Cap'n Mike tested his line, then gave a sharp tug. He hauled rapidly and lifted a three-pound blackfish into the boat.
"Practically a minnow," he said.
"Did we come out here to fish or to talk?" Rick asked. They were anchored a few hundred yards off the reef tip and had been for almost an hour. In that time Cap'n Mike had made a good haul of four blacks, one flounder and a porgy. Rick and Scotty had caught two blacks apiece.
There was a definite twinkle in Cap'n Mike's eyes. "Came to talk," he said. "But the fish are biting too good. Better fish while the fishing's good. Time enough to talk later."
"Time enough for fishing later, you mean," Rick retorted. "Hauling in blackfish isn't going to find out why theSea Bellewas wrecked."
"Got the answer to that already," Cap'n Mike said.
Rick and Scotty stared. "You have?" Rick asked incredulously.
"Stands to reason. Didn't you tell me you knew Mrs. Tyler was scared?"
"Yes, but what...."
"Well, Tom is scared, too. He wasn't, until theSea Bellewas wrecked, but he sure is now. That's why he's sticking to that story of his instead of telling the truth."
"What is the truth?" Scotty demanded.
"Don't know that. Yet. Reckon I'll find out, though. Only I'll need some help."
Keen eyes surveyed the two boys.
Rick worked his hand line absently. "You mean you want us to help?"
"Seems I've read about you boys solving a mystery or two, haven't I?"
"We've had a couple of lucky breaks," Scotty said. "We're not real detectives."
Cap'n Mike tried his line and muttered, "Feels like a cunner is stealing my bait. Well, boys, I wouldn't be surprised none if a little luck like yours is what we need. Can't pretend, though, that you might not be walking right into something you wouldn't like. Anything that scares Tom Tyler is something anyone with sense would be afraid of."
Rick hauled in his line and saw that his bait was gone. He rebaited, his mind on what he already knew of the case. "I've been wanting to ask you," he said. "That answer you gave to Jerry when he asked where Tom Tyler was. You said 'Inside. Surrounded by fools.' What did you mean?"
Cap'n Mike sniffed. "Just what I said. If the constable and the rest hadn't been fools they would have knownthat Tom Tyler was afraid to talk. Just like plenty of others are afraid."
Rick picked up his ears. "Others? Cap'n, I think you know a few things you haven't told us."
The old seaman hauled in his line and grunted when he saw that his bait had been stolen. "Reckon we got too many bait stealers down below now. Either of you boys hungry?"
"I am," Scotty said promptly.
"I could eat," Rick admitted. He looked at his watch. It was almost noon.
"Then let's haul anchor and get out of here."
In a moment the hand lines were wound on driers and the anchor stowed. At Cap'n Mike's direction, Rick pointed the launch to the south, toward the town. The old man took out his pocketknife, whetted it briefly on the sole of his shoe, and commenced to clean and fillet the fish they had caught. Scotty slipped into the seat beside Rick.
"What do you think about trying to solve this one?"
Rick shrugged. There was nothing he enjoyed as much as a mystery, but he wanted more information from Captain Michael O'Shannon before he agreed to anything. He had suspected that the old seaman knew more than he was saying. "We'll wait and see what develops," he said. "Okay with you?"
"Suits me," Scotty agreed.
The launch sped past Million Dollar Row, leaving behind a string of fishy waste as Cap'n Mike went on with his cleaning. By the time they were even with the town he had a handsome stack of white boneless filletsall ready for the pan. He brought them forward and took a seat next to Scotty. "Guess these'll taste mighty good. Got a little fresh bread and plenty of butter to go with 'em."
Rick pointed to a large barnlike structure on the biggest pier in front of the town. "What's that?"
"Fish market. That's where most of the trawlers load and unload. It's quiet now, because the fleet is out, but after dark when they come in, and early in the morning before they leave—that's the busiest place in these parts. I'll take you down there one of these times. Might be we'll find a couple of answers there."
He pointed to an old windmill on the shore just below the town. "Steer for that."
"Do you live there?" Scotty asked.
"I live in a shack behind it. But there's a place to tie up. You'll see it in a minute."
As the captain had said, there was a small dock in front of the windmill. Rick headed the launch for it and in a short time they were tied up. Behind the mill, which was an old ruin that had been used a half century before for grinding meal, was the road leading south from Seaford. Across the road was a weather-beaten fisherman's shack.
Cap'n Mike pushed the door open. "It ain't no palace," he said, "but it's home and I'm proud to welcome you. Come on in."
Inside, Rick stared around him with appreciative surprise. The little shanty was as neat and efficient as a ship's cabin. On one side was a tiny galley with everything neatly stowed. On the other was a built-in bunk. The walls had been papered with old charts, and he sawthat most of them were of the New York-New Jersey area. A ship's lantern, wired for electricity, hung so low that it almost brushed Scotty's head. Ship models lined the mantel.
Cap'n Mike was already at work in the galley. With no waste motion he produced a coffeepot, filled it with water, dumped in a handful of coffee and put it on the stove. He whisked a match across the seat of his pants and lit the kerosene. Then he produced a paper bag, shook in flour, salt and pepper, dumped in the fish and closed the bag, shaking it violently a few times with one hand while he produced a frying pan with the other. In a moment the pan was full of frying fish. A breadbox yielded a loaf of homemade bread.
Before Rick and Scotty quite realized that lunch was ready, he had them seated at a table that folded down from the wall, with a smoking platter of fillets in front of them.
"Eat," he commanded.
Rick was no fish fancier, but he had to admit that this was delicious. And the coffee, in spite of the apparent carelessness with which it had been made, was the best ever.
When the last drop had been consumed, Cap'n Mike pushed back his chair. "Let's get down to brass tacks," he said. "Do you go along with me or not?"
Rick dropped into the idiom of the sea. "I like to know the course before I haul anchor."
Cap'n Mike chuckled. "Didn't expect caution or wisdom from you."
Scotty grinned. "Don't worry. He's neither cautious nor wise. He can't wait to get started and neither can I.But Rick's right. We have to know the whole story."
"Right. Well, there isn't much. Something's been going on in Seaford. Don't ask me what, because I don't know. I think Tom Tyler does, and I think his finding out is what led to the wreck of theSea Belle." He held up his hand as Rick's lips framed a question. "You're going to ask me how I know that. Well, I don't know it. I just suspect it. I was a mite too positive when I said I knew. All I know is Tom Tyler told me one day that he had an idea that something strange was going on at the Creek House, and that he intended to find out what it was. Now! He must have had a good idea that whatever was going on was crooked, because Tom isn't the kind of man to pry into folks' business without a good purpose."
"Do you think he found out?" Rick asked.
"I do. I think he found out four nights ago. I was sitting in my dory jigging for eels a little distance down from the Creek House fence right at the mouth of Salt Creek. I saw Tom. He didn't know I saw him. He came around the corner of the fence and for a minute he was silhouetted against a light. I didn't see his face, but I'm sure. Known him since he was a shaver. Next morning I bumped into him at the pier, getting ready to go out on theSea Belle. He said to see him at his house that night, because he had something to talk to me about. Well, I saw him that night, but not at his house. He was sitting at a corner table in Sam's Lobster House, and can you guess who was with him?"
"Red Kelso?"
Cap'n Mike nodded at Rick. "It was Kelso. He was doing the talking, too, and from the expression on Tom'sface, he wasn't saying anything Tom liked a whole lot. After a while he left, and I went over to Tom. I asked casual-like what it was he wanted to talk with me about and he froze up like a clam. He was scared, at first. Then he seemed to get sort of mad, too, because he said, 'I'm going to call his bluff. Wait and see.'"
"Meaning Kelso," Scotty said.
"I reckon, but Tom wouldn't talk. He said it was better that I didn't know what he was talking about. He got up and left and I didn't see him again until last night at City Hall after he wrecked theSea Belle."
Rick thought it over. The logical deduction was that Tom Tyler had somehow gotten suspicious of the Kelsos and what they were doing at Creek House and had gone spying. Kelso had found out Tyler had spied on him and had warned him, although Rick couldn't imagine what club he had held over Tyler's head. Tyler had ignored the warning and somehow Kelso had contrived to wreck the trawler. But how?
"Was the regular crew aboard theSea Belle?" he asked.
"Yes. Just the regulars. All good men who've sailed with Tom Tyler for more'n ten years."
"You said Mrs. Tyler was afraid, too," Scotty remembered.
Cap'n Mike shrugged. "Probably Tom talked the whole thing over with her."
There had been an air of tension at the wreck last night, Rick thought. Maybe other fishermen were in it, too. He put the question to Cap'n Mike.
"I don't think so," the old man said. "The whole town knows something's up. They know Tom Tyler doesn'twince at shadows. If he's afraid, and they know he is, he's got reasons. That makes 'em all uneasy. But there is one gang that I'm sure is mixed up in this, and that's the bunch on theAlbatross. She's a fishing craft just like Tom's, only her skipper isn't much like Tom. Name's Brad Marbek."
Rick stretched his legs. "Why do you think he and his crew are mixed up in it?"
"Eel fishing is a good business for them as wants information," Cap'n Mike said.
Rick hid a smile. The old seaman was bursting with curiosity about the Creek House and its new inhabitants. He had a picture of him sitting patiently at the mouth of Salt Creek, ostensibly fishing but actually watching to see what he could find out.
"I've seen theAlbatrosstied up at Salt Creek pier three times," the captain went on. "Now! Why would a trawler, loaded to the gunwales with menhaden, stop at the hotel before coming in to the fish wharves to unload?"
"Not for social purposes, that's certain," Rick said.
"Find out why and we're a lot closer to the solution," Cap'n Mike stated.
Rick had the germ of an idea. "How far out do the trawlers go?"
"Few miles. Fishing grounds start a couple of miles out. Why?"
"Just an idea."
Scotty's eyes met Rick's. "Thinking about going to take a look?"
"Could be. What time do they leave here, and what time do they get back?"
"They leave about four in the morning at this time of year. Mostly they don't get back until around nine. They like to get to the grounds by daylight and fish until dark. If they get a full load before dark, of course they come in earlier."
Rick grinned at Scotty. "Ever wanted to be a reporter?"
"Nope. My spelling isn't that good."
"Well, you're going to be one. Let's get home. I want to make a call to the WhitesideMorning Record."
Cap'n Mike's eyes brightened. "So you'll work along with me, hey? Knew you would. What happens now?"
"First thing is to interview Captain Tyler and his crew," Rick said.
Cap'n Mike shook his head. "You'd be wasting time. I've already tried. Tom's not saying a word, even to his old friends, and the crew has orders from him not to talk. They're loyal. You'll get nothing out of 'em."
"All right," Rick said, disappointed. If the fishermen wouldn't talk to Cap'n Mike they certainly wouldn't talk to him and Scotty. "Then we'll go back to Spindrift and do a couple of chores. We'll come back to Seaford tonight. I'd like to get a look at theAlbatross, if you can fix it."
"Easy." Cap'n Mike rubbed his hands together gleefully. "I'm betting we can get Tom Tyler out of this."
Rick scratched his head thoughtfully. "Don't get your hopes too high, Cap'n Mike. We're only a couple of amateurs, remember."
"Some amateurs are better than some professionals, no matter what the business. I'm not worried any more."
Cap'n Mike walked down to the boat landing in frontof the old windmill with them. "How will you come down tonight?"
"I'll try to borrow a car," Rick said. "Think Jerry will lend us his, Scotty?"
"If he isn't using it. If he is, maybe we can borrow Gus's."
Scotty walked to the stern of the launch and untied the line that held it to the pier. Rick loosed the bow line, then jumped into the pilot's seat. As he did so, he sat on a sheet of paper. He had left no paper on the seat. He rescued it and turned it over. There was a message on the back, printed in pencil in huge block letters. Its content sent a sudden shiver through him. He beckoned to Scotty and handed it to him. "Looks like someone can read enough to get our home port off the stern of the launch."
Scotty scanned it rapidly, then whistled softly. For Cap'n Mike's benefit, he read it aloud.
KEEP OUT OF THIS. KEEP OUT OF SEAFORD AND STAY AWAY FROM SHANNON. STAY AT SPINDRIFT WHERE YOU BELONG. YOU'LL GET HURT IF YOU DON'T.
KEEP OUT OF THIS. KEEP OUT OF SEAFORD AND STAY AWAY FROM SHANNON. STAY AT SPINDRIFT WHERE YOU BELONG. YOU'LL GET HURT IF YOU DON'T.
Scotty's face took on an injured expression. "To read that," he complained, "you'd think we weren't wanted here!"
Rick hung up the phone in the Spindrift library and turned to Scotty. "Jerry is using his car tonight. But Duke says okay. He'll make out a reporter's identity card for you and a photographer's card for me. Only if anything interesting turns up, we have to give him a story."
"Good thing papers have rewrite men," Scotty said, grinning. "It's all I can do to write a readable letter. A news story would be way beyond me."
Rick picked up the phone again. "I'll see if Gus is using his car."
Gus, owner, chief mechanic, and general factotum of the Whiteside Airport, had loaned his car to Rick on several occasions. His hope, he explained every time, was that Rick would drive it to pieces so he could collect the insurance and get a better one.
In a moment Gus answered. "It's Gus."
"Rick here, Gus. That ancient clunk of yours still running?"
Gus's voice assumed wounded dignity. "Are you speaking of my airplane or my automobile?"
"Your limousine. Using it tonight?"
"Nope. Don't drive it any more than I have to. When do you want it?"
"About eight, if that's all right."
"Okay. I'll drop it off at the dock. Don't bother bringing it back. Just let me know where it is so I can tell the insurance company."
"I'm a safe driver, Gus," Rick said with a grin.
"If I believed that I wouldn't lend you the car. Leave it in my back yard when you get through, huh?"
"Thanks a million, Gus. I'll take good care of it."
"Don't. You'll spoil it."
Rick rang off. "What time is it?"
"About half past three," Scotty said. "Why?"
"Let's take the Cub up for a little spin."
Scotty chuckled. "You're never as happy as when you're trying to unravel a mystery. Any mystery."
"You don't like it," Rick scoffed. "You like a peaceful, quiet life. A book and a hammock. That's for you. Why don't you go get one of your Oat Operas to read and leave the mystery to me?"
"Got to keep you out of trouble," Scotty said amiably. "It isn't because I'm interested."
They walked from the house into the orchard that separated the low, gray stone laboratory buildings from the house and headed toward the air strip. The strip was grass-covered and just big enough for a small plane like Rick's. It ran along the seaward side of the island, with the orchard on one side and the sea cliff on the other.
"Just thought," Scotty said suddenly. "We'd better have some binoculars if we're going out to take a look at the fleet."
"I'll warm up while you get them," Rick agreed. He started the engine and warmed the plane until Scotty arrived with a pair of ten-power binoculars.
Scotty untied the parking ropes and pulled out the wheel chocks, then got into his seat. "Let's go," he said.
Rick nodded and advanced the throttle. In a moment the Cub lifted easily from the grass.
Rick settled down to the business of flying. He looked at the sea below and estimated the wind force. Mentally he figured his probable drift, then decided on south-southeast as his compass heading, and swung the little plane on course.
"Checked the equipment recently?" Scotty asked.
He referred to the two-man life raft and signaling pistol Rick had purchased from Navy surplus for just such overwater flights as this.
"Went through it Saturday," Rick said. "But don't worry. We won't get your feet wet."
"You hadn't better," Scotty retorted. "These are new shoes I have on." He paused. "What do you think about that warning?"
They had discussed it thoroughly on the way home from Seaford, examining all possibilities. "I haven't changed my mind," Rick said. "I think it was Carrots Kelso."
He reasoned that Red Kelso, the boy's father, had too much sense to try warning them away. The only purpose the warning would serve would be to arouse their curiosity even more—which it had certainly done.
"That Carrots is a queer one," Scotty said. He had to raise his voice slightly because of the engine's drone. "Did you notice the rifle he carried?"
"And how! It looked like a .30-30."
"It wasn't."
Rick looked at Scotty in surprise. "No?"
"Nope. It looked like one because of the lever. Sport carbines have those to lever cartridges into the chamber. But this one had a lever for pumping air. I've only seen one like it before, and a professional hunter in Australia had that one. He used it for collecting specimens when he didn't want to make noise. Sometimes he found several wallabies or Tasmanian wolves together and he could get two or three before they knew what was up."
"You mean an air gun has enough power to use for hunting?" Rick knew modern air guns had high penetrating power, but he had never heard of one powerful enough to use on animals as big as wolves.
"This model has," Scotty told him. "It was made by the Breda Gun Company in Czechoslovakia before the war. The slug is about .25 caliber, but heavier than the kind we have in America."
"Wonder where he got it," Rick mused.
"Hard to tell. They're expensive guns, believe me."
The Cub had been flying only a few hundred feet above the water. Behind them, the New Jersey coast was still in sight. Rick climbed to a thousand feet and told Scotty to start looking for the fishing fleet.
"How many shots can you get out of that air rifle?" Rick asked.
"Just one. It's automatic loading, but it has to be pumped up each time. That's not as hard as it sounds,though, because the pump is made so that two strokes will give it a full air charge. It's about as fast firing as a single-shot .22 rifle."
Rick's eyes scanned the horizon. "How do you suppose Carrots tracked us to Cap'n Mike's shack?"
"Easy enough. He could hike along the shore and keep us in sight."
"He was risking being seen when he put that warning on the seat. Suppose one of us had looked out the window?"
"Then he would have pretended to be just hiking, or looking at the boat or something. It wasn't really much of a risk."
"I suppose not," Rick agreed. Small specks on the horizon caught his eye suddenly and he pointed. "There's the fleet!"
Scotty held the binoculars to his eyes. "Sure enough. About eight trawlers so far, pretty well scattered."
In a few moments they could see clouds of gulls and petrels around the boats, a sure sign of plenty of fish. Then they made out the details of the big nets used by the fishermen for catching the menhaden.
"See if you can spot theAlbatross," Rick said.
"You'll have to go down and pass each boat, then. I couldn't make out the names from this height."
"Okay. Here we go."
On each of the craft, fishermen waved as the Cub sped past. Scotty read the names aloud. None of the trawlers was theAlbatross.
Rick put the Cub into a climb. "There must be other trawlers around. Let's go up and take a look."
Scotty shook his head. "I have a better idea. We'll seetheAlbatrosstonight, anyway. Why not go into shore and fly over Creek House? Sometimes you can see things from the air you can't see from the ground."
Rick considered. Flying out to the fleet had been only an impulse anyway; he hadn't expected to see anything. He was quite sure theAlbatrosswould look and act just like the rest of the Seaford fleet.
"Good idea," he said finally, and banked the Cub around. He pointed the little plane south of west to compensate for the wind, then settled back.
Rick kept an eye out for landmarks as the coast approached and presently he made out the steel towers of an antenna field. That would be the Loran radio range south of Seaford. He had compensated a little too much for drift. He banked north and in a few moments Scotty spotted Seaford.
Rick dropped down, but kept out to sea so that he wouldn't violate the law about flying too low over towns. He saw the windmill and Cap'n Mike's shack behind it.
"Go past Smugglers' Reef and then turn and come back over Creek House," Scotty suggested.
Rick nodded. Dead ahead he could see the curving arm of the reef and the wreck of Tyler's trawler. He saw that the fishing craft had piled up just about midway between the navigation light on the reef's tip and the old tower where the light formerly had been. Men were working about the trawler. Then, as the Cub flashed overhead, he saw a large truck that had backed down the reef toward the wreck as far as it was safe to go.
Scotty had been watching through the glasses. As Rick swung wide out to sea and banked around to gosouth again, he said, "Know what they're doing down there? They're stripping the wreck."
"That makes sense," Rick said. "Probably the insurance company wants to salvage what it can. They'd have to act fast before sea water ruined the engines."
He banked sharply over Brendan's Marsh. To the right was the highway leading from Whiteside to Seaford. Between the highway and the sea was the marsh. Although the marsh looked like solid growth from the ground, it could be seen that it was cut up by narrow waterways, most of which wandered aimlessly through the rushes and then vanished. Salt Creek was sharply defined, however, indicating that it was much deeper than the surrounding water.
The Creek House was fenced in on only two sides, he saw. The high boards separated it from the next hotel on the south, and from the road on the sea front. But inland, a continuation of the marsh served as a dividing line. Salt Creek made the fourth side. The old mansion was set in the middle of the square with a big combination garage and boathouse behind it, almost against the marsh on the creek side. The doors were open and he could make out a black car, probably a coupé or two-door model, in one of the stalls.
"See anyone?" Scotty asked.
"Not a soul." Evidently the Kelsos were indoors.
Rick climbed as the Cub passed over Seaford, then turned out to sea and went northward again. Scotty kept the glasses on Smugglers' Reef. As they flashed past, he swiveled sharply. "Rick, make another run, right over the wreck."
"You won't be able to see it if I go right over it," Rick objected.
"I don't want to see the wreck, I want a closer look at the old tower."
Rick shot a glance at his pal. "See something?"
"I'm not sure."
"I'll throttle down so you can get a better look." He made a slow bank, lined up the wreck and throttled down, dropping the nose to a shallow glide in order to maintain flying speed. As the Cub passed the old tower, he looked curiously. He couldn't imagine what had attracted Scotty's interest. The thing was only a steel framework, red with rust. Not even the top platform was left.
Off Seaford, he banked out to sea again.
"See enough?"
Scotty dropped the binoculars to his lap. "I saw bright metal on the lowest cross girder. I couldn't tell much, but it looked like a deep scratch. And some of the rust had been flaked off around the spot, too. I could tell because it was a redder color than the rest."
Rick thought it over. "I can't make anything out of that," he said finally. "What's your guess?"
Scotty shrugged. "I don't have one. But it's a cinch someone has been up there, and within the past couple of days, too. Raw metal rusts fast right over the sea like that, and this spot was bright enough to attract my attention. Maybe we'd better have a closer look from the ground."
"It wouldn't hurt," Rick agreed. "Well, what now?"
"Might as well go home," Scotty said. "We can take it easy until after dinner, and then go to Whiteside, pickup those cards from Duke and get the car from Gus."
They had been flying steadily north. A moment later Spindrift loomed on the horizon. Rick saw the gray lab building and, to its left, Pirate's Field where the rocket launcher had once stood. He waited until the Cub was abreast of the old oak on the mainland that he used as a landmark, then cut the throttle. The plane lost altitude rapidly, passed a few feet over the radar antenna on the lab building and settled to the grass strip. Rick gunned the tail around and rolled to the parking place.
They staked down the Cub and walked through the orchard to the house. In the kitchen, Mrs. Brant was rolling out piecrust. She smiled at the boys. "Been riding?"
"We went out to watch the fishing fleet," Rick said, "then swung down over Seaford for another look at that wrecked trawler. What kind of pie, Mom?"
"Butterscotch."
Scotty smacked his lips. "We should have waited a little while, then we could have had a sample when we got in."
"No samples," Mrs. Brant said. "It would spoil your supper."
"Not mine," Scotty replied. "Nothing spoils my supper. Got any doughnuts handy, Mom?"
Mrs. Brant sighed. "In the stone crock. And there's milk in the refrigerator. But only one doughnut!"
"Only one," Scotty agreed. "How about you, Rick?"
"I'm not hungry. I think I'll go up and work on the camera for a while." He would have over an hour to work on it before it was time to eat. He started for the stairs, then paused as the telephone rang.
Hartson Brant, who was working in the library, answered it and called, "Rick? It's for you."
"I'll take it upstairs, Dad." He hurried to the top of the stairs and picked up the hall phone.
"Hello?"
"Rick Brant?"
Rick stiffened. It was a man's voice, but obviously disguised as though the man spoke through a handkerchief held over the mouthpiece.
"Yes. Who is it?"
"A friend," the disguised voice answered. "You're a nice kid and I don't like to see you getting into trouble. Keep out of Seaford. Remember that! Keep out of Seaford and stop flying over in your airplane or you're going to get hurt. You won't be warned again. Next time, you'll wake up in a hospital!"
There was a click as the speaker hung up.
"Know what I like about you?" Scotty said.
"My charm," Rick answered. "Or is it that I like food as much as you do?"
"Neither. What I like about you is your caution. The very soul of prudence, that's what you are. Your instinct for self-preservation is exceeded by only one thing."
"My," Rick said. "That's almost poetic. What's the one thing?"
"Your instinct for getting into trouble," Scotty stated. "You get a warning to stay away from Seaford, so what happens next?" He waved at the scenery as they sped past in Gus's old car. "Naturally we head for Seaford at ninety miles an hour, not even stopping to pick up our press cards."
Rick laughed. "Be accurate. This old heap can't go ninety miles an hour. Besides, it's only my never-ending search for the truth that leads me to Seaford. I want to find out if the warning is true."
Scotty sighed. "Whoever it was that phoned should know you as I do. If we needed anything to sharpenthe famous Brant nose for trouble, it was that phone call. I suppose now we'll spend all our waking hours commuting back and forth to Seaford."
"Not all," Rick corrected. "Some of the time we'll be in Seaford."
"Any idea who it was that phoned?"
"It could have been anyone. But I don't think it was Carrots Kelso. The voice was an older man's. Maybe it was his father, but I didn't hear enough of his voice to recognize it."
"Why should anyone worry about us looking into things?"
"Respect," Rick said, wincing as the car bounced across Salt Creek Bridge. "Respect for the genius of Spindrift's two leading detectives. Can't think of any other reason."
"Unless whatever is going on would be so obvious to anyone who took the trouble to investigate that the party concerned doesn't even want two simple-minded souls like us poking around."
"Such modesty," Rick clucked.
"Okay, Hawkshaw," Scotty said resignedly. "On to Seaford. We'll probably find the answer just as the villain lowers the boom on us."
Rick swung into the Seaford turnoff and slowed for the main street. He went straight ahead to the water front and then turned right. In a few moments the car drew up in front of Cap'n Mike's shack.
The captain opened the door and peered out. "Be with you in a minute." In much less than a minute he was out again, clad in a jacket and officer's cap.
"Howdy," he greeted them. "See much from your airplane?"
"How did you know it was our airplane?" Rick asked curiously.
"Pshaw! You don't give people credit for knowing much, do you? I'll bet everyone in Seaford knows about your airplane. Everyone who reads the WhitesideMorning Record, anyway."
"But all Cubs look alike," Rick protested, "and most of them are painted yellow."
Cap'n Mike snorted. "What of it? No other yellow planes in this area, and you been seen on the ground in Seaford twice already. What would anyone think? Especially when you're on a direct bearing for Spindrift when you leave?"
"He's got something there," Scotty said. "It's a logical conclusion."
Rick had to agree. "Well, you're the guide, Cap'n. Where to?"
"The pier." Cap'n Mike looked at the fast-fading light in the west. "It's time for the trawlers to be coming in. Reckon we'll talk to a couple of folks and get a look at theAlbatrossand her crew."
Rick turned the car around and headed for town. "Why don't you tell us all you know about theAlbatrossvisiting Creek House?"
"I intended to. First off, theAlbatrosshas been there three times that I know of. And each time she has put in on her way back from the fishing grounds. Now, that's mighty strange. First thing a captain thinks of is getting his fish into port. But not Brad Marbek. Instead, he laysat the Creek House pier until nigh onto midnight. Then he puts into the wharf and unloads his fish. What do you make out of that?"
Rick could make nothing out of it. TheAlbatrosscertainly wouldn't be calling at Creek House just to be sociable. "Were these calls made at regular intervals?" he asked.
"Nope. One was two weeks ago, one was four nights ago, and the last time was night before last."
"Wasn't four nights ago the night you saw Tom Tyler at Creek House?" Scotty recalled.
"It was. That's one reason why I'm sure theAlbatrossis tied up with the wreck of theSea Belle."
Rick searched for possible reasons why the trawler should tie up at Creek House and rejected all but one. He had the beginnings of an idea, but he needed to think about it a little more before he broached it.
"Cap'n, you've been keeping an eye on the Kelsos for quite a while, sounds like," Rick said. "Do they ever have any visitors?"
"Haven't seen any."
"No trucks?" Rick asked.
"Haven't seen any."
They were approaching the big, shedlike fish pier. It was brilliantly lighted. At Cap'n Mike's direction, Rick pulled off the street and parked.
"What happens to the menhaden after they're unloaded?" Scotty wanted to know.
"Ever notice that one-story building next to the pier? Well, they go into that on conveyer belts. Then the oil is cooked out of them and what's left is turned into feed or fertilizer. You'd know if you'd ever been here whilethe plant was processing and the wind was inshore. Dangdest smell you ever smelled. Like to ruin your nose."
Rick sniffed the fishy air. "I believe it," he said.
Cap'n Mike had been leading the way toward the big pier. Now he turned onto the pier itself. Some trawlers already were tied up and were being unloaded by bucket cranes. The reek of fish was strong enough to make Rick wish for a gas mask. He saw Scotty's nose wrinkle and knew his pal wasn't enjoying it, either.
The captain stopped at the first trawler and hailed the bridge. A big man in an officer's cap answered the hail.
"Let's go aboard," Cap'n Mike said. "This here is theJennie Lake. We'll talk with Bill Lake for a minute."
Bill Lake was the skipper, and the man they had seen directing the unloading from the bridge. He greeted Cap'n Mike cordially. The captain introduced the two boys and Lake shook hands without taking his eyes from the unloading operation. Rick saw a scoop drop into the hold and come up with a slippery half-ton of menhaden. Then it sped along a beam track into the big shed, paused over a wide conveyer belt, lowered to within a few feet of the belt and dumped its load. A clerk just inside the door marked the load on a board. Rick looked for the winch operator and found him opposite the clerk.
The scoop came back rapidly, sped out the track extension above the hold, and paused. Bill Lake signaled and the big bucket dropped slowly. At a further signal, it opened its jaws and plunged into the mass of fish, then slowly crunched closed and lifted again. There was certainly no waste motion here, Rick thought.
Cap'n Mike asked, too casually, "What'd you think of Tom Tyler running on Smugglers' Reef, Bill?"
Bill's cordiality seemed to freeze up. "None of my business," he said shortly. "Can't pass judgment on a fellow skipper."
Cap'n Mike nodded. "Reckon that's right. Bill, how did you find visibility last night?"
"None too good. There was a heavy current running, too."
"That's interesting. How'd you know that?"
"Patch of mist drifted in. Anyway, I lost the light for a bit. When the mist cleared, the current had set us two points off course." Captain Lake's forehead wrinkled as he watched the scoop return for another load. "Mighty funny, too. Usually there's no current to speak of off Brendan's Marsh. But I've said for quite a while that the currents hereabouts are changing and it looks like this proves it."
"Was Captain Tyler directly ahead of you, sir?" Rick asked.
"Not directly. He was three ahead, the way I figure. Brad Marbek was right behind him, then came Jim Killian."
"How far apart were you?" Rick inquired.
"Quite a ways. Jim was pretty close in front of me, but Brad was almost out of my sight. Don't know how close he followed Tom."
Cap'n Mike spat over the side. "Sad business, anyway," he said. "Well, Bill, I'm taking these lads on a little tour of the pier. Reckon we'll be pushing along. Looks like you'll be busy unloading for an hour or so."
The boys shook hands with Captain Lake again, thenfollowed their guide to the pier once more. Cap'n Mike waited until a scoopful of menhaden had passed overhead then led the way down the pier.
"I wonder if Captain Killian got set off course by that current," Rick mused. "I'd like to talk to him."
Cap'n Mike shot a glance at him. "Might be interesting at that. You thinking the same as I am?"
"We all are," Scotty replied. "That business about losing the light and having the current set him off course sounded kind of strange."
"Is he a good guy?" Rick queried.
"Best there is. If he says it, it happened. But it's mighty funny just the same. Reckon we'll have to find Jim Killian."
They passed three trawlers, all unloading, and Rick recognized names that Scotty had read aloud during their brief flight over the fleet. Many of the men they passed hailed Cap'n Mike. Evidently he was well known to the fisherman and pier workers.
Suddenly the old man stopped. "There's Brad Marbek's craft."
The next trawler in line was theAlbatross.
Rick looked it over critically. It was indistinguishable from the others. There was the same cabin, set well forward, the same large working space aft, the same net booms. It was no dirtier nor cleaner than the others. Evidently it was filled with fish, because only the top Plimsoll number was showing. But the skipper was far from average. Brad Marbek, as Rick saw him on the deck overhead, was a bull of a man. He was about six feet tall, but his width made him look shorter. His shoulder span would have done credit to a Percheronhorse, and from his shoulders his torso dropped in almost a straight line. His waist lacked only an inch or two of being as wide as his shoulders. His legs were short and thick and planted wide on the deck. His head was massive and set squarely on his shoulders with hardly any neck. He was hatless and his coarse black hair, cropped short, stood straight up like a vegetable brush. His face was weathered to a dark mahogany color.
"Not very pretty, is he?" Scotty whispered.
That, Rick thought, was a masterpiece of understatement. He started to tell Scotty that compared with Brad Marbek a Hereford bull was downright winsome, but at that moment Cap'n Mike hailed theAlbatross.
"Howdy, Brad. How's fish?"
The skipper's reply was cordial enough. "Howdy, Cap'n Mike. Took another good haul today. Just startin' to unload." Marbek's black eyes surveyed the two boys briefly, then evidently dismissed them as of no importance. "Come on aboard."
"Thanks. We will." Cap'n Mike motioned to the two boys and led the way up the gangplank just as a scoop full of menhaden rose from the hold and passed overhead.
On deck, the captain introduced the boys to Marbek. Rick found his hand imprisoned in a horny mass that appeared to be controlled by steel cables instead of tendons. He tried not to wince.
"Best season I've seen in years," Marbek told Cap'n Mike. His voice was ridiculously high and soft, out of keeping with his physique.
"That's what everyone's saying," Cap'n Mike acknowledged. "Why, only two days ago, I heard ..."
Scotty nudged Rick with a sharp elbow. He was looking at the pier. Rick turned and followed his pal's glance, then as he saw what Scotty was looking at, he inhaled sharply. Carrots Kelso was leaning against a pillar, watching them.
"Wonder what's on his mind?" Rick asked.
Brad Marbek saw the direction of their glance. "You kids know Jimmy? He's my nephew."
The pause before Cap'n Mike spoke was proof of his surprise. "You don't say!" He changed the subject abruptly. "Say, Brad, I've been meaning to ask you. Did you notice any peculiar current offshore last night?"
"Current? Can't say I did. Why?"
"Bill Lake claims a strong current set him off course just as he picked up Smugglers' Light, about the time Tom Tyler ran aground."
Rick thought that Brad Marbek hesitated slightly and searched for the right answer.
"Now that you mention it, I did notice a little shift." A scoop whirred out of the hold, crossed the pier, dumped its load and started the return. "Let me know if you find out any more about it," Marbek said. "Right now I guess I better attend to my unloadin'."
"Sure, Brad," Cap'n Mike said. "We'll be getting on. By the way, happen to know where Jim Killian is tied up?"
"I think he's on the other side of the pier. Cross over and duck under the belts. He should be right abeam of us."
"Thanks. Let's go, boys."
Cap'n Mike led the way down the gangplank with Rick and Scotty following. Rick felt Brad Marbek's eyeson them. He had sensed tension under the fisherman's surface cordiality, and he was interested in the quick way Marbek had remembered the strange current when Cap'n Mike quoted Bill Lake.
At the foot of the gangplank, Cap'n Mike paused. "Let's find Jim. I'm getting real curious about that current Bill mentioned. What say?"
"We're right with you," Scotty replied.
Rick watched the big scoop vanish into theAlbatross'hold, then looked for Carrots Kelso. He was no longer in sight. "Wonder where Carrots went to?" he said to Scotty.
"Probably running to tell his father we're prowling around the pier."
Cap'n Mike led the way into the pier shed. He turned to look over his shoulder at the boys. "What'd you think of Marbek claiming young Kelso as a nephew?"
"Don't you think he really is?" Rick asked. He had to raise his voice above the noise of the scoop as it lifted from the trawler's hold.
"Surprise to me. I've known Marbek fifteen years and never heard of any family. Why—"
"Look out!"
On the heels of Scotty's cry, Rick caught a glimpse of his pal hurling Cap'n Mike headlong. He jumped forward, glancing up, just as the great fish scoop opened over his head. He put all of his energy in a forward leap to safety, but too late!
Cascading thousands of menhaden crushed him violently to the floor.
As Rick fell to the floor, he twisted sideways and managed to bring up one arm to protect his head. In an instant he was buried in a great, heavy, slippery mass of fish. His nostrils filled with the oily stench, and when he opened his mouth to breathe, he closed it again on a fish tail. He spat it out, and then, furious, he struggled against the slimy weight, got his hands and feet under him and heaved. Fish cascaded from his arched back and he broke clear just as Scotty reached for him.
"You all right?" Scotty gasped.
"Yes."
Cap'n Mike, hurled clear by Scotty's rush, was getting to his feet.
Scotty departed on a dead run.
Rick collected his thoughts and yelled, "Hey! Wait! Where're you going?"
"After Kelso," Scotty called back over his shoulder.
Rick didn't know what had happened, but evidently Scotty did and was doing something about it. He ranafter his friend, brushing off dirt from his clothes as he did so. He heard Cap'n Mike call, "Wait for me!" but he didn't pause.
At the entrance to the pier, Rick caught up with Scotty who was looking up and down the street, his face flushed with anger.
"He's gone. No use looking for him because he could hide anywhere around here. But we'll catch up with him one of these days, and when we do ..."
"What's it all about?" Rick demanded.
"Carrots tripped that scoop on us. I don't know how, but I know he did it."
Cap'n Mike came up behind them in time to hear Scotty. "He's the one, all right. There's an emergency trip on those scoops, set in the wall. It's in case the operator loses control. Then the scoop can be dumped without having all that weight smash against the end of the track and break things. Young Kelso must have punched the trip."
"He sure did." Rick sniffed angrily. "And I smell like ten days in a bait pail. Scotty, we've got to get home and get out of these clothes. I can't stand myself."
"Check," Scotty replied. "Well, I guess that wraps up the investigation for the night, Cap'n."
Cap'n Mike nodded. "I want to be around when you boys meet up with young Kelso. That was as fishy a trick as I ever saw pulled."
Rick looked at the old sea captain suspiciously. Cap'n Mike was having a hard time to keep from laughing. Then Rick had to grin himself. "Don't laugh too loud," he reminded. "If Scotty hadn't pushed you, you'd be smelling like a week-old herring yourself."
"I know," Cap'n Mike said. "Thanks." He threw back his head and roared.
Rick laughed, too, but when Cap'n Mike doubled up with mirth, he began to grow a little irritated. "It isn't that funny," he said, a little tartly.
Scotty chuckled. "Maybe this is what amuses him." He reached over and plucked a small menhaden from the breast pocket of Rick's jacket.
"Dangdest place to carry fresh fish I ever saw," Cap'n Mike said, and went off into gales of laughter again.
Rick took out his handkerchief and mopped his face. "Well," he said, grinning, "I'm sure glad those menhaden weren't whales."
They drove home to Whiteside with all windows wide open and newspapers on the seat to protect the car, but even so, the stench of oily fish made Rick feel a little queasy.
"We can't go to Spindrift like this," he complained. "Tell you what, I'll take the wood road that goes down by the tidal flats. Then one of us can cross over, get clean clothes for both of us and some soap and towels. We can go to Walton's Pond, take a swim, scrub off the fish, and change."
"Good idea," Scotty agreed. "But these coats and pants will have to be dry cleaned."
"That's easy. There's a night service door at the cleaners where we can just push them through."
Scotty chuckled. "You won't get any thanks for that. The whole dry cleaning place will smell like a fish market before morning."
"We'll wrap them up good in plenty of newspapers."
"Where do we get the papers?"
"From theMorning Record. I want to go there, anyway."
Scotty gave him a sideways glance. "Got an idea?"
"Just a glimmer." Rick's lips tightened. "And I'll tell you something else. Until now, this case was just sort of interesting for itself, but now I have a personal interest. I think the Kelsos are at the bottom of it."
"And we owe them a debt," Scotty finished. "Carrots, anyway. What do you suppose he dumped the scoop on us for?"
Rick shrugged. "Sheer poison meanness. And weren't we warned not to go to Seaford?"
An hour later, when they had cleaned up, the boys returned the car to Gus, apologized for the faint but definite aroma of dead menhaden, and walked to theMorning Recordoffice.
Duke Barrows, a veteran newspaperman but young in years, greeted them cordially. "Hello, Rick, Scotty. Here are those cards you asked for." He swiveled his chair around and regarded them with interested eyes. "Getting anywhere on that Seaford yarn?"
"We're still feeling around," Rick replied. "But there's a good story in it if we can find the lead."
"Keep working then," Duke said. "I'll pay you space rates if it hits page one."
"How much is that?" Scotty wanted to know.
"Twenty-five cents a column inch on this sheet. You didn't expect to get rich, did you?"
Rick returned Duke's grin. "If this story is as good as I think it is, we'll just about get rich. You'll want to cover the whole front page with it."
"Can't be that good," Duke returned.
Rick looked around the office. "Where's Jerry?"
"In the composing room. He'll be back in a minute. Got anything on your mind?"
"Just an idea. Do you keep a file of New York papers?"
"Over there. On the shelf. Help yourself."
Rick nodded his thanks. "Let's go give my idea a try, Scotty."
Scotty tucked his press card into his wallet. "I could probably help if I knew what the idea was."
Rick explained briefly. He wanted to check the shipping sections for the dates when theAlbatrosshad been seen at Creek House. He particularly wanted to know what ships had arrived at New York at noon or before on those dates. He was interested in ships arriving from southern ports in the Caribbean, or from southern Europe. That, he figured, would give them only the ships that might have been standing off Seaford in the early hours before dawn on the critical dates. He had a vague idea that he might find some sort of similarity in the ships that had been off Seaford on the critical dates. The registry might be the same, or the ownership.
But when the compilation was complete, there were no similarities at all. In fact, so far as he could determine, no ship had been off Seaford during the time he had chosen as having the best possibilities.
As they walked toward the Whiteside boat landing after saying good night to Duke and Jerry, Rick rapidly reviewed all they knew about the wreck of Tom Tyler's trawler and the events at Seaford.
"I sure thought I had the connecting link," he said. "I still think so, even if there wasn't any evidence in thepapers. It's the only answer that makes any sense."
Scotty nodded. "Keep talking."
"Okay. The Kelsos suddenly arrive at Seaford and move into Creek House. Then theAlbatrossstarts making visits at a time when no fisherman in his right mind would pay calls. So Brad Marbek must be going to Creek House on his way back from the fishing grounds for a good business reason. Right?"
"It figures. Go ahead."
"Tom Tyler spied on Creek House, and he found out something. Red Kelso warned him, and Tyler refused to take the warning. Result: his ship was wrecked. We don't know how yet, but we'll find out. Another thing: Mrs. Tyler was frightened, and Tom Tyler is afraid to talk. What's your guess on that?"
Scotty kicked a pebble out of the path. "Kelso again. When Tyler didn't take the first warning, his trawler was wrecked and he was told that next time something would happen to his family. That's the only threat they could make stick with a man like Tyler. If they threatened him, he'd laugh at them. But if they threatened his wife and little girl ..."
"That's the way I see it, too. Now, what kind of business requires a boat, a house on a secluded part of the beach, and a guard with a rifle?"
"Smuggling," Scotty said flatly.
Smuggling. It was the answer that fitted. Rick didn't know yet what kind of smuggling, but he intended to find out. "If you were the Kelsos, and if you were bringing contraband into Creek House, how would you get it out of Seaford?" he asked.
Scotty thought it over. "Not trucks," he said. "Cap'nMike said he hadn't seen any trucks calling at Creek House. How about taking it somewhere in a small boat?"
In his mind's eye Rick saw the countryside surrounding Creek House as he had seen it from the air. "Right up Salt Creek," he said excitedly. "How about that? If they unloaded at the pier when theAlbatrosscame in and then reloaded into a motor dory or some other kind of small boat, they could take it right up Salt Creek to the bridge. Then all they would need would be a truck waiting there. And if they did it late at night, there wouldn't be any traffic to worry about."
"That must be it!" Scotty exclaimed. Then he sobered. "But how are we going to find out if that's the answer?"
There was only one way. "I guess we're just going to have to see for ourselves," Rick said. As they passed the dry cleaning establishment, he took the bundle of newspaper-wrapped clothes he had been carrying and dropped them into the night-service opening. A whiff of departed menhaden smote his nose forcefully and he added grimly, "Believe me, it'll be a pleasure!"
Rick tightened the last screw that held the searchlight-telescope unit to his camera and looked at it with satisfaction. "Ishouldget a picture," he murmured. There were still quite a few unknown factors. He knew the theoretical power of the infrared searchlight, but only an actual test would tell whether it gave enough light for the rather slow infrared film emulsion. He was sure that it wouldn't give enough light at its extreme range of eight hundred yards. In all probability, he would not get an image on the film at a distance greater than two hundred.
It was a little strange to think in terms of light. True, infrared was light. But it was not visible to the human eye. The searchlight would cast no beam that could be seen, although anyone close to it would be able to see dimly the hot filament of the bulb.
Another unknown was the ability of the film emulsion to register the reflected infrared rays of his particular searchlight. The emulsion had been designed originally for infrared flash bulbs. The motion-picture film hadbeen made at his special order. It was not a stock item. He wished Professor Gordon were at Spindrift. Gordon could have measured the wave length of the searchlight on the lab equipment. Rick wasn't skilled enough to use the delicate spectroscopic wave analyzer as yet and Hartson Brant was busy with a problem in the library and couldn't be disturbed. He hoped he would have a chance to ask his father before he tested the camera.
He rechecked the data that had come with the film and started to do some figuring.
Scotty came in just as the phone rang downstairs. Both boys waited expectantly, and in a moment Mrs. Brant called. "It's an out-of-town call, for either one of you."
"We'll take it up here, Mom," Rick called back. He and Scotty raced for the landing.
Scotty reached the phone first. "Hello?" He nodded at Rick. "It's Cap'n Mike."
Something had told Rick that the call would have to do with the Seaford case. He glanced at his watch. It was almost noon.
Scotty held his hand over the mouthpiece. "He wants to know if we're coming down today. Says he has something to talk over with us."
Rick said quickly, "We'll be down by boat right after lunch."
Scotty relayed the information and hung up. "He didn't say what it was, but he sounded worried. Wanted to know why we didn't come down this morning."
"Afraid of getting smacked with a fresh tuna." Rick grinned. "By the way, did you call Jerry while I was working on the camera?"
"I sure did. He got all excited. I had to calm him down a little before he went and looked up the answer."
Scotty had phoned at Rick's suggestion to find out from Jerry's newspaper sources what action to take in case they found evidence of smuggling at Seaford.
"He said to report it to the nearest Federal authorities, either the Coast Guard or FBI in this area. But he said to be sure we had something more than suspicion to go on."
"A good idea," Rick agreed. "It wouldn't do to get the government all steamed up over nothing. Besides, unless we could prove it, we'd be laying ourselves open to a charge of slander. Well, let's go see if Mom can scrape up a sandwich, and then get going for Seaford."
It was not yet two o'clock when Cap'n Mike greeted the boys as they tied up at the old windmill pier. "Mighty glad you're here. Boys, we've got to really buckle down to business."
"What happened?" Rick asked. He and Scotty fell in step with the old captain and walked toward his shack.
"Tom Tyler's hearing has been set for Saturday morning."
Scotty frowned. "Today is Wednesday. That doesn't give us much time."
"I know it don't. But unless we find some answers right fast, Tom will lose his license sure as shooting. And that's not all. He'll find himself charged by the insurance company with deliberately running theSea Belleon the reef."
Rick found a comfortable seat in the captain's shack and stretched out his legs. "Let's hold a council of war.If we're going to do anything, we'd better have a plan of action." He told Cap'n Mike of their suspicion that the Kelsos and Brad Marbek might be engaged in smuggling and waited for the old man's reaction.
Cap'n Mike rubbed his chin reflectively. "Now! It could be that you boys have something there. It could just be!"
"But what would they be smuggling?" Scotty demanded.
"Shucks. I could make you a list a mile long. Most people think it's only worth while to smuggle things like drugs or aliens, but I tell you many a tidy sum has been made by smuggling things just to escape paying duty on them."
"Suppose theyaresmuggling," Rick pointed out. "How do we prove it?"
"Catch 'em red-handed," Scotty said. "Red-handed instead of redheaded."
Rick and Cap'n Mike groaned in unison.
It was the decision they had reached the night before, and Rick had given some thought to it before going to sleep. "There are a couple of ways we might do that," he said. "First of all, we know they have to get rid of the stuff somehow. We could keep watch on Creek House until it's moved. The only trouble is, they may be letting it pile up in the hotel. That would mean sticking on the job all day and all night."
"Not practical," Scotty objected. "Mom would object to our staying out all night for maybe a week. Besides, we want to find the answer before the hearing Saturday morning."
"Then how about this," Rick continued. "We move inon them when theAlbatrosspulls up at Creek House to unload."
Scotty stretched out on Cap'n Mike's bed. "That's fine. But how do we know when theAlbatrossis going to visit the Kelsos?"
"Cap'n Mike tells us. Cap'n, according to what you said when we were here before, theAlbatrosssometimes stays at Creek House until almost midnight. That means that it takes them awhile to unload whatever they're smuggling."
Scotty had an objection. "If they were doing any unloading, wouldn't you have seen them, Cap'n Mike?"
The old seaman shook his head. "Nope. I didn't dare get close enough to see what was going on. Besides, my eyes ain't what they were at night. I just sat off the end of Salt Creek, letting the reeds hide me, and saw what I could, which wasn't much. If I'd gone up the creek any distance, they'd have spotted me against the sea."
Rick finished, "So you see, if Cap'n Mike could keep an eye on the creek, he'd know when theAlbatrossarrived. If he phoned us right away, we could be here within an hour, or even a half-hour, if we took the fast boat."
"Sounds sensible," Scotty admitted. "Any other plans?"
"Just one, which isn't very practical. We could get someone to fly out over the fleet during the most likely hours and wait for theAlbatrossto make contact with the supply ship. I wish we could fly at night, but we can't. The contact has to be during the darkness, and I think before dawn is the best time. If Brad Marbek made contact after he got through fishing, some of theother trawlers might see the ship coming. Then they might get curious and hang around to see why Brad was hanging back. Maybe that's what Tom Tyler did."
"But if he left and made contact before dawn, the others might think nothing of it. I don't suppose they all leave at once, do they?" Scotty asked the captain.
"Nope. They don't all leave at once, but they usually come back at the same time. And Brad has been coming back as far as Salt Creek with the rest. So I guess Rick guessed right."
Cap'n Mike did some figuring. "Tell you what. I can sit on the beach at the edge of town with a pair of night glasses. I'll borrow some. I can tell if a ship turns up Salt Creek by its running lights. Afterwards, I'll have to go a block and use the phone at Fetty's Drug Store. We'll start tonight."
Scotty got up and yawned. "That's settled. Now I'd like to look into something. We can't overlook any possible lead. Rick, remember the tower?"
"Yes." Rick got to his feet, too. "And I remember something else. That business about the shifting current and the light. Cap'n, have you talked to Captain Killian?"
"Not yet, but I surely will today. That may be worth something." He walked with them toward the pier. "But what's this tower business?"
Rick explained briefly. "We'll stop there on the way back to Spindrift."
"Phone us if Captain Killian has anything interesting to say," Scotty requested.