The Killer Touch by Ellery Queen

Tobago Cays. Isn’t that a group of very small islands off to themselves?”
    â€œYes, sir. Petit Rameau, Petit Bateau, Jamesby, Baradal and Petit Tabac.” Coco was obviously enjoying the chance to display his knowledge.
    â€œAnybody live there?”
    â€œNo, sir. Sometimes boats come from Barbados, people stay there on holiday, swim, fish. Sometimes fishermen stop to dry fish for market, eat turtle. But they must bring food and water—”
    â€œThey don’t visit during this season, do they?”
    â€œNo, sir. When the sea high, current rush through very swif’. Many rocks.”
    Burt thought about it: If Rolf wanted to keep his wife out of sight, he’d have to find a place where nobody would be likely to stumble onto her. She wouldn’t know enough to stay out of sight when she was all hyped-up on junk, and that way he’d be damn sure she couldn’t take off and try to score on her own—
    Coco’s shout interrupted his thoughts. He looked down to see the cruiser coming from the east. Now what the hell? Burt wondered. That clever devil has circled around and come back a different way, and now I’m not sure of anything . He felt frustration pinch his nostrils as he watched the cruiser approach, trailing a long wake and cleaving the water with two high bow waves. She was a powerful craft; she could probably outrun anything but a U.S. coast-guard cutter.
    He watched Rolf ease up to the edge of the lagoon. The entrance was tricker than ever, but conversely less dangerous. The swells were higher, but if you were a good enough boatman to catch the top of a swell, your chances of getting snagged were that much smaller. Burt found himself holding his breath as the launch disappeared in white water; then letting it out as the boat reappeared gleaming wet, in the lagoon. He had to admire Rolf’s dexterity with the wheel, and he wondered where he’d learned it.
    Burt stayed on the tower and watched Joss meet Rolf at the jetty. While the two talked, Bunny disappeared in the direction of the cabins, walking as though she were very, very tired. The two pigeon hunters had paused in front of the beach club to watch the landing, now, perhaps in response to Rolf’s call, they joined Rolf and Joss at the jetty. Burt climbed down from the tower and descended the hill. He reached the beach just as Joss slapped her hands against her hips and left the beach. Rolf gave Burt a mock, half-smiling salute as he approached.
    â€œNew fellows for the club, Burt. I offered them a lift to Bequia but they’re afraid of the sea.”
    Ace hunched his shoulders and glared at Burt. “Like I told her, I’ll leave. But after that last trip out here, I ain’t ready to go again so soon.”
    â€œI’ve gone through rougher water than this,” said Rolf, looking like a dashing cinema adventurer with his hair wet and drops of water clinging to his mustache. “In the Strait of Gibraltar, with gunboats chasing me.”
    â€œWell, I didn’t. When the sea calms down I’ll take your offer, if she’s still got her mind made up …”
    And Burt had a strange feeling that both men were playing parts for his benefit …
    â€¦ When, from the nearest cabin, came what sounded like a ragged moan. Burt started forward, but Ace was standing in front of him with the gun in the crook of his arm. “Hold it, that’s only Charlie. He has nightmares.” His smile returned, too broad to be real, and he spoke over his shoulder. “Hoke, go turn Charlie over on his stomach.”
    Burt felt rage boiling inside him, but forced himself to speak in a quiet voice. “Smith, you act like a damn fool with that gun.”
    The hairy man raised his brows. “Yeah? You know a lot about guns, bird lover?”
    â€œI know if you don’t take it out of my stomach, I’ll feed it to you.”
    Ace eyed Burt curiously. “What did you say