Mystery of Crocodile Island

by Carolyn G. Keene

  They left the store by the rear entrance, where Mrs. Grote had parked her car. Nancy was relieved. If anyone had followed the van and was waiting for her in front, he would be fooled!

  “Are you enjoying your visit here?” Mrs. Grote asked as she drove off.

  “Oh, yes,” Nancy replied. “It has been very exciting.”

  “In what way?” Mrs. Grote asked.

  Nancy did not want to give any details concerning the mystery, so she merely talked about their interesting boat rides, their trip to the Easton estate, and the show the Indian had put on.

  Soon Mrs. Grote drove into the club grounds, so it was not necessary for Nancy to explain any further. She thanked the woman for picking her up and wished her a good score in her golf game.

  Mr. Gonzales was seated in the lobby. “I’m so glad you came,” he said, and led her to the dining room.

  While they were eating, Nancy told him about Colombo and what he had said regarding the officers of the Crocodile Ecology Company.

  “I’m not surprised,” Mr. Gonzales commented.

  Nancy mentioned the phrase: They want five hundred. Can you carry that many? “Mr. Gonzales, have you any idea what that could have meant?”

  The man furrowed his brow. “No, I haven’t. Surely they couldn’t have been talking about crocodiles. There wouldn’t be enough to fill such a big order.”

  “Do you raise anything else on the island that they could have referred to?” Nancy asked.

  “No, nothing. I could ask my partners, but if I do they will know that I received word from Colombo. Then they are likely to go after the poor man and harm him.”

  “You’re right,” Nancy agreed. “Would you like to speak to Colombo personally?”

  “Indeed I would. Do you know how to reach him?”

  “I’ll try. Colombo said he would be staying at the YMCA.”

  Nancy stood up and went to a phone booth in the lobby. Luckily the receptionist at the Y confirmed that Mr. Banks was registered and offered to get him. Soon he was on the line.

  “Hello?” he said hurriedly. His voice sounded frightened.

  “Hello, Colombo,” Nancy replied. “It’s Anne Boonton. Could you meet me at this club?” She gave the address. “A friend of mine wants to speak to you about Crocodile Island. Take a taxi. I’ll pay for it.”

  “All right,” he said. “I’m glad it’s you and not one of my former bosses. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Half an hour later the man arrived. Nancy hurried outside to pay the cabbie, then took Colombo to the tropical garden to meet Mr. Gonzales. When the young man heard that he was one of the partners in the Crocodile Ecology Company, he looked at Nancy apprehensively.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “Mr. Gonzales is not like the other men. He wants to find out what’s going on at Crocodile Island and if his partners are dishonest.”

  This reassured Colombo and he talked freely about the hardship he had suffered and the things he had observed.

  “I’m in real trouble,” he finished. “I’ve been trying to find a job but haven’t been successful. I’m running out of money, but I’m afraid to contact my relatives for fear of being tracked down by Gimler.”

  “Perhaps I can help,” Mr. Gonzales offered. “I heard the other day that one of the men in the club kitchen is quitting. Wait here, and I’ll see what I can find out.”

  He went to the lobby to talk to the manager, and returned a few minutes later with a smile on his face.

  “You’re in luck, Colombo,” he said. “Do you know how to prepare seafood?”

  Colombo grinned. “I did that in New Orleans. But I never cut up a crocodile!”

  Nancy laughed, and Mr. Gonzales asked Colombo to come along with him to see the head chef in the kitchen.

  “We won’t be long,” he told Nancy.

  Within ten minutes the two were back with a third man, who proved to be the pastry chef. Mr. Gonzales said that this man had finished his work and was about to drive home. He would take Colombo with him.

  The cook went to get his car. Meanwhile, Nancy was told that Colombo had been given the job and was to report for work the next morning.

  Colombo said, “I certainly appreciate what you’ve done for me.”

  Mr. Gonzales patted him on the back. “We’re glad to help, and thank you for some good clues. If you think of anything else about the Crocodile Ecology Company, leave a note for me at the desk.”

  “I will,” Colombo promised, then hurried out side, where the pastry chef was waiting for him.

  When Nancy returned to the Cosgroves’ home, no one was there. She knew where a key was hidden and went to get it. As she entered the hall, Nancy saw a note from George lying on the table. It said that Danny and the girls had gone to the small local Naval Station with the bottle George had found in the water. “Maybe we can find out about it without going to Key West,” George had written.

  At this moment, George was telling her story to a friendly young captain named Smith. He agreed that the old note appeared to be authentic and said he would try to verify its contents.

  He stood up and went to a shelf containing books and registries. George meanwhile walked around his small office and glanced at photographs on the wall. Suddenly she stopped in front of a group picture of sailors. One of the faces looked familiar!

  “Bess,” George said, excited, “come here a moment. Doesn’t this man remind you of someone?”

  “Matt Carmen or Breck Tobin!” Bess answered. “Only the sailor’s a lot younger.”

  As Captain Smith turned around, George asked who the sailor was.

  CHAPTER XII

  Child in Danger

  CAPTAIN Smith turned over the picture George had pointed out. He read the names on the back and said, “This fellow is Giuseppe Matthews. I’ll look up his record.”

  After a search in several volumes, he came across the item. “Matthews went AWOL,” Captain Smith explained, “and was never heard from again. Why did you ask about him?”

  George replied, “We’ve met a man who looks very much like the one in this picture. He’s older, but there’s a strong resemblance.”

  “Where did you see him?” Captain Smith asked.

  “Out in the bay, near Crocodile Island. If he’s the same person, he’s using a different name now.”

  “What is it?” Smith inquired.

  “Matt Carmen or Breck Tobin,” George answered. “We were never introduced so we don’t know which name goes with whom.”

  “You realize, of course, that we’re still looking for Matthews,” Captain Smith said. “And that we’ll have to arrest him when we find him. Can you tell me where these men live?”

  For a moment George hesitated. “What if one of them is the wrong person?” she asked. “I wouldn’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

  “If they’re not Giuseppe Matthews, they won’t get into trouble,” the captain pointed out.

  “We saw a boat called The Whisper,” Danny said. “We checked in a registry of ships and learned that it belongs to two men from Bridgeport, Connecticut. One of them is Matt Carmen, the other Breck Tobin.”

  Captain Smith wrote the information on a pad, and said he would follow up the lead. Then he checked another set of records for proof that the note in the bottle was authentic. Finally he smiled.

  “Here it is,” he said. “This is really amazing. A ship named Venerable was last heard from in Argentina. Her captain was George Wayne. This is the first message received since then.”

  “No one reported that she was wrecked?” Bess asked.

  “No. And this note must have traveled at least ten thousand miles. I presume it would be considered part of the Venerable’s records, so I’d like to keep it if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” George said.

  “Perhaps we can locate relatives of the captain and the crew, who would like to see it,” Captain Smith added. He thanked the girls for bringing him their find and remarked, “The gover
nment may give you a citation for this.”

  George grinned. “That would be fun. I’ve never had one.”

  The girls said good-by to the captain and returned home. There was plenty of exciting conversation as they exchanged stories with Nancy. Mr. and Mrs. Cosgrove listened and were thunderstruck at all that had been learned.

  “Each day you prove more and more what good detectives you are,” their host complimented them.

  “But we haven’t solved anything yet,” Nancy reminded him. She turned to George. “Did you ask Captain Smith about the periscope?”

  “Oh dear, I didn’t even think of that,” George said. “But we can go back another time and inquire if he’s ever heard of a sub around here.”

  Nancy wanted to go out in the skiff the following day, but Mr. Cosgrove said that he had had the craft out in the morning and found that it had been tampered with.

  “It was lucky I discovered the damage before you used the Pirate again. You might have had a bad accident.”

  Nancy exclaimed, “You say it has been sabotaged? I’m afraid our enemies have been at work!”

  The others agreed. Mrs. Cosgrove was worried. “This could mean that we’re all being watched by spies. I think you should stay away from Crocodile Island for a while.”

  George grimaced. “At least until the Pirate is repaired.”

  “Meanwhile, why don’t you visit Cape Florida?” their hostess suggested. “It’s a lovely place. Beautiful trees and a nice beach. People go there for picnics. The main attraction is an old lighthouse. A guide will show you around and tell you something about its history.”

  “That sounds great,” Bess said. “I could use a change of pace.”

  The girls got directions and set off early the next morning in one of the Cosgrove cars. Nancy, at the wheel, drove across the bridge leading to Cape Florida, and turned into the park entrance.

  “Look at those gorgeous trees!” Bess exclaimed as they rode down an avenue of tall Australian pines.

  “I’ve read in a magazine that these aren’t native to Florida,” Nancy said. “They were imported.”

  The road twisted and turned; then they came to a shaded picnic area with a large sandy beach.

  “This is a heavenly spot,” Bess remarked. “No wonder it’s so popular.”

  Many people were seated on the beach, while others had settled at picnic tables set up in a grove of trees. Nancy parked and the girls strolled toward the water.

  To their right was a natural coral breakwater, which had been built up by polyps. It was very rough and Nancy realized at once that anyone slammed into it by waves could be badly cut. She noticed that bathers seemed to be avoiding it.

  “What a lot of seaweed there is!” George remarked.

  She picked up handfuls of it and rolled the soggy masses into a ball. “Let’s play catch,” she suggested.

  The girls formed a triangle and threw the seaweed ball back and forth to one another. Whoever dropped it was eliminated from the game. After about ten minutes of play George was declared the winner.

  To tease her, Bess picked up the ball and threw it hard at her cousin. Unfortunately it missed and sailed across the sand. The soggy mass landed plunk! on a bald-headed bather who was stretched out on the beach, sleeping.

  “Oh!” Bess cried in dismay and went over to the man.

  He blinked at her and looked annoyed, but after she apologized and he saw the look of concern on her face, he sat up and smiled. “Hi!” he said. “My, you’re pretty!”

  Bess backed away. “He’s old and fat and bald-headed,” she told herself. “I hope he won’t try to get too friendly!”

  Her fears were confirmed when the man stood up and took her hand. “I believe you threw that seaweed on purpose to wake me up. Well, here I am, at your service!”

  “I—I—it was an accident,” Bess stammered. Then she turned away and ran off as fast as she could. When she reached Nancy and George, they laughed.

  “That’ll teach you to aim straight when you throw something,” George remarked.

  Nancy, who had been watching various bathers in the water, now spotted a little girl who had not noticed that the tide was pulling her toward the coral breakwater. She realized that at any moment the child would be bashed against its jagged side and severely injured!

  Nancy rushed down to the water’s edge, slipped off her sandals, and splashed in. The water was shallow for adults, but the little girl could have drowned in it. Nancy swam with powerful crawl strokes toward her. By now the child was only a few feet from the breakwater!

  “Come here!” Nancy called out and grabbed the child’s hand. Together they struggled to the beach, where they were met by a frantic woman.

  “Tessie!” she scolded. “You were told not to wade over there!”

  The little girl cried. “I didn’t mean to, but all of a sudden I couldn’t keep from going that way,” she sobbed.

  “Are you her mother?” Nancy inquired.

  “No. I’m Mrs. Turnbull. I’m in charge of a group of children who attend my day camp. I brought them here to swim, but it’s hard to watch all of them at once.”

  “I understand,” Nancy said.

  “Thank you for going in after Tessie,” Mrs. Turnbull continued. “When I saw her, it was too late for me to help.”

  Now the other children ran to them. The woman opened her purse and offered Nancy a bill as a reward for saving Tessie’s life.

  “Thank you,” Nancy said, “but I couldn’t possibly accept any money.”

  Tessie had stopped crying. She took Mrs. Turnbull by the hand, and said, “I know how we can reward her. Give her the map.”

  Mrs. Turnbull smiled. “Tessie, we have no right to give the map away. We should turn it over to the authorities. But I will show it to this young lady. By the way, what is your name?”

  Nancy introduced herself and her friends, who had joined the group, by their Boonton name, not wishing to be identified. The woman fished in her handbag and brought out a faded piece of paper. She unfolded it.

  “I don’t know whether this is authentic or not,” she said. “We found it back in the woods. Somebody must have dropped it yesterday or today.”

  Nancy, Bess, and George studied the map. Not only was the paper old, but the printing on it was quite faded. Mrs. Turnbull explained that she and the children suspected that someone had been hunting for a treasure, perhaps buried long ago by pirates.

  “The person must have lost it. The map does seem to indicate a buried treasure,” she said. “Perhaps it’s here on Florida Key.”

  The girls were intrigued by the story, and Nancy looked closely at the map. On it were directional lines pointing north, east, south, and west. There were also a number of intersecting lines converging at one spot.

  “This must be the place where the treasure was hidden,” Nancy remarked.

  “True,” Mrs. Turnbull said. “But how would one go about trying to figure out where it is?”

  “We have to find a point of reference,” Nancy said. “But what?” She puckered her brows and tried to figure out the strange map. Suddenly the girl detective had an idea.

  “You see this line running directly into the water? It could be the coral breakwater!”

  “You’re right!” Mrs. Turnbull agreed. “Let’s draw a continuing line from it through the sand and then bisect it just as it was on the map.”

  Tessie jumped up and down in excitement. “Let’s hurry up and dig!” she exclaimed. “I brought my sand shovel. I’ll get it.”

  She ran off and soon returned with a toy shovel. Nancy, Bess, and George were amused at the thought of digging for hidden pirate treasure with this implement.

  The bald bather had walked up, curious to see what was going on. When he realized that they were planning to dig with the toy shovel, he said, “I have a spade in my trunk and would be glad to lend it to you.”

  He hurried to his parked car and returned a few minutes later with the spade. He handed it to Be
ss and looked at her with an admiring smile. It made her blush.

  “Thank you,” she said and pushed the spade into the sand. She worked for a while. Then, when the hole was about a foot deep, she handed the spade to Nancy.

  “Your turn,” she declared

  While the day-camp children, Mrs. Turnbull, and the bald-headed man watched, Nancy continued to dig. When her arms got tired, she looked at George.

  “You’re next if I don’t hit something,” she said, and shoved the spade down once more. There was a slight clang of metal against metaL Nancy exclaimed, “I hit something hard!”

  “It must be the treasure!” Tessie cried out, jumping up and down.

  CHAPTER XIII

  Doubloons!

  NANCY lifted Tessie into the hole, and she dug the objects out with her toy shovel. As she handed up a battered tin knife and spoon, she squealed in delight. “Did pirates leave these?”

  “I don’t know,” Nancy replied.

  “They could have been utensils dropped by a picnicker and buried in the sand,” George pointed out.

  Bess examined the pieces carefully. “I’m sure they’re very old,” she said. “They’re probably from a pirate ship.”

  “Can I keep them?” Tessie begged.

  “Maybe,” Nancy replied.

  Tessie looked for more treasure, but reported that there was nothing. Nancy helped her climb out, then offered to dig deeper. A few minutes later, she stopped suddenly and stepped out.

  “Tessie, go down and feel around in the sand.”

  In a few seconds the little girl handed up a coin. Nancy looked at it and exclaimed, “This is a doubloon ! A Spanish doubloon!”

  Tessie wanted to know what a doubloon was. Bess explained that many years ago Spanish ships sailed across the ocean to Mexico, which was not far from Florida.

  “They captured people and had them do all sorts of work. One thing was to make coins like those they had in Spain. They were called doubloons and were made of pure gold.”

  Tessie tried to dig farther, but found it impossible. She had hit solid coral rock. The little girl looked up at Nancy and said, “Please lift me out and then you dig.”