“I will be only too happy to take you there,” the courteous officer replied.
They rode through the volcanic ruins of Saint-Pierre toward the gentle slope that led toward Mt. Pelée. Although some sections had been built up, there were still plenty of signs of the savage destruction caused by Mt. Pelée’s eruption over half a century before.
Derek was in the front seat with the police officer. Biff and Charles Keene were in the rear seat. Biff had his fingers crossed. Both the boy and his uncle were praying that the man the police officer referred to might be Derek’s father.
The car drew up before a small vine-covered house. Derek leaped out. The police officer led the way. Biff and Charles Keene were right behind.
A broad veranda swept round three sides of the house. The officer made an inquiry, then motioned Derek to follow him.
Biff was a step behind Derek. At the far end of the veranda, they could see a man sitting in a high-backed wicker chair, his back to them.
As they approached the chair, Biff kept his eyes on Derek. The Dutch boy rushed forward and turned to confront the man in the chair. Biff watched the expression on Derek’s face.
Biff read his answer from the disappointment which spread over his friend’s features.
The man was not Brom Zook.