Kitty saw her father reading the evening paper as Brad brought her home about nine o’clock.

“Won’t you come in?” she asked, though she knew her voice betrayed her weariness.

“Not tonight. You’ve had a full day and better get some rest.”

“I am tired,” she admitted, but she felt a glow of happiness that he was so understanding.

“Guess your dad is sort of lonesome. He’ll want to hear all about what you’ve been doing. He wouldn’t like it, Kit, if he knew what chances you’ve been taking.”

“No, I suppose not,” she admitted. “I’d better be careful what I say, or he may try to stop my Sherlock Holmes business.”

When she went into the living room her father glanced over the top of his paper. “Enjoy your trip to the beach?” he asked, still somewhat preoccupied.

“It was wonderful. Almost like old times.” She sat on a footstool near him, and took off the kerchief that had bound up her hair. All the girls had worn slacks and kerchiefs for the picnic instead of their Canteen uniforms.

“A boat’s been sunk offshore. The beach was full of wreckage.”

“Yes. One went down not far from here yesterday.”

“I had no idea so many were still being sunk.”

“Far more than get into the papers.”

“One of the boys told us about them capturing a sub that had fresh bread on it from Bayshore Bakery. That seems incredible!”

Her father let his paper slide to his lap and reached for his pipe. “Oh, they’re getting supplies all the time—food, gasoline, and many other things, no doubt.”

“Can’t they put a stop to it?”

“Not as long as weak human beings can be bribed by the glint of gold.”

“And for other reasons, too. Do you suppose any men are in our Army and Navy who are agents of the Nazis and Japs?”

“Certainly not, Kit,” her father answered, then added a bit dubiously. “Well, I suppose it could happen. In an organization as large and as rapidly built as this, one might slip through. But you may be sure they would not stay long, for with our intelligence service, their activities would soon be brought to light.”

“But sometimes even high officials are new men, haven’t been in long—like the doctors they recruit.” Kitty was thinking definitely of Lieutenant Cary, but didn’t mention his name.

“Yes, of course. They have to give a man of that caliber a commission.”

“And right away they’re put into positions of authority where they can help the enemy, if they’ve a mind to.”

“Yes, of course. But, as I said, they soon show their colors.”

Her father paused, his match halfway to his pipe as he looked at her searchingly. “But why all this interest in such things, Kitten? You’ve become a walking question-box.”

“Oh, the talk you pick up makes you wonder about lots of things,” she replied evasively. “After I asked you this morning about the disposal of the waste I got to wondering what they do with all the food scraps.”

Her father looked surprised at such a question and repeated, “Food scraps?”

“I often see the ward boys dumping food left by the patients into big buckets.”

“Oh, that. It’s contracted for by a cattleman. Beeson, I believe his name is. He lives on Terrapin Island, and uses the waste to feed his hogs.”

Next morning Brad came by to go to church with Kitty. As they were walking home together she asked, “Brad, do you know where Terrapin Island is?”

“No, but I can find out. Up at the hospital they have some very fine, detailed maps of every island and inlet along this coast.”

“Soundings, too, and water depths?”

“I should think so. I never studied them closely. They were done by some boys over at the Marine Base—fellows who used to work for the Coast Geodetic Survey.”

“Wish I could have a look at them.”

“Might stir up some comment, Kit. No use to lay ourselves open to questioning.”

“No, of course not.”

“What did you want to look up specially?”

“I was wondering yesterday when I went exploring if that inlet flowing around the south end of that island is deep enough to float a sub.”

Brad laughed. “You can put that worry out of your mind, Kit. Any inlet along this coast that’s deep enough to float a sub is thoroughly guarded and protected by netting at the sea entrance—under water of course.”

“But that’s no assurance that small rubber boats can’t come in for supplies.”

“Oh, no, nor that traitors from our shores can’t slip out to waiting subs. And, of course, we know that’s being done all the time.”

“Brad, wouldn’t it be wonderful if you and I could do something to nip that sort of thing in the bud?”

“Kit, don’t be too sure we can do anything about it. We’re dealing with clever crooks, with devilishly keen minds.”

A few minutes later when Brad paused at Kitty’s door she said, “Can’t you come in and have dinner with us? Jane always fixes something a little extra because Dad eats dinner with us at noon on Sundays.”

“You’re a peach, Kit! It really would feel good to stick my feet under a home table once more.”

Mr. Carter made Brad welcome while Kitty went back to have Jane set an extra place at the table.

They were half through dinner when Billy said, “Dad, let’s go boat riding. You promised to take me some time.”

“So you did, Dad, as soon as the weather was mild enough. It couldn’t be a more perfect day to get out.”

Mr. Carter glanced at Brad and said, “They forget a war’s on, and we have to use gasoline sparingly.”

“What’s wrong with a bit of rowing?” suggested Brad. “A little exercise like that would do me good.”

“Wouldn’t do me any harm either,” agreed Mr. Carter. “I sit in my office so much my muscles are getting flabby.”

“How about asking Hazel?” Kitty suggested. “She’s been wanting to explore these marshes a long time.”

“A brilliant idea, Kitten!” Her father showed real interest now. “We can catch the rising tide up into the marshes and come back when it turns.”

Brad laughed. “That method will certainly be much easier on the muscles.”

Hazel had the day off and was delighted at the prospect of spending the afternoon out in the sunshine.

“Tell her I’ll call for her at two-thirty,” Mr. Carter told Kitty as she phoned.

“That’ll give me half an hour to run up to the hospital,” said Brad. “There is something I must attend to up there before I leave.”

“Then I’ll have time to pack some sandwiches and cookies, so we can eat our supper outdoors.”

“Another brilliant idea,” said her father. “We’ll make an afternoon of it.”

“That will give Jane the whole afternoon off. She needs a rest,” said Kitty, as she hurried out to the kitchen to see what she could prepare on such short notice.

There was a long loaf of Bayshore Bakery bread that hadn’t been opened. While she made chicken sandwiches from dinner left-overs she thought how strange it seemed to be eating bread from the same bakery as that eaten by the Nazis off shore. As she worked she wondered also what had taken Brad back to the hospital.

Her father had already left in his car to bring Hazel from the hospital when Brad came back and bolted on into the pantry.

“I made a little sketch from that big map,” he told Kitty.

“So that’s what you went for?”

“Thought we might have a chance to look up Terrapin Island while we’re out,” he said. “Come, let me show you.”

He spread a hasty sketch on the dining-room table.

“I’ve been wondering if Terrapin Island is near the place where they burn the hospital waste.”

“It’s the very next island, see!” Brad traced with his finger the inlet that swung southwest around Palmetto Island, and farther south separated Terrapin Island from its neighbor, which they discovered was called Mangrove Island.

Two hours later the picnickers came ashore on an island covered with virgin pines. By subtle suggestions Kitty and Brad had succeeded in heading their expedition toward the goal they had in mind. Mr. Carter and Hazel had no particular purpose but to enjoy the sunshine and bracing air, and so were amenable to suggestions. Kitty and Hazel insisted on doing their share of the rowing, so the trip was easy for all.

Billy was hilarious when they climbed up the bank to a deep carpet of pine needles under the towering trees.

“Oh, Daddy, let’s stay here a long time and play!” he exclaimed.

“We can stay two whole hours before we start back. That’s a very long time.”

“I never saw such magnificent trees,” said Hazel. Her eyes turned here and there as if she could not take in enough of the beauty.

“And smell the fragrance of the sun on the pine needles,” said Kitty.

“A wise old Hindu told me once that man can gain renewed vitality in a pine grove quicker than anywhere else,” Mr. Carter told them.

“Then anybody ought to live forever here,” said Brad.

None of them had ever seen such a virgin forest. There was very little underbrush, just the towering pines rising from their thick carpet of brown needles, their green tops nodding against a blue sky, with a sweet sighing in the gentle breeze.

“This carpet of brown needles doesn’t look as though a human foot had been set here for half a century,” remarked Kitty.

“They’re protected from the sea winds by that island to the east,” said Mr. Carter. As he glanced that way his expression changed. “I do believe we’ve landed behind the island where they burn the hospital refuse.”

Brad glanced at Kitty, but neither admitted that this was where they wanted to land. Billy picked up a branch for a gun and began to play Indian.

“Do you think this is really Terrapin Island?” Kitty asked in a low tone when she and Brad strolled off toward the eastern shore.

He took out his little map, and they studied it.

“Can’t be any other,” he said. “There’re smoke smudges yonder. Must be the dump heap. We’re directly west of it.”

“But there’s no sign of a hog range here.”

“The map indicates it’s a rather large island compared with many others round here. The hogs may be at the other end. These islands are often broken up by low lands that fill at high tide.”

“Brad, do you suppose this Beeson could be helping get stuff to the German subs, too?”

“It all looks very suspicious to me, Kit. Here he is living right next to where the dump is. We have every reason to doubt Punaro’s loyalty. He’s obliged to have dealings with this hog raiser when he comes to get the stuff from the galley. You can’t help judging people by those they’re closely associated with.”

Billy trailed after them as they picked their way along the eastern shore to the island. On this side there was a low bluff. Kitty glanced back to note that her father and Hazel were sitting under a pine in sight of their boat. She and Brad continued tramping down the eastern shore. When they had gone about a half mile they saw an old negro fishing from the bluff. On stiff-jointed knees he got to his feet as they approached.

“Howdy,” he said, with the genuine courtesy of the old southern negro. “Y’all lookin’ fer somebody?”

“Oh, no,” said Brad. “We just came out here on a little boat ride and for a picnic supper.”

The old man took off his battered felt and scratched his woolly head. “Reckon y’all bettah go some’ers else to eat yo’ suppah. Massa don’ like nobody in the pine grove. Reckon you see dem sign he stick up.”

They had noticed “No trespassing” signs, but Kitty had thought that applied to hunting and fishing.

“We aren’t doing a bit of harm,” Kitty told the old man. “The trees are so beautiful. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t enjoy them.”

“Yas’m, dat so, but jus’ de same boss don’t like nobody meddlin’ round the pine thicket. Might set foire an’ bu’n it up.”

“We aren’t going to cook anything. We brought a cold lunch. And if we did make a fire we’d put out every spark.”

“Yas’m, dat whut I tell him too. I been libin’ all mah life in dat shack yonder.” The old man indicated a log cabin in a clearing a little farther south. “I ain’t neber sot foire to de woods. But he can’t be satisfy when he lease de place las’ year till I come to lib in dat new house behind his.”

“Oh, he only rented the island last year?” asked Brad.

“Yessuh! An’ I has to be powerful keerful ’bout whut I does since he been here. I wouldn’t be down here fishin’ me mah ole fish place, ’cept he gone to town fer de day.”

“So you’re enjoying yourself while he’s gone,” said Kitty kindly.

“Yas’m. I sho’ gits lonesome fer de ole times an’ de easy ways, ’fore dis island was a hog lot.”

“Oh, so your boss is the man who gets the refuse from the hospital?” asked Brad.

“Yassuh. I ain’ neber see so much slop since I been born. In de ole days my Massa wouldn’t ov tetched he hand to sich wuk, but not Mr. Beeson. He go fer dat stuff all de time hisself.”

Kitty thought the old man looked to be eighty or ninety. His bloodshot eyes were deeply sunken in his wrinkled dusty brown face, while his once-large frame had little padding left on the bones.

“It was nice of Mr. Beeson to let you continue to live here after he rented the island,” Kitty remarked, hoping to draw him out further.

“Yassum, but he can’t he’p hisse’f. Massa’s son, up nawth, whut own de island all dese years, say he won’t rent to nobody, lessen I kin stay here de res’ o’ mah days an’ lib in peace.”