. The way I figure it is that Kali must have left Walu in order to get a job on Oahu so that Loi could continue on at the same school where he has been doing so well. He probably came at once in answer to Bob’s first letter, but not knowing his way around, it took him most of the weekend to find his brother’s village—and Loi, who, being a lonely one, was living down there in his bamboo shack. After that, Kali came to the Walus seeking help in getting another job, but they had already left for Maui. So since then they’ve been camping out here, just as the Walus would want them to do under the circumstances.” He spread his hands hopelessly. “Fine, fine, except that Kali should have greeted us when we turned in the driveway instead of making a hurried exit. It was extremely inhospitable and un-Waluian of him, to say the least.” “There’s another hole in that theory,” Vicki pointed out tartly. “So big you could fly a B-29 through it. When Kali finally arrived at his brother’s village to get Loi, wouldn’t he have questioned the neighbors? According to Bob, who interviewed 73

everyone in the village the other day, no one even knew the boy had a father living on Walu. And that kind woman we talked to would certainly have told us that Loi’s father had been there looking for him, if Kali had ever visited the village.” Hank struck his forehead with his knuckles, groaning. “It’s all too, too mysterious for me. I give up. I hate to admit defeat, but I honestly don’t know where to start looking for Loi now. My only hope is that when his uncle died he went straight to his father on Walu, and later they left the island together. Though why Kali should want to leave the home of his ancestors is beyond me.” “Maybe,” Vicki said wonderingly, “he feels the way the Walus do, that civilization has ruined it.” “Could be,” Hank said with a shrug. “Anyway, there’s nothing more we can do about it.” Vicki agreed reluctantly. “I suppose we ought to telephone Bob to notify the police,” she said. “That’s right,” he said. As he walked to the door he grinned and said, “Maybe medical science isn’t as advanced as we doctors think. Amnesia might be a contagious disease and perhaps Kali and Loi caught it from Fran Millet.” His green eyes twinkled mischievously. “That ties in with your theory and is no more fantastic.” Vicki giggled. “I haven’t any real theory, Hank. But I am starving. Could we go somewhere and 74

have steaks the size of those Kau-Kau frankfurters we had last night?” “And smothered with onions,” he said. “With French fried potatoes and ice-cream cones the size of the Pali for dessert.” “Yummy-yum,” Vicki cried, climbing into the car. “We’ll call Bob from the Royal Hawaiian,” Hank said. “I know the number of his favorite restaurant where we’ll be able to reach him by the time we get back to Waikiki. Then after our mammoth steaks, we’ll see the pageant in Ala Moana Park.” Bob did not sound at all disappointed when Vicki talked with him over the phone. “I didn’t think you’d have any luck,” he said. “I’ll call the Missing Persons Department right away. Where are you two going to be around five this afternoon?” “Watching the pageant,” Vicki said. “Can you and Helen join us?” “We should be free by then,” Bob told her. “Let’s meet some place for tea. Parades always make me thirsty.” “Me too,” Vicki agreed. “And I’d like to see the famous Young Hotel. Could we have tea there?” “Swell,” Bob said. “I think Helen plans to give us only a snack for supper before the lantern parade, so we’d better eat hearty. Helen’s snacks are apt to be 75

scanty, especially when she’s on one of her two-day diets.” Hank, who had been standing beside Vicki during this conversation, interrupted then. “Tell Bob to cut it short. The steaks we ordered should be on the table by now.” For the next ten hours, as Vicki wrote her mother that night, she felt as though her eyes were clamped to a kaleidoscope of flowered-laden floats, pa-u riders, conch shell blowers, hula dancers, and warriors in feathered capes and helmets. After a delicious lunch she bought them all presents in the arcade shops of the beautiful hotel: a humorous cookbook for her father which was attractively wrapped with a can of poi, guaranteed to be mixed to “finger consistency”; for her mother, a set of jars containing toasted coconut chips, guava jelly, and all sorts of exotic-tasting jams; and for Ginny, a grass skirt. In the evening they watched the lantern parade from the hills, and later the hula festival by moonlight. “I’m completely bewitched, Mother,” Vicki scribbled sleepily before tumbling into bed. “If only I could transport all of you and The Castle to the top of the Pali, I’d never, never leave this wonderful place. The Kanes, although terribly busy with Aloha Week school festivities, are the most hospitable 76

people I ever knew. And their friend, young Dr. Hank Hoyt, is making sure that I see everything that should be seen. Tomorrow he’ll be tied up at his clinic all day, and if Helen has no special plans for me, I’m going exploring alone. I’ll probably get lost, but not for long, because everyone is so friendly out here. . . .” Vicki sealed the envelope, thinking, everyone? No, if her reasoning was correct some evil person or persons were putting Gregory Millet through the worst kind of mental torture. She asked herself, “If you were the kidnaped girl’s father, what would you do after her abductors ordered you to call off the police?” She finally came to the conclusion that Mr. Millet, his hands tied, would wait in an agony of suspense for further negotiations. The kidnapers, in turn, would wait until they were absolutely sure that he had obeyed their orders. Contacting him too soon might mean walking into a trap. But, in the meantime, in order to hasten matters, wouldn’t Mr. Millet take some step to assure them that they had nothing to fear from him or the police? Suddenly Vicki decided to look in the personal columns of the evening paper. People often communicated with each other through that medium when there was no other way. The bungalow was silent as she tiptoed out to the 77

moonlit lanai for the newspaper. Back in bed she quickly turned the pages until she found the Personals. Then she read each one carefully, hoping to find a clue: BE A DETECTIVE! Send for our handcuffs, fingerprinting outfit, magnifying glass and decoder, all in one vest-pocket size kit. Only 50¢ Box 634D. BORED BUT SHY MISS would like a pen pal. Box 630B. HOPING FOR A HONEYMOON? Send for our booklet “How To Be Lovely in Five Easy Lessons.” Plain wrapper. Box 720A. STRAYED: Adored puppy, mixture of cocker spaniel, dachshund and fox terrier. Answers to names, Pal, Bud, Spot, and Honey. O. W. Jones, Black Point Road. Vicki smiled, thinking of Freckles, the Barrs’ lovable little spaniel. And then she sobered as her eyes traveled on to the next personal: LOST: A PRICELESS JADE RING in the John Rogers Airport Terminal, Monday afternoon between six and six-fifteen. WILL PAY ANY REWARD stipulated. NO QUESTIONS ASKED. Please communicate IMMEDIATELY with DESPERATE. Box 78

843D. Vicki’s hands were shaking with excitement as she read the notice through again. The very wording of it indicated that the “ring” had not been lost, but stolen. And the first radio announcement last night had said that the Walu heiress was wearing a jade ring when she disappeared! Vicki was convinced now that she had been right in the first place. Frances Millet had been kidnaped. Her father was desperately trying to assure her abductors that it was safe for them to contact him and that he would pay any price for her return. “No questions asked” meant that he had probably not even dared to put private detectives on his daughter’s trail. And that trail began at the airport terminal. It was there that the heiress had last been seen. And it was there, shortly after her disappearance, that Vicki had found the broken lei. Now she was surer than ever that the little toxic buds were in some way connected with the kidnaping. Wearily she climbed into bed, thinking: “I’m glad Hank can’t take me sight-seeing tomorrow, and I hope Helen has nothing planned Because first thing in the morning I want to go to the airport and try to find out what happened just before I found the fountain lily lei.” 79

CHAPTER VI

The Taxi Driver’s Story Vicki was so tired that when the myna screamed through her window she buried her face in the pillow and went right back to sleep. Much later, she opened her eyes to find Helen shaking her. “Wake up, time for a swim,” her hostess said cheerfully. “Bob’s already gone, and it’s high tide and high time you tried our beach.” Helen, looking like a modernized hula dancer in her two-piece flowered swim suit, handed Vicki a tall glass of chilled pineapple juice. Perched on the hikie, she crossed her tanned legs and chattered on until Vicki was fully awake. “Today is Wednesday, and it’s International Day. There’ll be big doings in all the schools. But by the time you’ve had a swim and breakfast, the pageant of Hawaiian village life will be starting in the park, and you must see that. There’ll be grass huts galore, and the kids look adorable in their little copies of original Hawaiian costumes. After that, we can take a stroll along Maunakea Street so you can see the lei 80

makers at work. Then lunch at either the Moana or Alexander Young Hotel, and from then on, you’re on your own until suppertime. I’ll be helping out Bob at the school this afternoon.” Vicki had planned on going to the airport immediately after breakfast, but she did not want to upset Helen’s plans. Her visit to the airport would have to be postponed until after lunch. She slipped into her bright blue bathing suit and followed her hostess out to the beach. Helen had already plunged into the green water and was diving into the shallow surf. Vicki hesitated long enough to tug a cap over her pale blond curls, and then she was in too. They swam and dived and floated for about half an hour, and then raced back to the bungalow to change and prepare breakfast. “I imagine you’ll want to spend the afternoon wandering through the Waikiki shops,” Helen said, squeezing lime juice on ripe papaya slices. “You must visit Gump’s jade room, and see all the beautiful things they have on display. That’s the stucco building with the Chinese-style blue tile roof.” “I could only afford to do window shopping there,” Vicki said, spreading mulberry and pineapple preserves on thick slices of toast. “I do want to buy some inexpensive souvenirs for the girls who share the apartment in New York with me. That’ll take 81

most of the afternoon.” Vicki felt a little guilty when she said this, but somehow she didn’t want to tell Helen that she planned a visit to the airport too. The Kanes, she felt quite sure, were as convinced as Hank was that the Millet heiress had never been kidnaped. But Vicki could not dismiss the fountain lily lei from her mind, especially since she had found a fragment of it on the Walus’ lanai steps. Vicki knew that, contrary to what Hank thought, Mrs. Walu had not dropped the strand at the airport on Monday morning, for when Vicki found it that evening, the flowers had been as fresh as though they had just been removed from a lei-maker’s pan of water. All morning and all through lunch she kept asking herself questions. Who had known that the Walus had a fountain lily shrub? Who had known of the toxic fluid in the bulb-shaped buds? Who had fashioned them into a lei? For picking them among all the riotous blooms in that hillside garden, Vicki was sure, had not been an accident. Therefore, the lei had been made for the purpose of temporarily anesthetizing someone, and that someone might well be the Millet heiress, who had disappeared from the terminal a short while before Vicki’s arrival. “Victoria Barr,” Helen’s sweet voice broke into Vicki’s thoughts. “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve been saying.” She added teasingly, “I do 82

believe you’ve fallen in love with Hank Hoyt. And, oh, I hope so because he’s crazy about you.” Vicki blushed. “He’s terribly nice, but to be perfectly honest I wasn’t thinking about him at all.” Hastily she changed the subject, reading from her menu, “What on earth is a soursop mousse? It sounds dreadful.” “It’s delicious,” Helen assured her. “It’s made just like any other mousse, except that it’s flavored with the juice of a large, heart-shaped tropical fruit. But although it’s on the menu, it’s out of season now, so you’d better order guava ice cream instead.” After dessert, Helen left her in front of the hotel and Vicki spent an hour wandering through the shops. It was hard to decide between the carved wooden bowls, the attractive table mats, and the dainty costume jewelry, but she had no trouble at all making up her mind that Mrs. Duff should have a particularly gaudy Aloha shirt. “She can wear it as a smock,” Vicki thought with an inward giggle, mentally picturing how their rolypoly housekeeper would look when she opened her present. And then she hailed a cab to take her to the airport. The terminal was as crowded as it had been the evening of her arrival, but now you could hardly tell visitors from residents, for everyone was wearing leis in celebration of Aloha Week. For a 83

moment Vicki was bewildered. It was hard to know where to begin. Who, in all that milling throng, might have noticed Frances Millet on Monday evening—or, for that matter, any young woman who had suddenly become faint and dizzy? Vicki herself had been momentarily sickened by the heavy fragrance of the tropical flowers, and no one had paid any attention to her, standing alone by that tall pillar until Hank had come. Suppose the brunette heiress had been standing in the same place when her father was called away to the telephone. Suppose someone had tossed a toxic lei over her head, and, at the same time, squirted some of the fountain lily fluid into her face. As she began to lose consciousness, she would have instinctively snatched the flowers away from her, perhaps breaking off a strand. After that, gasping for a breath of fresh air, she might have allowed her kidnaper to lead her out of the terminal, not realizing that she was playing into his hands. But, Vicki argued with herself, the effect of the fluid would have worn off in a very few minutes, and the high-spirited young heiress, although weak and dizzy, would have grasped the situation and screamed for help. Why hadn’t she screamed? Slowly Vicki walked out of the terminal, pretending she was Frances Millet. She timed 84

herself and discovered that she was approaching the space reserved for taxicabs when the drug would be losing its potency. And people were everywhere, getting in and out of cabs, hurrying to and from the terminal and the space reserved for private cars. But why hadn’t Frances Millet struggled and screamed for help? Suddenly Vicki guessed the answer to the riddle. The young heiress had no reason to scream because she knew her abductor, thought he—or she, was a friend! So, her ears ringing dizzily, nausea flooding over her as consciousness began to come back, she had gratefully allowed him to help her into his car. He probably led her to the car saying that she could rest there with the windows open while he went for her father. Once she was inside it would be a simple matter to gag and bind her and then drive off to wherever she was now being kept a prisoner. If her reasoning were correct, the abduction had been carefully planned by someone who knew Frances Millet and who also knew that the fountain lily buds contained a toxic fluid. That narrowed the list of possibilities considerably, for even Helen and Bob Kane, who had studied and read so much about the islands, had never even heard of the rare shrub. Therefore, it seemed more than likely that whoever had fashioned the fountain lily lei for the purpose of 85

kidnaping Frances Millet was a native-born Waluian. Kali! Vicki shrugged away the thought. The Waluians were known to be simple, peace-loving people, so Kali had no motive. An incredibly beautiful rainbow arched across the sky, and Vicki stared up at it thoughtfully. Men will commit all sorts of rash and criminal acts for a pot of gold! Perhaps Kali, feeling that civilization in the form of the Millet Company had ruined his island, made up his mind to leave. He and his young son would undoubtedly need money for a new start in life. Kidnaping the Walu heiress and demanding ransom for her return might seem to him a fair bargain, since it was indirectly Mr. Millet who had changed Walu. And Kali could have rented a car for the purpose. If he were the kidnaper, then a lot of other things made sense. It explained why he had not made himself known to the people in Loi’s village. It explained his and Lois mysterious disappearance, and how the fragment of the broken lei got from the airport to the Walus’ lanai steps! For, Vicki realized with growing excitement, that isolated mountain home was probably the most ideal hide-out on the whole island. The whole setup was made to order, complete with the note on the door 86

saying that the Walus would be away until Friday morning. That gave Kali four days in which to collect the ransom money. Suddenly Vicki felt deflated. She and Hank had searched every nook and cranny of the Walus’ home the day before, and there had been no sign of a gagged and bound heiress. They could not have been seen approaching the home from the round-theisland road, not through the heavy foliage of the trees that lined the private driveway. Therefore, Kali would not have had time to drag his prisoner out the back door to the woods before Hank himself arrived there and found the note. Vicki sighed. It was all as disappointing as though a television set had suddenly broken down at the most thrilling moment in a play. “That’s what you get,” she scolded herself, “for letting your imagination run away with you. Hank has told you over and over again that money means nothing to the Waluians. Therefore, none of them, including Kali, had any motive for kidnaping Frances Millet.” Vicki decided that a cup of tea in the lounge of the Airways Hotel might revive her spirits. Furthermore she was hungry, for lunch had been more of an experiment than a meal. Helen had recommended a series of exotic-tasting snacks, all of which had been delicious but not really filling. And 87

Vicki knew that supper would be served late that evening because the Kanes had invited several friends in for a supper in her honor. As she sipped the fragrant tea and munched toast thickly coated with papaya and ginger marmalade, Vicki began to wonder who had knocked down the screen in the Walus’ living room as she and Hank had come in from the lanai. Hank had airily dismissed the person as a neighbor, but the Walus, from choice, had no neighbors. And the custom of borrowing in the absence of a homeowner did not apply to Oahuans. Then she remembered that Bob had started a police investigation of Loi’s and Kali’s disappearance. Perhaps detectives had already found out who the Walus’ mysterious visitor was. “I’ll call Bob right now,” she decided, “and ask him if he’s heard any news.” He had told her jokingly the evening before that he would be working in the school auditorium all afternoon and that she could easily reach him by phone if she got lost. Bob answered the phone himself and in answer to Vicki’s question said, “You must be psychic. I just talked to Detective Ryan who said they have dropped the case. Like you, he followed Loi’s trail to the note on the Walus’ back door. So far as the Oahu police are concerned, the boy and his father 88

are somewhere together and it’s none of their business where.” “How can they be so sure of that?” Vicki demanded impatiently. “Their theory is,” Bob explained, “that Loi camped out in the Walus’ garage until his father came for him in answer to a letter the boy wrote. On the floor of the garage they found a pocket knife with the word Loi scratched on the name plate. So the boy was there, and since he isn’t any more, Detective Ryan feels that he left with his father.” “Then why didn’t they go right back to Walu?” Vicki argued. “The whys of this world don’t concern the police,” Bob told her. “The fact that Kali did leave Walu at about the same time that Loi disappeared convinces Detective Ryan that the two are together.” He chuckled. “So that’s that, Vic. Forget about the whole thing, won’t you?” Vicki said good-bye, but she knew she couldn’t forget any part of it. She agreed with the police that Kali and Loi were probably together. And the discovery of Loi’s pocketknife in the Walus’ garage gave her good reason to believe that it was one of them who had knocked down the screen in the living room the day before. “They were camping out all right,” she told herself, “but not entirely in the garage. Someone 89

was cooking in that house on the hill just before Hank and I arrived. If it was Kali or his son, why did he sneak out the back door when we came in the front? According to Waluian custom they were doing no wrong.” Vicki sighed. Finding the pocketknife really proved nothing after all. Loi could have dropped it months ago without realizing it. He might have lost it the day he asked the Walus’ permission to play down on their beach. Then who had been “borrowing” in the Walus’ absence? “I’d like to know more about the customs on that fascinating island,” Vicki thought. “And more about the fountain lily shrub.” If only the Walus had not picked her vacation week for a visit on Maui! Hank would be busy in his clinic when they returned on Friday, but he had promised to take her to call on them on his next day off, Saturday. “I can’t wait till then,” Vicki moaned impatiently. “No one will object if I take a cab there now and search around the grounds for a clue to the identity of their mysterious visitor.” After all, it might have been Kali or Loi, avoiding them for reasons of their own. But then again, it might have been the person who had woven fountain lily buds through a ginger lei for the purpose of 90

kidnaping the Millet heiress. Outside at the taxi stand Vicki hailed a cab. “I want to go to a home on the other side of the Nuuanu Pali,” she said. “I don’t know the address, but it’s on a hill above a sugar plantation village, and it’s not far from the round-the-island road. It’s owned by an old Hawaiian couple named Walu.” The driver, who looked and talked as though he had been battling the traffic on New York’s Broadway not too long ago, shook his head. “Not me,” he said emphatically. “If you don’t know the address, lady, I can’t help you. Those dead-end roads are treacherous to back out of, and you can get lost as easy as falling off a cliff.” He grinned at his own humor and waved her away. The next driver Vicki hailed was even more emphatic in his refusal, but she had better luck with the third one. He, too, looked as though he belonged on Manhattan instead of this tropical island. He stared at her curiously and said: “You don’t mean that white house that climbs up the side of a hill with moneypod trees growin’ all along the driveway?” Vicki nodded excitedly. “That’s the one,” she said hastily, getting in before he had a chance to say he wouldn’t take her there. “You know the way, don’t you?” “I ought to,” he said, shifting into gear. “Took a 91

young lady and her old man’s chauffeur out there on Monday evening.” Vicki jumped. “Was the chauffeur a Hawaiian?” she asked, grateful that she had been lucky enough to run across a man who not only looked like a typical New York taxi driver but was apparently as garrulous as most of them were. “Uh-huh,” he said, fully living up to Vicki’s expectations. “The Hawaiian chauffeur says to me that the car broke down at the airport, so he left it in a garage. But when the young lady got off the plane she didn’t feel so good, touch of airsickness, I guess. Kept hangin’ on to his arm, moanin’ ‘Take me home to Daddy. Take me home, please.’ So the chauffeur, he decided not to wait for the car to get fixed, and hailed me. It’s a funny thing,” he went on conversationally, “when I went off duty that night and heard about the Millet girl gettin’ snatched, I says to myself, ‘Joe, that dame wasn’t airsick. She was doped. There wasn’t no luggage, remember?’ So I goes right to the nearest police station and tells my story.” He stopped for an intersection light and turned around to face Vicki who was sitting on the edge of her seat. “And you know what?” he demanded sourly. “They laughed in my face and told me to go peddle my papers. Because, you see, by that time everyone knew there hadn’t been no kidnapin’.” He turned 92

back to the wheel, shrugging. “It just proves to go, as I always say, mind your own business and you’ll stay out of trouble. That girl was so plain airsick she forgot all about her luggage. But the police had no business laughin’ at me, because I’ll tell you right now, she answered the description of that Millet dame all right. And how was I to know for sure she hadn’t been doped?” “You couldn’t know,” Vicki said sympathetically, and let out her pent-up breath in a long sigh. So the airsick girl answered the description of the Millet heiress! She bit her lip to keep from blurting, “Was she tall and very sun-tanned with long black hair, and was she wearing a lemon-colored suit and white sandals? Had she a jade ring on her finger?” But that would never do. If this talkative man suspected, as Vicki did, that the airsick girl really was the Millet heiress, he would never stop talking about it. One of his passengers might be a newspaper reporter who had already seen the Personal notice. Putting two and two together he would soon realize that he had a front-page story. And then Frances Millet’s life would be in danger. At best, her kidnaper would indefinitely delay further negotiations, thus putting her father through more mental torture. The wise thing to do was to encourage the driver to tell the story in his 93

own way. She settled back in her seat and said casually, “I think you were perfectly right to report your suspicions to the police. The chauffeur might have been a kidnaper. Although since she went with him willingly—” “He wasn’t wearin’ no uniform,” the driver interrupted in an aggrieved tone of voice. “But then, it bein’ the beginnin’ of Aloha Week, it’d be okay for him to drive around in one of them gosh-awful shirts and up to his ears in leis.” “Uh-huh,” Vicki said, thinking hard. A native disguised as a lei vendor and pretending to be the Millet chauffeur had taken the heiress from the airport to the Walus’ in this very cab. And she obviously knew him well enough to cling to his arm, moaning, “Take me home to Daddy.” Therefore, it seemed more than likely that her kidnaper was a Waluian, the same one who had woven toxic fountain lily buds through a ginger lei. This reasoning brought Vicki right back to Kali who had mysteriously disappeared a few days before the kidnaping. But now she wasn’t sure of his motive. If he had simply wanted enough money for a new start in life, and felt that the heiress’s father was indirectly responsible for his leaving Walu, why hadn’t he snatched her handbag? Or, for that matter, 94

stolen something from The Citadel or the Millet Company offices before he left the island? But even that reasoning didn’t hold up. The pineapple king was a kindly patriarch who would surely have given Kali a letter of recommendation and sufficient money to keep him going until he got employment elsewhere. Suddenly Vicki had another idea. If the kidnaper’s motive wasn’t greed, it might have been revenge. Somehow, without realizing it, Greg Millet must have wronged a simple Waluian and aroused his hatred. And the clue must lie in the history of Walu, its legends and lore. That, she decided, meant a visit to the public library. She glanced at her wrist watch and saw to her disappointment that it was too late to do any research that day. In a couple of hours guests would be arriving at the Kanes, and she should be dressed and ready to be introduced to them. But Vicki didn’t want to dismiss the cab until she had encouraged the driver to give her a more complete description of his airsick passenger. There was a remote possibility that he had driven a slim, young brunette, who resembled Frances Millet, across the Pali to another white house on a hill. So why not continue on to the Walus’, listening to his chatter en route? With luck she might even catch a glimpse of their mysterious visitor. 95

CHAPTER VII

Hawaiian Feast

The taxi driver decided for her, stopping in the heart of Honolulu to gaze back at her suspiciously. “Say, lady,” he said, “this jaunt across the island is going to run into money. Sure you got enough on you?” “Oh, my goodness,” Vicki gasped. “I never thought about that. Oahu is twenty-six miles wide, isn’t it?” “Yeah,” he said sourly, “and to get where you’re goin’ means a lot of climbin’ and twistin’ and turnin’, all of which runs up the meter. I figured you for a tourist who didn’t know no better, but not a rich one.” Vicki smiled at him sweetly. “I’m awfully sorry. I’ll have to make the trip some other time with the people I’m visiting. You’d better take me back to Waikiki now.” She gave him the Kanes’ address and said in a subtly flattering tone of voice: “You’re very observant. How did you know I 96

wasn’t a rich tourist?” “Simple.” He turned the cab around and went on conversationally, “Now, that airsick dame, she was rich. You can always tell. That is, if you’ve been hackin’ as long as I have.” “Well,” Vicki pointed out, “the fact that a chauffeur met her at the airport indicated that she wasn’t exactly poor.” “Sure, sure,” he said, grinning over one shoulder. “But sick as she was, hangin’ on to the Hawaiian’s arm to keep from fallin’, you could tell. Now, I’ll bet that plain little yellow suit she was wearin’ cost twice as much as the dress you got on.” “I’ll bet it did,” Vicki thought with a chuckle. “And you got a different look from her,” he went on. “Little and pretty as you are, I’d say you could take care of yourself, that you work for a livin’.” “I do,” Vicki told him with a laugh. “I’m a flight stewardess.” He nodded approvingly. “See what I mean? Now that other one, she was pretty too, but the hardest work she ever did was lie in the sun and get a nice, smooth tan. Say,” he interrupted himself, “what am I tellin’ you all this for? You must know the dame better than I do.” “No, I don’t,” Vicki assured him. “But I hope to meet her sometime very soon.” She added to herself, “As soon as possible.” 97

“Well, well,” he said, completely friendly now, “I’m sorry I couldn’t take you to her house today. And if your friends can’t take you, give me a ring on Friday. That’s my day off, and I got a little car of my own. I won’t charge you half as much as I’d have to when I’m workin’ for the company.” He stopped in front of the Kanes’ bungalow and handed her a cheap, printed card. Vicki read his name before she paid her fare and said, “Thank you, Mr. Brown. I may call you Friday.” “Just ask for Joe,” he said, accepting her tip with a broad grin. “It’ll be a pleasure to accommodate a nice young lady like you.” Vicki waved good-bye, thinking that she might have to call him Friday, unless she could convince Helen that the Millet heiress really was kidnaped. Then she hurried across the patio, hoping she would have time for a long talk with her hostess before the guests arrived. Helen, looking flushed and worried, was busy in the kitchen. “Thank goodness you got home early,” she wailed. “Sue just telephoned that she has to take the place of a sick usherette at the school pageant tonight, so she can’t help with supper.” “Oh, we can get along without her,” Vicki said cheerfully. “Want me to make canapés? I’m pretty good at that, due to my father’s instructions.” “Wonderful,” Helen cried, pushing a knife and a 98

wooden board across the worktable to Vicki. “Cheese in the refrigerator and tons of canned stuff on the shelf over your head. I’ll fix the fish in ti leaves myself. Can you reach the rock salt? And while you’re in the refrigerator, please hand me the bacon and some lemons. Oh, dear, thank goodness Bob will broil steaks on the charcoal burner out on the lanai while you and I relax. Why did that usherette have to go and get sick?” She spread the first section of the morning newspaper on the drainboard and began cleaning little silver-scaled fish. Vicki picked up the back pages and turned quickly to the Personals. There it was again, this time at the top of the column. Lost: A Priceless Jade Ring. “Helen,” Vicki said soberly, “I’m absolutely positive now that Frances Millet really was kidnaped.” “Now, darling,” Helen said soothingly, “I’m too busy to listen to the ravings of a lunatic.” She smiled over one shoulder, then suddenly frowned. “Why, something’s happened. You are sure. Tell me all about it, Vic.” For answer, Vicki handed her the Personal Page. Helen read the notice quickly. “So what? Everybody on this island who can afford one has a jade ring.” Vicki patiently went on slicing cheese. Slowly 99

she repeated her conversation with Joe Brown as nearly as she could remember it. When she had finished, Helen sat down opposite her, resting her elbows on the table, her chin cupped in her hands. After a while she said thoughtfully, “It could have been Frances Millet, and then again, it could have been another tanned girl wearing a lemon-colored suit. Anyway,” she went on, rubbing rock salt into the fish, “I think you’d better leave the whole business to the police.” Vicki sighed. “Don’t you see, Helen, the police don’t enter the picture at all? Mr. Millet wouldn’t dare get help from them for fear his daughter’s kidnaper might do something awful to her in revenge.” She stopped, the knife in mid-air and added, “Speaking of revenge, Helen, have you any idea what Mr. Millet might have innocently done to make Kali hate him? I mean, could he have violated some ancient Waluian law without realizing it?” Helen giggled. “Put down that knife. You frighten me, you and your talk of revenge. No, from what I’ve heard about Mr. Millet, he’s the type of man who would have made it his business to find out all the ancient taboos and then he would have seen to it that they were not disobeyed.” Vicki watched her cover the fish with lemon slices and bacon strips before wrapping them in ti leaves. There was no sense, she decided, in trying to 100

get information about Walu from the Kanes or from Hank. They would only laugh at her if she argued that Frances Millet might have been kidnaped by Kali. But tomorrow she would read every book in the library that even mentioned the tiny Pacific isle. Abruptly she changed the subject. “I didn’t know ti leaves were edible. I thought old-time Hawaiians made hula skirts out of them.” “That’s right,” Helen said, tying the fish together with the fibrous parts of the leaves. “But they’re also used for baking, just as you might use cornhusks or parchment paper. The hula, you know, is the Polynesian way of expressing thanks for all of nature’s bounty. Each graceful movement is a line of poetry and every dance a poem. You’ll see some of the simpler ones this evening,” she chattered gaily. “A group of us teachers’ wives have been taking lessons.” “Show me some of the steps now and what they mean,” Vicki begged. Laughing, Helen began to move her arms and fingers above the table. “I’m telling you about my little grass hut,” she told Vicki, “and this means the men came back with their canoes filled with fish.” Just then Bob came in and hooted with laughter. “Never attempt a hula without a hula skirt,” he scolded his wife. “I saw you from the patio and thought you were trying to catch a mosquito.” 101

Helen pretended to pout. “Just wait until we gals give you a demonstration tonight. You men had better dust off your ukuleles. We’ll want expert renditions of ‘Little Brown Girl’ and ‘Lovely Hula Hands.’ ” Bob blew her a kiss and sang, “ ‘To you, sweetheart, aloha.’ I’m off to buy some records. We men haven’t had a chance to touch our ukes since preparations for Aloha Week began.” “Don’t you dare leave this house,” Helen shrieked. “Sue didn’t show up and Vicki and I have a thousand things to do before we can shower and dress. You’ll have to greet early arrivals.” Bob threw up his hands in mock dismay. “Okay, okay, but let me take a dip and change into clean clothes first.” “And after that,” Helen said briskly, “you can open ice cubes for the punch. Thank goodness I had the presence of mind to squeeze a lot of oranges and lemons early this morning. But we’ll have to use canned pineapple slices. I simply haven’t time to work on the fresh ones.” “Never,” Bob said dramatically, “never let it be said that the Kanes served canned fruit to their guests. Furthermore, have you forgotten that your husband is an expert? I can decapitate, peel, slice, and core a dozen pineapples in the time it takes you and Vicki to make up your faces.” 102

“All right, genius,” Helen said, popping a pan of fish into the oven. “And don’t forget to chop some mint leaves and make some sugar syrup.” Vicki decorated her last canapé with a pimento curl. “Better let me make the syrup,” she offered, “so it’ll have time to cool.” “Swell,” Helen agreed. “You do that while I give the lanai a lick and a promise.” Somehow, without hurrying too much, they were all three bathed and dressed by the time the first guest arrived. It was Hank, laden with exquisite leis for Vicki and Helen. “Silly,” Helen scolded him. “There’re enough in this box for every one of my female guests.” “But what a lovely idea,” Vicki said quickly, afraid that Helen might have hurt Hank’s feelings. “Why not greet each one with a lei and a kiss as she comes in the door—the way the hula dancers welcome arrivals at the airport.” Helen clapped her hands with delight. “How clever of you, Vicki.” Hank grinned. “As I keep on saying, she’s learning our island customs fast, very fast.” “Soon I won’t be able to keep up with her,” Helen said with a giggle. She tucked her arm affectionately through Vicki’s. “You know what, Hank? A while ago she almost had me convinced that your friends, the Walus, had kidnaped Frances Millet.” 103

Vicki joined in the laughter at her own expense. She knew that Helen, like most impulsive people who talk before they think, had not meant to make her the butt of a joke. But still it was hard to keep on smiling after Bob and Hank continued the teasing. “Pupule,” Bob said to Hank. “Completely nuts. What is your diagnosis, Dr. Hoyt?” Hank tapped his chin in his most professional manner. “I agree with you, Dr. Kane. A strait jacket is the only remedy.” He looped a lei around Vicki’s wrists and led her through the house to the lanai. Bob and Helen trooped after them, laughing merrily. “There’s nothing like the night air,” he told them. “Or a ducking in the ocean. Name your own medicine,” he said to Vicki. For answer she tossed the long end of the lei around his own neck and twisted it lightly. “Strangling,” she said grimly, “is too good for a fake kahuna like you.” And for a moment, as her temper flared, she almost meant it. Then Bob and Helen hurried away as new arrivals shouted from the patio on the other side of the bungalow. Hank stared down at her in surprise. “Why, Vicki,” he said unbelievingly, “you’re mad. Really mad.” He corrected himself hastily, stumbling over his words. “I don’t mean insane, I mean angry. I’m terribly sorry. We were only kidding. Honest, no one pays any attention to 104

what Helen says when she babbles. We all know you don’t suspect people who weren’t here when someone was kidnaped of kidnaping someone who wasn’t kidnaped.” He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “What I mean is, what I’m trying to say is—” Vicki interrupted with a peal of laughter, her good humor completely restored. “Stop it, Hank,” she begged. “I know you know I know the Walus never kidnaped anybody. Oh, dear,” she gasped. “Now I’m doing it. Let’s start all over again.” “Let’s don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Let’s try and revive ourselves with some punch.” He ladled the fruit juice into the scooped-out baby pineapples Bob had found time to prepare for the occasion, and said: “You’ve obviously gone to my head in more ways than one, Victoria Barr. Would that I had the same effect on you. Any chance of it with a generous dose of moonlight thrown in?” Before Vicki could reply, they were surrounded by the other guests, most of them young American men and women who had spent all of their lives in Honolulu. And each couple brought a contribution to the luau. When Vicki’s canapés swiftly disappeared, Ruth Larsone produced a platter of delicious appetizers made from dried octopus. Sally Davis passed a bowl of lomilomi, salted salmon and 105

fresh tomatoes. When Bob’s sizzling steaks were ready, Rachel Hayle appeared from the kitchen with a wooden bowl of avocado salad, followed by her sister proudly bearing a crystal dish of homemade mango chutney. After that, Kay Borden dashed off to her own refrigerator for a delicious dessert of banana ice cream. “I know now what a luau is,” Vicki said with a contented sigh. “A feast to end all feasts. If I lived out here very long I’d need a bed the size of the one in the Iolani Palace.” Plump Kay Borden giggled. “It’s why I love carnival weeks. Nothing is more flattering to a figure like mine than a holoku. Wish I could get by with wearing one all the time.” “Me too,” Helen agreed. “It’s ghastly having a guest like Vicki who eats like a horse and stays as tiny as a Menehune.” “Just who were the Menehunes?” Vicki asked curiously. “Gremlins, leprechauns, or just plain hobgoblins?” “Sort of a combination of them all,” Ted Hayle replied. “A race of dwarfs, actually, who were here even before the Polynesians arrived in their ancient canoes bringing with them their livestock and vegetables. According to the legend, the irrigation ditches over on Kauai were built by the Menehunes. And I must say, scientist that I am, the stone 106

craftsmanship, which the Hawaiians never mastered, is impressive.” “Another interesting item about Kauai, the Garden Isle,” Rachel put in, “is the strange barking noise the sand makes when you walk on it.” “That,” her husband told Vicki with a smile, “can be explained by elementary science. A thin film of condensed gases—” “Stop it,” Helen interrupted. “Save it for your pupils, Ted. Vicki is more interested in the lore of the islands than hearing your weighty explanation of the Barking Sands.” “I’m interested in hearing about everything,” Vicki said quickly, hoping the conversation might switch to the tiny island of Walu. “Especially the ancient taboos. Are any of the islands still governed by them?” “I know what you’re thinking about,” Dick Davis said. “That silly Stateside legend that if a native ever leaves Niihua he is not allowed to return.” Vicki pricked up her ears. Did the same rule perhaps apply to the Waluians? Was that the answer to the curt, scribbled words from the Millet Pineapple Company concerning Kali: “No longer employed by us.” Dick was pacing up and down, frowning. “There isn’t a word of truth in it, of course, but every hack writer who spends a week on Waikiki goes home to 107

keep the yarn alive in print. My theory is that it all started because the family that has owned Niihua since the time it was deeded to them by the king doesn’t encourage visitors. And can you blame them? Would you want tourists picnicking on your estate all the year round?” Vicki, thinking of the restful privacy and her pet sanctuaries on The Castle grounds, shook her head. “Is there something particularly interesting about Niihua that makes visitors want to go there?” she asked. “Certainly,” Dick said. “It’s been carefully preserved as a capsule of old Hawaii as it was shortly after the missionaries came. There are fullblooded natives there, as devout as the missionaries hoped to make the other Hawaiians, and failed. They live happily, exactly as they please, caring for the stock and produce of the island. If they want to leave and come back, they can, but they rarely do, because it is to them a little paradise. Naturally” he went on, “there are a few simple laws which must be obeyed for the good of all. For instance, smoking is taboo in certain areas during work hours. The reason for that is that the water supply is not adequate to control a fire of any size. If a native wants a cigarette, he simply goes to a spot where it isn’t taboo.” Vicki stared out at the moon-silvered water. Did she dare risk more teasing by suggesting that life on 108

Niihua sounded a lot like that on Walu? As though reading her mind, Hank said, “Frankly, the Stateside criticism of the family that owns Niihua burns me up. My friends, who owned Walu until Greg Millet bought it, would have been just as unfairly libeled if their island hadn’t been so much farther from Honolulu.” “I know,” Dick said soberly. “It’s a shame they had to sell it. What was behind that deal, anyway Politics?” “I don’t really know,” Hank admitted. “Although we’re very close friends, the Walus won’t discuss it with me. I can only guess that they, who are as educated and informed as the royal family of England, felt that their people should have all the advantages civilization has to offer. They simply didn’t have the money to do what Greg Millet has done.” Bob, who had been busy in the kitchen brewing more coffee, joined in the conversation then. “I understand,” he said as Helen began to pass the demitasse, “that the Millet Company spent a small fortune improving sanitary conditions by increasing the water supply. Didn’t you tell me, Hank, that besides the artesian wells, they drilled tunnels through the mountain at enormous expense?” “That’s right,” Hank said. “And Walu now has its own power plant, besides an army of trucks, trailers, 109

cranes and tractors, plus the most up-to-date farming equipment.” Dick sighed ruefully. “The March of Civilization, and I suppose a good thing too. But the Waluians still catch fish with spears or in nets and grow their own taro roots for their poi, don’t they?” “Sure,” Bob said. “And that’s what puzzles me. One of them, the father of one of my pupils, quit recently. I can’t imagine why.” “Kali might have been fired,” Hank pointed out. Dick whistled. “A Millet Company employee fired? I don’t believe it. From what I’ve heard about that setup, it’s a model community. Like Niihua. Nobody has any temptation to do anything that might lead to his being discharged.” He turned to Bob. “And yet you say a Waluian quit recently?” Bob nodded. “The boy, who would have entered your class next year, Dick, disappeared at about the same time. I notified the police who dropped the case almost as soon as they took it up. Their theory is that the father and son are somewhere together.” “But why isn’t that somewhere the Island of Walu?” Vicki put in quietly. “My own theory,” Hank said to Bob, “is that Loi, when he heard of his uncle’s death, went straight to Walu. Then they both left the island together to seek a new home untouched by civilization. There are such islands, you know. I’ve seen them from the air. 110

Too small to land on, but Kali, I imagine, has built himself an outrigger canoe by this time.” Bob stared thoughtfully out at the sea which the moon was touching with silver. “I guess that’s the real answer, Hank,” he said. Then he laughed. “Actually, all three of the mysterious disappearances which intrigued Vicki weren’t mysterious at all.” Suddenly Vicki realized to her embarrassment that she was the only woman on the lanai. And then the others came trooping out in hula costumes. Barefoot, they danced down on the beach, the men strumming an accompaniment on their ukes and guitars. It was a lovely scene, and Vicki watched, fascinated, while Hank softly interpreted the meanings of the different steps and graceful movements. “The Portuguese,” he told Vicki, “brought the ukulele to Hawaii, and many of the steps and the words in the songs were made up spontaneously during a party like this.” The dancing ended after plump Kay did a burlesque solo which she called the “hula-rhumba.” Vicki stood on the patio with Hank and the Kanes, calling gay farewells to the departing guests. Then Hank insisted upon staying to help with the tidying up. “I’m the best automatic silent butler you ever saw,” he said, stacking punch glasses with one hand, 111

while he nested demitasse cups with the other. “Oh, me, oh, my,” Helen yawned, trying unsuccessfully to tie an apron around her hula skirt. “This is what I call paying the piper in a big way.” “Please, honey,” Vicki begged. “Go to bed and let me cope. You’ve been up since dawn and I slept late.” Hank pushed the Kanes out of the kitchen, gently but firmly. “Scram,” he said. “What Vicki and I can’t wash we’ll break and throw away.” Bob and Helen stumbled sleepily away, murmuring weak and grateful protests. Vicki washed and Hank dried under the critical supervision of Ricki, the pet mongoose, and the supercilious cat. When everything was as neat as a pin, their little chaperones followed them suspiciously out to the moonlit patio. “Ignore them,” Hank said, dismissing the animals with an airy wave of his hand, “and concentrate on me. I want to talk to you seriously, Vicki.” “Speak,” she said, smiling. “I’m all ears.” He pursed his lips disapprovingly. “Only when the topic of conversation is the island of Walu. You may confide in me, little one. What’s the fatal fascination?” For a moment Vicki was tempted to tell him about the personal and what she had learned from 112

Joe Brown, the taxi driver. But just then, the popoki, mewing boredly, scratched on the door for admittance. Vicki let her into the house and said to Hank over one shoulder: “To tell you the truth, Hank, I can’t wait until Saturday to meet your Hawaiian friends. Would it be very bad-mannered of me if I went to call on them myself on Friday? You see,” she said wistfully, “my return plane reservations are for Sunday evening. That doesn’t give me much time.” “Don’t talk about such sad subjects as your departure,” he said. “And of course you can call on the Walus yourself Friday—I mean tomorrow.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Then Saturday I’ll have you all to myself from brunch on.” “Will I need a letter of introduction from you?” Vicki asked, suddenly feeling shy at the idea of meeting descendants of Hawaii’s nobles. “Don’t be silly,” he hooted. “They’ll fall in love with you at first sight. But if it’ll make you feel any better, I can send you there in the limousine. I inherited a Filipino chauffeur, you know, who’s the bane of my existence. He still thinks I’m six years old, but he could drive you to the Walus with his eyes shut and one arm in a sling. As a matter of fact, he and the car are at your service whenever you want them.” “Oh, no, thanks,” Vicki said hastily. “Arriving 113

like a grande dame would be sure to make me tongue-tied.” He grinned down at her. “Helen should try that remedy. My, how that gal can talk! Well, aloha until tomorrow, I mean tonight, when I’ll be back here making a party call. My mother brought me up very well,” he said, his eyes twinkling, “especially when the hostess has a house guest like you.” Vicki smiled. “Aloha,” she said softly and slipped into the silent house. “What a lovely word aloha is,” she thought, listening dreamily to the wind rustling the leaves of the trees outside her window. “It means welcome, hospitality, love and good-bye, all rolled into one.”

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CHAPTER VIII

The Fountain Lily Legend

Vicki awoke the next morning when it was still dark. She had been dreaming that Mr. Walu was a giant Hawaiian in a gold feathered cape. Instead of greeting her with the traditional word, aloha, he had held his hands stiffly out in front of him, intoning, “Kapu. Keep Out. He who crosses this threshold may never return to the outside world.” Vicki shivered and tried to go back to sleep. But suddenly it was broad daylight. She listened for a while to Bob and Helen whispering and tiptoeing so as not to disturb her. Then the fragrant odor of fresh coffee mingling with frying bacon permeated the whole bungalow. Vicki could stand it no longer. She jumped out of bed and donned her bathing suit, determined to spend part of the morning acquiring a tan. “At least until the library opens,” she told her reflection in the mirror. “My, you really are a paleface!” Bob and Helen were already in swimming when 115

she ran out to the beach, and breakfast, in covered hot plates on the chow bench, was waiting on the lanai. They ate in their damp bathing suits, for it was a warm, balmy morning. Vicki, in spite of the luau the night before, was ravenous. Helen stretched her rounded arms above her head luxuriously. “Thank goodness I’m pau so far as Aloha Week in the schools is concerned. And I’m sure you’ve had enough of pageants and parades, Vicki. Would you like to go on one of the tourists’ trips by boat or plane? Or just relax here on the beach? I’ve got to make some duty calls this afternoon. Maiden aunts I wouldn’t think of inflicting on you, but until then I’m yours, if you want me. For heaven’s sake, be frank. If you feel like curling up with a good book, say so.” “Give her a chance to answer one question at a time,” Bob said as he kissed his wife good-bye. “And speaking of books, Vicki, if you’re really interested in the legends and lore, we’ve got several good ones in the study. For all that Helen talks like a myna, she’s really quite a student. You’ve heard, of course, that she’s writing an exhaustive history of Hawaii? A tome, in fact.” “I hadn’t heard,” Vicki said when Bob had gone. “Have you been keeping your talents under a bushel, Helen?” 116

Helen blushed. “I’m not sure I have any talent, Vicki,” she said in an unusually serious voice. “Oh, I write a little weekly homemakers’ column for one of the Honolulu newspapers. I sold some short stories before Bob and I got married, and last year a book of mine was published out here. A short history of the Sandwich Islands, written for kids from eight to twelve. Recently a mainland publisher queried me about writing one for teen-agers.” “How wonderful!” Vicki cried in admiration. “You can’t possibly have any doubts about having talent now. And I’ll bet,” she added shrewdly, “you’re dying to get to your typewriter this very minute.” “We-ell,” Helen began, and then finished frankly, “that is, if you’ll be perfectly happy by yourself.” “I’ll be more than happy,” Vicki assured her. “I’d like to read your book and any others you have on the subject of the islands.” Half an hour later she was stretched out on the sand, half in and half out of the shade of a bright beach umbrella. She read Helen’s brief history quickly and found it charming, but it did not even mention the tiny island of Walu. And the only reference she found to it in the other books was a definition of the word, “eight, or eighth of his clan.” “Oh, dear,” she sighed disappointedly. “Maybe I 117

won’t have any better luck at the library. Walu is so little and so far away I don’t suppose historians thought it worthy of notice.” When she felt she had had enough sun, Vicki took one last dip, then went inside to change into a printed silk frock. Helen, on the other side of the closed study door, was busily tapping the keys of her typewriter. “I won’t disturb her,” Vicki decided. “I’ll leave a note saying I’ll be back by the time she’s finished calling on her aunts.” Then, pinning a flaming hibiscus flower in her blonde hair, she strolled off toward the crowded section of Waikiki. A soft breeze blew puffy little clouds across the blue sky, and the water was dotted with swimmers, surf riders, and outrigger canoes. The sun worshippers on the sand seemed to include people of all races—Filipinos, Caucasians, Japanese and Chinese, as well as the handsome, dark-skinned Hawaiians. Smart shops and attractive eating places lined both sides of the avenue, but Vicki kept resolutely on. She felt as though Diamond Head, looming behind her, were frowning at the audacity of a newcomer who dared to doubt the wisdom of such old-timers as Hank and the Kanes. “It’s because they are such old-timers,” Vicki told herself, “that they can’t see what’s right under their noses. Or else 118

they’ve lived in the tropics so long they’ve become bewitched.” Vicki simply could not understand how Bob and Hank could so casually dismiss the mysterious disappearance of Kali and his son. She had been very much surprised last night when Bob had accepted Hank’s theory that Loi, when he heard of his uncle’s death, had gone straight to Walu. For Vicki, although she had not entered the discussion, was unconvinced that an eleven-year-old boy would attempt such a trip without first seeking advice and help; if not from his primitive neighbors, then certainly from his schoolteacher for whom he had apparently formed such an attachment. Why, she argued inwardly, it would be like Ginny starting off for the North Pole without a cent in her pocket! Loi, Vicki felt sure, had gone to his bamboo shelter to hide his grief, not to his father on Walu. She had no doubt that he had written Kali, telling him of his uncle’s death, and then had simply waited in his lonely cove for his father’s arrival. Kali would naturally have come as soon as possible, by-passing the village and going straight to his son’s hiding place. But then, if he no longer loved Walu now that it had been touched by civilization, why hadn’t Kali gone to his dead brother’s home? The natives in that 119

tiny fishing village were almost as primitive and carefree as the original Waluians. But Kali had avoided the village. Why? Hank and the Kanes didn’t bother to answer that why in their explanation of Kali and Lois disappearance. But Vicki felt sure she knew why Kali had not wished to be seen by his brother’s neighbors. At that time he must already have kidnaped the Millet heiress, or was planning to do it, his motive revenge. His desire for vengeance might have been based on the fact that he had been fired for disobeying a Millet Company law. But what seemed more likely was that the Millet Company had antagonized him by violating a Waluian taboo. At the entrance to Waikiki, Vicki hailed a cab and asked the driver to take her to the public library. There she read until pangs of hunger told her it was well past lunchtime. She gobbled a sandwich and washed it down with a glass of milk in a drug store on Punchbowl Street. Then back to the reading room where she concentrated on the ancient Polynesian legends. The goddess Pele had once attended a ti-sledding contest, disguised as an old woman. The natives, coasting down the grassy slopes on giant ti leaves, paid no attention to her and did not invite her to their luau. Infuriated, the fire goddess poured molten lava 120

over them, and to this day their bodies are said to be imprisoned beneath the Royal Slide on the Kona Coast of the Big Island, Hawaii. Vicki carefully read every story describing the feats of the great fisherman Maui. But that powerful god had apparently ignored the existence of the tiny Island of Walu. Wearily she turned the pages until she came to the tales describing the time when the chain of fabulous islands was considered “a sailor’s yarn.” Then came fair-haired Captain Cook, whom the Hawaiians took for their light-skinned god Lono. He named the chain the Sandwich Islands in honor of the English Earl of Sandwich. Walu was not shown on the decorative map. Vicki suddenly decided to do some research under the subject of trees and flowers. Walu might have been known at one time by the Hawaiian name for the fountain lily shrub. She discovered, to her surprise, that when the first Polynesians landed in their canoes around A.D. 500 there were almost no food plants. A Spaniard, Don Francisco Marin, who came to Hawaii about the time of the American Revolution, stayed to plant and develop most of the flowers, shrubs, and trees for which the islands are now famous. Captain George Vancouver and the Scottish botanist Archibald Menzies brought seedlings too. 121

But there was no mention of a shrub with buds containing a pain-killing fluid. Vicki, greatly discouraged, finally consulted the librarian. “Walu?” the kind-faced woman asked. “Let me see. Have you tried the Children’s Section?” Vicki shook her head, and following directions found herself in a large room filled with boys and girls. The walls were covered with murals of warriors in their feathered capes and helmets. And there on a shelf beside Helen Kane’s book was a slim volume entitled Tales of Tiny Isles. In the center of the book was a dog-eared chapter devoted to Walu! Vicki was so excited her knees began to shake and she sank into the nearest chair. She skimmed the first page which covered facts she already knew: How the island was deeded by Kamehameha the Great to the first Chief Walu. It was then that the name was changed from “The Resting Place of the Little People” to Walu. The legend explained the original name. Long, long ago when Hawaii Loa and his people began to take over the islands, the Menehunes retired first to the Garden Isle, Kauai, and finally to a tiny island far out in the Pacific. There they gradually died of sorrow. But when the wind and the sun tried to dry up 122

their tears, they found they were powerless. The tiny droplets clung tenaciously to the sand and rocks, glistening like diamonds or reflecting in miniature every rainbow that arched across the sky. Then many years later came a great kahuna from Kauai, who had been exiled after a quarrel with his chief. He plowed the fertile land in the valley between the mountain and the sea, and planted saplings he had brought with him from the Garden Isle. But the wind, angry with the souls of the Little People who had refused to give her their tears, kept the rain away from the leeward side of the mountain. A drought descended on the valley and the tender green shoots began to wither. The Menehunes, sorry for the kahuna because he, too, had been exiled, whispered softly: “Gather our tears and use them that they may live forever in the buds of the flowers that will grow from the stunted stalks of your saplings.” So every day the old sorcerer watered his plants with the teardrops, and instead of becoming tall trees, they grew into flowering shrubs. And in each bulb-shaped bud was a portion of the Menehunes’ tears. Then the sun and the wind relented and smiled upon the island. Again the kahuna heard the voice of the Little People: “Tend the shrubs well, O Kahuna, and the land 123

will always be fertile. But if a day should come when there will no longer be one shrub growing on this island, disaster will descend upon it.” So that was the legend of the fountain lily. And now at last Vicki could see that Kali might have a motive for revenge! Suppose the Millet Company had recently plowed under the last of the shrubs. Whether it was done accidentally or on purpose, such an act might well arouse the wrath of a superstitious native. And Kali had good reasons for believing in the Menehunes’ threat of disaster. There had been two deaths in his family recently! “I’m surprised,” Vicki thought, “that Helen never came across this legend when she did research for her own book. I wonder when it was published.” She turned to the opening pages and almost dropped the slim volume when she saw the inscription on the flyleaf: “To Frances on her twelfth birthday from her loving father. Island of Walu, June fifteenth.” And it was dated five years ago. “ ‘Frances on her twelfth birthday,’ ” Vicki murmured wonderingly. “Walu, five years ago. This book must have once belonged to the seventeenyear-old Millet heiress. Her father probably bought it in the States since it was published there, and gave it to her about the time that he was planning to buy the island. Then it must have been donated with 124

several others during a recent collection drive. That would explain why Helen never came across the fountain lily legend when she was gathering material for her own book.” Suddenly Vicki’s eyes popped open. There was something familiar about the sprawling handwriting in the inscription on the flyleaf. Then she knew. It was strikingly similar to die handwriting on the envelope the Millet Company had returned to Bob with the words: “No longer employed by the Millet Company. Present whereabouts unknown.” Those scribbled words were indelibly printed on her mind, the closed e’s and o’s; the m’s and n’s that too closely resembled the w’s and u’s. It was the penmanship of a busy, impatient man, long accustomed to dictating even his private correspondence. Would such a busy man bother to return a letter addressed to one of his native employees? Of course not. A clerk would have handled such a trifling matter. The pineapple king probably didn’t even know Kali by name, and might have no idea that he was no longer employed by the company. And yet Vicki was almost certain that both sets of sprawling words had been written by the same man. To satisfy her curiosity she traced the inscription on the flyleaf, using a single sheet of face tissue she 125

found in her handbag. Then she hurriedly left the library, planning to compare the two sets as soon as possible. Helen had not yet returned when Vicki arrived at the bungalow, so Vicki went straight through to the lanai. The letter was still there under the huge conch shell on the rattan table. The next step was to match up words or similar groups of letters in the two samples. Carefully she laid the traced “on” over the same two letters in the word “longer” on the envelope. And again with the word “her” over the he-r of “whereabouts.” Now she was sure. Greg Millet had sent that letter back to Bob! For some reason a clerk or foreman had brought it to him instead of handling such a trivial job as a matter of routine. Before Vicki had time to think, Helen came running in from the patio. She stared in amazement at the sight of Vicki crouched over the envelope and tissue she had spread out on the chow bench. “What on earth are you doing?” she demanded. “Come see for yourself,” Vicki replied. “I’ve just found out that it was Greg Millet himself who sent Kali’s letter back to Bob.” Helen glanced swiftly from the traced inscription to the scribbled words on the envelope. “They were certainly written by the same person,” she admitted. “But where did you find the ‘to Frances’ one?” 126

“In the public library,” Vicki explained, “on the flyleaf of a book of Hawaiian legends. It must have been donated by the Millets during a drive.” Helen nodded. “I gave a stack to the Boy Scouts myself last week.” She laughed. “Well, what do you know! So the patriarch of Walu is the postmaster too!” Vicki bit her lip. “That’s ridiculous, Helen.” “Not any more ridiculous,” Helen returned, “than the idea that whoever does handle the mail also has a seventeen-year-old daughter named Frances.” Vicki sighed. “Stop and think for a minute. Don’t you realize that this letter was brought to Greg Millet’s attention for a special reason? Kali must have left the island under unusual circumstances. Either he was fired for flagrantly disobeying a law, or he left after a stormy scene with the pineapple king because the company is violating a Waluian taboo.” Helen collapsed on the mat beside Vicki. “I see what you’re driving at,” she said soberly. “Either way, Kali kidnaped Millet’s daughter for revenge?” “That’s what I think,” Vicki said. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?” “It does and it doesn’t.” Helen carefully compared the two handwriting samples again. “A peace-loving native and a kindly patriarch,” she muttered to herself. “An island paradise governed by 127

a few simple laws—” She turned back to Vicki. “No, I can’t see it. Full-blooded Hawaiians just don’t go around kidnaping heiresses, nor do they disobey rules. And Greg Millet would not make the stupid mistake of violating a taboo.” “He might,” Vicki argued, “if he didn’t realize what he was doing.” And then she repeated the fountain lily legend she had read in Tales of Tiny Isles. “Mr. Millet,” she finished, “gave the book to his daughter, but that doesn’t mean he read it.” Helen nodded in agreement. “And it must have been donated very recently. I read every Hawaiian legend in the library before I wrote my own little history.” “And,” Vicki asked, “you agree with me now that Kali had a motive for kidnaping Frances Millet?” “He might have done it,” Helen admitted. “But I doubt it. The Hawaiians are a very philosophical race. They calmly accept all sorts of disasters like erupting volcanoes and tidal waves as messages from the gods. And frankly, I think that legend was invented by a mainland writer who was equipped with more imagination than factual data.” She scrambled to her feet. “But you go right ahead with your theories. I’m delighted you’re taking such an interest in our islands. Most visitors never do anything but sit on the beach at Waikiki. 128

Which reminds me, let’s have a swim before we dress. Bob telephoned for us to meet him at the Outrigger for dinner. Hank’s giving a returnengagement party in your honor.” She grabbed Vicki’s hand excitedly. “You had me so bewitched I almost forgot. Everyone at the club dance tonight will be wearing holokus, so Hank is lending you the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen outside of a museum. It belonged to his grandmother. You’ll look like a blonde goddess. I’ll make you a crown of plumiera and tuberoses. Come on!” Vicki meekly allowed herself to be led inside the bungalow, but she could not get excited at the prospect of a gay party in her honor at the exclusive club. Her thoughts carried her ahead to the next day when she would call on the Walus. She had a long, mental list of questions to ask them. The answer to one of them would be how much truth there was in the legend she had read that day at the library. But suppose at the outset they politely but firmly let her know that they resented her intrusion of their privacy? If that happened she would have to leave the islands without ever solving the mystery of the broken lei.

129

CHAPTER IX

Vicki Meets the Walus

By the time Helen finished arranging her crown of plumiera and tuberoses, Vicki did indeed look like a blonde goddess. The exquisite holoku Hank had loaned her accentuated the graceful lines of her slim young body, and the bright colors in the pattern made her eyes look bluer than ever. Hank’s own green eyes widened when he saw her. “Boy, oh, boy,” he said as he came in from the patio. “Will you wow the crowd at the Outrigger tonight!” Vicki giggled. “Especially when I trip over my train as we make our entrance.” “Don’t worry about that,” Helen said hastily. “With a little more practice you’ll be able to do a square dance, train and all.” “I wouldn’t even attempt a waltz in this holoku,” Vicki insisted, practicing little mincing steps in front of the mirror. 130

Hank grinned. “You have nothing to fear, little one. With my gang cutting in on you every other step you’d get by even if you had two left feet. Which you haven’t. You and Helen are both wizards on the dance floor.” “Thanks for including me in your lavish compliments,” Helen said, dimpling. “Come on, Vic. You manage that train now as well as Hank’s grandmother did, I’ll bet. It’s getting late and Bob hates to be kept waiting.” “Is Bob going straight to the Club from school?” Hank asked, frowning a little. “When’s he going to change into dinner clothes?” “Everything’s been taken care of,” Helen assured him airily. “I dropped his tuxedo off at the school when I went to call on my aunts this afternoon. He had to be present to make the opening announcement at the marionette show around six.” She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “It’s seven now. Bob will be at the Club, champing at the bit. He’ll feel like celebrating now that the part his kids had to play in the Aloha Week festivities are over.” With a gallant bow, Hank crooked his arms and escorted them both to his car. “After dinner,” he said, “we ought to listen to the sacred songs of Hawaii in Ala Moana Park.” “I’d like that,” Vicki said. “But I don’t like to keep you working people out too late at night. I’m 131

on vacation and can sleep late, but the rest of you can’t.” Helen nodded to show her appreciation of Vicki’s considerateness. “I’ll bet flight stewardesses when they’re not on vacation have to go to bed early,” she said. “They certainly do,” Vicki told her. “We have to be on our feet for hours at a time, catching sleep in between flights at odd hours of the day and night. But I wouldn’t change jobs with anyone in the world.” “If only you’d change your headquarters,” Hank complained. “Hawaii is the place for air-minded people,” he said, pointing to the planes that were crisscrossing the sky. “Besides, you should stay on till next October and let me take you to the Maui County Fair.” “Vicki would enjoy that,” Helen agreed, adding, “It’s fun. Horse racing, a vaudeville show, and just everything.” “I’m sorry I missed it,” Vicki said. “You haven’t,” Hank argued. “It’s only a little over eleven months off. Time passes quickly in this fair land.” Vicki smiled. She hoped that the night at least would pass quickly, for she was looking forward to meeting the Walus. All evening as she danced and later listened to the haunting melody of the ancient 132

hymns she was inwardly thinking of what might happen the next morning when she called on the old Hawaiian couple. Perhaps nothing would come of the visit Perhaps Frances Millet was really safe in her Citadel on Walu. Perhaps, as the Kanes and Hank had said all along, there never had been a kidnaping. And suppose the Walus did know the answers to Vicki’s long mental list of questions, but refused to give her the answers? They might well be cool and reserved with a stranger. In that case, Vicki knew she would withdraw into her shell and leave without getting any nearer to the solution of the mystery of the broken lei. The Walus, as it turned out, greeted her so warmly that Vicki soon felt that she had known them all her life. She had telephoned Joe Brown that morning as soon as Helen shut herself in the study. He picked her up an hour later and, talking all the while, drove her to the hillside home. The handsome old Hawaiian couple were sitting out on their lanai when the car stopped. They rose at once and came down the steps to greet their caller. “I’m a friend of Hank Hoyt’s,” Vicki said timidly. And then assured by their gracious smiles of welcome she added quickly, “He’s told me so much about you I couldn’t wait until his day off tomorrow to meet you.” 133

“How charming of you to come see us old people,” Mrs. Walu said, taking Vicki’s hand. “Hank telephoned us a while ago saying we might expect you.” She turned to Joe Brown. “Miss Barr is staying for lunch. We’ll call you when she’s ready to leave.” “Okay,” he said as Vicki paid him. “I don’t live far from here and I’ll be working around home all day. Give me a buzz any time.” He drove off with a cheerful grin. “I understand you are a flight stewardess,” Mr. Walu said as they strolled up to the lanai. “The girls of today are high-spirited in more ways than one, aren’t they?” Vicki laughed, completely at her ease now. “I must apologize for the sad appearance of my divan,” Mrs. Walu said. “While we were gone, someone, who undoubtedly needed it more than we do, borrowed the slip cover.” Vicki gasped. “Then you didn’t send it to the cleaners?” Mrs. Walu’s heavy white eyebrows shot up in surprise. “No. Should I have? It was laundered only last week.” Covered with confusion, Vicki explained. “Hank and I had an argument about it when we drove up here on Tuesday. I insisted that if you had sent it to be cleaned you would have sent the flowered 134

cushion covers too.” “And so I would,” Mrs. Walu said with a broad smile. “Hank is a fine young doctor, but he knows less than nothing about housekeeping. His grandmother and I were very close friends, you know, and I am afraid she spoiled him. Most young men of today, like your host, Bob Kane, can at least make coffee and fry eggs. But I shudder to think of what Hank would do if he were turned loose in a kitchen. That reminds me,” she said to her husband. “We had guests while we were on Maui. I’m glad now that I decided at the last minute to leave the refrigerator running. Someone ate the butter and eggs and drank the milk that might have spoiled otherwise.” He nodded calmly. “It is always wise to be prepared for unexpected guests. Did our visitor leave a token of thanks that might indicate whom we had the pleasure of entertaining?” Vicki could hardly believe her ears. These beautiful, dark-skinned, white-haired people spoke the language of modern Americans and yet they were completely bound by ancient Waluian laws of hospitality. “No,” Mrs. Walu was telling her husband, “but I expect it will arrive by mail one of these days. I do know, however, that our guest was a woman.” She flashed a smile at Vicki. “No man, not even Bob 135

Kane, could have left things as immaculate as they were when we arrived this morning. Why, even the bed linen was folded neatly in the hamper.” Vicki, remembering the cup and saucer in the sink, thought excitedly: Then she came back after we left. She? So it wasn’t Kali, as she had thought on Tuesday, who had hurriedly slipped out the back door. Before she realized it she was asking Mrs. Walu, “How can you be absolutely sure your guest was a woman? A man, grateful for your hospitality, might have taken extra pains to leave things tidy.” She chuckled. “Why, even Hank dried a stack of dishes at the Kanes the other evening without breaking one.” Both the Walus laughed at that. “Hank in an apron!” Mrs. Walu exclaimed. “He looks very handsome in his white hospital coat, but I cannot picture him doing anything feminine. He must be very infatuated with you, Vicki Barr!” Vicki blushed. “He’s been terribly nice to me, and I like him a lot.” Mrs. Walu, sensing her embarrassment, tactfully brought the subject back to their unknown visitor. “I am, at any rate, sure that our guest was not Hank, although he loves our hillside home almost as much as we do. No, it was a woman, Vicki Barr, for I found a tiny smudge of lipstick on one of the hand 136

towels. Also, men do not gather flowers, and, as you can see for yourself, that shrub over there that was in bud when we left, has been stripped bare.” Mr. Walu frowned. “I am still a little unhappy about that,” he told Vicki. “It was an accident, of course, but Mrs. Walu and I had looked forward to the pleasure of picking the blossoms ourselves. It is a very rare shrub, you see, and the flowers are unusually lovely. I cannot blame our guest for choosing them above all others, and she had no way of knowing that it is the only fountain lily shrub in existence.” Vicki sat up straight in her chair. “Then there aren’t any more growing on Walu?” He stared at her in surprise and she hastened to add, “I’m awfully interested in your island and have been reading everything I can find that tells about it and its legends.” He nodded understandingly. “Then you must already know that the fluid imprisoned in the fountain lily bud acts as a mild anesthetic? Any history of Walu tells how Archibald Menzies gave my ancestor cuttings of the shrub.” “Hank told me that the day I arrived,” Vicki said. “Because, you see, when I landed at the airport Monday evening I found on the terminal floor a broken lei made of white ginger flowers and fountain lily buds.” 137

Their imperturbably calm features changed as suddenly as though she had dropped a bomb in their midst. “But this is incredible,” Mrs. Walu gasped. “A lei of the buds? Why, if the fluid were accidentally released close to the wearer’s face it would make her quite ill.” Mr. Walu got up and filled his pipe with tobacco from a lovely sandalwood box on a low table. “I am beginning to think that our guest was a most inconsiderate one. The stripping of the shrub was not an accident,” he said to his wife. “A lady would have been thoughtful enough to leave some of the buds for her hosts.” He was very close to anger. “Are you quite sure, my dear?” Mrs. Walu asked Vicki gravely. For answer, Vicki opened her bag and brought out an envelope in which she had put several of the pressed flowers. “Some of these were in the lei,” she told Mrs. Walu. “And some were in a fragment of it that I found on your steps when Hank brought me here Tuesday morning.” Wordlessly, Mrs. Walu examined the contents of the envelope and passed it on to her husband. After a long silence, he said, “There is no mistaking the shape of the calyx which prevents the air from absorbing the fluid in the bud.” Vicki took the bull by the horns then. “Do you 138

remember a Waluian named Kali?” she asked Mr. Walu. “Why, of course,” he said. “Kali was one of the few who begged to come with us when we sold the island to Mr. Millet. I advised him to stay, naturally, and take advantage of all the improvements Mr. Millet outlined in his plan.” “We are quite poor, you see,” Mrs. Walu told Vicki. “And having few friends on Oahu, we could not guarantee Kali employment here. But when he pleaded with us to bring along his motherless son and leave him in the care of his brother’s wife, we could not refuse him.” “And it has turned out well,” Mr. Walu continued. “At that time Kali would have been forced to leave the boy home alone while he worked on the plantation. Now I understand arrangements have been made for the care of motherless children and orphans. But Lois aunt gave him the love and tenderness he needed during that stage of his development.” So they knew both Kali and Loi well! “Then you know, of course,” she asked, “that the aunt and uncle died recently?” “No!” They gazed at her in consternation. “The last time Loi paid us a visit he said his aunt was ill. That was several weeks ago. We have not seen him since.” Mrs. Walu turned to her husband. “It must be 139

as you have so often said. Loi is very like his father. Do you remember how Kali went off to the mountaintop to be alone with his grief when his wife died?” He nodded and said to Vicki. “You seem to know more about our people than we do. Can you give us the details of this double tragedy?” Vicki told them as much as she knew about the two deaths, adding that Bob had written Kali twice and that the second letter had been returned. “No longer employed by the Millet Company?” Mr. Walu repeated incredulously. “Why, I cannot understand it. Kali is an excellent worker, a foreman when last we heard.” Mrs. Walu laid her pretty brown hand on Vicki’s knee. “And you have no idea where they are now?” When Vicki shook her head she went on, “It is all so unfortunate. Kali must have come to us as soon as possible after receiving Bob’s first letter, but by that time we had already left for Maui. Since we sold our own island we have always celebrated Aloha Week in the country, but Kali had no way of knowing that. And as for Loi, the little ‘lonely one,’ he must have been waiting for his father in the playhouse he built down on our beach.” She pointed gracefully and Vicki looked down through the heavy foliage of the trees, but the shack was not visible from the lanai. Then she saw 140

something on the beach that hadn’t been there when she and Hank had inspected it on Tuesday. It might have been a conch shell left there between the rock pools by the tide, but it looked suspiciously like a high-heeled sandal, glaringly white in the bright sunlight. “Do other people besides Loi use your beach?” she asked. “Oh, no,” Mr. Walu said. “He asked our permission and we gave him the bamboo for his house, but it is strictly kapu otherwise. Luhi and I do not swim often, but when we do, we like to be alone. A child is one thing, a crowd of fishermen, another.” “Luhi,” Vicki repeated. “What a lovely name. What does it mean?” Mrs. Walu smiled up at her tall husband. “An especially beloved one,” she said softly. “Victoria,” she went on, “must be the feminine of Victor in your language. I imagine you have conquered many hearts, Vicki, if I may call you that.” “Please do,” Vicki said. “I love your language and your legends. My favorite story is how the fountain lily shrubs were watered with the Menehunes’ tears. Do Waluians still believe in the prophecy that disaster will come to them if the plants are not kept alive?” Mr. Walu hid a smile by relighting his pipe. “That is one legend even I never heard of. But even if my 141

people did believe in such a prophecy, they have nothing to fear. We brought that shrub with us in a large pot filled with Walu soil. And we have left it in our wills to the Foster Botanical Gardens where it will be carefully preserved.” Suddenly Vicki felt deflated. So it was just a Stateside legend after all! “Oh, dear,” she mumbled, “I was so sure it was Kali who had made the lei I found and that he did it so he could kidnap Miss Millet.” They were too well-bred to laugh, but they exchanged swift, secret glances which Vicki guessed meant she had no idea what she was saying. Hastily she explained why she did not believe the radio retraction of the kidnaping announcement, and showed them the notice that had appeared in the Personal column that morning. “This same notice,” she said, taking the clipping from her handbag, “has been appearing in the morning and evening papers ever since Tuesday night. I just can’t believe that the Millet heiress is safe and sound in The Citadel.” Mrs. Walu shuddered slightly. “What a hideous word for a home, and according to Hank who saw it from the air, the name is quite fitting. Like those ancient British castles. One would think the man was afraid our people might harm him, they who would not harm a fly without reason.” 142

“Perhaps there is a reason,” Vicki put in. “And one Waluian has already harmed him indirectly.” Luhi Walu smiled, but it was more of a frown. “No, my dear Vicki, your story is a logical explanation of many things, but it does not take into consideration Kali’s character. We knew his father and both his grandfathers, all fine men. He may have gone to the airport with the Millets to help with the luggage, and when the girl became ill in the absence of her father, it is possible that he brought her here to recuperate. That would explain everything.” “Except the lei,” Vicki pointed out, “and the fact that Kali was not working for the Millets on Monday. The second letter came back to Bob that morning—” “That,” Mr. Walu interrupted, and there was suppressed anger in his voice, “is what mystifies me. I know Kali. He would never willingly have left the land of his ancestors. We knew when he begged to leave with us that he only did it out of loyalty. He wanted to care for us in our old age, but we could not permit such a sacrifice, especially since we could not afford to pay him as much as he undoubtedly receives from the Millet Company.” “Perhaps,” Vicki said thoughtfully, “Kali doesn’t like the modern improvements the company has made since you sold it.” “We did not sell it,” Mr. Walu said quietly. 143

Vicki’s eyes widened. “Oh, I thought—” “We do not like to talk about that,” Mrs. Walu broke in hastily. “Forgive us, my dear, we are old, and it is not good for my husband to become upset.” “I shall not let myself become upset,” he told her rather gruffly. “Ua na aku la ka lua o ka inaina.” She stared at him in surprise, translating for Vicki. “The pit of anger is appeased. Then you believe that the Millet heiress was kidnaped for revenge by Kali?” “It is not that,” he said, “for Kali knows that if he harmed a hair of that young girl’s head I would punish him with my bare hands.” He was a great chieftain now, striding up and down in his immaculate white linen suit, but Vicki could almost see a feathered cape on his broad shoulders. “This is how I feel,” he went on, speaking now in English, now in Hawaiian, and Vicki was glad that she had increased her vocabulary during her hours of research. “The man suffered much during the time that he thought his daughter had been taken from him. We know what it is to lose a child. That his anguish was based on a mistake, not on fact, does not change matters.” He stopped, his white head bowed. “I freely forgive him for what he did to me.” “What did he do to you?” Vicki asked quietly. Mrs. Walu arose, gracefully adjusting the folds of 144

her lovely holoku. “He will tell you now, Vicki,” she said. “You have already heard so much you must hear it all. I’ll leave you two together while I prepare luncheon.” With a queenly gesture she refused Vicki’s offer of help and disappeared inside the house. As Vicki waited for Mr. Walu to speak, she stared down on the beach. To her surprise the sandal, or conch shell, was gone. And moving under the overhanging branches at the bottom of the hill was something bright and flowered. “It must be a native girl in a holoku,” she thought. Mr. Walus low, musical voice broke into her thoughts. “I have never told this to anyone, Vicki,” he said. “And perhaps I should hold my tongue now. But if you have read the legends of my island you may already guess how it happened that we left it.” Vicki shook her head. “The only legend I could find was the one about the Menehunes’ prophecy.” He sat down on a chair facing her. “There was another prophecy, also connected with the fountain lily shrub. When Kamehameha the Great deeded the island to my ancestor it was with the understanding that it should remain in my family forever and ever. The deeding ceremonies were suddenly interrupted by a kahuna at the conference table who claimed he could see into the future. In a vision he had seen a time when there would be no son to inherit the land. 145

Then on silver wings would come a white man, a descendant of the Scottish botanist whom they called the Father of the Fountain Lily. The island should then pass into his hands and he would do great things for the people, increasing nature’s bounty with magic unheard of at that time.” Mr. Walu shrugged. “The story as it was handed down to me did not include Kamehameha’s reaction to the prophecy. But then, shortly after our son’s death five years ago, a white man did fly to the island in a silver plane. As is our custom, we welcomed Mr. Millet into our hearts and home. He said he had fallen in love with Hawaii during a vacation on Oahu, and wanted to buy Walu. We refused, naturally, since we had left it in our will to our cousins on Maui. He stayed with us several weeks, and although he was our guest, he spent his days turning our people against us. It was Kali who first told us that Mr. Millet claimed to be a descendant of the Father of the Fountain Lily. As proof of his powers he gave each man a flashlight and a portable radio.” He smiled wanly. “I would not stoop to his level by having his ancestry investigated. It was sufficient for me that my people wished us to leave. I deeded the island to him, but I would not accept a penny. Our cousins on Maui were glad to have us occupy this house which is so inaccessible they had 146

difficulty in finding a tenant. And Luhi and I have enough between us to live simply and in peace.” He spread his hands. “I say that Mr. Millet is a liar and a cheat, but he has been good to my people, so in the end it turned out well.” Vicki sighed. “It’s too bad that it often happens that way. Some of our greatest philanthropists amassed their fortunes through exploitation of innocent people.” She frowned thoughtfully. “But what about Kali? Do you suppose he quit because he found out that Mr. Millet is a fraud?” “I doubt that,” the old Hawaiian gentleman said. “We made no attempt to expose him, since it is best that our people have faith in the new owner. And no one else knows why we were forced to leave the island.” “But,” Vicki objected, “if Kali was happy there, why did he leave? You seem to feel sure that the Millet Company would have had no reason for firing such an excellent workman.” He got up to refill his pipe at the sandalwood box before replying. “The words on that returned envelope are puzzling,” he admitted, “but it is not our custom to worry without proof that there is need of it. Kali will come to us soon and explain everything.” Mrs. Walu announced that lunch was ready then, a delicious curry served with several different kinds 147

of chutney and ground nuts. As they ate, Vicki kept her eyes on the beach at the bottom of the hill. “Someone’s down there,” she decided, “and before I leave I must find out who it is.”

148

CHAPTER X

A Fugitive

After lunch Vicki insisted upon helping Mrs. Walu with the dishes. As they worked together in the gay little kitchen, she said, “You know, I’m dying to explore the path that leads down to your beach. Hank teased me so the other day, saying I could never make it in the stilts I was wearing.” She laughed. “But now I’ve got on fairly sensible shoes. Do you think I could get down and back without breaking my neck?” Mrs. Walu chuckled. “Of course, my dear. If I can do it, you can. It’s really more of a trail than a path, but my husband will show you the way.” “Oh, no,” Vicki said quickly. “I wouldn’t think of bothering him in the heat of the day, especially after such a satisfying lunch. I’m sure I can manage by myself.” She giggled. “If worst comes to worst, I can make a sled of leaves and slide down.” “I wouldn’t advise that,” Mrs. Walu said with a smile. “You’d be sure to bump into a tree en route. 149

But actually, it’s quite a simple trail to follow. You won’t have any trouble. Come on, I’ll start you off. It begins on the other side of the garden.” Vicki followed Mrs. Walu down the lanai steps and through the shrubs and hibiscus hedge. Then with a wave, she started alone along the winding trail between the trees. “If I’m not back in time for supper,” she said with a grin, “send a St. Bernard after me.” “I will,” Mrs. Walu promised, smiling. “Complete with a can of poi and a can opener.” A light rain was falling and the patter of it on the leaves over her head seemed to be the voice of the Menehunes saying, “Follow us. Follow us. When you reach your destination you will know the answer to many things.” “I’ll know the answer to one thing,” Vicki muttered, slipping and sliding down the hill. “I’ll know who’s trespassing down there—and why.” And then suddenly she was at the bottom. There was no one on the beach. Nestling under the overhanging branches was the little bamboo shack. The door was closed, but Vicki did not hesitate. She knocked on it and said firmly, “Come on out, whoever you are.” Silence. “Is that you, Loi?” Vicki demanded. “Or Kali?” No answer. 150

Vicki tucked her fingers between the bamboo slats and pulled, but the door was firmly latched on the inside. “If you’re not Loi or Kali,” she said impatiently, “you’re trespassing. So you’d better come out or I’ll report you to the Walus. Didn’t you see the kapu signs all over this beach?” This time there was an answer and it sounded like a muffled giggle. Exasperatedly, Vicki gave one final pull and the straw hasp gave way. She staggered backward in the sand as the door burst open, momentarily thrown off balance. And then she sat down in amazement. Standing in the doorway was a lovely, dark-skinned Hawaiian girl whose long black hair flowed down to the shoulders of her flowered holoku. Instead of looking frightened, she was swaying with laughter, clutching at the side of the hut for support. “Oh, my goodness,” she finally got out. “You look so funny. Who are you, anyway?” Vicki could not help joining in the laughter as she scrambled to her feet. “The question is,” she said, trying to sound stern, “who are you? You, a native, must know the meaning of the kapu signs on this beach.” For answer the girl said something in rapid Hawaiian, then translated. “That’s Waluian for ‘This hut is not mine but you are welcome to half of it.’ ” Waluian! Suddenly Vicki knew. “You’re Frances 151

Millet,” she said. “You weren’t kidnaped after all. You ran away from home and you’ve been staying at the Walus’. And you made that holoku out of their couch cover!” The girl, smiling impishly, danced a few graceful hula steps in her bare feet. “Lovely, isn’t it? And I whipped it up in about ten minutes.” Suddenly she stopped, her dark eyes wide and frightened. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you? I can’t go home yet. I can’t. I can’t!” Before Vicki could say a word, Frances Millet collapsed in a little heap and burst into tears. “You’ve got to help me,” she wailed. “I’m not as bad as I sound. I didn’t run away. I was kidnaped. But I can’t go back until I make my father—” The rest of it was lost in her sobs. Vicki sank down beside her. “Begin at the beginning,” she said soothingly. “I promise to help if I can. I’ve had you on my mind ever since Monday evening. You see, I found a broken fountain lily lei in the airport terminal shortly before word came over the radio that you had been kidnaped.” The girl raised her lovely face, pushing back her long, dark hair. “That is the beginning,” she told Vicki. “I was standing there waiting for Dad to come back from the telephone when someone tossed a lei over my head. I turned around to see who it 152

was, when suddenly everything went black and I felt numb all over. The next thing I knew I was out in the sunlight, clinging to Kali’s arm. He’s—or was, one of my father’s foremen. His was the only familiar face in all that crowd and I felt so sick I knew I’d faint any minute. “ ‘Take me home, Kali,’ I begged. ‘Take me home.’ “ ‘Everything be all right soon, miss,’ he said, leading me toward the hack stand. ‘Home too far away. I take you to friends. Mo’ bettah yet you rest there.’ ” She gesticulated with her slim, tanned hands. “Frankly, I don’t remember much about the ride. I imagine he kept me pretty much under with a piece of the lei I broke off when I started to pitch forward after the first dose. But I didn’t know there were fountain lily buds in that lei until much later when I found myself on the Walus’ lanai. I’d never even seen the shrub, you know. There weren’t any left on the island by the time Dad sent for me. I remember being disappointed, because I had read about them in a little book he gave me on my twelfth birthday. I couldn’t understand why he had to plow them all up to make way for his pineapples.” “You turned that book into the public library during your last visit, didn’t you?” Vicki asked. Frances Millet nodded. “You certainly have been 153

on my trail,” she said, mystified. “Anyway, there I was on the Walus’ veranda with Kali and his little boy. It was a long time before I could understand that Kali had kidnaped me, and how he had done it. Then, naturally, I wanted to know why.” She covered her face with her hands, mumbling almost indistinguishably. “Oh, it’s all so terrible I can’t bear to talk about it. Slave labor on that beautiful island! My own father—” “Slave labor,” Vicki repeated, slowly beginning to see what lay behind all three mysterious disappearances. “Slave labor?” “Yes,” she replied, throwing back her head and swallowing her sobs determinedly. “And it’s got to stop, but I’m the only one who can make my father tear up those contracts.” “I don’t follow you,” Vicki interrupted. “What contracts? Please go back to where you and Kali and Loi were sitting on the Walus’ lanai.” Frances Millet bit her lip. “When Kali told me why he had kidnaped me, I was as stunned as you are now. He didn’t do it for the ransom money, and he didn’t do it for revenge, although he had every reason to want an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.” Vicki could hardly believe her ears. “Why, that sounds as though your father had hurt Loi in some way.” 154

“He did more than that,” she said bitterly. “It goes back to when Dad bought the island. He promptly got all the natives to sign contracts, agreeing to the pitifully low wages he pays them, and also promising that if one of them ever left Walu he would never attempt to return. I didn’t know any of this until Monday evening when Kali told me he cheerfully signed with the others. Up until then nobody ever left the island anyway, except the Walus, and money means nothing to those natives. What Kali didn’t realize was that the rule applied to his son. He would never have sent the boy away if he had known he could never come back. He had planned to send for Loi as soon as he was old enough to work, which will be next month, on his twelfth birthday. Kali would have let him finish out the school year, of course.” “But when he learned of his brother’s death,” Vicki put in, “he decided to get him right away?” “That’s right. Kali went to the paymaster to collect his wages and ask for a leave of absence. Then he was reminded of the fact that if he left the island he could never return. Kali immediately appealed to Dad, asking him to send for his son. As proof that the boy needed immediate help he brought along a letter from Loi’s schoolteacher who wrote that the boy had disappeared right after his uncle’s death. Loi had also written his father that he 155

would wait for him in this little bamboo shack, giving him directions on how to get here.” “Then Kali could read and write?” Vicki asked. Frances Millet nodded. “A little. Mrs. Walu taught them as much as they wanted to learn, but most of them were satisfied with the accomplishment of signing their own names. But Kali, in order to keep up with his son, had been attending night classes at the new elementary school. And he had sense enough to know that a letter addressed to a beach hut would never reach Loi. He was worried about the boy and begged my father to arrange for him to be brought to Walu on the next mail plane.” “And then,” Vicki said with a sigh, “your father told him Loi could never set foot on the island again. It must have been a terrible blow to Kali, but there was nothing to prevent him from getting a job on another pineapple plantation where he would have received good pay.” “Oh, yes, there was,” Frances Millet corrected her. “Dad told him flatly that if he attempted to leave Walu he would immediately be arrested, because he intended to notify the Oahu police that Kali had escaped after stealing money and jewels from The Citadel. You can see why my father threatened him, can’t you?” “Yes,” Vicki said thoughtfully. “The minute Kali 156

found out what wages other plantation workers were paid, the cat would be out of the bag. And Mr. Millet didn’t dare make an exception in Loi’s case. If he let the boy come back, other Waluians might demand permission to leave and return. Then it wouldn’t be long before the labor conditions on Walu were known, would it, Miss Millet?” “You’re smart,” the young heiress said with a swift smile. “But you sound so stern when you call me Miss Millet. Please call me Fran. And I don’t even know your name. Forgive me for being so rude, but I just had to get all this off my chest to someone, or burst!” “I’m Vicki Barr,” Vicki said. “A flight stewardess on vacation. I’m visiting Helen and Bob Kane. He’s the teacher who wrote Kali about Loi’s disappearance.” “That explains a lot,” Fran said. “I’ve been trying to figure out how someone so young and pretty got to be a detective. That’s what I thought you were, but I’m so desperate I hoped you might help me, anyway.” “I will,” Vicki promised. “But now go back to the scene between Kali and your father.” “Well,” Fran continued, “Kali, as soon as possible after that, smuggled aboard the mail plane and got away. But because he didn’t dare ask for help from the Visitors Bureau or the police, it took 157

him until Monday to find Loi here. Naturally he avoided his brother’s village in the next cove, for fear detectives would be waiting there to nab him.” “I can guess what happened next,” Vicki said, thinking it through from Kali’s point of view. “His only hope was to get help and advice from the former owners of Walu. Loi knew they lived on top of this hill, so up they climbed only to find a note on the back door saying the Walus would be away until this morning.” “You’re strictly on the beam,” Fran said flippantly. “And I was really quite cross with Loi for not going to the Walus sooner.” She shrugged. “It seems that it’s a family custom to mourn alone for several days after a death. Anyway, there they were, Kali’s money running out and no way to get more since he believed he was a fugitive from the police. He was frightened and bewildered, and then he noticed my name in a small headline in the newspaper tucked under the mat. It said that I, among others, was returning to the States by clipper that evening. And all of a sudden he saw a way out of his difficulties. By kidnaping me he might be able to force Dad to withdraw the robbery charge he had lodged with the police. There in the Walus’ garden was the fountain lily shrub with made-to-order buds. He was fairly familiar with the airport having landed there in the mail plane. He whipped up several leis, 158

among them the one you found, and then went to the terminal and hung around, waiting for a moment when Dad and I would be separated so he could present me with the toxic lei. But Dad, of course, kept me clamped to his side, and then Kali had a stroke of genius. He slipped into a phone booth and dialed the passenger agent’s number. Then he requested that Dad be paged. After that, all he had to do was hang on to the wire until he saw through the glass part of the door that Dad had been called away.” She laughed without much humor. “I’ve told it in a roundabout way, but I guess that brings you up to date.” Vicki, too, smiled briefly. “It brings me right back to the three of you on the Walus’ lanai Monday evening while the radio was blaring the story of your kidnaping. Then what?” Fran’s tense features momentarily relaxed. Her dark eyes twinkled mischievously. “By that time I had decided I liked being kidnaped. I told Kali I’d take over from then on, and he was awfully glad to be relieved of all responsibility, not having liked any part of it from the very beginning. I was so furious with my father that I barged right into the Walus’ home and wrote him a bloodcurdling note, guaranteed to make him call off the police as soon as he got it. This is what I said: 159

“ ‘Dear Dad: I’m in grave danger, writing this at the point of a knife. I’ve been kidnaped by two ruthless men who escaped recently from Alcatraz in the States. They will torture me if you or detectives try in any way to find me. You must do exactly what these men tell you to do or you will never see me alive again. “ ‘Within a week a mediator, alone and unarmed, but bearing as identification my fade ring, will come to see you on Walu. Do nothing until then. I’m frightened, Dad, terribly frightened.’ ” “Her brown cheeks were flushed as she stared down at her bare toes. “I know it was cruel of me, but right then all I could think of was that he deserved a little mental torture for doing what he did to Kali. I had a frightful time making that poor native believe that Dad hadn’t framed him with a false burglary charge. Because, at that point, the last thing my father wanted was to have Kali and the police get together. That was one sure way of having the story of his slave-labor contracts spread all over the front pages of the newspapers.” Vicki nodded. “But when he believed you had been kidnaped, things were different. Your father wouldn’t hesitate to risk exposure for the sake of getting you back, I imagine.” Fran frowned. “He absolutely adores me. You see, my mother was killed in an accident right after 160

she and Dad had had a silly quarrel. It was dreadful for him to realize that his last words with her were angry ones. I was just a baby, but even then I looked a lot like my mother. I think he’s spoiled me in order to atone for losing his temper that day. And I’ve always thought he was the most wonderful father a girl could have until—” Tears webbed her black lashes. “I’ve regretted writing that letter ever since I mailed it, but now I can’t back out. Somehow I’ve got to make him see that he’s wronging those people.” She clenched her fists. “I’ll get a job in Honolulu and study nights. I want to be a social worker, you see, but he wants me to be a little princess. It’s all so difficult and I don’t know where to turn. How can I live with the knowledge that my own father took advantage of innocent people who trusted him?” She twisted her brown arms behind her head, swaying to and fro unhappily. “Calm down, Fran,” Vicki said soothingly. “You yourself said money means nothing to those natives. Your father has spent a small fortune improving conditions on Walu. Now there are public schools and hospitals, nobody pays rent or taxes, and they still have plenty of free time to catch fish and grow vegetables. Actually, too much money might complicate the Waluians’ lives. I do think, though, that he should retract the law prohibiting them from 161

leaving whenever they want to.” “If he’d do that,” Fran said in a more hopeful voice, “I’d forgive him for everything. That’s all I was thinking of when I dashed off that threatening letter. After that I made myself this holoku out of the Walus’ couch cover, and then I let down my hair, pinned it back with flowers, kicked off my sandals, and behold, I’m a Hawaiian maid, properly costumed for Aloha Week. I addressed the envelope to the Young Hotel where Dad always stays in Honolulu, and mailed it myself at the post office in the plantation town over there. I figured, since the letter was unstamped, the clerk would notice it right off when sorting the evening mail, and immediately notify Dad. I could count on his calling off the police by midnight, anyway, but Kali and Loi hid in the garage until dawn just to be sure. Then I gave them some money and they left to take a boat to Maui. The Walus have cousins there, you know, who’ll see to it that Kali gets work without any trouble.” Vicki smiled. “You know the Walus better than I thought you did. Well enough to borrow from them without any qualms while they were away.” Fran blushed. “I don’t really know them that well,” she admitted, “but I do know the old Waluian custom of leaving the doors unlocked in case a neighbor needs something. Oh, don’t scold me, 162

Vicki,” she begged, suddenly contrite. “I’ll pay them back for everything, and I didn’t hurt their couch cover at all.” She jumped up and deftly unpinned the holoku at the shoulder and waist, and stood there in her pretty silk slip. “See, it’s just as good as new, I only draped it around me, and it was an emergency, you have to admit that.” “Get inside that hut, heathen,” Vicki said, giving her a little push. “Have you still got your yellow linen suit?” For answer Fran ducked through the door and came out again properly dressed. “It’s going to be awful getting used to shoes again,” she said meekly, buckling on her sandals. “I’ve gone barefoot for days and loved every minute of it.” She glanced worriedly at Vicki. “What are you going to do with me?” “I haven’t quite made up my mind,” Vicki said after a minute. “You came down here early this morning, I imagine, before the Walus arrived, because you don’t dare to go to a hotel for fear of being recognized.” “Oh, no,” Fran interrupted gaily. “I just thought it would be fun to try and live for a while the way Loi did.” She wrinkled up her pretty nose. “But I can’t make myself like raw fish and seaweed, so I guess I’d be better off at the Royal.” “The Royal?” Vicki demanded in amazement. 163

“Why you wouldn’t dare appear in that big Waikiki hotel.” “Why not?” Fran yanked a bulging wallet out of her white sharkskin handbag. “I’ve got money, and no one knows what I really look like. Dad would never allow my picture to be published for the very reason that I might be kidnaped.” “Don’t be silly,” Vicki said impatiently. “You are known at the Outrigger Club because Hank Hoyt told me he often danced with you there. You’d better stay away from Waikiki and go to a small, downtown hotel. You’re supposed to be having a nervous breakdown out on Walu, you know.” “Am I?” Fran’s eyes were wide with surprise. “The Walus evidently don’t approve of radios, so I just jumped to the conclusion that I was back at college in the States.” “It seems to me,” Vicki said, trying to sound severe, “that you have jumped to a lot of conclusions since Monday night. For one thing, you took an awful chance letting Kali come out of hiding before you were certain he wouldn’t be arrested.” “I was sure of that,” Fran said stubbornly. “I know Dad. He can be absolutely ruthless himself when it comes to business or competition. But I’ll bet he didn’t waste a minute calling off the police after he got my letter. He understands words like torture and extortion. In fact, if I wasn’t his darling 164

daughter, I wouldn’t dare cross him.” Vicki shivered slightly, although the sun was hot on her bare arms. “I’m glad you told me,” she said quietly. “Because I’ve made up my mind to one thing. I’m going to act as your mediator and go to Walu tomorrow with your jade ring. Somehow, I’m going to make your father tear up those unfair contracts!”

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CHAPTER XI

Vicki’s Plan

Instead of looking horrified, Fran hugged Vicki, fairly singing with delight. “You as the mediator! It’s what I’ve been hoping and praying for ever since you told me you weren’t a detective.” “That’s another thing I don’t understand,” Vicki said grimly. “How come you thought I was a detective if you were so sure your father had called off the police?” “The police, yes,” Fran said easily. “But I wouldn’t put it past Dad, after he got over his first shock, to have hired someone like you to snoop around without arousing the suspicion of my abductors. He must be on the verge of apoplexy, anyway, not having heard a word since Monday night. And I’d better warn you right now. My father has a violent temper. I saw him smash a priceless Ming cup once simply because the tea was served with milk instead of lemon.” Again Vicki shivered involuntarily. “He’ll 166

probably toss me right out of The Citadel tower into the moat.” “He might,” Fran admitted with a chuckle. “But don’t worry. It’s always filled with water because he swims in it. Can’t stand salt water, says his skin’s too sensitive, although personally I think he’s as tough as a rhinoceros.” “And as ferocious as a lion,” Vicki finished with a rueful grin. “Nevertheless, I’m going to beard him in his den. But I can’t stay away from the Walus any longer without their coming down to see what happened to me. You stay here under the branches while I wave to them to let them know I’m still alive.” Even from the water’s edge Vicki could barely see the house, screened as it was by trees and flowering shrubs. But she whirled her handkerchief around her head several times, knowing that if the old Hawaiian couple were on their lanai they could see her. Then she hurried back to Fran. “The next step,” she said briskly, “is for you to go to a hotel where you won’t be recognized.” “Nakayama House in downtown Honolulu is the very place,” Fran said. “The newspaper ads say it’s quiet and dignified and is run by a nice old Japanese-American couple who I am sure never even heard of me.” “Fine,” Vicki said in approval. “Now, we’ll have 167

to be very careful in case your father actually has put private detectives on your trail. Frankly, I don’t think he has, because one of them would surely have contacted the taxi driver that took you from the airport with Kali on Monday.” She told Fran then how she had met up with Joe Brown ending with, “When I get back to the Walus I’ll telephone him, but instead of having him drive me straight home, I’ll tell him I’m going to pick you up in the plantation village. He fully expects us to get together anyway, so he won’t suspect anything when we ask him to drop us oft for tea at the Nakayama House.” “But,” Fran objected, “how am I going to get to the plantation village without the Walus seeing me as I cross the beach to the woods?” “I’ve figured that out too,” Vicki told her. “Give me time to climb the hill. Then, while I’m waiting for Joe Brown, I’ll ask them to show me through their house. So, in about half an hour, it should be perfectly safe for you to make a mad dash to the woods. Have you got a watch?” Fran produced a little gold one from her handbag and pinned it to the lapel of her suit. “Keep the Walus on the hill side of their house,” she said. “The walls facing the beach are practically all windows.” She giggled reminiscently. “I’ll never forget one day when I was hiding there I heard a car coming up the driveway. I had just time to lie flat on the floor to 168

keep from being seen. Later my heart stopped when I heard them say they were coming in. I had to crawl out the back way on my hands and knees, knocking over a screen en route. They must have thought I was a ghost.” “They didn’t think anything of the kind,” Vicki told her flatly. “For they were I and Hank Hoyt.” Fran collapsed in front of the shack, convulsed with laughter. “Oh, my goodness, if I’d only known! But it’s just as well that I hid in the woods until you left. Hank Hoyt is as handsome as a movie actor, but completely lacking in imagination. He would have reported me to my father then and there.” “Hank may be lacking in imagination,” Vicki said as she started up the rocky path, “but nevertheless, he’s going to fly me to Walu tomorrow. How I’m going to make him do it is something you and I will have to figure out in your hotel room later.” Then she stopped, remembering. “You know, Fran, the police were here and at the Walus’ house later that same day. It’s lucky they didn’t find you. Where were you Tuesday afternoon?” Fran stared up at Vicki, shuddering. “The police? Oh, my goodness. Am I glad you and Hank scared me away! I stayed in the woods until it got dark, way up on the very top of the hill. I was so hungry by the time I finally dared to come back to the house that I ate three fried-egg sandwiches, one right after 169

the other without stopping.” She giggled reminiscently and then sobered. “What on earth were the police doing around here? Don’t tell me that after all Dad—” “No,” Vicki assured her. “It wasn’t your father who started the investigation, and they weren’t looking for you. Bob Kane notified them that Loi was missing, you see, and they followed his trail to the bamboo shack. Then they noticed the house on die hill and went up there. In the garage they found Loi’s pocketknife which he must have dropped before he and his father left early Tuesday morning. Lucky for you, Detective Ryan decided that Kali and his son arranged to meet at the Walus and camped out in the garage for a while when they found the note on the door saying the Walus were away. If the police hadn’t found that knife they might have searched the woods and found you!” Fran shuddered again. “I would have had a hard time explaining what I was doing there, and it wouldn’t have taken a detective any longer than it took you to see through my disguise. But I don’t understand why finding the knife made them stop looking for Loi. Not that I’m complaining,” she added with a grin. “Once all this is over I’ll buy Loi the best scout knife there is to be had.” “I’ll tell you why they stopped the investigation then,” Vicki said. “I wondered about it myself and 170

Bob explained. You see, when he told them Loi was missing, he didn’t mention that Kali was missing too. But when Detective Ryan called him to report finding the knife, he asked Bob if there wasn’t a possibility that Loi had gone off with the Walus. Bob said he didn’t think so and it was then that he told Detective Ryan that he’d been trying unsuccessfully to track down the boy’s father. At that, the police dismissed the whole matter. The father and son, in their opinion, were together. And they were right in their reasoning,” Vicki went on. “Loi did write his father arranging a meeting place, only it was the shack, not the house on the hill. What baffled me, but evidently didn’t bother the police, was why Kali by-passed the native settlement in the cove.” Fran nodded understandingly. “You were right to be baffled by that angle. And, I imagine, what bothered Loi’s schoolteacher was why Kali didn’t answer his first letter. If he had, you might never have scented a mystery.” “That’s right,” Vicki agreed. “Because then I would never have started on Loi’s trail, which led me to the fragment of the broken lei on the Walus’ steps. Why didn’t Kali answer Bob’s letter and say that he would come at once and get his son?” Fran chuckled. “At best, Kali is no great shakes at letter writing. It would have taken him hours to print 171

out a reply.” “That’s true,” Vicki agreed. “And then almost immediately after he got Bob’s first letter he found out from your father that Loi couldn’t come back to Walu. That, I imagine, was enough to upset him so that he could hardly write his own name.” She sighed. “Something’s got to be done about those two.” Fran shook her head up and down vehemently. “Even if we have to make Dad destroy one contract at a time, the first one has got to be Kali’s.” “And the first step,” Vicki said, as she again started up the winding path to the top of the hill, “is to get you safely to the Nakayama Hotel.” Vicki was panting as much from lack of breath as from suppressed excitement when she climbed the lanai steps to where the Walus were placidly waiting for her. “I’ve overstayed my welcome,” she said, smiling. “May I use your phone to call for my taxi?” “Certainly.” Mrs. Walu led the way to a charming den. “But we’re disappointed. We hoped you’d stay on for tea.” When Vicki had telephoned Joe Brown, she said, “I wish I could stay longer. I’d love to know the history of all your beautiful things.” Mrs. Walu laughed. “We have so few, it’ll only take about ten minutes to show them to you. But let 172

me call in my husband. They are for the most part his family heirlooms.” In spite of her worry about Fran, Vicki grew so interested during the tour that it was hard to confine her questions to the rooms on the mountain side of the house. Mr. Walu showed her an ancient pahu, the sacred hula drum of his clan. Wrapped in antique tapa cloth was a ukulele, the reed flute his father had used to serenade his mother during their courtship. Carefully preserved in a glass case was a great Chief Walus feathered cape. While he was telling her the story of its presentation to his ancestor, she stood so that she blocked the window overlooking the beach. But she wasn’t big enough, for Mrs. Walu suddenly interrupted her husband’s recital with: “Vicki, you have sharp eyes. I can’t find my glasses, but I’m sure I saw something dart across our beach.” Slowly Vicki turned around and looked out of the wide window. She caught a glimpse of a yellow skirt disappearing through the foliage of the trees on the point. Fran had made it! Quite truthfully she said, “No, Mrs. Walu, I don’t see anything down there,” for now the beach was empty except for the rock pools. “How strange,” Mrs. Walu murmured. “I was almost positive I saw someone or something slip by 173

a moment ago. Something yellow.” “A bird undoubtedly,” Mr. Walu said, to Vicki’s relief. “Undoubtedly,” Mrs. Walu agreed. “I must form the habit of wearing my glasses all the time.” She smiled. “I’m afraid I’m vain, my dear.” Her husband chuckled and said to Vicki, “Luhi was a great beauty when she was your age, and to me she hasn’t changed a bit.” “You’re both very handsome,” Vicki cried enthusiastically. But Mrs. Walu wasn’t listening. She had found her glasses and was staring through the wide window down at the beach. Just then they all heard the crunch of tires on gravel and the toot of Joe Brown’s taxi horn. Mrs. Walu turned away from the window and took Vicki’s hand. “You must come see us again, my dear,” she said. “I’d love to,” Vicki said, “but I have to fly back to the States Sunday evening. So I guess this is goodbye, or rather, aloha.” “Aloha.” They stood on the lanai and waved to her until the cab made the turn in the driveway. “Where to?” Joe Brown asked. “Back to Waikiki, or are you goin’ to do some more callin’ on folks?” “First stop,” Vicki told him, “is the post office in the plantation village down there. I want to pick up 174

my friend—the one you drove out here from the airport on Monday evening. You know, the girl you said was airsick.” “Okay,” the driver said. “Hope she don’t get carsick too. Not that I’d blame her. These hairpin turns are worse than ridin’ on a roller coaster to some people. Not that they bother me. Or you. I guess you flight stewardesses have to take with a smile some pretty rough weather often as not.” “Oh, yes,” Vicki agreed. “But I’m used to updrafts and downdrafts now. The first time I was ever in a plane we ran into the tail end of a storm, and the plane bounced like a rubber ball. I thought that was going to be the beginning and end of my career.” Joe Brown stopped long enough to turn around and grin at her. “The first time I ever drove a car my big brother said, ‘Joe,’ he says, ‘see that fence over there? Well, don’t drive into it.’ And before he’d finished tellin’ me not to, the fence was wrapped as tightly around the radiator of the car as though I’d got out and zippered it on!” Vicki laughed. “Well, here we are, and there she is.” Fran, her tanned cheeks flushed with excitement, climbed in beside Vicki and whispered, “I thought you’d never come. I got so bored and nervous I—” “Sh-h,” Vicki cautioned her and said to the 175

driver, “Now, please take us to the Nakayama House. I understand the authentic Japanese atmosphere of its restaurant is something no tourist should miss.” “It’s a nice little place for two young ladies like you to have tea all right,” he said, starting off again. “The waitresses all in costume, bringin’ little tables to the customers who sit cross-legged on the floor, and such. If you go for floor sittin’. Now me, give me a dog wagon any time. I haven’t eaten off the floor since I was a toddler and now I got the habit of havin’ to have a place to park my elbows on.” He laughed uproariously at his own joke. “Chopsticks they give you at the Nakayama too. But knives and forks and spoons for them who can’t wangle the others.” “I can eat with chopsticks,” Fran informed him airily. “My father taught me. He spent a lot of time in the Orient when he was a boy. And we’ve got a Chinese cook out on Wa—” “Just look at that rainbow,” Vicki interrupted hastily, giving Fran a nudge. “A double one. Did you ever see anything like it?” Fran, obviously having no idea that she had almost given away a hint to her identity, sniffed. “That’s nothing,” she said in a disparaging voice. “I’ve often looked out of my bedroom window in the Cit—” 176

“City of Honolulu,” Vicki finished for her emphatically, giving Fran another nudge. And then it dawned on Fran that she had almost ruined their plans. The rest of the drive she hardly said a word. Vicki determinedly monopolized the conversation by giving Fran a detailed description of the Barrs’ Castle in Fairview, Illinois. After that, she amused Fran with the story of Ginny’s latest escapade. At last she and Fran were breathing sighs of relief in a tiny but comfortable suite in the Nakayama House. “Whew!” Fran whistled, kicking off her sandals as she stretched out on the wicker divan. “I thought during the last half of the trip across the Pali that your pal, Joe Brown, would never stop talking about how he mistook me for the Millet heiress.” “And I,” Vicki said severely, “thought you’d never stop giggling. You must take things more seriously, Fran. You may think your father is going to tear up those contracts the minute I show him your ring, but I don’t.” “Oh, but he will,” Fran insisted. She handed Vicki the lovely piece of jade in its green-gold setting. “Just tell him he’ll get me back piecemeal if he doesn’t.” “It’s not as simple as that,” Vicki said impatiently. “Who am I to dictate terms to the great 177

Greg Millet? Why, he’ll laugh in my face if I threaten him. In the first place, criminals who escape from Alcatraz don’t hire vacationing flight stewardesses as go-betweens. In the second, what’s to prevent him from counter-threatening me with a little torture if I don’t tell him where you are?” Fran rolled over on one elbow and stared wideeyed at Vicki. “I never thought of it that way,” she breathed. “Oh, Vicki, you can’t go. You’ll be a hostage, and Dad is perfectly capable of forcing you to tell him the truth. That’ll ruin everything.” “He won’t have to force me,” Vicki sniffed. “I intend to tell him the truth right off the bat. Once he lays eyes on me he’ll see right through your tale of ruthless kidnapers. My only hope lies in stating frankly that I can’t effect a reconciliation between you two unless he tears up the contracts. If he loves you enough, he’ll at least think it over, won’t he?” “He might,” Fran said doubtfully, “if he doesn’t fly into a violent rage when he learns that I tricked him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he made you tell him where I am, and then he’d come after me hopping mad.” She shuddered. “I’m beginning to think we’d better give up the whole plan. I’ll take the next plane to the States and carry on negotiations by mail.” She sat up, clenching her fists determinedly. “No, I won’t run away. I’m not afraid of him.” “Well, are you, or aren’t you?” Vicki asked 178

quietly. “A lot depends on that. You’re not yet of age, so you’d be only stalling for time if you ran away. But if I can convince him that you’ll never forgive him unless he draws up new contracts, we have a chance of winning.” “No, we haven’t,” Fran retorted. “He’d count on my forgiving him once he got me back. Don’t you see, Vicki? The minute he knows I’m in no danger, he’s in full control of the situation!” “I realize that very well,” Vicki said. “But the week you mentioned in your letter ends on Sunday night. If a mediator hasn’t arrived by then, what do you think he’ll do?” Fran swung her bare feet to the mat and stood up. “He’ll hire a pack of private detectives who’ll track me down in a matter of hours.” “And then where are you?” Vicki demanded. “That settles it,” Fran said. “We’ll have to play his rules. As I told you before, he understands words like torture and extortion. You tell him tomorrow that if he doesn’t reform we’ll spread the story of his slave labor on the front page of all the newspapers.” Vicki shook her head. “It won’t work. There’s another word, libel, you forgot about. No reputable newspaper would publish a word against a man with Greg Millet’s reputation without proof. And where are we going to get the proof? We can’t drag Kali into this, and the other natives obviously don’t feel 179

that they’re being victimized.” She sat down on the divan and continued tiredly, “When you get right down to it, they aren’t. Think of it from a hard-boiled editor’s point of view. Much ado about a rule that won’t let natives leave an island paradise they don’t want to leave, anyway.” “Oh, I know,” Fran interrupted. “But it’s the principle of the thing. Also, Kali and Loi have got to be allowed to go home. I know those Waluians. They’ll die of homesickness.” “I thoroughly agree with you,” Vicki said calmly. “Now, outside of his love for you and the fact that he can’t bathe in salt water, has your father any other weaknesses?” “An Achilles’ heel?” Fran thought for a minute. Then she began to pace up and down excitedly. “You’ve got it, Vicki! I mean, we’ve got him. He can’t bear being laughed at. I’m convinced he’d do almost anything to keep from being made the butt of a joke.” “Then that means,” Vicki added, “that underneath his rhinoceros hide he’s really a very sensitive person?” “You’re right,” Fran almost shouted. “He’s like a little boy who has to be constantly told he’s wise and wonderful.” “That explains the setup on Walu,” Vicki said, now almost as excited as Fran. “Instead of paying 180

high wages and collecting them in the form of rents and taxes, he prefers to pay for public benefits out of his own pocket, even though he spends much more in the end. Walu, I imagine, is sort of a monument of his success.” “It is,” Fran agreed. “If his pineapples hadn’t flourished, I think he would have died of shame. That would have proved him a fool for investing all his money in a little island out in the Pacific.” “That,” Vicki said, “gives me an idea. Let me ask you one more question, Fran. Are you of Scottish descent?” “Of course not,” Fran hooted. “Whatever gave you such an idea?” “Never mind that,” Vicki said because she was determined not to let Fran know how her father had virtually forced the Walus into selling their island. “Just answer me yes or no. Are you of Scottish descent?” Fran yawned. “The whole thing bores me to death, but Dad is very proud of our FrenchHuguenot ancestors. I gather from the way he raves that they were among the early settlers of America. My mother was of Welsh descent. Welsh and Irish, which accounts for my weird sense of humor.” She chuckled, and then said wistfully, “You don’t know how lucky you are to have a mother. I don’t remember mine at all, of course. But I’m glad I’m so 181

much like her. I’m gregarious too. I love people like your taxi driver, Joe Brown. I love people, period. And so did Mother. That’s what they quarreled about, Dad and Mother. She wanted to live right smack in the middle of the small town where Dad had his business then, but he wanted a house—an estate—in the country.” Fran clenched her brown fists. “Mother argued that she didn’t want him to spend so much time away from her and me driving back and forth to business. And also she wanted me to grow up knowing the butcher, the baker, and the candlestickmaker in Plainsville which must have been pretty much like your own Fairview. It was a silly argument, naturally, and they could have solved the problem that very evening by compromising on a place like The Castle your family lives in. It’s real country and yet it’s near enough to the center of town so that your kid sister can bike back and forth, can’t she, Vicki?” “She not only can, but does constantly,” Vicki said. “Except when she has bike trouble, which is pretty constant too. Then she walks, which is good for her figure. Ginny is on the plump side. She went into the candy-selling business once and gained five pounds tasting her own wares.” “How I envy you,” Fran cried, tears welling up into her brown eyes. “If only I had a kid sister or a 182

kid brother!” “Cheer up,” Vicki said comfortingly. “You can adopt all the little Waluians, and Loi, in particular, if things go the way I hope. It all hinges on how tender that Achilles’ heel of your father’s really is.” “I don’t get it,” Fran said flatly. “How are poor little you and me going to make a man like Dad die butt of a joke?” With pencil and paper Vicki quickly outlined the scheme which had been slowly formulating in her mind for the past hour. When she finished, Fran was almost hysterical with laughter. “It’s so perfect,” she finally got out, “it can’t possibly fail.” “Do you really think so?” Vicki asked worriedly. Fran vigorously shook her head up and down. “It’s foolproof. And the best joke of all is that Dad gave me the very book that gave you the idea.” “It’s not a joking matter,” Vicki said seriously. “This is important. If we succeed, I feel pretty sure we can convince your father at the same time that you should stay out here and prepare yourself for a career as a social worker. It ties in, you know. Your ambition is a job promoting the welfare of underprivileged natives, isn’t it?” “That’s right,” Fran said. “If we win him over to our side on one point, he should give in on that argument too. I think he’s being very tyrannical with 183

me, and after all, charity begins at home.” “Overindulgent,” Vicki said with a smile, “is a more accurate word than tyrannical, but let’s not waste time quibbling. You’ve got a busy evening ahead of you. Do you think you can read my scribbled notes?” “Don’t worry about anything,” Fran assured her. “I’ll write a story that’ll make his curly gray hair stand on end!” “Good,” Vicki said, laughing in spite of her inner nervousness. “I’ll stop by for it early tomorrow before my brunch date with Hank. I noticed when we came in that there’s a job printer across the street. I’ll get him to make a proof of what you write, one that will look as much as possible like a newspaper galley proof.” Fran crossed her arms, hugging herself ecstatically. “Oh, how I wish I could suddenly become invisible and go along with you tomorrow. I’d give anything to see the expression on Dad’s face when he reads that little fairy tale!” “I’ll probably wish I were invisible myself at that moment,” Vicki said grimly. “You probably will.” Fran giggled, and then went on soberly, “Dad’s a pretty terrifying person. In the first place, he’s simply enormous. Six feet four of muscle and brawn, and when he loses his temper he thunders at the top of his lungs. But he’s really a 184

darling, Vicki, and when you get to know him, you’ll think so too.” “I may never have the opportunity of knowing him,” Vicki said, starting for the door. “If he’s that big he may take one look at poor little me and treat me the way he did that Ming cup.” Fran followed her out to the hall. “Well, anyway, aloha nui loa. That means luck and love.” “I’ll need ’em both,” Vicki thought as she hailed a cab in front of the hotel. “How on earth am I going to convince Hank at brunch tomorrow that he should fly me to Walu and leave me there, to quote Fran’s letter, ‘alone and unarmed’?”

185

CHAPTER XII

In the Lion’s Den

The next morning as Vicki stood beside the printer, watching him make a proof of Fran’s little story, she asked him timidly: “Does it sound at all as though it were written by a professional writer? I mean, like something that might actually appear in a newspaper?” He wiped his hands on his ink-smudged apron. “Couldn’t tell you, miss. My job is to pick out the words, not the meaning. You want another proof before I throw away the type?” Vicki shook her head. “No, thanks. One will be plenty.” She paid him, and carefully read the long ribbon of printed words before folding it. Then she tucked it in her pocketbook and left the shop. It was a good story, but, out in the bright sunlight, jostled by the early-morning crowd, Vicki began to worry. Was Greg Millet really as ferocious as Fran had described him? And even more important, how weak was his Achilles’ heel? 186

The busy office workers, hurrying past her, seemed to be of all nationalities, and they spoke in many different languages, Filipino, Japanese, and Chinese, as well as Hawaiian and English. But she knew their jobs were similar to those of other Americans in any big city. What would the business section, if there was one, on Walu be like? How isolated would she feel when she landed there? And how frightened, once she was alone with the pineapple king in his Citadel? “Even if I’m scared to death,” she told herself, “I mustn’t let him know it. And above all, Hank must be made to think of the whole thing as a lark.” For, after tossing and turning most of the night, Vicki had finally come to the conclusion that in order to induce Hank into flying her to Walu and leaving her there, he must be let in on the secret. Not all of it, but enough to sound convincing. One thing in her favor was the weather. It was perfect for sight-seeing by air, the sky a heavenly shade of blue dotted with the ever-present puffball clouds. And the breeze blowing down from the Pah was pleasantly cool, so that Hank could not argue in favor of an afternoon on the beach. In fact, Vicki enjoyed the extra warmth of the jacket she was wearing over her sweater and skirt, and shivered at the very idea of donning a bathing suit. 187

Back at the bungalow, Bob hailed her from the lanai. “I highly recommend a swim before brunch,” he yelled. “The water’s warm as anything.” “But the air is c-cold,” Vicki called back. “Sissy!” Helen hooted. “What are you going to do when you fly back to where winter is really winter?” “Wear more clothes,” Vicki said calmly. But she didn’t feel calm. If only Hank would come soon! And then she heard the crunch of his tires on the gravel driveway and ran out to the patio. “I’m not going swimming,” she said before he had time to get out of the car. “This is my next-tolast day and I want to see all of the islands from the air. Please, Hank!” “My, my!” He grinned. “The postman on a holiday always takes a walk. What will you give me, little stewardess, if I comply with your request?” “A lei,” Vicki said promptly. “I’ve never seen you wear a hat yet, so I’m perfectly safe making that promise.” “I’ll buy one,” he said promptly, “and wear it every day. Even in the clinic. See if I don’t.” “I won’t be here to see,” Vicki said with a giggle. “I mean to keep you in the air all afternoon and tomorrow’s Sunday. After that, you can buy all the hats you want.” “You’re not going,” he said, holding the door of his roadster open as she climbed in. “I’ve arranged 188

everything. The Walus are going to adopt you.” He lightly tapped the horn three times, and the Kanes shouted in reply: “Have fun, you two. Be seein’ you!” “They’re perfect darlings,” Vicki said as they drove away. “Who?” he demanded. “The Kanes or the Walus? “All four of them,” Vicki replied. “If I didn’t have a family of my own, I’d adopt the Walus myself. They were simply wonderful to me yesterday, Hank.” “They’re superior people,” he said seriously. “And you know, it’s a funny thing. Remember that couch cover we argued about on Tuesday?” Vicki nodded, but her heart sank. Had Fran carelessly left it on the beach? She couldn’t remember seeing it again after Fran had changed into her yellow suit. “Well,” Hank was saying, “it came back yesterday afternoon complete with a crisp ten-dollar bill. The Walus told me when I talked with them over the phone last night that a kid from the plantation town appeared with it at teatime.” That impetuous Fran! She must have sent the couch cover back while she was waiting for Vicki to pick her up in Joe Brown’s car. Deliberately attracting the attention of the villagers might have ruined their whole scheme if a private detective 189

were on her trail. How could she have behaved so foolishly when so much was at stake? Vicki hardly dared ask the next question. “So the Walus know now who borrowed it?” “They have no idea who their unknown guest was,” he said blandly. “It would be a violation of their ethics to inquire.” “I know who borrowed it,” Vicki said flatly. “And I’ll let you in on the secret if you promise not to tell a living soul.” “I won’t even whisper it to the Menehunes,” he said solemnly. They had brunch at the Willows, and out on the lovely thatched pavilion overlooking a miniature lake, Vicki began her story. “Fran Millet was kidnaped,” she said, deciding not to mince her words with this unimaginative young man. “And by Kali through the medium of the fountain lily lei!” Hank dropped his spoon with a clatter. Vicki could not help enjoying her little triumph. “But,” she went on before he could interrupt, “she stayed kidnaped of her own free will, masquerading in the Walus’ couch cover as a native girl. She was their unknown guest.” He held up his hand and choked, “Have you any proof?” For answer, Vicki slipped the jade ring out of her 190

change purse. “Read the name inside the band,” she said tersely. “Frances Millet!” He handed back the ring without another word, but there was a look of respect and admiration in his eyes now. “I can’t give you the details,” she went on, “but Kali and Loi can’t return to Walu unless I intercede for them, acting as Fran’s representative. Fran herself refuses to return unless her father forgives Kali. Do you see why I want to take a plane trip this afternoon?” “I get the general picture,” he said thoughtfully. “Fran must have been a willing victim. Sure, I’ll fly you to Walu. I’d like to meet the great Greg Millet myself.” “You can’t today,” Vicki said firmly. “You’ve got to leave me there to talk things over with Mr. Millet all by myself. I’m sure when our parley is over he’ll fly me back to Oahu in his own plane.” “I’m sure he will too,” Hank said with a laugh. “He’ll want to take a hairbrush to Fran as soon as possible. The idea of that kid holding up her old man! “So far, so good,” Vicki thought with relief. “He thinks of it all as a lark.” “I suppose,” he was chuckling, “she arranged the deal herself. Hired Kali to snatch her right under her dad’s nose. Leaving the broken toxic lei as a clue 191

was an added feminine touch to make it look like a real kidnaping. Then I imagine she wrote to her father, supposedly at the point of a knife, making him call off the dogs.” “That’s right,” Vicki said. “Fran’s a smart gal.” He frowned. “And a spoiled brat, too. She had no business involving an innocent native in her escapade. I don’t know what kind of oil you’re going to pour on the troubled Millet waters, but I hope in the end Fran gets the spanking she deserves.” “She probably will,” Vicki said easily, adding to herself, “And unless I’m careful, I’ll get flayed alive!” In a short while they were winging across the blue Pacific, westward to the tiny isle that was not yet even a speck upon the horizon. It was three o’clock when they circled it, and from the air it looked as though a giant had neatly lined the flatland with green and red-brown chalk. The pineapple plantation flowed from the foot of the mountain to a small village and a landing field at the other end of the island. Through the crossed green swords of the leaves, Vicki glimpsed the golden fruit, but no one was harvesting it, for, according to Fran, work ceased at noon on Saturdays. The sloping beach below the cluster of white houses was dotted with natives who were launching 192

their canoes or casting their fishing lines and nets. Children tumbled all over themselves and their mothers as they frolicked in the sand or dashed into the water with small surfboards. It was an idyllic scene, except that rising incongruously above the low, frame houses was a hideous stone structure, topped by a frowning tower and surrounded by a moat. “The Citadel,” Vicki thought. “It may be a symbol of success to Greg Millet, but to me it’s a monument of his bad taste.” Hank set the plane down gently and cut the motor. “Here we are,” he said, “and here comes a big bad Waluian who’s going to tell us to scram.” Running toward them was a brown-skinned man in work clothes, waving his arms and shouting: “You from newspaper you mo’ bettah go away. You get plenty pilikia from boss yet.” Vicki took a deep breath and hopped out of the plane with Fran’s ring in her hand. “Here,” she said, giving it to the native, “bring this to the boss. Wikiwiki. He’s waiting for it.” A wide grin creased his face then. “Can do,” he said, and trotted off to The Citadel. Suddenly Vicki decided to follow him. “There’s no sense in my standing here,” she said to Hank. “What’s to prevent me from crossing that drawbridge and knocking on the front door?” 193

“Nothing,” he said. “Sure you don’t want me to come along?” Vicki shook her head, wondering if the nervousness she felt showed on her face. “Well,” he said, “I won’t take off until I’m sure you’ve safely passed the forbidding portals. I’m beginning to understand why Fran got herself kidnaped. Anything would be better than living in that monstrosity.” Vicki managed a smile and a gay wave, and hurried across the field to the moat. From the bridge she peered down into the water. “I suppose,” she reflected, “a man has a perfect right to surround his house with a swimming pool if he wants to. But Greg Millet must be as eccentric as he is ferocious.” And then she was abruptly face to face with him. The heavy door had silently swung inward, and standing on the threshold was the tallest man Vicki had ever seen. He had enormous shoulders and a thick crop of curly iron-gray hair. The hands he held clenched at his sides looked big enough to lift the drawbridge, and from the expression in his steely blue eyes Vicki thought he might do just that, hurling her into the moat. At that moment she was glad Hank was still on the island, and she was tempted to turn and run back to him. Fran’s brief description of her father had been a masterly piece of understatement! 194

Feeling like a pygmy addressing a giant, she finally got out a weak, “Hello, Mr. Millet. I’m Vicki Barr. Did you get Fran’s ring?” Instead of replying he unclenched the hand which imprisoned the jade ring, then clapped it into a pocket. “Come in, Miss Barr,” he said at last, moving backward into the huge hall. “Come in.” Even though he was making an obvious effort to control it, his voice boomed, and to Vicki it sounded like a funeral knell. But she followed him into the hall and stood quietly while he closed and bolted the door. In spite of his size, he walked as lightly as a cat across the paved floor, taking such long strides that Vicki could not keep up with him. Breathlessly she click-clacked after him on her high heels, and the stern faces in the oil paintings on the walls seemed to be frowning at her for making so much noise. There was no other sound in the house, so she distinctly heard the sound of Hank’s plane taking off. “Your pilot has gone,” Mr. Millet boomed, coming to a halt at the entrance to a room at the far end of the hall. It sounded more like a threat than a statement of fact, and Vicki’s anger flared up. “I told him not to stay,” she said flatly. “If you think your men made him leave, you’re greatly mistaken.” 195

Amusement flickered in and out of his eyes as he gestured to a chair and seated himself behind an enormous mahogany desk. This room, although austerely furnished as a man’s study, showed signs of such good taste that Vicki was surprised. The leather upholstery was old but beautifully preserved, and the wood, fine-grained and satin-smooth to the touch. The walls were bare except for the portrait of a beautiful woman who looked exactly as Fran would look in a few more years. His deep voice broke into her thoughts. “Where is my daughter?” Vicki jumped. Somehow she had expected him to wait for her to open the conversation. She could not remember a word of her carefully rehearsed speech. Then, before she knew it, she heard her own voice saying quite calmly, “I’m sorry I can’t tell you where she is now. But I can tell you this, Mr. Millet. She will never again be your daughter in the real meaning of the word unless you revoke the law prohibiting natives to leave Walu.” At that he threw back his head and roared with laughter. Helplessly Vicki watched him, wondering what had caused such uncontrolled merriment. Then it ceased as abruptly as it had begun, and he was glowering at her across the desk. “Was it you who put Fran up to this trick?” So, as Vicki had predicted, it had not taken him 196

long to see through the kidnaping ruse! But there was one thing to be thankful for. The man had a sense of humor. Fran had said he could not bear to be made the butt of a joke. Still, when it had first dawned on him that his own daughter had put him through days of anxiety, he had seen the humor of it. But he was mad now, good and mad. Vicki elevated her chin. “I didn’t put Fran up to anything,” she told him bluntly. “I’m simply here at her request.” “And you think,” he demanded harshly, “that you, a mere chit of a girl, can dictate to me?” “No,” Vicki replied easily, “but I think I can bargain with you.” “Bargain?” His big fist slapped the desk. “Are you threatening me?” Vicki was beginning to enjoy herself now. He was both angry and worried. “No,” she said, “but I could remind you that when base wages were fixed, company benefits went out. If you, however, chose to continue the benefits instead of increasing your pay roll, it’s none of my business.” She smiled sweetly. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that labor unions frown upon such paternalistic feudalism.” He pushed himself to his feet, towering above her. “You are threatening me,” he bellowed. “That man, Kali, is behind this interview.” 197

Vicki held her breath. No matter what happened, Kali must not be punished for the part he had played in Fran’s scheme. She forced herself to say calmly, “I’m glad you brought him into the conversation. Fran feels very strongly that Kali and his son should be allowed to return.” He sank back in his chair, in control of himself again. “My dear young lady,” he said, “I am not at all interested in hearing how Fran feels about my business affairs. And now that I know the kidnaping was a fraud, I shall notify the police and have her brought to me before night.” His steely eyes glinted. “As for you, may I point out that you are trespassing?” Butterflies fluttered in Vicki’s stomach. She was trespassing, in a way. And he looked as though he wouldn’t hesitate to cast her adrift in an outrigger canoe. But in her handbag was the galley proof and the thought of it gave her courage to remind him quietly: “I’m here as your daughter’s representative.” “But not at my invitation,” he came back. “I would feel perfectly within my rights as a landowner if I locked you in the tower room until it was convenient for me to turn you over to the authorities.” Again he arose and Vicki had no doubt that he planned to do just that. For now she was a hostage 198

and he would feel justified in keeping her a prisoner until Fran was brought safely back to him. “I can’t let the interview end now,” she moaned inwardly. “After he’s read that proof he can throw me into a dungeon for all I care. But first I’ve got to make him understand Fran’s point of view.” She stood up, forcing her trembling knees to be still. “Before you do anything about me, Mr. Millet, I think you thoroughly ought to understand how Fran feels about those labor contracts. She has always adored you, and it was quite a blow for a girl of her age to find out that her idol had feet of clay.” His eyes traveled swiftly from Vicki’s face to the portrait behind her. “He’s at least listening,” Vicki thought, and went on quickly, “I did my best to explain to her that under your feudalistic regime the workers live better than those who receive higher salaries. I think she forgives you now for everything in the contracts except the ruling that prevented Kali from bringing his son here. Nobody has to threaten you, Mr. Millet. You’ve brought about this situation yourself. In trying to deprive Kali of his son, you have lost your own daughter.” He whirled away from her to stare out of the long window overlooking the moat. “I’ll never re-employ that man. He’s the cause of all this. I suppose he whined to Fran before he sneaked away, and talked 199

her into this ridiculous attitude. A contract is a contract. Nobody forced him to sign.” “No,” Vicki admitted, “but you must realize that such an ignorant native had no idea five years ago that the ruling applied to a six-year-old boy. Kali didn’t violate the terms until you refused to send for Loi.” “Loi!” He wheeled to face her. “I never even heard of him until last week. I don’t like your attitude, Miss Barr. The way you talk one would think I had deliberately exiled the child.” “You did,” Vicki pointed out, more courageous now that she was fighting in Kali’s defense. “And to make matters worse, you threatened to have his father arrested on a false robbery charge if he left Walu. That virtually means that Kali can’t get another job. How is he going to support his young son?” By this time Fran’s father was in one of the violent rages she had described. His features contorted, his lips purple, he took a menacing stride toward her, thundering, “I will not listen to a maudlin account of my alleged ill-treatment of those natives.” “Here I go right through the window” thought Vicki. Involuntarily she moved backward a step, then stood her ground. Feeling more like a pygmy than ever, she said quietly: 200

“I’ve brought you a story that Fran wrote, and I think you should read it since it’s her version of why you bought Walu. Purely fiction, of course, but so well done that I’m sure you’ll recognize yourself.” Although her hands were shaking, she managed to appear nonchalant as she whipped the galley proof out of her handbag and let it flutter down on the mahogany desk. “I understand it’s to appear in a Honolulu newspaper tomorrow.” Curious in spite of his anger, he snatched up the ribbon of printed words and read the title out loud: “The Menehunes’ Revenge.” Then he tossed it aside. “I’m not in the mood for fairy tales at the moment.” Vicki’s knees were knocking together and she sank weakly into her chair. This was the crucial point in the interview and she must not fail. “I think you’d better read it now, Mr. Millet. It’s really very amusing. Especially the part that tells how you aroused the Menehunes’ wrath when you bottled their teardrops and exported them to a big pharmaceutical house in the States.” His bushy gray eyebrows shot up. “I did what?” Again his big hands grabbed the proof, but this time he was more than curious; his face was crimson with fury.

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CHAPTER XIII

The Heel of Achilles

There was a long silence in the quiet room as Greg Millet swiftly scanned the printed version of the tale Vicki and Fran had outlined in her hotel room twenty-four hours ago. Then he sat down behind his desk to read it again more carefully. At last he raised his lionlike head. “But this is ridiculous. I never had any intention of commercializing the fluid in the fountain lily buds. Fran knows that. I spent years studying the pineapple industry from A to Z.” Vicki shrugged. “It makes a good story though, doesn’t it? And it ties in so nicely with the fountain lily legend in that little book you gave Fran on her twelfth birthday.” “I don’t think it ties in with anything at all,” he roared. “It’s libelous, that’s what it is, and I’ll sue any paper that dares publish it. The very idea! Nobody would be stupid enough to think he could 202

bottle and sell as an anesthetic teardrops shed by legendary goblins. Why, if this thing appears tomorrow I’ll be the laughingstock of the whole archipelago!” “Not necessarily,” Vicki said. “Walu isn’t the only tiny island in the Pacific.” “Miss Barr,” he bellowed. “You are apparently not as informed as I am. The fountain lily shrub was never grown anywhere in Hawaii except on my island.” He slapped the galley proof so hard that it ripped along the edges. “There can be no mistaking the locale of this fantastic yarn and the description of the idiot who faced financial ruin because he refused to listen to ghostly whispers. Why, it sounds as though I lost a fortune trying unsuccessfully to market the fountain lily fluid, and then planted pineapples as sour grapes!” He covered his face with horror. “To think that my own daughter would do this to me. Wait until—” Vicki interrupted. “To mix metaphors thoroughly, Mr. Millet,” she said, “I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Fran’s fictional character doesn’t resemble you in the slightest. She states quite definitely that he is a descendant of the Scottish botanist Menzies, and your ancestors, I understand, were French Huguenots. Nobody but an innocent Waluian would connect the two names in any way.” 203

His hands slipped away from his face which was as red now with shame, Vicki suspected, as with anger. She went on smoothly, “You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Millet. Nor have you any basis whatsoever for starting a libel suit.” This was absolutely true, since the type had been thrown away. He lowered his huge head, like a bull about to charge. “No basis for a libel suit! Just you wait and see.” He crossed the room in two long strides. “I’ll fly to Honolulu at once and tell the editor who was insane enough to pay money for this thing what he may expect if he dares to publish it.” “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Vicki said quietly. “Protesting too much will only make people sure that you did buy Walu originally with the idea of commercializing the fountain lily fluid.” She smiled sweetly. “You’ve almost convinced me as it is.” His face was mottled with purple blotches, but he stopped at the door and came back to his desk. “You’re right,” he muttered. “I’m trapped.” “Not exactly,” Vicki said equably. “You can still appeal to Fran. She can withdraw the story and refund the money without causing undue commotion.” Hope relaxed his taut features. “Why didn’t I think of that myself?” he demanded, almost smiling. “I’ll pay that devil-daughter of mine a hundred times 204

what they paid her.” Vicki laughed. “I don’t think Fran’s interested in money. It will take a lot of persuasion to make her withdraw the story.” And then, to Vicki’s relief, he laughed too. “If I had her where I have you, I’d persuade her with the back of a hairbrush. But since I haven’t and time’s running out, I’ll have to bargain. You’re the mediator,” he said with a shrug. “What do you suggest?” “Tit for tat,” Vicki said promptly. “You destroy those labor contracts and Fran will retract her story. If,” she added pointedly, “we aren’t already too late. The presses may be rolling right this minute.” Vicki knew that she was dealing with a man who was used to making swift decisions, right or wrong, and she could tell by the expression on his face that he knew he had no choice. To hesitate meant public ridicule, something he could not endure. Without a word he opened a bottom drawer, pulled out a large metal box and unlocked it. “You may tear them up yourself, Miss Barr, or set a match to them for all I care. The matter is ended. Kali and his son may return any time they wish. That law is rescinded as of this minute.” Vicki ignored the contracts. “I’ll take your word for it,” she said. “I know enough about Fran to be sure I can trust her father.” 205

He tore the documents to shreds with his big hands, grinning all the while. “A chip off the old block, eh? That girl was born stubborn, made of granite like her old man.” “She is very much like you,” Vicki agreed. “And I think it’s quite natural for her to want a career of her own. I understand that when you were her age you were self-supporting.” He grinned, tossing the last scrap into a wastebasket. “May as well give up on that point too, eh? Let her stay out here and study to become a social worker?” Vicki nodded. “I have friends on Oahu who could give her lots of good advice on the best courses to take. Bob Kane teaches in a Hawaiian standard school and his wife helps with nonscholastic activities. Young Dr. Hoyt devotes most of his time to the care of natives who come to his clinic. They’d all be delighted to help Fran get started. And after she’s had some training, don’t you think she might be a big help to you here on Walu, Mr. Millet?” “Of course she would,” he said, completely won over, and strode to the door. “Neole, Neole!” he shouted. “Get plane ready wickiwicki. I fly right away to Oahu.” He turned back to Vicki, his eyes twinkling. “Where is that blackmailing child of mine hiding out?” 206

Vicki told him then how she had found Fran on the Walus’ beach and had taken her to a hotel. “The Walus,” he repeated, his face reddening. “I’ve always felt badly about them. They refused to accept any money for the island, although I offered them a generous price. Never could understand why.” “I can,” Vicki said soberly, “and if you’ll stop to think about it, I’m sure you’ll understand too. Money isn’t everything.” She walked with him down the long hall and out to the drawbridge across the moat. Then she pointed down to the sloping beach. “You took those people away from the Walus and changed their whole mode of living. And yet you insisted upon withholding from them the rights that go with civilization. The rights and the responsibilities. Every man should be paid adequate wages so that he in turn can contribute to the support of the whole community. They, not you, should build the schools and the hospitals and pay the wages of their public servants. It’s not a question of how much they gain from company benefits, it’s a question of dignity.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I never thought about it that way. Guess I’ve been thinking of myself as a great and magnanimous king, instead of the big frog in the little puddle that I am.” “Well,” Vicki said cheerfully, “you haven’t done 207

any real harm yet. And the Walus have forgiven you for coming here under false pretenses. All they really care about is that their people are happy.” “They are happy,” he said. “As carefree as birds.” Then he added humbly, “You’re right. The young boys who are growing up here won’t want things handed to them on a silver platter. Ran away from home myself when I was Fran’s age and I’ve never asked a soul for help since.” “Like father, like daughter,” Vicki chanted, and added gratefully to herself: “When Loi comes back he’ll find things as they are on the other islands. He won’t have to adjust to a feudalistic system, thank goodness.” They took off a few minutes later in Greg Millet’s plane. “Fran’s been taking flying lessons,” he told Vicki. “Guess I’ll have to buy her a plane of her own if she’s going to stay out here. I’m not going to have my pilot spend all his time taxiing that girl back and forth.” Vicki giggled. “I think you’re secretly afraid of ‘that girl,’ Mr. Millet.” “I am,” he admitted, chuckling. “Wouldn’t you be afraid of someone who’d put you through what she’s put me through this past week?” He sobered, his big features taut with anxiety. “We may not yet arrive in time to prevent that story from going to press. It’s after four and the secondary sections of Sunday 208

papers are made up well in advance.” They were silent after that, absorbed in their own thoughts. Vicki couldn’t help wondering how Greg Millet would react when he learned that he had been tricked not once, but twice. Should she tell him the true story of the galley proof or leave it up to Fran? She was not at all ashamed of the part she had played. He deserved every bit of the mental torture he had suffered since the Monday before. But as Mr. Walu had put it: “Ua na aku la ka lua o ka inaina.”—“The pit of anger is appeased.” He had suffered, repented, and was determined to make amends. Shouldn’t he now be relieved of all anxiety? Vicki took a deep breath, and as they flew across the Pacific she told him the whole story from beginning to end. He listened without interrupting and after a while he said, “You’re a brave and clever young woman, Miss Barr. Your parents should be congratulated for allowing you to develop with a judicial amount of guidance. I see now that my feudalists attitude would eventually have harmed a lot of young people, and my own daughter in particular.” Vicki nodded. “Fran is a little too impulsive now for her own good. But, as my horseback-riding mother would say, you’ve got to give her her head. 209

Curbing her natural desire for a career of her own would only end in complete revolt. I’m sure she would have run away in the end. Kali merely brought matters to a head sooner.” “I’m glad he did,” Greg Millet admitted. “Opened my eyes to a lot of things, before it was too late. Tell me more about your parents and how they manage that harum-scarum kid sister of yours. Maybe I can pick up a few ideas on how to handle that strongminded daughter of mine.” Vicki was delighted to give him a picture of her home. When she described The Castle, she said, “I can understand, I think, why you built The Citadel. It wasn’t to protect you from a possible rebellion of the Waluians. It’s just that you like old things.” “I do,” he told her. “Ever since I was a kid I’ve always wanted to live in a castle and swim in a moat. Never had a chance to do anything about it until I bought Walu.” Vicki was beginning to like this big man, who, as Fran had said, was at heart nothing but a little boy. They were flying over Diamond Head and Waikiki now, and beneath them the sea looked like a shimmering satin petticoat, tiered with two rows of lacy foam. Nuuanu Valley was a lush green jungle. Steep mountain ranges rose above the city and the airport, sharply silhouetted against the flaming sunset. 210

Tomorrow evening she would be winging away from all this, and suddenly Vicki wasn’t sure that she was ready to leave. The days had passed so swiftly, each one a bright flower woven into a lei which she would always wear in her memory. Shyly she explained how she felt to Greg Millet as their taxi sped along Dillingham Boulevard, away from the airport and toward the center of Honolulu. “Everyone feels that way,” he told her. “No matter how long you stayed here, it would always be hard to leave. And you’ll be back, mark my words. There’ll always be a room ready for you in The Citadel.” Then they were knocking on the door of Fran’s hotel room. She opened it at once as though she had spent the whole afternoon with her hand on the knob, waiting tremulously for this moment. She was pale beneath her tan, her dark eyes wide and expectant. Vicki guessed that she too had suffered some mental torture during that day. Without a word Greg scooped her into his arms and they clung together silently for a long minute. At last Fran said in a voice that was between a laugh and a sob, “Dad, you old darling, I’ve missed you.” He hugged her closer to him, booming, “You devil-daughter! When I get you home I’ll lock you in the tower with nothing but bread and water for weeks.” 211

Vicki could not suppress a giggle. “He means,” she reflected, “that he’ll kill the fatted calf in her honor.” And when she left them, they were excitedly discussing plans for Fran’s future over tea in the Japanese restaurant on the main floor.

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CHAPTER XIV

“Till We Meet Again”

“Now the story can be told,” Vicki said with a sigh of satisfaction. Her audience, consisting of Hank Hoyt and the Kanes, grouped themselves around her on the beach. This was her last day and Vicki intended to spend every minute of it in the sunshine. “First,” Hank said, standing at attention and saluting. “May I report success with the mission to Maui?” “Proceed,” Vicki said, trying to look like a general at a staff meeting. “Kali and Loi, all present and accounted for.” He grinned. “Transported them myself early this morning from Maui to the ‘Young,’ where the Millets received them with open arms. Will that be all, sir?” Vicki giggled. “At ease.” “He may be at ease,” Helen moaned. “But we’re on pins and needles. You’ve been acting as 213

mysterious as an FBI agent, Vic.” She turned to Hank, complaining, “I’ve been consumed with curiosity ever since you came back yesterday after leaving her on Walu. But she won’t answer any of my questions. Now, I ask you, is that any way for a house guest to behave?” He chuckled. “You deserved that kind of treatment, Helen. We all did. Almost from the minute Vicki landed a week ago we’ve made fun of her suspicions. All of which, I gather, turned out to be correct deductions.” “Not all of them,” Vicki said, smiling. “At least not all of them all of the time. And I must apologize to you, Helen. I didn’t mean to be secretive, I just didn’t want to discuss things until I was absolutely sure Kali and Loi would be welcomed back to Walu. I could tell from the smug expression on Hank’s face when he arrived a while ago that his mission had been accomplished. That’s why I said, ‘Now the story can be told.’ ” She told it then, from beginning to end, as she had told it to Greg Millet the day before. But first she swore them all to secrecy, especially Helen. “Don’t you dare let a fine of this appear in your little book,” she warned. “You’ve got to promise to pretend that what I’m going to relate is fiction, not fact. Greg Millet has suffered enough for his mistakes.” 214

They raised their hands solemnly and Bob intoned in his best professorial manner, “To quote Ovid, ‘I will sing of facts; but there will be some to say that I have invented them.’ ” “It strikes me,” Hank said, folding his long legs under him as he sat at Vicki’s feet, “that she’s been singing the truth for days, but we’ve all been too dumb to follow the tune.” It was late afternoon by the time Vicki finished her story, for she was interrupted over and over again. Then it was time to pack and dress for the farewell dinner Greg Millet was giving in her honor in the Sky Room at the airport. Hank insisted upon their taking both cars so he could have Vicki alone with him during the drive. “I’ve a good notion to kidnap you,” he said as they drove along the shore of Waikiki. “Oh, for a fountain lily lei!” Vicki laughed. “You’ve kidnaped my heart, Hank,” she said. “You and the Kanes and the Walus and the Millets. A little bit of me will always stay here.” “That’s the trouble,” he said ruefully. “A little bit isn’t enough.” Fran received Vicki with a hug and a kiss, and then grabbed Helen’s hand. “To think I’m entertaining a really and truly published author,” she said soulfully. “How I envy you!” 215

“Don’t waste time on envy,” Helen advised her with a smile. “Talk to Bob. He’s outlined your whole curriculum, so you practically have a career of your own already.” From then on, Bob and Fran were as thick as thieves. Hank monopolized Vicki, and Helen captivated Mr. Millet with her gay chatter. “You two girls,” he said over dessert, “have opened up a whole new world to me. I didn’t think pretty faces went with careers. Are you going to mention Walu in your book, Mrs. Kane?” Helen nodded, her eyes twinkling. “As much as you’ll let me put in, Mr. Millet.” He chuckled good-naturedly. “Put in any facts you like, but don’t collaborate with my daughter. That girl is apt to let her imagination run away with her.” “That’s not true, Dad.” Fran laid her brown hand on his sleeve, smiling at him fondly. “Vicki cooked up that whole story. All I did was write it.” “I wish somebody would let me read it,” Helen put in curiously. “I might get some ideas.” Mr. Millet shook his head emphatically. “I’ll never let that little fable out of my strongbox.” “I’m surprised you didn’t burn it, Dad,” Fran said mischievously. “Are you keeping it as a souvenir to remind you of how Vicki outwitted you?” “That’s right,” he admitted cheerfully. “And even 216

after you grow up and get a job you’d better keep a hairbrush on your bureau top. To remind you of what would have happened if it hadn’t been for Vicki!” Mr. Millet had hired a troupe of hula dancers to escort Vicki from the roof garden to her plane. All too soon they were tossing leis over her head and swaying gracefully to the haunting melody “Aloha oe. Vicki slowly started up the steps to where a stewardess waited at the entrance to the big transPacific clipper. The sight of her trim uniform and the manifest in which she was checking off her passengers’ names filled Vicki with nostalgia. “I’ve had my holiday,” she thought. “It’s time I got back to work.” “Miss Barr?” the stewardess was asking politely. She drew a cablegram from the pages of her passenger list. “This just arrived for you from Federal Airlines.” “Thanks,” Vicki said, tucking it in her handbag. From Federal. That meant news of her next assignment. But it could wait. Now she must keep the promise she had made the day before. On the top step she turned and waved good-bye to her friends. “A hui hou,” she called. “Till we meet again.” 217

Then she pulled a lei over her head, rolled it into a ball and tossed it straight to Hank. He was standing just inside the safety zone but he caught it with his quick, deft hands. “Aloha, Vicki,” he shouted, grinning. “Aloha nui loa.” “Now he’ll have to buy a hat,” Helen yelled. They were all laughing and waving now: Fran and her tall father, the gay young couple, and the handsome doctor, flushing with pleasure as he donned Vicki’s lei. She took one final glimpse of them all, and let the incoming rush of last-minute passengers carry her into the plane. “All good things have to come to an end,” she decided, fastening her seat belt for the take-off. Now what? With her thumbnail she ripped open the yellow envelope. The message was from Ruth Benson and it said: “Report San Francisco headquarters tomorrow morning. Your next assignment duty in Alaska.” Alaska! That meant going from one extreme to the other, leaving tropical islands for frozen wastes! Vicki scrambled through her memory for all the facts she had learned about Alaska in geography classes at school. Juneau, she remembered, was the capital, and she 218

had seen pictures of its narrow streets and the colorful Indian totem poles. Alaska’s climatic conditions, she knew, were almost unbelievable. During the brief summer with its long days and short nights, baseball was played under a midnight sun. Flowers, berries, and vegetables grew rapidly and to jumbo size. When winter set in the temperature could drop to seventy-eight degrees below zero in the same place where it had risen to a hundred above on the Fourth of July. Vicki shivered in anticipation. “I’ll dress like the Eskimos,” she decided, “and wear fur shoes and parkas, but, like Fran, I’ll never learn to eat raw fish!” They were gaining altitude now, flying above fleecy cumulus clouds that looked as though a child had scooped up snow and formed it into copies of the Hawaiian Islands. Below the cloud bank would unroll twenty-four hundred miles of the Pacific until they were circling above the blue bay and the bright towers of the Golden Gate City. Behind her lay mystery and romance; ahead of her, Vicki felt sure, was waiting a new kind of adventure. Well, she was ready for it!

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