Hawaiian Sea Hunt Mystery

CHAPTER I

Peril in Paradise

In the tropical, jungle-like garden behind the hotel, a man stood absolutely motionless. The broad trunk of the coconut palm tree behind which he lurked protected him from being seen by anyone on the hotel’s wide, sweeping porch.

The tense set of the man’s features showed his growing impatience.

The broad porch ran around all four sides of the white, sprawling Royal Poinciana Hotel on Waikiki Beach, in Honolulu, Hawaii. The porch was called the “deck,” and it had been designed to resemble the promenade deck of an ocean liner. It was an open porch, or deck, with brightly colored floral-patterned umbrellas spreading welcome shade. The deck was spotted with lounge and captain’s chairs, and its teak-wood floor was marked off at regular intervals with shuffleboard courts.

The fore deck, that part of the porch running across the front of the hotel, overlooked the beautiful beach and its rolling, coiling breakers. Chairs and tables scattered on it were occupied by people waiting for the noon meal. On the rear deck, overlooking the carefully planned, luxuriant jungle-garden, only one couple could be seen.

“Will they never leave?” the man muttered to himself. He looked at his watch, then carefully peered around the tree, looking up at the deck jutting out from the hotel’s second floor.

Just as he did so, the couple got up from their chairs and walked leisurely away, heading for the other side. The man waited until they rounded a corner and were out of sight. Then he moved swiftly.

His linen-clad figure was a white flash against broad green leaves as he dashed for the steps leading up to the now unoccupied porch. Once on the deck, he moved casually, as though he were just another tourist. He walked softly on crepe-soled shoes, making not a sound.

Nearing the center of the porch, the man pressed his back against the white-painted wall, almost blending into it except for his dark, swarthy face. Now he moved sidewise, crab-like, until he reached a partly opened latticed door. He stopped, pressing his head against the slight crack where the door was hinged.

Moments passed. Then he heard the sharp jangling sound of a telephone ringing from within the room beyond. Next he heard the soft pad of feet on thick piled carpet as the room’s occupant crossed the floor to take the call.

Now the prowler abandoned his extreme caution. He looked through the partly opened door. He saw the back of a man sitting at a telephone table. The prowler carefully pulled the door open and slipped into the room. Its occupant had the phone’s receiver to his ear.

“On your call to Mr. Thomas Brewster in Indianapolis, Indiana, sir,” the operator was saying, “they are ringing that number now.”

The prowler crept closer until he was within an arm’s length of the seated man.

“Yes,” the man said into the telephone. “I’ll hold the line.” With his free hand he pulled a well-used pipe from his jacket pocket and stuck it in his mouth. Then he patted the table for matches. He opened a drawer and felt in it.

The prowler watched his prey anxiously. He was an old man, with shaggy white hair hanging down almost to his collar.

Unable to find a match, the old man had just started to turn when the operator spoke again.

“This is Honolulu, Hawaii, calling Mr. Thomas Brewster,” she said. A few seconds passed. “Here’s your party, sir.”

The prowler stood there, arms raised, the fingers of his cupped hands spread like talons just over the old man’s shoulders.

CHAPTER II

A Disturbing Call

“I’ll get it! I’ll get it!”

It was the voice of eleven-year-old Monica Brewster.

“You always do,” grumbled her twin brother Ted. “I never do get to answer the telephone. Not when you’re in the house.”

Monica wasn’t listening. She was flying into the kitchen to answer the steady ring before her mother could lift the phone from its cradle. Mr. Brewster’s study was nearer, and there was a telephone in there, too. But Monica knew that her father was in the study, talking to her older brother Biff. She was sure the call was from her friend Betsy, because Betsy generally called her about five o’clock in the afternoon. Monica didn’t want her father interrupting her talk with Betts. Daddy didn’t approve of long phone gabs.

Moments later, Monica came bursting through the living room. Her excitement was at a pitch as high as her voice.

“Daddy! Daddy! The call’s from Honolulu! Someone’s calling you from Honolulu!”

“Take it easy, sis, or you’ll explode.” Biff grinned as he saw the eagerness on his sister’s flushed face.

Thomas Brewster picked up the telephone. He listened briefly, then cupped his hand over the mouthpiece and spoke to his older son.

“Close the door, Biff. Behind your sister.”

Biff got up from his chair and gently ushered Monica, protesting, out of the study. When he turned back, he was startled to see that an expression of worry clouded his father’s face.

“Yes, Johann, I agree.” Mr. Brewster gave the name its Germanic pronunciation, “Yohann.”

Biff could only distinguish a mumble of words coming from nearly four thousand miles away.

“Well, Johann, don’t you take any chances yourself,” Mr. Brewster continued. “Wait until I get there… Danger? There’s always danger when the stakes are as high as those we’re playing for… What!” Thomas Brewster’s frown deepened. “Perez Soto? You say Perez Soto is there? I don’t like that one little bit. The letter, though, you have that safely hidden?”

Again the speaker at the other end took over the conversation. Biff could hear only a scramble of sounds coming from the telephone. He saw his father nod his head absently. His brows knitted into deeper thought.

“You think your room was searched?” he exclaimed. “Had you hidden the letter?”

Biff watched his father intently. Mr. Brewster listened attentively to a long reply. At last he said, “That’s bad, Johann. Very bad. We’ll have to make the best of it, though. All right, Johann… Yes, leaving here tomorrow … Northwest Airlines… Take off from Seattle early the next morning, Wednesday, at five A.M. Be in Hawaii about eight o’clock your time… You’re stopping at the Royal Poinciana, aren’t you?.. Hello … hello … Johann?” Thomas Brewster waited a few moments. “Hello…” Then he hung up and turned to Biff. “That’s funny. He didn’t answer. Maybe we were cut off.”

“Maybe the three minutes were up,” Biff suggested with a smile.

“That’s not as funny as you think, my boy,” his father chuckled. “Dr. Weber’s a peculiar man about some things having to do with money. A call from Honolulu to Indianapolis means nothing to him. But if the operator told him his three minutes were up, he’d hang up quickly. He obeys what he thinks are the rules.”

Biff laughed. “Isn’t Dr. Weber the famous scientist? I’m sure I’ve heard you speak of him.”

“That’s right, Biff. He’s a staff consultant for Ajax. I’ve worked with him before.”

Biff nodded his head. “I thought so.”

Thomas Brewster was the chief field engineer for the Ajax Mining Company, headquarters Indianapolis, Indiana. His job took him all over the world, to many of the strangest and least known spots on the globe. Whenever it was possible, he took sixteen-year-old Biff along.

“One of my reasons for going to Hawaii is to meet Dr. Weber,” Biff’s father continued now.

“You mean the Engineers’ Conference isn’t the main reason?” Biff asked.

Thomas Brewster shook his head. “No. Oh, the meeting is important, all right. But I doubt if I would have gone out there for that alone. Dr. Weber wrote me over a month ago. Said he wanted to meet with me and Jim Huntington. He said it was very important. But he didn’t go into details. I imagine he didn’t want to put too much information on paper. Afraid it might be seen by eyes other than my own.”

Biff was thinking. “It seems to me, Dad, that I’ve heard you mention this Mr. Huntington before, too. Am I right?”

“Probably. I hadn’t heard from Huntington for a long, long time. But he did some work for me in the past.”

“What’s going on, Dad? And what was all that about a letter?”

Thomas Brewster sighed. “Oh, the letter. Forget you ever heard about it. Dr. Weber told me Jim Huntington was lost at sea sailing up to Hawaii from New Zealand. Got caught in a terrific storm, and his sloop sank. He was able to send a radio signal of his position, but Weber said a sea and air search has failed, so far, to discover any trace of Huntington or his sloop.”

“Gee, that’s really too bad. Do you know why he wanted to see you and Dr. Weber?” Biff asked.

“I have an idea. And if what I think is true, then Jim Huntington’s loss is a very real one for the whole world.”

“I heard you mention there might be danger – ” Biff stopped. A spark of excitement flashed across his face. His blue eyes lighted up.

“Danger, Biff? Well, we’ve been in tight spots before. You, in China, and with me in Brazil.” Tom Brewster paused, then said slowly, “There’s always an element of danger in the work we do for Ajax.”

Biff, his face serious, nodded his head. He was thinking of Hawaii, our fiftieth state. What danger could there be there?

The telephone operator at the Royal Poinciana Hotel on Waikiki Beach, Honolulu, looked up as her luncheon relief came into her small room.

“Hi. Am I ever glad to see you! I’m just about starved. I’m on a diet. Not for much longer, though. Hey, something funny’s going on. That old gent in suite 210. Made a stateside call just now and didn’t hang up when he finished. Imagine! He left the phone off the hook. I’ll tell a bellboy to hop up there when I go out.”

CHAPTER III

Worried Twins

Although he didn’t want to show it, eleven-year-old Ted Brewster was just as excited as his sister over the call from Honolulu. He slipped quietly over to the door of the study. He wanted to know what the call was all about. He got there just in time to see Monica ushered firmly out as Biff closed the door behind her.

“Who was it, sis?” Ted demanded.

“Don’t know.” Monica shook her head. “It was just the operator saying she had a call from Honolulu for Mr. Thomas Brewster.”

“You’d better go out and hang up the phone in the kitchen,” Ted ordered.

Monica left the room and returned almost immediately.

“You didn’t listen in?” Ted asked suspiciously.

“Course not! I have very excellent manners. No lady would listen in.”

“Ha,” Ted sneered. “You, a lady? A ’leven-year-old-lady!”

“I’m older than you,” Monica replied.

“Ten minutes older. Call that older? I don’t. And don’t tell me you never listen in. How ’bout yesterday? When I was talking to Peteso? I suppose you didn’t try to listen in then.”

“That’s different. You’re only a kid.”

“A kid!” This was too much. “And what about you? You think you’re so grown up.”

The twins glared at one another. Then, without any reason, glares suddenly turned to smiles, followed by unexplained, uncontrolled laughter. Neither one of the twins could stay angry very long. When their giggles died away, they strained their ears toward the study door.

“Sure is a long call,” Ted said. “Hope nothing’s gone wrong.”

“Gone wrong? What could go wrong, Ted?” Monica’s voice showed her concern.

“I don’t know. But I sure hope that call doesn’t mean we’re not going to Hawaii.”

Now Monica was really worried. “Golly, I just couldn’t bear it. Not to go!”

“Me, too. Biff gets to go everywhere. When do I get to go anywhere?”

“Or me?”

The two sat in silence, thinking how cruel the world was to eleven-year-olds. The Brewsters’ summer cottage on Vineyard Lake – that was nothing. Their speed boat and water skis, they seemed like nothing, too. And their Christmas trip to Florida, visiting their grandparents – what were all those things compared to going to Hawaii? They had been to many places in continental United States, but neither of the twins had ever been out of the country. Well, even if Hawaii was now part of the U.S., they preferred to think they were going to an exotic new land.

That was why, when their father had told them just a week before he was going to take the whole family with him to Hawaii, the twins’ joy knew no limits.

They had known their father was going to Hawaii for a three weeks’ stay. He was to attend an international conference of mining engineers. He was even going to deliver one of the most important speeches at the meeting.

Biff Brewster was the oldest of the three Brewster children. He had gone with his father on several of his explorations. But Biff was sixteen, an age Ted could hardly wait to reach. Biff even had his driver’s license. To Ted, this was the highest goal anybody could hope to reach.

The Brewster family had been having a cookout in their backyard when Mr. Brewster made his wonderful announcement.

“One more week, and it’s off to Hawaii,” he said.

“Is Biff going?” Ted asked.

The children’s father had smiled and turned to Mrs. Brewster. “Let’s pack the small fry and take them along, too.”

“What!” whooped Ted, his hot dog hitting the grass and his lemonade spilling all over his shorts as he leaped to his feet.

“And me? Me? I’m going, too!” Monica hurled herself at her father, her arms circling his neck.

“Easy there, princess. I’d rather have this food inside me, not on the outside.”

Thomas Brewster put his daughter down. He looked into her eager, upturned face. Her hazel eyes sparkled. She had never looked prettier to him, and Mr. Brewster had always thought her the fairest princess of them all. Copper-colored hair framed her oval, pixie face. The summer sun had bronzed her clear skin. Keeping up with her brother Ted had given her a straight, sturdy figure. A nuisance at times, when her spirits shot higher than Pike’s Peak, she was the darling of the family, and had to be squelched only three or four times a week.

“What about it, Ted?” Mr. Brewster said teasingly. “Think your sister ought to come along, too?”

“Sure, Dad. Sure.” was the quick reply. Monica flashed a loving look at her brother.

“All right, if you say so. Okay by you, Mother? And you, Biff?”

“You mean we’re all going?” A look of disbelief crossed Mrs. Brewster’s face.

“That’s right. Time we all had a vacation together. I won’t be too busy at this meeting. And I’m sure we’d all like to visit our fiftieth state.”

Biff followed his father’s words without speaking. He surely felt good, though, about what his father was saying. Biff knew how envious his brother and sister were of the trips he had made. This time, they were going along, too. The whole family! They’d have a swell time. Dad was really tops.

A smile softened Biff’s strong-featured face. His blue-gray eyes lighted up. He moved off the deck chair where he was sprawled and walked over to drape an arm over his mother’s shoulders. He was taller than his mother, with broad, square shoulders. For a sixteen-year-old, Biff was big and husky. He had to be, to have come out of his many adventures unharmed.

“Won’t it be swell, Mom!” he said. “Dad couldn’t have done anything to make Ted and Monnie happier.”

Now, looking at his father’s worried face, Biff wondered if the call from Dr. Weber might mean a change in plans. He hoped not. Not only for his own sake, but for his brother’s and sister’s. It would be a wonderful rest and vacation for Mother, too. Biff wished he knew more about his father’s real reason for the trip.

“Dad, will that call make any difference about your taking us on the trip with you?”

“I don’t know,” his father said slowly. “Dr. Weber’s call puts the whole trip in a new light.”

“Gosh, Dad, Ted’s and Monica’s hearts would be broken.”

Tom Brewster stood up. He went to the door without replying. When he opened it, his two younger children swarmed all over him.

“That call from Honolulu? What was it about?” Ted asked.

“Tell us, tell us!” chirped Monica.

Mrs. Brewster had entered the room. She looked at her husband questioningly.

The twins looked at their father. He ruffled Ted’s hair and patted Monica on the cheek.

“We’re still going, aren’t we?” Monica said in a small, hopeful voice.

“I guess… Yes, we sure are.”

Squeals of delight filled the air. But Mrs. Brewster, reading the expression on her husband’s face, knew that the trip was no longer just a pleasure jaunt for him.

CHAPTER IV

Aloha!

The blue waters of the Pacific Ocean, fourteen thousand feet below, sparkled under the slanting rays of the rising sun. Sleepy-eyed passengers aboard the Northwest airliner yawned, stretched, and brought their reclining seats to an upright position. Two stewardesses hurried back and forth along the aisle of the plane, carrying breakfast trays of chilled pineapple juice, slices of golden yellow papaya, and steaming coffee.

The younger members of the Brewster family, Biff and the twins, had been awake from the time of take-off, although their mother had insisted they try to rest. Mr. and Mrs. Brewster still lay stretched out with their chairs in a reclining position, but now they showed signs of coming out of their fitful sleep.

“How much longer, Biff? How long till we get there? You’ve been to Honolulu before,” Monica said.

“Only for a short stopover on my way to Burma,” Biff replied. He looked at his watch. “I’d say we ought to be there in an hour. Maybe a little longer.”

The Brewster family had boarded the plane at six o’clock that morning, their flight having been delayed on take-off for an hour by a low-hanging bank of fog. The big plane’s four jet engines and a favorable tailwind had pushed it through the sky at a speed of over 600 miles per hour.

Thomas Brewster leaned over the seat in front of him where Ted and Monica were fussing in low tones over whose turn it was to sit next to the window.

“Morning, children.”

“Morning, Dad.”

“My, you’re surely wide awake for such an early hour!” he said.

“Early? Gee, Dad, it’s after ten o’clock,” Ted replied, looking at his wrist watch.

Mr. Brewster laughed. “Guess Ted doesn’t know about setting his watch back. You set yours right, Biff?”

Biff nodded his head.

“What do you mean, set my watch back?” Ted demanded.

“Difference in time, Ted. With daylight-saving time further complicating matters, it’s three hours earlier in Hawaii than it is in Seattle. So, if your watch says ten, then it’s only seven o’clock in Honolulu. People are just getting up there.”

Ted, although still puzzled, turned his watch back three hours.

Biff came to the seat where Ted and Monica both had their noses pressed to the plane’s window.

“Scrunch over, small fry. We’ll be raising Diamond Head soon. Your big brother will point it out to you.”

The plane zoomed through the air, racing the sun to Alohaland. The “Fasten Seat Belts” sign flashed on.

“Won’t be long now,” Biff said. “Ought to see Diamond Head any minute. Look … just over the right wing. See that sort of dark blur? That’s Oahu, the island Honolulu is on.”

Minutes later, Diamond Head rose majestically into view. The plane sped over the yawning crater of the extinct volcano, then bore to the left out over Honolulu Harbor. It turned back north, coming in low, and then settled gently down on Honolulu’s International Airport.

The plane rolled to a stop, doors opened, and landing ramps were wheeled into place. The twins, hardly able to contain their excitement, were first at the exit. Biff, his mother, and his father were right behind them.

Outside, a band played the familiar welcoming song, “Aloha.” Native girls, in hula skirts, with fragrant flowers in their hair and brightly colored necklaces of more flowers around their necks, swayed to the rhythm of the music.

Monica danced down the landing ramp. At its foot, a hula dancer stepped forward and placed a lei, a beautiful necklace woven of flowers – around the excited girl’s neck. Ted got the same treatment. More leis for Biff and Mr. and Mrs. Brewster, until the whole family wore fragrant chains of flowers up to their chins.

“Oh, Mother!” exclaimed Monica. “It’s everything I ever dreamed of! Just like I’ve read about and seen in pictures.”

It was a gay, exciting sight. The warm air, the gentle breeze, the music – a real Aloha, a real welcome. The spirit of Hawaii took over at once. Everywhere, happy people became happier. Gaiety filled the air. A soft scent of flowers cloaked the new arrivals.

The crowd milled about the gate leading to the terminal. It seemed there were hundreds of people all trying to pass through at once. The Brewster family clung together, Monica clutching her mother’s hand.

Thomas Brewster looked carefully over the crowd.

“I don’t see Dr. Weber,” he said to Biff. “I thought surely he’d meet us.”

“Maybe he’s just late, Dad.”

Ted came up and touched Biff’s sleeve. “Look, Biff, see that man over there?” He pointed.

Biff looked in the direction Ted indicated.

“See, Biff, he’s taking pictures. He took several of you and Dad. I was watching him.”

Biff’s eyes met those of the man with the camera. He was a swarthy man, short, wearing a rumpled white suit.

“Gee, I guess Dad must be some sort of a celebrity, taking his picture and all,” Ted said excitedly.

Biff didn’t think that was the reason. The man didn’t look like a newspaper photographer on an assignment. His eyes shifted as Biff stared at him. The man made no attempt to get “just one more shot,” as official cameramen are apt to do. Biff started toward him, determined to find out why the man seemed to be so interested in photographing Mr. Brewster.

Seeing Biff approach, the man drew back, fading into the crowd. By the time Biff had forced his way to where the man had been standing, the picture-taker had disappeared.

Biff frowned. He hadn’t liked the man’s appearance, and his slinking away made Biff even more suspicious. Why had he taken the pictures? How had he known which of the arriving visitors was Mr. Brewster? Biff shook his head. The answer to that question might have some connection with the call his father had received from Dr. Weber.

He had better tell his father about the incident, Biff decided. He rejoined the family and was about to speak when Mr. Brewster raised his voice.

“Over here! Over here, Mr. Mahenili!” He waved to an approaching man who in turn waved back, calling, “Aloha, my friend. Aloha!”

It was Hanale Mahenili, a native Hawaiian with whom the Brewster family was to stay during their visit to the islands. Mr. Mahenili was the Hawaiian representative of the Ajax Mining Company.

Introductions were made, and with the smiling Hawaiian leading the way, the party entered the airport terminal.

Passing a newsstand, Mr. Brewster halted quickly. He strode to the newsstand and snatched up a copy of the Honolulu Star Bulletin. Biff stepped to his father’s side and read the eight-column headline over his shoulder.

CHAPTER V

Detective Biff

Thomas Brewster read the startling story hurriedly. Biff read along with him. The story was sketchy. There were few details. Dr. Weber had been scheduled to open the first session of the mining engineers’ conference the previous afternoon. The meeting had started, but Dr. Weber failed to appear. When the meeting ended, and Dr. Weber was still missing, the police were notified.

“Do you know anything about this, Hank?” Mr. Brewster asked Hanale Mahenili. “Hanale” was the Hawaiian form of the proper name, “Henry.” Among his business associates, Mr. Mahenili liked to be called Hank. His Hawaiian friends called him Hanale.

“Yes, my friend, I do,” Mr. Mahenili replied. “It is most sad, most frightening. In fact, I was the one who discovered his disappearance.”

“When and how?” Mr. Brewster’s voice showed his concern.

“Yesterday afternoon, at the opening of the conference.”

Tom Brewster turned to his wife. “Martha, why don’t you take Ted and Monica over to that bench and sit down? We’ll only be a minute. Biff, you stay with me. I want you to know what’s going on. Sorry, Hank, but I didn’t want my wife alarmed. Please continue.”