He planned to beach her on the strip of sand at the bottom of
the mangrove swamp, and to make his way to the Standish house
through the hidden path whose existence Milo had that day
poohpoohed. He trusted to luck and to justice to enable him
to find the man he sought when once he should reach the house.

His only drawback was the fear lest he encounter Claire as
well. In his present wrathful frame of mind he had no wish to
see or speak with her, and he hoped that she might not mar by
her presence his encounter with her brother.

Between two keys wallowed his chugging boat and into a stretch
of clear water beyond. Then, skirting a low-lying reef, Gavin
headed direct toward the distant patch of yellowish beach
which was his objective.

The sun's upper edge was sinking below the flat skyline.
Mauve shadows swept over the aquamarine expanse of rippling
water. The horizon was dyed a blood-red which was merging into
ashes of roses. On golden Mashta played the last level rays of
the dying sun, caressing the wondrous edifice as though they
loved it. The subtropical night was rushing down upon the
smiling world, and, as ever, it was descending without the long
sweet interval of twilight that northern lands know.

Gavin put the tub to top speed as the last visible obstacle
was left behind. Clear water lay between him and the beach.
And he was impatient to step on land. Under the fresh impetus
the rolling craft panted and wheezed and made her way through