"Not uninhabited!" exclaimed Clara and Edith together. I saw each of them give a rapid look at her goatskin suit.
"Nonsense, Croyden," I said, "this island is one of the West Indian keys. On such a key as this the pirates used to land. Here they careened their ships——"
"Did what to them?" asked Croyden.
"Careened them all over from one end to the other," I said. "Here they got water and buried treasure; but beyond that the island was, and remained, only the home of the wild gull and the sea-mews——"
"All right," said Croyden, "only it doesn't happen to be that kind of key. It's a West Indian island all right, but there's a summer hotel on the other end of it not two miles away."
"A summer hotel!" we exclaimed.
"Yes, a hotel. I suspected it all along. I picked up a tennis racket on the beach the first day; and after that I walked over the ridge and through the jungle and I could see the roof of the hotel. Only," he added rather shamefacedly, "I didn't like to tell her."
"Oh, you coward!" cried Clara. "I could slap you."
"Don't you dare," said Edith. "I'm sure you knew it as well as he did. And anyway, I was certain of it myself. I picked up a copy of last week's paper in a lunch-basket on the beach, and hid it from Mr. Borus. I didn't want to hurt his feelings."
At that moment Croyden pointed with a cry towards the sea.