Yarns Without Threads 

'There it is,' said the Captain, pointing to a low shape in the sea in front of them. 'That's Dooneray now.'

It was true that the island had no houses, but it had a whole rash of huts - new-looking, wooden ones. And moving round between the huts, and down on the shore, were people. Quite a lot of people.

'They're a funny colour,' said Des, screwing up his eyes.

Des was right. The people were . . . pink. Quite a bright pink which caught the light and glistened a little.

The Hurricane shut down her engines. There was no pier; they would have to drop the anchor and go ashore in the dinghy.

Some of the pink people looked up and waved.

'I'm not going ashore,' said the first mate. I'm not going if it costs me my job. Someone else can take the dinghy.'

'Nor me neither,' said Des. 'I'll do anything for you, boss, but I'm not going to land among that lot.'

'You'll do exactly what I tell you,' said Stanley Sprott. But he didn't speak with quite his usual venom. To tell the truth he too was looking a little sick.

No one could have been nicer than the leader of the pink people. He had a friendly smile and he introduced his wife, who was called Mabel, and his cousin, whose name was James.

But he wouldn't put on any clothes. None of them would put on any clothes.

'I'm afraid you must take us as you find us. This is a nudist colony; we believe most strongly that our Creator wants us to keep our bodies open to the air and light. In fact we would be grateful if you too would take off your clothes. It is a rule of the island that no one who comes here keeps his skin muffled in unhealthy garments.'

Behind him, in the dinghy, Casimir giggled and Mr Sprott turned to glare at him. Then: 'Rubbish!' he said. 'Now listen carefully: I've got you all covered.' He pointed to the two gunmen in the boat. 'And I want every man, woman and child to line up over there. I'm looking for a missing boy and I'm going to search every nook and cranny, so don't try to hide anything or I'll blow you all to hell.'

'We wouldn't dream of it,' said the leader politely. 'But can't we offer you some lunch?'

Mr Sprott shuddered. On a patch of grass a group of people with nothing on were frying sausages over an open-air grill. He had never seen anything so dangerous.

A terrible hour followed. The pink people went on being polite and friendly but they still wouldn't put on any clothes. They let him go where he liked - into their sleeping huts, their communal dining room, their gym... Though he knew really that if Lambert had been held by mad aunts who were nudists he would have mentioned it on the telephone, Mr Sprott felt obliged to search every inch of the island, and made Des search with him.

When they left, the leader presented them with a bunch of sea thrift and an oyster.

'Go in peace, friends,' he said.

As they set a course for the second island on their list, Mr Sprott was not in a good temper. Mr Sprott in fact boiled and snorted and raged and swore that he would get the pink people arrested and deported and imprisoned, which was silly of him since the nudists had every right to be where they were.