Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Mystery fiction
For a moment West lost all control over himself. He was too completely
dazed for either words or action; could only stare into that mocking
countenance confronting him, endeavouring to sense what had really
occurred. He was undoubtedly trapped again, but how had the trick been
accomplished? What devilish freak of ill luck had thus thrown them once
more into the merciless hands of this ruffian? How could it have happened
so perfectly? The boat on the sand in the cove yonder; perhaps that was
the key to the situation. Those fellows who had left the _Seminole_ to
sink behind them, knew where they were when they deserted the yacht; they
landed at the nearest point along shore, where they had a rendezvous
already arranged for. Then what? The helpless raft had naturally drifted
in the same direction, blown by the steady east wind, until gripped by
the land current, and thus finally driven into this opening on the
coast. His mind had grasped this view, this explanation, before he even
ventured to turn his head, and glance at the girl. She stood leaning back
against the closed door as though on guard, her uncovered hair ruffled, a
scornful, defiant look in her eyes, the smile on her lips revealing the
gleam of white teeth. In spite of a wonderful resemblance, a mysterious
counterfeit in both features and expression, West knew now this was not
Natalie Coolidge. Her dress, the way in which her hair was done, the
sneering curl of her red mouth, were alike instantly convincing. He had
permitted himself to be tricked again by the jade; the smart of the wound
angered him beyond control.
"You are not Miss Coolidge," he insisted hotly. "Then who are you?"
She laughed, evidently enjoying the scene, confident of her own
cleverness.
"Oh, so even Captain West has at last penetrated the disguise. No, I am
not the lady you mention, if you must know."
"Then who are you?"
She glanced toward Hobart, as though questioning, and the man answered
the look gruffly.
"Tell him if you want to, Del," he said, with an oath. "It will never do
the guy any good. He's played his last hand in this game; he'll never
get away from me again. Spit it out."
"All right," with a mocking curtsey. "I've got an idea I'd like to tell
him; it is too good a joke to keep, and this fellow has certainly been an
easy mark. You never did catch on to me until I got into the wrong
clothes, did you, old dear? Lord, but I could have had you making love to
me, if I'd only have said the word--out there on the hills in the dark,
hey! I sure wanted to laugh; but that tender tone of yours told me what
you were up to; what sent you trailing us around the country--you was
plumb nutty after this Natalie Coolidge. That's the straight goods, isn't
it, Mister Captain West?"
"I care very much for Miss Coolidge, if that is what you mean."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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