"We'll have to collect a few shells on the reef," Rick said. "Barby will be disappointed if we don't."
"That's easy enough to do," Scotty replied. "I saw half a dozen different varieties this morning."
They passed a beach house, obviously empty. Rick gestured toward it. "Funny how few people there are here. If I owned a place on this island I'd be here all the time."
"Unless you had to make a living," Scotty added practically. "This isn't the season for vacations. I expect vacation time finds plenty of activity here. There's one cabin occupied to the south of us. I saw people there this morning. They're probably the same ones who waved at us from a boat when we flew over day before yesterday."
"The boat isn't there now," Rick observed. "At least, I haven't seen it."
"They may have gone to St. Thomas for supplies. Or they may have gone home." Scotty pointed to what seemed to be the largest house on the island, near the northern tip. "That's quite a place. Let's go have a look."
There was a long pier in front of the house, and, unlike the others on the island, this house had a second story. There was no sign of life. They walked around it and found a barbecue pit. Scotty examined it. "This has been used recently, probably in the past few days."
Rick bent down and peered at a scrap of meat. "You're right. They had steak. And this piece hasn't dried out yet."
"Maybe they're still here." Scotty walked to the back of the house. "They might be out fishing or something." He looked in a window and called urgently, "Rick! Look!"
Rick hurried to his side and peered in. The room was evidently used for storing diving equipment. Hung along one wall were three full diving suits of expensive make. Next to them, neatly racked, was an assortment of spear guns, all of the spring type, and all of Italian make.