Aground Read Online Free

of the sky, and tires hissed on wet pavement in the ceaseless river of traffic. He walked back to the hotel, feeling his shirt stick to his back with perspiration. The desk clerk looked up with a nervous smile. “Uh—I hope everything’s all right.”
    “Yes,” he said.
    “I hope you don’t think—I mean, there wasn’t anything I could do. They told me to call them if you checked back in—”
    “It’s all right. The key, please.”
    “Yes, sir.” The clerk whirled and snatched it from the pigeonhole. There was a slip of paper with it. “Oh. You had a phone call. It was about a half hour ago.”
    Ingram read the scribbled message. Call Mrs. Osborne. Columbus Hotel.
    That was strange. But maybe she wanted to unburden herself of a few remarks on the subject of meat-heads who helped steal her boat. Probably an imperious old dowager with a voice like a Western Ocean bosun. Well, he intended to call her, but she could wait a few minutes; right now the important thing was to find the Dorado before her crew left for the night. The chances were that he was too late already. He strode to the telephone booth in the corner of the lobby, looked up the number of the Coast Guard base, and was just starting to dial when someone rapped on the glass panel of the door. It was the clerk.
    He pushed it open. “Yes?”
    “She’s on the line now, sir. She just called back. You can take it on the house phone.”
    “Oh.” He retrieved his dime and walked over to the desk. He might as well get it over with. The clerk patched him through on the small switchboard and disappeared into his room in back.
    “Hello,” he said. “Ingram speaking.”
    “This is Mrs. Osborne.” The voice was rather husky, and sounded much younger than he’d expected. “Would you come over to the Columbus right away? There is something very important I’d like to discuss with you.”
    “What?” he asked.
    “Just say that it has to do with the Dragoon, and that it’s quite urgent. I think you could help me.”
    This appeared to make very little sense, but he realized asking questions would only waste more time. “All right,” he said, “I’ll be there as soon as I can make it. But first I want to try to get hold of the captain of the Dorado—”
    “That won’t be necessary,” she broke in. “I’ve already talked to him.”
    “Did he tell you where they picked up the dinghy?”
    “Yes. I have the whole story.”
    “I’m on my way. Where shall I meet you?”
    “Just come up to my room.”
    It was less than ten minutes later when he stepped out of the elevator at the Columbus and strode down the carpeted and air-conditioned quietness of the corridor looking at the numbers. When he knocked, she answered almost immediately, and for a second he thought he must have the wrong room. Even hearing her voice over the telephone hadn’t entirely prepared him for this.
    Somehow, a woman who owned a seventy-foot yacht in her own name figured to be a graying and wealthy widow on the far side of fifty, at least, but this statuesque blonde with the flamboyant mop of hair couldn’t be much over thirty. She wore a green knit dress that did her figure no harm at all, and he had a quick impression of a well-tended and slightly arrogant face with a bright red mouth, high cheekbones, sea-green eyes, and a good tan. “Come in, Captain,” she said. “I’m Rae Osborne.”
    He stepped inside. The room was the sitting room of a suite, furnished with a pearl-gray sofa, two armchairs, and a coffee table. At the far end was a window with flamingo drapes. The door into the bedroom was on the left. There was soft light from the lamps at either end of the sofa. The thing that caught his eye, however, was the chart spread out on the coffee table. He stepped nearer, and saw it was the Coast & Geodetic Survey No. 1002, a general chart of the Florida Straits, Cuba, and the Bahamas. A highball glass stood in the center of it, in a spreading ring of moisture. He