CHAPTER VII
GYPSY MOON
As they neared the tiny island, the sound of banjo and singing grew louder. From time to time the music was punctuated by shouts and clapping of hands.
“Someone playing gypsy under the gypsy moon,” said the lady of the island, glancing at the golden orb that hung like a giant Chinese lantern in the sky.
Florence made no reply. She recalled the dark-skinned child she had surprised on the trail, but kept her thoughts to herself.
“There’s a tiny beach half way round to the left,” she suggested. “We were here not long ago.”
The boat swerved. Once more they moved on in silence.
To Florence there was something startling about this night’s happenings.
“Gamblers’ Island; a lady cop,” she whispered. “And now this.”
Once more their boat grounded silently. This time, instead of finding herself left behind, the girl felt a pull at her arm and saw a hand in the moonlight beckon her on.
From the spot where they had landed, a half trail, strewn with brush and overhung with bushes, led to the little clearing at the center of the island.