Dagger of the mind! Well, it fitted. Watching the blank face of what had been, only hours before, a brilliant scientist, Rick could feel its deadly point himself.
The good weather turned bad, and dark clouds hung low over the New Jersey coast. It was appropriate weather for the state of mind at Spindrift. With Marks a victim of the mysterious "dagger of the mind," only Dr. Morrison remained of the original team.
The question, of course, was "Who next?"
At Hartson Brant's urgent request, Steve Ames visited the island and a meeting of all staff was called in the big library.
Rick and Scotty sat on a library table, while the scientists occupied the few library chairs. Steve Ames sat on Hartson Brant's desk and acted as chairman for the informal session.
By mutual agreement, the girls had been excluded. Jan was nearly in a state of shock over what had happened to Marks. Not only was she fond of the crusty scientist, but she was fearful thatthe mysterious ailment would strike her father next. And Barby was rapidly catching the same fear. After all, new team members probably were not immune, and Hartson Brant, Julius Weiss, and Parnell Winston were deeply involved in the project.
Steve called the meeting to order. "Hartson, you suggested that I come, which I was glad to do. Suppose you start by telling us what you had in mind."
"Very well, Steve." The scientist's glance embraced his colleagues and the boys.
"We have a problem that must be solved before we can continue with calm and objective minds on the project that faces us. The problem is simply, what is the ailment that has stricken three of us, and what is its cause?"
Hartson Brant tamped tobacco into his pipe thoughtfully. "Let us see what we know. First of all, two team members were stricken in Washington, within a short time of each other. They were examined by competent specialists who arrived at no conclusion. They admitted they were unable to diagnose the ailment. The possibility of an unknown disease was considered briefly, but not seriously. The possibility of a chemical agent—a drug, if you like—also was considered. This possibility has not been entirely rejected. However, a detailed laboratory investigation disclosed no trace of chemicals in the patients, apart from chemicals that were expected, of course."
"Could there be chemicals that left no trace?" Scotty asked.
Hartson Brant shook his head. "No one can claim total knowledge of body chemistry, obviously. Just the same, the elements to be found in the body, and the proportions in which they occur, are well known. I said the possibility has not been entirely eliminated, but it seems unlikely that chemical interference caused the disruption."
"What does that leave?" Steve inquired.
The scientist shrugged. "I can't even guess. Physical interference, perhaps. There is also a possibility, which is very difficult to explore, that the ailment was caused within the minds of the scientists by some catalytic agent, or by some psychic trauma that we can't even imagine."
Rick and Scotty exchanged glances. They had seen the ailment at work, and even its effects were almost beyond description. Its cause was hard to imagine.
"But, to continue. Steve recognized the possibility that the ailment was caused by some outside source. Call it an enemy source, if you prefer. He acted to get the remaining team members beyond reach of the enemy by smuggling them to Spindrift. He succeeded with Dr. Miller—excuse me, Dr. Morrison. He did not succeed with Dr. Marks. What does this suggest?"
"That hiding Dr. Morrison was an effective preventative," Steve Ames concluded.
"If he is hidden." Rick said the words before he even thought.
"What do you mean, Rick? No one outside the family or the project knows of his presence!" Julius Weiss exclaimed.
Steve held up his hand. "Hold it a minute. We'll get to that point in its proper turn."
Hartson Brant picked up the threads again. "We will assume for the moment that Steve's statement is correct, and that hiding Dr. Morrison was a preventative. I know Steve doesn't accept this fully, but we must use assumptions since we have no facts of consequence. If the assumption is correct, then we have to accept the fact that enemy agents are interested in the project. And we must also accept that they have some means of creating a mental block by remote control."
Rick stole a glance at Parnell Winston. The cyberneticist was sitting quietly, his bushy eyebrows knitted thoughtfully. Winston hadn't said a word.
Hartson Brant paced the floor as he went on. "We now have one slight bit of additional information that supports the theory of enemy interference. You are all aware of what happened to Dr. Marks this morning. He is in the hands of Constantine Chavez, who is in touch with the physicians in charge of the other team members. Dr. Chavez is of the opinion that Dr. Marks' mental injury was caused by physical means, although he cannot say how. He also states, although there seems to be noconnection with the mental injury, that Marks was drugged."
Parnell Winston spoke for the first time. "Steve, if Chavez says Marks was drugged, we can accept it. How could it have happened?"
Steve spread his hands in a gesture that seemed to Rick to indicate embarrassment. "I have gone over every step of the journey with Tom Dodd. The answer is yes. Thanks to Marks' bullheadedness, and a clerical error, there was an opportunity for an enemy to get at him on the train."
The scientists waited, obviously wanting to know more. Steve elaborated. "Marks was covered by one of our men at every moment, even while he was working at the Bureau of Standards, and while he was at his apartment. The agents ate and drank the same things. Nothing has happened to them. However, when the reservations were made for the train trip, Marks specified that he wanted a bedroom. He got one, and Tom Dodd got the one next door."
"Why did Marks want to travel by train overnight, anyway?" Scotty demanded. "That's getting from Washington to Newark the hard way."
"I told you he was stubborn," Steve reminded. "Tom tried to talk him out of it but failed. After all, the project team members aren't prisoners. We can't use force, and we can't order them to do anything. Marks wanted to go overnight by train because he always traveled that way, he said. He insisted."
Dr. Morrison said sadly, "I assure you that he isnot an easy man to get along with sometimes. But we must remember that he is—or was—an extremely competent scientist. Competence like his can be forgiven many eccentricities."
"Thanks to his eccentricities, we've also lost his competence," Julius Weiss pointed out. "Go on, Steve."
"Right. Well, Tom specified bedrooms A and B, and by the time he got the reservations and found that he had actually received bedrooms B and C, it was too late to change because the train was sold out."
"I can't see what difference that made," Rick objected.
"You will. People often buy connecting bedrooms on a train, and that's what Tom had done. He planned to keep the connecting door open and remain awake all night with an eye on Marks. However, while A and B connect, B and C do not. Do I make myself clear?"
"I think so," Rick agreed. "The connecting bedrooms come in pairs, A-B, C-D, and so on."
"That's it. Well, Tom ran a fast check on the person who had received bedroom D, and found it was a Baltimore businessman who often traveled on the same train, going overnight to New York. So Tom didn't worry about it. Instead, he kept his bedroom door open so he could watch the corridor. He says he didn't sleep at all, and I believe him. He's one of my best agents. The occupant of Bedroom Dcame on the train at Baltimore and went right to bed. The night passed quietly, until it was time to get Marks up. Tom had great trouble waking him up, and he was groggy until this strange effect hit him. Rick and Scotty know. They were there."
The boys shuddered, remembering Marks' condition.
"But where did the opportunity to drug him come in?" Weiss asked.
"We've done some fast checking on every possible angle," Steve said quietly, "and we've found a couple of interesting things. First of all, the man who reserved Bedroom D is in a Baltimore hospital. He was struck by a hit-and-run car as he walked from his office to the railroad station. Obviously, he was struck deliberately. He's in critical condition."
"Then the man on the train..." Rick gasped.
"Yes. Who was the man on the train? We don't know. We've had our Boston office go over the room, and they've turned up no fingerprints except those of the porter who cleaned up after the train left New York. The room was wiped clean. But our Boston men also found an interesting spot on the rug. They had a sample analyzed, and so far as we can determine, it's a kind of water-soluble salt paste often used by doctors when they take electrocardiograms."
The group leaned forward, interested. Rick knew the kind of stuff Steve meant, because he had once watched Zircon getting an electrocardiogram. Thebig scientist had fainted from sheer overwork, and possible heart complications were suspected. The technician squeezed the paste from a tube and applied it to wrists, ankles, and chest, under the metal terminals of the machine. Its purpose was to allow a better electrical contact.
Julius Weiss demanded excitedly, "Steve, do you imply that this unknown person took an electrocardiogram of Marks' heart responses?"
The JANIG agent shrugged. "I imply nothing. I'm merely reporting."
Again Parnell Winston spoke. "Perhaps I can shed some light on this. It's true that such an electropaste is used to make better connections for electrocardiograms. But perhaps of greater importance for this discussion, it is also used in making electroencephalograms."
Rick and Scotty spoke in unison. "What?"
Winston turned to them. "It's a long word, but not a difficult one.Electrofor electrical.Encephalois simply a Greek form meaning 'the brain.'Gram, also from the Greek, means something drawn or written. A record, if you like. So an electroencephalogram is simply an electrical recording of the brain."
"That may be significant," Hartson Brant said thoughtfully. "But, assuming an enemy could get an EEG—which is the handy way of saying electroencephalogram, Rick and Scotty—what would he do with it?"
Parnell Winston rose. "Hartson, I think you can conduct the rest of this without me. I have an extraordinary notion whirling around in my head that I'd like to discuss with Chavez. I'll pick up the car at the pier and drive over, if you don't mind. And by the way, Steve, can JANIG get some information for me?"
"We can try."
"Good. I want to know if the two team scientists who were stricken first had EEG's made after the attack. I would also like to check their medical history, as completely as possible, to find out if EEG's were ever taken while they were normal."
"I'll give the orders right away," Steve agreed. "I don't know what we can turn up on their early medical history, but we can try."
Parnell Winston departed. Rick almost wished he had asked permission to accompany Winston, but there was more to be said here, too.
"The evidence is not conclusive," Hartson Brant summed up, "but it is certainly strong enough to warrant a clear assumption: we have an enemy who, by unknown means, can inflict brain damage."
"All right. Now for some loose ends." Steve looked at the boys. "Rick and Scotty turned up a barber in Whiteside. It happened they had first seen him in the project office building in Washington, so they got his name and called. We were already checking on the barber, and knew he was in Whiteside. We'll dig deeper until we know more about him than hedoes. But for now, our information indicates he is just what he claims to be. He got the job in Whiteside legitimately. He had planned to take a new job for a long time. So far as we can tell, he's as innocent as a woolly little lamb."
"Just the same," Rick said stoutly, "I'm not satisfied. I'd like to get some more dope on that massage machine of his. Especially after what Dr. Winston said."
Steve grinned. "Why don't you?"
Rick and Scotty looked at each other, and rose to the challenge. "We will," they stated flatly.
Steve nodded. "All right. You're known in Whiteside and my men are not. An influx of strangers, or even one inquisitive stranger, would attract attention. But that's not all. I have another job for you, too."
They waited eagerly.
"I want a survey of the area. My Boy Scout team can help somewhat, but they're strangers, too, even though they have an explanation for their presence. Scan the area for anything suspicious. Get your newspaper pals on the job and have them sniff around for evidence of any strange folks in the area. They can do it easily."
"We'll do it," Rick agreed. There was nothing hard about looking for strangers in their own territory. He knew exactly how to go about it.
"All right. Search for strangers. Get your pals on the job, but do it without tipping anything off.That State Police captain you've worked with will be a big help, too. You can tell him national security is involved, but that's all."
"At least we're not working entirely in the dark any more," Dr. Morrison said wearily. "Even if the assumption of an enemy is wrong, it's something to go on."
Rick stood up. The conference apparently was at an end.
"Tonight we'll plan," he announced. "And tomorrow we'll start. If there are any strangers in the area, you'll have full particulars by tomorrow night."
"That," said Steve Ames, "is a promise I'll hold you to."
Rick stirred, and whatever he had been dreaming faded into vagueness. He couldn't have said what he had been dreaming about. He was neither asleep nor awake, but in the shadowland somewhere between. Something as yet undefined had brought him halfway toward awakening, but the influence was not powerful enough to bring his senses alert.
And then, suddenly, he was wide awake, ears straining to listen. He sensed a presence in the room, and even as he tried to recognize it, a form landed on his chest and steel spikes drove into his ribs. He leaped up with a yell as another form landed on the bed. Both forms were making fantastic noises.
His eyes opened wide as he suddenly realized that a rousing cat-dog fight was taking place on his stomach!
Scotty ran in and leaped for the battlers. He grabbed the spitting, snarling cat and held it high.Dismal let out a wail of anguish as he realized his hated enemy was out of reach.
Rick shouted, "Down, boy!"
Dismal leaped high and landed again with four feet bunched on Rick's stomach.
Rick's shout died into a gurgle. Not that the pup was heavy, but he had landed while his master was in the midst of a breath, with muscles relaxed.
Scotty put the cat into the hall and closed the door, trapping Dismal in the room. Then he turned and laughed at Rick's discomfort.
"Next time you arrange a fight for your personal entertainment, you'd better have a referee on hand."
"It was a draw," Rick said ruefully, "except that the innocent bystander lost. Whatever got into Dismal?"
Scotty was dressed. Apparently he had already been downstairs. "The cat went too far. Dismal found him drinking from his water dish."
Rick grinned. That was adding insult to injury, all right. He stripped off the blankets and examined his stomach. Shah's claws had dug right through blanket, sheet, and pajamas, but had not drawn blood.
"It was time to get up, anyway," he said philosophically. "Gangway, Scotty. I'm going to shower and dress. We've got work to do."
"Uhuh. The passengers are waiting downstairs," Scotty said.
Rick blinked. "What passengers?"
"Jan and Barby. They want to go."
The boys had decided the evening before that they would start the search with a flight in the Sky Wagon. After a quick inspection of the area, which probably wouldn't disclose much, they planned to go into Whiteside for a talk with Jerry and Duke at the newspaper office, and with Captain Douglas of the State Police.
Rick considered. He didn't mind taking the girls around on pleasure junkets, but this was business. "Why do they have to go?" he demanded.
Scotty shrugged. "They don't. But Jan is plenty upset over Dr. Marks, and Barby is starting to worry about Dad and the others. If we leave them here, they'll just stew. If they go, it may take their minds off things."
"I suppose that's right. Anyway, they can't get in the way much. We'll stick 'em in the back seat."
"Come on, then. Let's eat and get going."
Rick showered and dressed hurriedly, and got downstairs just in time to take his seat at the breakfast table. After bidding the family good morning, he turned to Jan. "Shah and Dismal had a fight this morning."
Jan put a hand to her mouth. "Oh! Shah didn't hurt him, did he?"
That nettled Rick a little. The idea of assuming that a mere cat, even a champion Persian, could win a fight with Dismal! Then common sense got the better of him. The unhappy truth was, Shah could lick Dismal with no strain at all.
"No damage," he replied. "Except to me. The war took place on my stomach."
Jan was supposed to look sorry, but she didn't. She giggled. Barby giggled, too.
"I guess they thought you'd be a fair witness if anyone asked who won," Jan explained.
Rick saw he was getting no sympathy. After all, what could anyone do? Dogs and cats were just natural enemies. Besides, if he was fair about it, he had to admit that Shah teased the pup but didn't start serious fights.
After breakfast the four young people went down to the beach where the Sky Wagon was hauled up. In a few moments they were air-borne. Rick headed for Seaford, the fishing town down the coast. It didn't make much sense to go farther south than that. Beside him, Scotty polished the binocular lenses with a piece of lens tissue from the camera kit, and started sweeping the area below.
Apparently all was normal along the seacoast and in Seaford, but that meant nothing. The area could be loaded with strangers and they'd never know it from the air.
Rick had a sudden idea. "Let's call Cap'n Mike and get him on the job. If there are any strangers in Seaford, he'll know it."
"I think that's a wonderful idea," Barby called from the back seat.
Jan asked, "Who is Cap'n Mike?"
Barby immediately related the adventure ofSmugglers' Reef, and the part the retired fishing skipper had played.
Cap'n Mike knew everything worth while about the town of Seaford. He would be a good check point not only for the town, but also for the summer colonies between Whiteside and Seaford. He often acted as a fishing guide for the summer tourists.
Rick checked the summer colonies from the air, although he had little expectation of seeing anything unusual.
Barby pointed down as they passed over one. "Look! Scotty, let me have the glasses."
Both boys turned quickly. "What do you see?" Scotty asked. He handed her the glasses.
"The gaudiest houseboat!" Barby exclaimed. "Jan, it's painted orange!"
The boys snorted.
After inspecting the coast from Seaford past Spindrift to the more populated areas on the north, Rick swung inland to inspect the woods near Whiteside. He didn't know exactly what to look for, except possibly unexplained campfires that could be investigated later.
He landed at Spindrift and went at once to the house. Cap'n Mike didn't have a phone, but Rick knew how to get a message to him. Scotty, listening, said, "He won't be in. The fleet is still out fishing this time of day."
Rick grinned. "It's Sunday. Lost track of time?"
Scotty had. But suddenly he snapped his fingers. "Hey! Duke and Jerry are coming over for dinner."
His message to Cap'n Mike en route through a mutual friend, Rick motioned to Scotty. "Let's go."
They took both of the island boats, planning to leave one for Duke and Jerry to use later in the day. Then, after tying up the boats at the main pier and getting the car, they called first on Captain Douglas of the State Police.
The officer knew the boys well, and knew in addition of their connection with JANIG. He promised readily to assist.
"Probably my own officers won't be too much help," he said, "but they can ask the local police to keep their eyes open up and down the coast. We won't say anything about the federal government being interested. To everyone but me, this will be a routine State Police matter."
Rick hesitated for a moment, but he was sure of Captain Douglas' discretion. "We're interested in the new barber, too," he added. "Steve Ames is already checking him, but you might keep your eyes open."
"I'll do that," Captain Douglas assured him. "And how about the Boy Scout leaders camped behind Spindrift?"
Rick was about to say casually that he didn't suspect any Boy Scout leaders, then he caught the twinkle in the captain's eye.
"He's hep," Scotty said.
Captain Douglas nodded. "One of my officers paid them a call. He's a sharp one, and he made some kind of excuse for getting into their tent. He came back and reported they were apparently on a hunting expedition of some kind—with riot guns. I took a car full of armed troopers and we dropped in. One of the Scout leaders turned out to be a man who was in the same FBI class that I attended. He showed me his identification card, so I gave him my phone number in case he needed help. And that was that."
Scotty said thoughtfully, "I guess the hardest thing in the world is keeping a secret."
"That's the second hardest," Douglas corrected. "The hardest usually is finding out how the secret became public in the first place."
The boys went from the State Police barracks to the WhitesideMorning Recordand found Jerry on the job. "The press never sleeps," he greeted them. "What brings you two to town on a peaceful Sunday?"
"We brought you a boat," Rick explained. "In exchange for a favor."
Jerry eyed them suspiciously. "What kind of a favor?"
It took only a moment to explain. "Sure," Jerry agreed. "Duke won't object to keeping you posted. We'll keep an eye open for you. And we'll collect for the favor with an extra helping of pie tonight."
"It's a deal," Rick agreed.
As it turned out, Jerry's bargain of an extra helping of pie was conservative. He had three for dessert that night.
Rick noticed that both Jerry and Duke eyed Dr. Morrison curiously, and he knew they were trying to recall if they had ever seen a picture that would help place him in their minds. Not that they would use the information. It was just that newspapermen developed a high order of frustration in the face of a mystery.
But Jan noticed something else. She came over to where Rick was pouring fresh coffee for his friends. "Rick, those friends of yours are nice. Have you noticed how much Mr. Barrows looks like Dad?"
Rick looked. The two were deep in conversation, and it was the first time he had seen them together. They looked very much alike, particularly in the gathering darkness. They were about the same height, give or take a fraction of an inch, and both had the same shock of unruly hair. They probably weighed within five pounds of each other. Actually, however, the resemblance was superficial. They might have been cousins, but not brothers.
"They do look alike," Rick agreed.
Later, he saw Jan deep in conversation with Jerry and wandered by, to eavesdrop a little. He knew that Jerry was entirely trustworthy, but his friend was also a nosy reporter who would try to pump the girl. Rick intended to step in and break it up if that were the case.
"The Virgin Islands sound wonderful," Jerry was saying. "How long did Rick and the others stay with your family?"
"They never actually stayed with us," Jan replied. "Of course we invited them to, but they were so anxious to get to Clipper Cay, they only stayed one night in town. We met them that night, at Dr. Ernst's. He's a mutual friend. I was excited about the treasure, and I begged Dad to take Mother and me to Clipper Cay, so I could dive with the boys. He was going to take us, too, only everyone was back in Charlotte Amalie with the treasure before we had a chance."
Rick grinned and went on his way. Jan was talking with great assurance. He didn't have to worry about Jerry breaking down the cover story.
It was late when the party broke up. Rick and Scotty took their guests to Whiteside Pier, where Duke had left his car. As they roared up to the pier Rick had to swerve to avoid a pram, a blunt-ended rowboat, that had been tied carelessly in the place where he usually tied up. He wondered who owned it. Prams were not usual along the coast.
Jerry and Duke climbed out after thanking the boys again for a fine dinner. The two walked off into the darkness toward the parking lot.
Rick started to back out and head for home, then paused. He was curious about the pram.
"Hand me the boat hook," he told Scotty.
His pal obliged. "What's up?"
"I'm curious. Who around here has a pram?"
"No one I know. That looks like a new one, too."
Rick pulled the little rowboat closer with the boat hook and turned the speedboat's searchlight on it, hoping to find a name.
Suddenly both boys froze.
"Was that a yell?" Rick asked.
Scotty was already on his way up the pier. "Yes, from the parking lot. Come on!"
Rick hurriedly threw a rope around a piling and secured it with a couple of fast half-hitches, then he hurried after Scotty.
It was pitch dark in the parking lot, but they could hear sounds of a scuffle plainly now, and once there was a muffled grunt.
It suddenly occurred to Rick that he hadn't heard Duke's car start. He sprinted, calling to Scotty to look for a weapon. Once, some time ago, they had fought a battle with rocks against guns in this very spot. He scooped up a couple of rocks, hoping no guns were waiting this time.
"Hold 'em!" Scotty yelled. "We're coming!"
There was a yell in reply. Jerry Webster called, "Watch it! They're running away!"
Car headlights switched on, and in their glare Rick saw Jerry pointing. For a moment he considered following his friends' assailants, then abandoned the idea. They could escape easily in the woods.
"What happened?" Scotty demanded.
"I'm curious. Who around here has a pram?"
Duke Barrows got out of the car, nursing his head.
"Two men jumped us when we started to get into the car," he answered shakily. "One smacked me on the head with something hard and almost knocked me out. If Jerry hadn't put up a good fight, they'd have had us—although I don't know what for."
"Were they holdup men?" Rick asked quickly.
"They didn't wear signs," Duke answered grumpily. "But holdup men usually say something, don't they? 'This is a stickup.' Or something like that."
Jerry Webster examined bruised knuckles in the glare of the car head lamps. "They didn't say anything," he added. "Not a word. When you yelled, they broke off and ran into the woods."
Scotty scratched his head. "Mighty funny," he mused. "What could they have wanted?"
Duke Barrows brushed dirt off his jacket. "They probably were reporters from a Newark paper," he said caustically, "trying to find out about the mysterious visitors on Spindrift."
It hit Rick then. "Duke," he exclaimed, "you look like Dr. Morrison! I'll bet it was a case of mistaken identity!"
The editor looked at him keenly. "Could be," he agreed. "That means you have reason to believe someone would be interested in harming Dr. Morrison."
"I'm just assuming," Rick said hurriedly.
"Uh-hum." The editor grunted his disbelief. "And what should we do about it?"
Rick looked at Scotty, who shrugged. The shrug said that probably nothing could be done now, so far as Duke and Jerry were concerned, but that the case was far from closed.
"Better notify Captain Douglas," Rick suggested. "I can't think of anything else."
Jerry Webster flexed an arm that appeared to be aching. "Sure that won't conflict with your security people?" he asked.
Rick assumed an air of wide-eyed innocence. "Now, Jerry! Who said anything about security people? I just suggested you notify the State Police. Who else would you notify when someone attacks you?"
Duke climbed into the car. "Come on, Jerry. We'll get no satisfaction out of these two. Let's go rub liniment on our wounds, and then we'll make a report to the State Police. Good night, lads. And I hope your mystery bites you. Let me know if it does, so I can say 'I told you so' in print."
The boys waved as Duke drove off, leaving them in darkness. As they made their way back to the speedboat, Rick spoke his thoughts aloud.
"I guess the enemy uses muscles, too, huh?"
Scotty answered thoughtfully, "Looks like it. Unless they really were holdup men."
Rick shook his head, even though Scotty couldn'tsee the reaction. "Pretty unlikely. But suppose the enemy kept a watch on movements in and out of Spindrift? From a distance they might assume that Duke was Morrison. So it would make sense for them to keep a watch at the pier in case he came back—which he did."
"And when he came back, they'd either murder him or kidnap him?" Scotty sounded disbelieving. "I doubt it. Nothing the enemy has done so far points to that kind of tactic. Why should they start using muscle methods now?"
Rick had no good answer. "Let's step on it," he said. "We have to report this. I have a hunch the Boy Scout team is going to be scouring the woods around here tonight."
Rick said quietly, "And so the wolf ate Little Red Riding Hood, and when the grandmother heard about it she said—"
Barby's voice erupted in the tiny earphone plug in Rick's ear. "I don't think that's very funny, Rick Brant!"
Scotty spoke up. "Barby doesn't like realism in her fairy tales."
Barby answered, "I don't think you're very funny either, Donald Scott!" Her voice faded on the last word.
Rick asked quickly, "Barby, did you move then?"
"No, Rick. Why?"
"You faded. Scotty, did you notice a fade?"
"Negative. I did not."
Rick asked, "Barby, please recite something."
"Recite what?"
"Anything."
Barby began, "She walks in beauty like the night..."
Rick turned slowly, listening for differences in strength of signal received.
Scotty interrupted. "Hey, what's that?"
"Lord Byron," Barby said loftily. "I wouldn't expect you to know."
Rick had it now. "Okay," he called. "Come on in."
He had been standing on the front porch of the Brant home. Scotty was inside the laboratory building, while Barby and Jan were at Pirate's Field. Presently Scotty joined him and grinned. "Work good?"
"Perfect."
Barby and Jan came through the orchard and up on the porch. Barby was wearing an ornamental plastic head band, not too gaudy for daytime wear, but not too simple for anything dressy. She had arranged her hair so the gadget was hardly noticeable. A wave of smooth blond hair hid the little bump made by the battery.
"Technically," Barby stated, "it worked fine. But the program material was terrible."
The boys chuckled. "How do you know it was technically fine?" Scotty teased.
Barby looked at him coolly. "Because I heard Rick perfectly."
"And I heard you and Scotty," Rick agreed. "All three units work fine. Have you switched them off?"
Barby reached up and seemed to pat her hair slightly. "I forgot," she admitted. "Now it's off."
Rick looked at Jan. "Could you hear me through Barby's phone while I was talking?"
Jan shook her head. "No, I couldn't. I was listening, too. These are wonderful, Rick."
He smiled his thanks. "One interesting thing, though. I should have known, but it didn't occur to me. The receivers are directional."
"What's that?" Barby asked.
"Directional. The antenna is a tiny coil. When it's broadside to the incoming signal, the volume is loudest, but when it's end on, the volume is much less. So, if you can't hear well, just turn sideways. Turn until the signal is loudest."
Scotty took his transceiver from his pocket and examined it with pride. It was no larger than a pack of playing cards, and its sensitive microphone was incorporated right into the case. The tiny antenna was a piece of stiff steel wire only two inches long. The whole gadget fitted easily into an inside coat pocket without a noticeable bulge.
Barby's rig was slightly different. The antenna ran along one edge of the plastic strip. At one end the microphone was in contact with her head just above the ear, allowing for transmission of voice by bone conduction, a new method developed by the United States Air Force. At the other end of the band a tiny speaker made similar contact. Rick had worried about the effectiveness of both mikeand phone, since he had never used the types before, but the design had turned out very well.
"Pretty neat if we do say so," Scotty admitted modestly.
"For once I agree with you," Barby said generously. "Now what, Rick? There isn't anything more to do, is there?"
"Not on these." But there was more to do along other lines. He was waiting for word from JANIG. Barby and Jan disappeared and returned in a few moments with iced drinks. The boys accepted them gratefully. It was a warm day.
"How about a swim?" Scotty suggested.
Rick was about to point out that they might have work to do when Joe Blake, the JANIG agent in charge at the laboratory, hailed him. Rick ran to meet the agent.
"The boys on the mainland didn't turn up a thing," Blake reported. "They searched from a half mile south of the pier to a half mile north. No pram anywhere."
Rick snapped his fingers. "I had a hunch they wouldn't! Okay. I'm going to take off right now and search the coast. If that pram wasn't connected with the attack on Duke and Jerry, I'll eat it."
"Good luck," Blake said. "Let me know if you need any help."
Rick hurried back to the porch. The JANIG scout team had reported early in the morning that the pram was gone from the pier. They had been covering the Whiteside area most of the night, searching for some sign of the pair that had attacked Rick's friends, but had turned up nothing suspicious.
Then, at Rick's suggestion, they had undertaken a search for the pram. His point was simply that he had never seen a pram in the Whiteside area—something that strangers would not have known. They might have figured that tying up in plain sight was the best way of hiding their boat. It would have been, if prams had been more common.
He motioned to Scotty. "Let's go. No sign of the pram."
Barby rose instantly. "Can we go with you?"
Rick considered, then nodded. He could see no objection to taking them on what could only be a short plane trip.
As they hurried to the plane, Scotty said, "What bothers me is, why didn't the JANIG team have someone at the landing?"
"They did," Rick replied. "I asked the same question. Their roving patrol had been by there a short time earlier, but saw nothing suspicious. After all, they can't post men everywhere. So two of them take turns keeping watch on the tidal flats, in case anyone tries to cross from the mainland directly to here. The other two keep moving."
"But it's funny anyone would attack Duke and Jerry," Barby objected. "It isn't ... well, logical."
Rick grinned. Logic and his sister had never become well acquainted. He answered, "Suppose theenemy had been keeping track of movements by water to Spindrift? That isn't farfetched. They could do it easily without being noticed. Then, late yesterday, they saw two men get in a boat and come to the island. They were probably watching from cover. And what did they see?"
Jan answered excitedly, "Jerry, and a man who looked like my father!"
"That's it, Jan. So, if I guess correctly, they waited, hoping the man they thought was Dr. Morrison would come back. And he did, and they were waiting."
"Sounds reasonable," Scotty agreed. "Except for one small thing. Why attack Dr. Morrison when all they have to do is turn on a gadget and his mind goes blank?"
Jan shuddered visibly. Scotty added hurriedly, "Sorry, Jan."
"Maybe it's not that simple," Rick said thoughtfully. "If they only have to turn on a gadget, why did they need to drug Dr. Marks?"
There was no answer to that. As soon as they were air-borne, Rick headed north, searching the coastline, swinging low now and then to examine marinas where numbers of boats were tied up. Scotty kept the binoculars working, but there was no sign of a pram.
"Do you suppose it's under cover somewhere?" Barby asked.
Rick shrugged. "Maybe. They might cover it ifthey thought anyone would come looking for it."
"They'll surely think of that, won't they?" Barby asked.
"Not necessarily. After all, they tied up at the pier in plain sight. I think they assumed no one would worry about a small rowboat. They just didn't know prams are uncommon."
Scotty put the glasses down for a moment and rubbed his eyes. "How far could they have come, anyway? We're miles above Spindrift, and no one would row that far."
He was right, of course. Rick admitted, "I've been racking my brains, and I can't remember whether or not the pram had an outboard motor. Just as I was about to take a close look, Jerry yelled. Do you remember, Scotty?"
Scotty shook his head. "But even with an outboard, they probably wouldn't have come this far."
"Check." Rick swung the Sky Wagon around and headed south on a straight course to Spindrift. As the fast little plane passed over the Brant house he throttled back and dropped lower. "Let's start the search again."
Every cove was investigated, and anything that might have been a boat was inspected carefully. Then, as they reached the summer colony north of Seaford, Barby exclaimed, "Look! There's that fancy houseboat again!"
The houseboat was putting out from land, swinging on a northerly course. Rick saw that it waspowered by twin outboards and that it cruised at about fifteen knots.
Scotty yelled, "Hey! Behind the houseboat! Look at the dory they're towing!"
Rick swung low and craned his neck to see. It was! The houseboat used a pram as a tender, and the pram had its own low-power outboard motor.
"That's enough," he said with satisfaction. He kept the Sky Wagon on a southerly course until Seaford passed below, to keep the houseboaters from thinking the plane's sole interest had been in them. Beyond Seaford, he picked up Cap'n Mike's shack across the road from the old windmill.
"Let's see if Mike's home," he said, and stood the wagon up on a wing. He leveled off in time to buzz low over the old shack, which was not as shabby as it looked, and neat as a ship's cabin inside, then he pulled up into a screaming Immelman and looked out.
Cap'n Mike emerged from the shack waving what seemed to be a shirt. Rick waggled his wings in greeting, then did a wing over that brought him back low and fast over the old seaman's head. Cap'n Mike was grinning broadly as he waved.
Rick set a course north and slightly inland. In a short time he was back on the water again, taxiing to the Spindrift beach.
While the others went to the house, he stopped at the lab and reported to Joe Blake that he had found a pram. The agent got what details Rick had,and passed the word to the shore team on the mainland with instructions to follow the houseboat's movements from shore. Then he went to the phone and called Steve Ames.
Finally Joe hung up. "Steve says to keep an eye on the houseboat, but to take no action. He's going to do a little investigating."
"How?"
"He didn't say. But he expects to have something by tonight."
With that, Rick had to be satisfied.
Apparently Steve wasted no time, because Barby answered the phone just before dinner, then called:
"It's Steve Ames, Rick!"
Rick ran to the telephone.
"Thought I'd let you know," Steve reported. "I had the Coast Guard pay a visit to your houseboat this afternoon."
"You did?" Rick was incredulous. "But that means they're tipped off now that we're watching them!"
Steve sounded hurt. "Fine thing," he said, wounded. "No faith, huh? Ever hear of the Coast Guard's courtesy inspection service?"
"Sure. They'll inspect your boat for safety."
"That's it. And that's the gag we used. We sent a brand-new ensign, a real boyish type. He checked half a dozen boats before he got to the houseboat. When he pulled alongside and offered a courtesy investigation, they invited him aboard like an old friend."
"What did he find?" Rick asked excitedly.
"Nothing. All was in order, and the boat had plenty of extinguishers, life jackets, and other safety items, so he gave it a clean bill of health. They fed him iced tea and cookies, and waved good-by as if he was their long-lost son."
"What kind of people were they?"
"Two middle-aged couples. Business partners, from Trenton, and their wives. We got the names from him and checked. They really are partners, in a used-car business. Sorry, Rick. Looks like another dead end. The Coast Guard drew a blank this time."
"But there isn't another pram within miles of Spindrift," Rick objected.
"All right. We'll be keeping an eye on these people, but we have no grounds for any action. Any luck with the barber?"
"We haven't tried yet," Rick told him. "Tomorrow's the day. We've been getting the Megabuck network completed in case we need to communicate."
"Okay. Good luck, and keep me informed."
"I will, Steve."
Rick hung up and returned to the porch, deep in thought. To the waiting trio he said, "A blank. Nothing. Looks like the barber is still our best lead."
"That houseboat is in it, too," Barby stated positively.
"How do you know?" Scotty asked.
"It's too flashy," Barby explained. "Too bright. Really nice people wouldn't have a boat that color. You wait and see, they're in this somehow!"
Rick shook his head, more in sorrow than in anger. "Good thing the boat isn't bright red," he said wearily. "That would really be proof they're criminals!"
Barby Brant flew up the stairs and ran down the hall, skidding to a stop in front of Rick's door. Then, conscious that her burst of speed was less than dignified, she drew herself up and tapped on the door gently.
Rick had just finished dressing. He opened the door, and his eyebrows went up at Barby's poorly concealed excitement.
"What's up?" he demanded. "Atom bomb ticking in the library or something?"
Barby made a heroic effort to be casual. "I just thought you might be interested. The houseboat is anchored in North Cove."
Rick was very much interested! North Cove was between Spindrift and Whiteside pier. He felt a tingle of excitement. Was the enemy closing in?
"Did you see it?" he asked.
"No, but Dad did. He went over to pick up themorning papers, and there it was. It must have gone by during the night."
"Thanks, Barby," Rick said absently. His mind was already exploring the possibilities. The houseboat had taken up the ideal position for watching comings and goings from Spindrift. The cove was even close enough so the sound of the Sky Wagon's engine could be heard clearly.
Yet, according to Steve, the people on it were ordinary enough. There was nothing suspicious about them, except that they had the only pram in the area. He wondered if perhaps the pram had nothing to do with the attack on Duke and Jerry. After all, people on houseboats had to land once in a while, for shopping.
In the same moment, he realized that Whiteside was closed tight on Sunday evenings. There was nothing to be bought. That was when the attack had taken place.
He ate breakfast with minimum conversation, only vaguely conscious that the others were watching him with interest, aware that he was chewing over the problem in his own fashion.
After breakfast, Scotty broke in. "Well, what's all the high-brain activity leading up to?"
Rick was just about ready. "Couple of things," he said. "First, we have only two possibilities for enemy contacts in the area. The houseboaters, and the barber. There may be others, but we don't know about them."
"All right. What do we do about it?"
"Well, suppose both are involved. Is that a reasonable assumption?"
Scotty nodded thoughtfully. "I think so. The barber ties in because he came from Washington, and he has the machine. The houseboaters tie in because of the pram."
"Okay. Then if both are involved, they have to contact each other sometime. They have to exchange information, at the very least."
Scotty was with him. "And it would be easier for the houseboaters to contact the barber than vice versa. Because everyone has to get a haircut sooner or later. Right?"
"One hundred percent. So we keep a watch on both. I'll work it out with Joe Blake. We could keep watch by day, when possibility of contact is greatest because the barbershop is open. The JANIG team on the mainland can keep watch by night, because if the houseboaters and the barber meet at night it will have to be in the woods. Anywhere in town would be too obvious—except for the barbershop."
Barby and Jan had listened in silence, but Barby could contain herself no longer. "And we're going to help!"
To Barby's astonishment, Rick nodded. She had expected opposition. "You and Jan can keep watch of the houseboat. Scotty and I will take the mainland. If the houseboaters start for Whiteside pier,you'll tell us. We'll pick them up as they land and trail 'em."
Barby nodded, pleased. "The Megabuck Mob goes into action! We'll use the radio network. Right?"
"Yes. First thing is, where do you take up a position? If I remember correctly, you can see North Cove from the attic. It will be kind of hot up there, but maybe we can rig a fan."
"We won't mind," Jan said swiftly. "When do we start?"
"Right now."
Scotty spoke up. "You said you had a couple of things. What's the other one?"
"We have to get a look at the barber's machine. I don't know how we'll do it. But we can figure out something."
In the back of Rick's mind was the thought that the houseboaters might have moved nearer Whiteside for the purpose of contacting the barber, as well as to get a better look at traffic between Spindrift and the mainland. If that were true, they had better hurry.
He had another thought, too. "What time is it?"
Barby consulted her watch. "Five before eight. Why?"
"The barbershop doesn't open until nine. I think it might be useful to have someone call on the houseboaters and try to pump them a little. It might beinteresting to hear why they chose to anchor in North Cove."
Barby's eyes got round. "Would you do it?"
Rick shook his head. "It can't be anyone from Spindrift, or from the police. It has to be someone plausible. I'm thinking of Cap'n Mike."
"Hey, that's just the ticket!" Scotty shook Rick's hand solemnly. "Cap'n Mike can pretend to be fishing, the way he used to when he was keeping an eye on Creek House. He could drift over to the houseboat and ask for a drink of water, or something, and strike up a conversation. They'd think he was just a typical salty character."
"Then that's how we'll do it. Scotty, suppose you get the binoculars for Barby, then rig up a fan. I'll go get Cap'n Mike. It won't take long, and we can have something set before the barbershop opens."
Scotty helped Rick push the plane out from the beach, then collected the binoculars. Rick warmed the plane and checked the gas. He could use a few minutes to gas up, too. There was a pier in Seaford where he could land and get the proper grade of fuel.
He taxied out, headed into the wind, and took off. Then, to confuse watchers, he headed straight for Whiteside. As he passed over the cove he saw the houseboat, anchored in the best position for watching the Spindrift-Whiteside boat course. His mouth was set in a straight line. Maybe there was no proof, but how much circumstantial evidence was neededto paint a picture? He was sure the houseboat was a part of the plot against the project.
Far inland, out of sight of the coast, he swung south, picked up Salt Creek and followed it to Smugglers' Reef. He turned down the coast past the town, buzzed Cap'n Mike's shack, and landed.
Captain Michael Aloysius Kevin O'Shannon was at the pier when he docked. Rick cut the engine and climbed out on the pontoon. He heaved a line to the old seaman, who hauled him to the pier.
Cap'n Mike was nearly seventy years old, but as Rick well knew, he had the vigor and keen mind of a man twenty years his junior. Under the battered master's cap was a thatch of white hair and a strong, weather-beaten face.
"About time you paid a friendly call," Cap'n Mike greeted him. "Sorry I found no strangers for you. Was goin' to call today. Where's Scotty?"
Rick felt a twinge of conscience. He had intended to pay a visit to his friend so many times, but something always seemed to get in the way. It had been many weeks since his last call.
"It isn't exactly a social call," he said apologetically. "We need your help, Cap'n Mike."
The old man looked at him quizzically. "What for? Fishin' or detectin'?"
"Detectin'," Rick answered.
"Accepted! Now I see why you were lookin' for strangers. When and where do I start?"
"Right now, at Spindrift. Can you come?"
"Wait'll I turn off my coffeepot. Anything I'll need?"
"We'll want you to do a little fishing, too."
Cap'n Mike nodded and hurried up the pier to his shack. In a few minutes he was back, rod case and tackle box in hand. He cast off and climbed into the plane. "Let's go, boy! Time's awastin'. Who we after this time?"
Rick started the engine and was air-borne before he answered. Then, almost immediately, he had to land again to take on gas. By the time he was in the air en route to Spindrift, Cap'n Mike was squirming so impatiently that the whole plane seemed to vibrate.
"Well, get on with it," he said irritably.
Rick smiled. "All right. We don't know who we're after."
Cap'n Mike grunted.
"Seriously, we don't. Some folks in a houseboat are anchored in North Cove. We want to find out why."
Cap'n Mike nodded sagely. "For no reason. They just might be dangerous criminals, so you want to investigate. All right, go ask 'em."
"We can't. We want you to go fishing, and work your way to the houseboat. Ask for a drink of water or something, then find out if you can what they're doing."