She remembered now the faultless order of the few dry, uninteresting
papers, an ink well made of the skull of a tiny monkey, a bamboo pen, a
half-finished manuscript of wild adventure in some out-of-the-world
spot in the South Pacific. There had been nothing more. But the desk
was one of intricate drawers and panels.
With a sudden distaste for the food before her, Diane pushed the little
table back, lighted a small lamp and crossed to her father's desk. She
unlocked it with nervous fingers. The monkey skull, the bamboo pen,
the few irrelevant papers were all as she remembered them.
Diane glanced hurriedly over the scribbled manuscript of adventure with
a wild, choking sensation in her throat. There was no mention of the
Indian wife. Hurriedly she opened each tiny drawer and panel. They
were for the most part empty. Only in one, a small drawer within a
drawer, lay a faded packet of letters directed to Ann Westfall in the
hand that had penned the manuscript--Norman Westfall's.
CHAPTER LII
EXTRACTS FROM THE LETTERS OF NORMAN WESTFALL
Reluctantly, Diane opened the letters of long ago and read them:
Grant and I have had wild sport killing alligators with the Seminoles.
A wild, dark, unexplored country, Ann, these Florida Everglades! How I
wish you were with us! Tyson had an Indian guide, evoked somewhere
from the wild by smoke signals, waiting for us.
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