Though Everson seemed all along to have suspected something of the sort, Kennedy’s judgment left him quite as much at a loss for an explanation.  Kennedy seemed to understand, as he went on: 

“I have tried to consider all the ways such a thing could have happened,” he considered.  “It is possible that air might have been introduced into the veins by a hypodermic needle or other instrument.  But I find no puncture of the skin or other evidence that would support that theory.  I have looked for a lesion of the lungs, but find none.  Then how could it have occurred?  Had he done any real deep diving?”

Everson shook his head slowly.  “No,” he replied.  “As I said, it wouldn’t have been so incomprehensible if he had.  Besides, if we had been diving, we should have been on the lookout.  No, Bertram had only tested the apparatus once, after we located the wreck.  He didn’t much more than go under the surface—­nothing like the practice dives we all made up in Long Island Sound before we came down here.  He was only testing the pumps and other things to see whether they had stood the voyage.  Why, it was nothing at all!  I don’t see how it could have given any one the ’bends’—­much less a fellow like Traynor.  Why, I think he could have stood more than Kinsale with a little practice.  Kennedy, I can’t get it out of my mind that there’s something about this that isn’t right.”

Craig regarded Everson gravely.  “Frankly,” he confessed, “I must say that I don’t understand it myself—­at this distance.”

“Would you come out to the Key with me?” hastened Everson, as though grasping at a possible solution.

“I should be delighted to help you in any manner that I can,” returned Craig, heartily.

Everson could not find words to express his gratitude as we hurried back to the hotel.  In the excitement, I had completely forgotten the despatch from the Star, but now I suddenly realized that here, ready to hand, was the only way of getting out to the Key of Gold and securing the story.

Asta Everson and Norma, especially, were overjoyed at the news that Kennedy had consented to accompany them back to the wreck.  Evidently they had great faith in him, from what they had heard at home.

Accordingly, Everson lost no time in preparing to return to the yacht.  Nothing more now could be done for poor Traynor, and delay might mean much in clearing up the mystery, if mystery it should prove.  We were well on our way toward the landing place before I realized that we were going over much the same route that Kennedy and I had taken the day before to reach the home of Guiteras.

I was just about to say something about it to Kennedy, and of the impression that Norma had made on me, when suddenly a figure darted from around a corner and confronted us.  We stopped in surprise.  It was no other than Dolores herself—­not the quiet, subdued Dolores we had seen the day before, but an almost wild, passionate creature.  What it was that had transformed her I could not imagine.  It was not ourselves that she seemed to seek, nor yet the Eversons.  She did not pause until she had come close to Norma herself.