“If they went to Satan’s Kitchen, they must’a had some wise birds along. Only the old hands dare go there and get their drinks. And the stuff is rank pizen, at that! Nuthin’ but liquid fire. Two or three young fools got knocked out by taking this bootlegger’s vile whiskey, and one feller cashed in his checks.”
The Captain made no reply, but it was not necessary.
“Satan’s Kitchen is a coupla miles in an inlet what dips in from the shore line at Delray. We won’t be able to see the yacht from outside, but that’s whar we’re bound to find the runaways, I’m thinking.”
“All right—drive in and we’ll soon know,” ordered Mr. Dalken, taking command for the first time since leaving Palm Beach.
Shortly after this the launch made a graceful curve and chugged carefully through shallow waters until it came to the narrow inlet mentioned by the captain of the boat. Having gone a very short distance inside this inlet, those on deck soon saw the White Crest anchored near a strip of glistening sandy beach. A rough pier of old planks ran out to the deep water in order to accommodate those who wished to land. Here the launch stopped.
“No, take us to the yacht. I wish to see my guests safely on board my own boat, and the crew in their places. Then if the other party is still on shore you may carry me back to this pier,” commanded Mr. Dalken.
Without any confusion or other sound than the subdued chug of the engine of the launch, the transfer of the party was made. Only the few sailors who had been left on the yacht that evening were found on board, so Mr. Dalken got back into the launch and was about to start for the pier when Mrs. Courtney urged Mr. Ashby to go with him.
“You see, no one can tell what may happen in such a place as this Satan’s Kitchen. Dalky is cool now, but what may he be should he find cause for chastising the men who dared to plan this runaway?”
Therefore, without asking his friend’s consent, Mr. Ashby jumped back into the launch and the boat started away. Those left on board the yacht learned that the Captain had orders to start out at once, and wait about half a mile off the shore. The launch would pick up the yacht there and transfer the owner and his friend.
To the anxious group of friends on the yacht it seemed that a long time had elapsed before they could hear the chugging of the returning launch, but in reality it was hardly half an hour from the time that Mr. Dalken and his friend Ashby had left the White Crest before they returned. Elizabeth Dalken was with them, but not a sign of any one of her companions on the recent excursion was to be seen.