Free The Secret of Skeleton Reef by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

the room was a door to a veranda, and Frank saw Montclare standing on the veranda, gazing at the torrential rain. Absorbed in thought, Montclare had not heard Frank enter the house. “Excuse me, sir,” Frank said, approaching the veranda.
    Montclare turned quickly. “What are you doing here?” the dark-haired man asked. Right away, Frank thought there was something troubled or haunted about Montclare’s expression.
    â€œI’m real sorry to barge in like this,” Frank said, “but, well, it so happens I’m very interested in journalism, and I got to thinking that this whole treasure hunt would make a fabulous story for my high school newspaper. So I, uh, wonder if you could answer a few questions for me.”
    â€œI do not like questions,” Montclare said with a sigh. “However, I feel bad that I caused you to be injured today, so I will give you a few minutes.”
    The rain was pounding so loudly on the roof above the veranda that it was difficult to hear.Frank could see the veranda faced an expanse of large-leafed trees that resembled palms.
    â€œHow did you get into the treasure-hunt business?” Frank asked, pulling out a notebook and pen.
    â€œI own a banana plantation,” Montclare said, gesturing at the trees. “See, acres and acres of thriving bananas. For a time the plantation was bringing me great profits. In fact, here in the Caribbean, bananas are often referred to as ‘green gold.’ ”
    â€œI didn’t know that,” Frank said, pretending to drink in every detail.
    â€œAnyway,” Montclare continued, “a little over two years ago, Sandy Flask came to St. Lucia. He went around to local businessmen, asking them to invest in his expedition. Everyone refused but me. I had some money to spare, and it sounded like fun, so I agreed to single-handedly finance the treasure hunt. It was agreed that if he found the treasure, which was by no means certain, I would receive fifty percent of the profits. You might say I was financing my search for real gold with green gold.”
    â€œIt looks as though your gamble is about to pay off,” Frank said. “Big time.”
    â€œIt may,” Montclare said with a nod. “But it will be several years before I receive any of the profits. And now that has become a problem for me.”
    â€œWhy?” Frank asked after a burst of thunder.
    â€œJust recently,” Montclare said, “the U.S. andEuropean markets began purchasing all of their bananas from Central America, and therefore my plantation is now losing money. Also, over the past two years, I have been pouring more and more money into the Laughing Moon expedition. I assure you, finding pirate treasure is not a cheap enterprise. So you see, now I am in very bad financial shape.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear that,” Frank said.
    â€œYes,” Montclare sad wearily. “Very bad financial shape. I have had to cut back on my staff. Indeed, that is why I hired Chrissy Peters to help me with my books. Because I could no longer afford a full-time accountant. C’est la vie .”
    â€œI see,” Frank said.
    â€œI’m afraid this financial situation has put me in a very bad temper lately,” Montclare said. “That is why I was acting so moody today. Come, let’s go inside. I am getting wet.”
    Frank followed Montclare into the living room, where they both sat in large wicker chairs. Without a word Montclare dropped his head into his hands and began massaging his temples. Frank studied the Frenchman for a few moments. He does seem moody, Frank thought. Am I looking at a man just worried about financial matters, Frank wondered, or am I looking at a man worried about something even more serious—like believing he murdered someone last night?
    â€œAre you all right, sir?” Frank asked.
    â€œNo,” Montclare muttered, mostly to himself. “I am feeling guilty about