DR. BRACKEN knew, when he saw that Jan and Chicma had been carried off on a Venezuelan schooner, that his elaborate plans for revenge had been delayed. He would not admit that they had been defeated. He had always been a man of fixed purpose, and now his determination became so strong that nothing short of death itself could have stopped him.
Back in his office after his fruitless tramp through the swamp, he sat with his feet on his desk, smoking innumerable black stogies and scheming.
At first he thought of taking a steamer for Venezuela and checking up on the arrivals there. But his African trip and some unlucky stock ventures had reduced his fortune to a few thousand dollars, and his professional income had dwindled to scarcely more than a pittance a trip to South America would be expensive, and perhaps fruitless, as the schooner might have visited and left any one of a hundred other ports before he could reach it. Then, too, Chicma might have died at sea, for chimpanzees have delicate constitutions. In that case it would be almost impossible to trace Jan.
He could look up the names of all schooners sailing under the flag of Venezuela and write letters of inquiry to their masters, offering a reward. But this might implicate him in a kidnapping case.
He decided that his best plan would be to run blind advertisements regularly in the newspapers of Venezuela’s chief seaports. So he inserted notices in all of them twice weekly for several months.
At the end of that time, when no answers had come, he wrote to the masters of all Venezuelan schooners, using an alias and living in Jacksonville for the purpose of getting his mail there under the assumed name. He received courteous replies from every ship’s master to whom he had written, but not one could tell him what he sought to know.
In desperation Dr. Bracken resorted to his original plan, some nine months after Jan’s escape. Selling his menagerie and what securities he had, he deposited the money in a Tampa bank, obtained letters of credit and left.
First he called at every United States port on the Gulf of Mexico. Then he obtained passports and called at every other port on the gulf, the Bay of Campeche, and the Caribbean Sea. Still unsuccessful, but unwilling to give up, he circled the entire continent of South America, spending some time in each port and returning via the Panama Canal.
Nearly three years after Jan’s escape, he got back to Citrus Crossing with his meager fortune dissipated—only to find a letter there, postmarked “Cumana.” With trembling, eager fingers, he opened it and read in Spanish:
|
Dear Sir: Today I bought a bottle of tequila, and the man who sold it to me wrapped it in an old newspaper. When I unwrapped it later I noticed your advertisement. I am the ship’s master who captured the ape you mention. With her was a wild boy with red hair. My ship, the Santa Margarita, was driven out of her course and sunk by a hurricane. The boy and ape, together with my first mate, a Haitian Negro, escaped into the jungle. Having lost my fortune with my ship, and being compelled to earn my living as a day laborer, I have not had the means to pursue them. But I have heard rumors of their doings, and could easily locate them for you if supplied with the money to finance an expedition into the jungle. I should be delighted to undertake this for a reasonable compensation.
I am, sir, your most humble and obedient servant, |
Dr. Bracken thoughtfully stroked his iron-gray beard. Then he lit a black stogie and sat down, puffing fiercely. Fate, it seemed, had not only worked against him, but was now laughing at him. For she at last revealed the one person who could lead him to Jan—but after she had stripped him of the money needed for going after the boy.
The doctor was not a man to accept defeat, however, even from Fate. There would be a way to carry on; there must be a way.
Suddenly he slapped his thigh and laughed. An idea had occurred to him which appealed to his grim sense of humor. By a clever juggling of the facts he felt sure that Harry Trevor, Jan’s father, could be made to pay all expenses for the expedition, including the doctor’s own.
Over in the harbor of Tampa the palatial yacht Georgia A. rode idly at anchor, awaiting the whim of her master. This and Trevor’s millions would be at his disposal, Dr. Bracken saw with satisfaction.
The Trevors were having tea on their spacious screened veranda when he drove up.
“Welcome home, Doc,” said Harry Trevor, genially, rising and extending his hand as the doctor came in. “Have a pleasant trip”
“Rather,” replied the physician, as they shook hands. “As trips go, it wasn’t half bad.”
He released the young millionaire’s hand and looked at Georgia Trevor with an involuntary catch of his breath. If anything, she grew more beautiful year by year in spite of her great sorrow. She was a trifle thinner, a little paler than she had been in that bygone time when his love had turned to hate. But her velvety skin was unmarred by wrinkles, and the shimmering copper of her hair was still untouched by the silversmith called Time. Only in her big blue eyes, might one see the shadow of the tragedy that had all but deprived her of life itself—the tragedy which, though, she did not suspect, had been brought about by the man who was now smiling down at her, his white teeth gleaming against the dark background of his beard.
The doctor advanced and bowed low over her hand.
“I see you have been busy during my absence,” he said.
“Busy? Doing what?”
“Growing more beautiful.”
She laughed—a little silvery ripple that had an undertone of sadness.
“What’ll it be, old man?” asked Trevor. “Tea, or something stronger? My bootlegger just brought me some excellent Scotch.”
“Tea will do, thanks.”
He took a seat at the table and watched Georgia as she gracefully poured the amber beverage. Trevor pushed lemons, sugar and cream before him.
The doctor helped himself to cream and sugar, and stirred his beverage thoughtfully for a moment. Finally he spoke.
“I don’t want you to take it too seriously, yet,” he said, “for it is possible that I am mistaken. However, I believe I have some great news for you two.”
Georgia Trevor leaned forward eagerly.
“It’s not about—it can’t be about our baby!” she exclaimed.
“Yes.”
The teacup dropped from her forgers, and the two men sprang to her support, as she seemed about to faint. But she steadied herself resolutely.
“I’m—I’m quite all right. Tell me!”
The doctor sat down once more, and Trevor collected the fragments of the shattered cup.
“You will remember that an ape of mine wandered away about three years ago,” began the doctor. “A female chimpanzee. She was a valuable animal and a favorite pet of mine, so I spared no expense in my attempts to recapture her.
“I followed her into the swamp, but eventually lost the trail, nor did I hear anything of her for several months afterward. But one day while hunting I met an old ‘cracker’ who lived by himself back in the swamps. He told a strange tale of having seen the ape, in company with a red-headed youth about sixteen years old, captured by the crew of a Venezuelan schooner. Both were taken aboard the ship, which then sailed away.
“I doubted the tale at first, but as it was my sole remaining clue, I decided to act upon it. I advertised in the leading Venezuelan newspapers without result. But today, upon my return, a letter was waiting for me. Written in answer to my ad, it confirms the strange story of the old cracker, who has since died. How this boy and my chimpanzee came to be traveling together is a mystery. Possibly the same person who kidnaped your baby captured my ape. Perhaps, after becoming friends, they escaped together. At any rate they were really captured together, and together were shipwrecked on the coast of South America. Listen to this.”
He took the letter of Santos from his pocket, opened, and read it.
Georgia Trevor turned to her husband, her eyes alight with hope.
“It must be our boy, Harry!” she exclaimed. “I am sure it is. Can’t we go to South America at once and look for him? Oh, I want him so!”
“We certainly can, dear,” he said. “I’ll send a wire to Tampa, so the yacht will be provisioned and ready. Then we’ll drive over in the morning, get aboard, and be off.” He turned to the doctor. “You’re coming with us, aren’t you, Doc?”
The physician sighed.
“Like to,” he responded, “but I’m afraid I can’t. You see, I had a little run of bad luck with stocks. I’m cleaned.”
“Don’t let that worry you, old man. I want to pay all expenses, you know. Insist on it. And we need you; not only because of your medical knowledge but because you are a seasoned traveler and jungle explorer. I’d like to have you take charge of the expedition on a salary—name it yourself—and all expenses paid. Just tell me how much you need at present, and I’ll advance it now.”
The details were soon settled. Money was cabled to Santos, and he was instructed to organize and take charge of a party for the expedition, and then to await the arrival of the yacht.
The next morning the Georgia A. steamed out of Tampa harbor, bound for South America.