“That will be good, Mr. Keene. It seems I only see Biff for a few minutes, then we’re separated again. I like Biff. I want to know him better.”
Uncle Charlie smiled. It pleased him that his nephew and Derek had become friends.
“You will, Derek. And you’re right. Biff’s as fine a fellow as you’ll ever know. You two ought to have a great time, skin diving for pearls. You ever do any skin diving?”
“Some. In the Mediterranean. I went there with my grandparents last summer. Biff’s done a lot of skin diving, I’ll wager.”
“He sure has, Derek. In Hawaii and off the coast of Southern California. His family has a cottage on a lake out there. The whole family goes in for the sport.”
A little after eight-thirty, the island of Martinique came into view.
“Another ten minutes and we’ll be there,” Charlie said. He put the plane into a long, gentle descent. They came in low over Fort-de-France, circled the city, then came back to set down in the harbor.
At about the same time Charles Keene was setting the seaplane down, Crunch was setting Biff’s breakfast before him. While Crunch had been at the big house to pick up the food, Biff had inspected his prison carefully. It didn’t take him long to determine that escape was out of the question. The iron bars on the windows were three-quarters of an inch thick and deeply imbedded in the concrete. Biff tested each bar, just in case there might be a loose one.
“Not a chance,” Biff thought. “I’m here until someone comes for me. Unless—unless I can outfox Crunch again.”
Now, Biff and Crunch ate their breakfasts in silence. When they had finished, Biff tried to draw the giant out. His first questions were met with grunted replies.