Mystery Of The Sea Horse Read Online Free PDF Page B

drugged this evening, if that's what you're afraid of. I didn't feel it would be necessary."
"That's a comforting thought." Diana continued to ignore her dinner.
From the far doorway came a dry cough. "Gu- tenacht," began the small, bent old man who stood there.
Danton cut him off with, "Sprect englisch bitte." He stood at his place. "Diana Palmer, permit me to introduce my old friend, Dr. Martinson.
"I'm anxious to get started," said the dry old man.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Low fog was drifting through the boat marina. The sign hanging over the small white shack was faded, blistered by its nearness to the sea. It announced "Boats for Hire." From inside the shack came a ghostly gray light and the sound of gunfire and fast cars.
The Phantom knocked on the peeling red door.
After a moment, a voice called out, "Closed for the day. Good night."
The Phantom knocked again.
The guns and the squealing cars suddenly were silent.
"What in the hell do you—?" A short fat man of fifty yanked the door open. He got a look at the big powerful man standing out there in the mist and amended his approach. "What I mean is, I'm closed up. I'm sitting here with a brew, taking my ease and—"
"I need a motorboat," the Phantom told him.
The fat man rubbed at his thick neck. "Afraid I can't help you, mister. I'm not about to take a boat out at this—"
"I won't require your services, only a boat."
A puffy left eyelid almost closed. The man studied his visitor. "Where do you want to go?"
"San Obito Island."
The boatman glanced back into his shack, at the still-playing now-silent, television set. "San Obito, huh? Never taken anybody there. Guy who owns it is a rich snooty kind of guy, got his own boats, two
beauties, and he's also got him a yacht that'll put your eye—"
About the launch?" said the Phantom.
"You invited out there? I know he throws a lot of shindigs, but usually he sends his own boats over. Besides, this is an odd hour to . .
Producing a wallet from an inner pocket of his belted raincoat, the Phantom said, "I'll pay you double your usual fee."
"Double, huh?" His glance drifted again to the television screen. "Every Sunday night I try not to miss Bill Nolan, Private Shamus. My favorite show, but still I-"
"You can stay here and watch it. I'll leave a de posit on the boat."
The boatman massaged his fat neck again. "Don't get an excuse to take a look at San Obito Island every day. Like to run you over there myself , if that's okay by you."
"As long," said the Phantom, "as you do what I t ell you."
"There she is," announced the fat boatman from the wheel of the launch. He had introduced himself as Cap Nordling. "What you can see of her."
The island was a jagged silhouette in the night fog. "Circle it once," the Phantom instructed. "Keep at this distance."
"Whatever you say, Mr. Walker."
When they had made their circuit of Chris Danton's private island, the Phantom said, "Take us in a little closer to that inlet we passed."
"Don't you want to land at their dock?" asked Nordling. "I hear as how they got some kind of big nasty dogs roaming the place at night."
The Phantom did not reply.
The boatman followed orders. "Right over there."
"Now cut your engines for a few minutes. Then you can get back to your TV detectives."
Nordling turned his fat head to squint at his passenger. "How you figuring to get home?"
"I noticed two boats around at the private dock," answered the Phantom. "I'm sure one of those will do."
"You going to swim over to the island?"
Beneath his clothes, the Phantom wore his tight-fitting costume. Now he transferred his wallet to a waterproof pocket in his broad black belt. "You can give my clothes to charity."
"Your clothes to charity . . . huh?" Nordling tinned again to look at the man who'd hired his boat.
There was no one there, only a neatly folded pile of clothes sitting on one imitation-leather seat.
"Huh," repeated the fat boatman.
The first dog came at him when he had been on the island less than five minutes. A huge, silky-