"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 the Albatross.

"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 eyes on 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 the Albatross' 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.



CHAPTER VII

Search for a Clue

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 ran after 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 the Morning 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 the Morning Record office.

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 the Albatross had 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 the papers. 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 the Albatross starts 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'n Mike 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 the Albatross came 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!"



CHAPTER VIII

The Old Tower

Rick tightened the last screw that held the searchlight-telescope unit to his camera and looked at it with satisfaction. "I should get 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 had been 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 the Sea Belle on 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 they are smuggling," 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 in on them when the Albatross pulls up at Creek House to unload."

Scotty stretched out on Cap'n Mike's bed. "That's fine. But how do we know when the Albatross is going to visit the Kelsos?"

"Cap'n Mike tells us. Cap'n, according to what you said when we were here before, the Albatross sometimes 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 the Albatross arrived. 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 the Albatross to 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 the other 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.

"I will. Now you boys be careful. Keep a weather eye out, and don't forget those warnings."

"We're not likely to," Rick assured him.

As they sped past the Seaford water front toward Smugglers' Reef, Rick plotted a plan of action. First, if they were to spy on Creek House, they needed to know a little more about the area. He assumed that they would hurry from Spindrift by boat, since it would take too long to go to Whiteside and try to get a car. The Cub was out; there was no place to land at Seaford.

The best way of finding a good hide-out from which to watch the Kelsos would be to take a photograph from the air. He could do that this very afternoon and develop it at home. An enlargement, which the photo lab at Spindrift was equipped to make, would be better than a map.

He felt better now that they had an objective. But! "Suppose the Albatross doesn't do any smuggling before Saturday?" he asked Scotty.

"Tough luck. Captain Tyler will just have to suffer a while longer. Besides, this is only a hearing. If he's tried, it won't be until later."

"Guess that's right," Rick agreed. He swung the launch around the tip of Smugglers' Reef, past the light and the wreck of the Sea Belle. For the first time since the fatal night, there was no one at the trawler or on the reef. He put the launch close in shore at the sandy strip near the Creek House fence, and Scotty jumped to the beach with the anchor as before.

Rick joined him on the sand. "Now for a look at the tower. Where did you see the marks?"

Scotty pointed to the rusted structure. There were four upright girders slanting inward from the base to where the top platform had been. Horizontal girders held the structure together one-third and two-thirds of the way up. "The marks are on the first row of cross-pieces," he said. "On this side."

The steel climbing ladder was on the Seaford, or opposite side, of the tower halfway between the uprights. Rick looked at it dubiously. "It's pretty rusty. Think it will bear our weight?"

"Maybe only one of us had better go," Scotty conceded. "I'll try it."

Rick looked at his friend's solid frame and shook his head. "I'm the lightest. I'd better do it."

"You're not that much lighter," Scotty objected. "Tell you what, let's flip for it."

"Okay." Rick produced a coin, tossed it in the air, and called, "Tails."

It was. Scotty picked up the coin and turned it over, as though making sure it wasn't tails on both sides, then handed it to Rick with a grin. "Can you always call your shots like that?"

"Only on Wednesdays." He gestured toward the high board fence that cut them off from Creek House. "Look, just to be on the safe side, you keep an eye open for the Kelsos. If you see them coming, give me a yell. I don't think they'd dare try anything in broad daylight, but you can never tell."

"All right. I'll stick near the boat."

As Scotty walked back to the launch, Rick went to the base of the tower and looked up. The frame seemed secure enough in spite of the rust. He jumped for the first rung of the ladder and hauled himself up. In a moment he was on the horizontal girder. The scratches Scotty had seen from the air were clearly visible. To reach them, he had to work around the girders to the opposite side. He stood up and found his balance, then walked easily to the corner girder, rounded it and crossed to the other side. The marks were only a few feet away.

The upper stories of Creek House were on and above his level now. He could look right into the windows of the second floor—except that the windows were so dirty that he couldn't see much. Suddenly he froze. One of the second-floor windows was being raised. He saw a vague figure behind it, but it was dark in the room and he couldn't see clearly. There was no reason to be disturbed about it, yet he felt a quick wave of apprehension. He had better look over the scratches and get out.

Holding on to the corner girder, he crouched and leaned outward toward the marks. There were two bright scratches about a foot apart. Between them the entire rust surface had been disturbed. Something had rested there, or, more likely, it had been clamped. He swung back a little to look at the inner side of the girder and saw continuations of the scratches that terminated in round spots. When he leaned forward to look at the outer side, the marks were there, but so slight that they wouldn't be noticeable unless one were looking for them.

His brows creased. He couldn't think of anything that would make marks just like those. He wished he had brought a camera. A photo would have given them something to study later.

Then, as he turned and started back, something whistled over his head and slapped sharply into the upright girder. His first thought was that Scotty had thrown a pebble or something to attract his attention, but when he looked, Scotty was facing the other way.

The whistle and slap came again. This time he looked up, and the strength drained from his knees. A few inches over his head were silvery splashes against the rusty surface, and they were the silvery marks of splattered lead!

He was being shot at!

Rick reacted like a suddenly released spring. He dropped to his knees, his hands reaching for a hold on the girder. They hooked over the inner edge and he rolled free on the opposite side. For an instant he dangled in space, then he dropped, his knees flexing to take the shock of landing. It wasn't much of a drop, a little over fourteen feet. And as he dropped he yelled Scotty's name.

Scotty started for him on a dead run, but Rick's yell stopped him.

"Start the boat and cast off!"

Then Rick's legs flew as he ran for the launch. For the moment, both of them were cut off from Creek House by the high board fence. But to get clear they would have to come out of the fence shelter and into the view of the second-floor sniper once more. He planned as he ran, and as he jumped across the water to the launch, he gasped, "Stay close to the reef and pick up speed. Get going."

The launch was already in motion. Rick dropped into the seat next to Scotty and his pal pushed the gas pedal all the way. The nose lifted and the stern dug in.

Rick turned to watch, and as the second floor of Creek House came into view, he said, "Give it all you've got. Cut sharply across Salt Creek and the rushes will cover us."

"Hang on!" Scotty snapped. He threw the wheel hard over and the launch rocked up like a banking plane, then he leveled off and the boat shot across the creek's mouth to safety. Only then did he turn to Rick. "What happened?"

"Someone took two shots at me," Rick replied shakily. "And dollars to dill pickles it was our pal Carrots, because I didn't hear the shots."

"That air rifle," Scotty said. His mouth tightened. "I can't wait to get my hands on that little playmate. Did he miss you by much?"

"About six inches. Both shots hit the same place, within an inch of each other."

Scotty frowned thoughtfully. "Then my guess is that he wasn't trying to hit you. If he's good enough to place two shots like that, he wouldn't have any trouble picking you off. Did you see him?"

"No. I saw a window open just before I got down to look at the marks."

"Anything to them?"

"I don't know," Rick said. He was still a little shaken. "Listen, what about reporting this to the police?"

Scotty shook his head. "No proof. No witnesses. It would be your word against his, because he could claim he was just target practicing and that you weren't on the tower when he fired. He could even claim he didn't fire the shots, because the slugs would be so spattered that the police couldn't make anything of them."

"I can see him laughing his head off," Rick said bitterly. "First, because of dumping the fish scoop, and now because he sent us hightailing out of there like a couple of frightened jack rabbits."

"It would have been stupid to stay and get shot at," Scotty pointed out. "Even if he is a good shot, he might accidentally clip you."

Rick had to admit the truth of that. "Just the same," he said, "we're going back and build a fire under Mister Carrots. Wait and see!"



CHAPTER IX

Night Watch

Less than a half-hour after arriving at Spindrift, Rick and Scotty were back at Smugglers' Reef. But this time they were in the Cub. With Scotty operating Rick's speed graphic camera, they took several photos of Creek House, Salt Creek, and Brendan's Marsh from varying altitudes. Then Rick swung in a wide circle, losing altitude, and leveled off only a hundred feet over the marsh. He was headed straight for Creek House.

Scotty paused in putting the camera in its case and looked at him.

Rick winked. "Going to see if the Kelsos are home."

The Cub flashed across Salt Creek and Rick pulled the control wheel back into his lap. The small plane shot upward in a zoom that just cleared the hotel, then at the top of the zoom Rick did a fast wing over and started back.

"I know you can fly," Scotty said calmly, "but don't try to roll your wheels on the roof."

Rick shot across the hotel within five feet of the chimney and dropped so low that his prop wash flattened the reeds in the marsh. Then, climbing again, he swung wide and went over Seaford at a legal altitude. He was, even the critical Gus admitted, a safe-and-sane flier, but the temptation to get back at Carrots Kelso a little was too much. High over the town, he turned to Scotty. "I didn't see anyone. Now, if you were in the house and a crazy pilot buzzed you twice, what would you do?"

"Run out and look," Scotty said promptly.

"Uhuh." Rick was enjoying himself. Whether his scheme worked or not, he liked it. "And if the plane was out of sight, what would you do then?"

"I'd go far away from the house, so it wouldn't block my view, and look for it."

"The farthest you can get away from Creek House, without running into the fence, is at the end of the pier."

Scotty broke into laughter. "I hope I never have you for an enemy. What'll you bet Carrots doesn't go to the end of the pier?"

"No bets. But I'm hoping."

Rick turned inland. When he was out of sight of the town, he lost altitude in a tight spiral over Salt Creek. At five hundred feet, he banked around and followed the creek, his throttle wide open. As the Cub flashed over Salt Creek Bridge, he put the plane in a shallow dive. Creek House loomed and he let out a yell of triumph.

Carrots Kelso was standing on the end of the pier, looking at the sky!

Rick pointed the nose of the Cub directly at him and held it there. He saw Carrots turn at the noise of the plane, saw his mouth open to yell and his eyes pop. Rick hauled the stick back into his lap and kicked left rudder. As the Cub spun around he banged Scotty with his free hand and chortled with glee.

Carrots, afraid for his life, had gone headlong into the creek.

"That pays him back for shooting at you," Scotty said with satisfaction. "Bet he was more scared than you were. But we still owe him for those fish."

* * * * *

Two of the photos proved excellent for their purposes. Scotty, who had taken an interest in developing and printing, made a 10 by 14-inch enlargement of each. They spent most of Thursday studying them, talking over their various clues endlessly, and waiting for Cap'n Mike's call. Shortly after supper on Thursday night he did call, but only to say he had nothing to report and that he hadn't been able to talk to Jim Killian. The fisherman was taking a few days off to visit his mother in Pennsylvania.

"A fine time for him to go vacationing," Rick said, "when he might be able to supply some essential information. I've got an idea, Cap'n," he added. "Can you find out what source the automatic light uses for electricity? See if it has its own power plant or whether there's a cable that runs along the reef. If there is, see if there's a junction box or a switch or anything."

Cap'n Mike promised to have the information next time he called.

They were too restless to sit still and read. Rick had thought about asking his father to help him check the infrared spotlight in the lab, but Hartson Brant was preoccupied with a scientific analysis problem, so Rick decided to check his new invention by actual use.

Dismal was the subject. The boys took him for a walk to the backside of the island where there was no light at all except for dim moonlight. Scotty carried the power supply on a strap over his shoulder while Rick carried the camera and its attachments. The thing was uncanny, even when its operation was understood. To the naked eye, Dismal was just a vague blur under the trees. But with the infrared searchlight on him, Rick could see him through the telescope as though it were white light. He shot a few feet of film, then took it to the photo lab. He could develop short lengths by dipping them into bottles of solution, although full lengths would have to go to a New York lab for processing.

Projecting the test length cleared up his questions. The camera worked beautifully at distances up to three hundred yards. Beyond that, although things still could be seen, the lighting was poor and definition hazy.

He spent more time in the darkroom winding the infrared film on hundred-foot rolls and placing them in light-tight cans, then he reloaded the camera with a full spool. That done, there was nothing to do but wait and try to read.

On Friday night, Scotty glanced up from the leather chair in Rick's room. "What time is it?"

Rick was lying on the bed, studying the ceiling and working on the problem of the tower scratches and the shifting current. He looked at his watch. "Ten of nine. Why?"

"Almost time for the trawlers to be getting back to Seaford."

"As though I didn't know it! Unless we get a call within the next half-hour, we might as well forget it for tonight, too."

Scotty went back to his book. Rick resumed staring at the ceiling. It had occurred to him that there was an old wrecker's trick, well used in the days of sailing ships. The trick was to extinguish a navigation light so ships would run aground and be easy prey for the wreckers. And sometimes the wreckers helped out by raising false lights. Now if the automatic light at the tip of the reef could be cut off, and if a false light were raised on the old tower . . . they just had to talk with Captain Killian! Bill Lake thought a shift of current and a patch of mist had been responsible for him losing the light and putting him off course. But what if Smugglers' Light had been cut off and a false light lighted on the old tower?

Rick snapped his fingers. "I've got it!"

Scotty looked up. "Got what?"

Just then the phone rang.

The boys almost fell over each other in their haste. Rick got to it first and said a breathless hello.

"Cap'n Mike speaking. Rick?"

"Yes!"

"Brad just turned up Salt Creek. I'll be in my shack waiting to hear about it, boy. And say, the automatic light works by a cable. Cable comes down the pole in front of the Creek House fence and goes into a metal box. From there it goes underground to the light."

"Thanks a million," Rick said exultantly. "We'll see you sometime tonight, Cap'n." He hung up and turned to Scotty. "Let's go!"

They ran down the stairs and almost barged into Mrs. Brant. "Got to hurry, Mom."

"Where to, Rick?"

"Seaford," he said. "We'll take the boat. Don't worry, I don't think we'll be out too late."

Mrs. Brant's eyes were troubled. The boys had told the Brants something about events at Seaford. "Be careful, you two," she said.

"We will," Scotty assured her.

They had every intention of being extremely careful. Hartson Brant, who had been on expeditions with the boys, had every confidence in their ability to look out for themselves. But Mrs. Brant, like all mothers, had some reservations.

As they ran down the stairs to the landing, Scotty asked, "What was it you said you had just before the phone rang?"

"Tell you when we get underway," Rick returned, and as they sped through the water at over thirty miles an hour toward Seaford, he did so.

"I think I know how the Sea Belle was wrecked. But if I'm right, the Kelsos were taking a terrific chance."

"They're the kind who take chances." Scotty peered through the windshield at the dark sea. Behind them, their wake was white and turbulent.

"Well, here's how I figure. The Kelsos knew there was no sea traffic off Smugglers' Reef except for the Seaford fleet, because the coastal traffic moves pretty far offshore. They also knew that no one goes down the old road past the hotels at night because there's nothing there. And anyway, if a car came, they could see its lights."

Rick paused. "There's a hole in this theory. In fact, there are a couple of them. I'm guessing that Tom Tyler was the first skipper to get into port a good percentage of the time. If he was, and if they knew it, they could arrange with Brad Marbek to stick close behind him and give them some sort of signal. If they had glasses on the ships, they could see even a flashlight, couldn't they?"

"I suppose so."

"And if they were at the very top of Creek House, in the attic room, they could see the lights of the ships coming in before the ships saw Smugglers' Light!"

"What are you driving at?" Scotty demanded.

"Smugglers' Light is small. It's strictly for local navigation. Now suppose one of them was in the attic with glasses, waiting for the ships. Tom Tyler comes over the horizon first, Brad Marbek right behind him. Brad makes a signal. Maybe he blinks his masthead light. By that, they know the next ships are pretty far behind and Tom Tyler is in front. The man in the attic signals. They turn off Smugglers' Light from the junction box in front of the hotel and light up their own light on the crossbeam of the old tower. When Captain Tyler comes over the horizon far enough to see the light, what he sees is the Kelsos' light. But he doesn't know that. He gives it leeway as usual; he's used to passing it close because there's plenty of water. Then, when he's within a short distance of it, the light goes off. He keeps on course, thinking something has happened to the light, and piles on the reef."

"And as he piles up, the real light is put back on!" Scotty exclaimed.

"Yes," Rick said excitedly. "And the man with the light in the tower just removes it, gets down, and runs for Creek House before the men on the Sea Belle have even picked themselves up!"

"It makes sense," Scotty agreed. "And how! Of course Tom Tyler knows he's been tricked the minute he hits, and he knows why. So does Brad Marbek, but he's in on it. Bill Lake, who's pretty far behind, thinks the shift in the light is due to a patch of mist and a strong current. But how about Captain Killian? He was closer to the light."

"That's why it's important to get his story," Rick said. His eyes had been scanning the dark coast line ceaselessly. Now, picking up the start of Brendan's Marsh, he turned the wheel and swung out to sea.

Their study of the photographs had convinced them that the best way to approach Creek House was from the rear. To do that, they had to pass far enough out at sea so their engine noise would not be too noticeable and attract the attention of the Kelsos. Rick took a quick look around and saw no other boat lights. He leaned forward and snapped off their own.

In a few moments they saw the lights of Creek House and Smugglers' Light. When they were well past it, Rick turned inshore, throttled down to make as little noise as possible. There was a short dock in front of the abandoned Sandy Shores Hotel. He gauged distance carefully in the dim light and let his momentum carry him to it. Scotty jumped out and made the bow fast while Rick cut the engine completely and hurried to secure the stern. In a moment they were on the dock together looking toward the Creek House.

"Let's go," Rick whispered.

They made their way as noiselessly as possible behind the old hotel, then picked a careful path through accumulated junk past the rears of the Sea Girt, the Atlantic View, and the Shore Mansions. Twice they had to climb rusted fences and Rick was grateful that they had put on old clothes. Presently they were against the Creek House fence.

He touched Scotty's arm and gestured. Then he led the way toward the place where the fence stopped at the marsh. They had planned the adventure up to the end of the fence. After that they would have to take advantage of whatever offered.

They hadn't seen in the photograph that the fence extended into the marsh for a short distance. Rick's first inkling of the fact came when one foot sank into muck above the shoe top. He let out a soft exclamation, and when he pulled the foot free it made a sighing sound.

The boys held a whispered consultation and decided there was nothing for it but to continue. Rick stepped forward, searching with his foot for firmer ground. Now and then he found a hummock, but there were times when he sank to the knee in clinging goo. Fortunately, there were only a few feet of swamp to navigate.

He reached the end of the fence and stopped, peering around it.

There were lights on the pier, and the Albatross was tied up to it, but the lights were too dim to illuminate anything over a few yards away. He crouched and moved over a little, making room for Scotty. Together they surveyed the terrain.

"We can't see much from here," Scotty said, lips against Rick's ear. "We'll have to get closer."

Rick nodded. He motioned along the fence, indicating that they should follow it, then he took the lead again. In a dozen muddy steps they were out of the marshland and on dry ground again, but Rick had to exercise utmost care because there was a litter of dry junk that crackled underfoot. He picked his way carefully, hardly daring to breathe loudly.

Once he froze and felt Scotty tense behind him. Brad Marbek and Red Kelso walked from the hotel to the pier and stood looking upstream. Their backs were to the boys. Rick started moving again. There were no lights in the hotel on the fence side. He wanted to reach the safe darkness of that area before planning their next move. As he went, he wondered where Carrots was, and what had happened to Brad's crew.

They reached the dark space between the hotel and the fence without incident and Rick straightened up with a little breath of relief. Now what? He reviewed the photograph of the hotel grounds in his mind.

Scotty tugged his sleeve and pointed. Rick looked up and saw that a window was open on the first floor. The room behind it was dark. For a second he was tempted, then he shook his head. Going into the hotel was dangerous, even though they probably could make their way to an upper floor and have an unobstructed view from a window. If they were trapped inside ... he didn't like the thought. At least their retreat was open while they were out of doors. The top of the fence was within reach if they jumped. They could swing over it and run. Once outside the fence, the Kelsos would have a hard time catching up with them.

He remembered that the front of the hotel and part of the area on the creek side contained shrubs, relics of its original landscaping. The shrubs would give them cover. He touched Scotty and motioned. Then he started around the front of the hotel, crossing the driveway, which led into the grounds through a gate, closed now and looking like part of the fence.

The front of the hotel was dark. Swiftly he went past the porch, moving through the shrubbery with extreme caution. He gained the corner nearest the creek safely, Scotty behind him. When he peered around, he had a good view of the dock. Red Kelso and Brad Marbek were still talking. No one else was in sight. Somewhere inside, a door banged. Rick stiffened. That must be Carrots, or one of the crew.

He moved forward, spotting a hedge that had marked the edge of the garden. If they crouched behind that, they would have an unobstructed view. He dodged a shrub and reached the hedge; it was just waist-high. He sank to his knees and parted the twigs, searching for a good view through them. Beside him, Scotty knelt and did the same.

He put his mouth close to Scotty's ear. "This is a good place," he whispered.

"It's a fine place," a loud voice said. "Get up, both of you!"

Rick whirled, his heart stopping. He looked straight across the front sight of a rifle into the grinning face of Carrots Kelso!



CHAPTER X

Captured

"I figured it was time for another look around," Carrots said, "so I came out the side door and went around the back and up the side by the fence, then crossed over by the front. And just as I got to the corner, who did I see but our two wise-guy pals!" He poked the rifle in Rick's back by way of emphasis.

Red Kelso and Brad Marbek looked at the two boys and then at each other. Marbek looked up the creek nervously. "Better get 'em inside under cover," he said in his high voice. "Jimmy, take 'em into the cabin."

Rick was seething inwardly, but he gave no sign. He was angry with himself. He should have known that there would be a guard.

He walked down the pier, Scotty at his side, the others following. At Carrots' direction he climbed over the side of the trawler and went into the small cabin aft of the wheelhouse.

Red Kelso gestured toward a built-in bunk. "Sit down, both of you." He went to the single window and slid the curtains shut.

Carrots took up a position in the corner from which he could cover the two boys. Brad Marbek pushed into the cabin and closed the door behind him. For a dozen heartbeats there was silence.

Red Kelso broke it. "What now?" he asked heavily. "We've got 'em. What do we do with 'em?"

Rick spoke up with much more boldness than he felt. "Nothing. Half a dozen people know we came here."

Marbek and Kelso exchanged glances.

"We can't just let 'em go," Carrots said. His glance at Rick was vindictive. "This is the smart joker that dove at me in his airplane. I owe him somethin' for that."

"Be quiet, Jimmy," Red Kelso said. "We've got to think about this."

There was a hail from outside. Marbek started. "Red! Come outside. Jimmy, watch these two."

Carrots lifted the rifle a little. The two older men went out and closed the door. Rick, listening carefully, thought he could hear oars.

Scotty spoke up. "You're a good shot with that thing, Rick says. You put two shots right together over his head."

"I should have picked him off," Carrots snarled. "I ought to put a shot in his head right now for makin' me jump off the dock."

"That evened us up," Rick said quietly. "You dumped the fish on us."

Carrots grinned his satisfaction. "You're tootin' I did! And that ain't all I'm goin' to do to you, either."

"Don't be too sure," Scotty said.

Carrots' thin lips tightened. "You got warned. Twice. What happens to you is on your own head."

The door banged open and Red Kelso and Brad Marbek came in again. For some reason they seemed in better spirits. Marbek was grinning.

Kelso stood before the two boys, his seaweed-green eyes surveying them coldly. "All right. Talk. What did you want in here?"

Rick and Scotty remained quiet.

"Don't make me beat it out of you," Kelso warned.

Rick thought quickly. He jerked his thumb at Carrots. "You can blame him. First he dumped half a ton of menhaden on us and then he took a shot at me while I was climbing the old tower."

"Why were you climbin' the tower?" Marbek demanded quickly.

Rick shrugged, nonchalantly, he hoped. "Why does anyone climb a tower? Just for the fun of it."

Carrots snorted. "Nuts! Then why didn't you go all the way to the top?"

Red Kelso's eyes swiveled from his son to the boys. "Let's cut the comedy," he snapped. "Jimmy had nothin' to do with your comin' here. Now give us a straight story or you'll suffer for it!"

Rick's mind was working at top speed. He couldn't tell them everything, but he might be able to stall.

"You warned us," he said. "Twice. Anyway, we thought it was you, then your son just admitted it." He grinned at Kelso. "We had to find out why you were warning us, didn't we?"

Red looked at Carrots and then at Brad. "I told you it was a mistake to try to warn 'em off," he grated. "All right. Did you find out why we warned you?"

"We didn't have time," Scotty pointed out. "We had just arrived when we got caught."

Brad Marbek's high voice was cold. "Do you think my coming here is funny?"

Scotty's reply was equally cold. "You're not trying to kid anyone that you tie up at this pier before unloading your fish just because you want to be sociable, are you?"

Marbek took a step forward. Red Kelso's hand on his shoulder restrained him. Rick held his breath, wondering if Scotty had said too much.

"Okay, you snoopers," Red said. "You're goin' to take a nice long look around, see? You're goin' to do exactly what we say, and you're goin' to find out for yourselves just what's goin' on here. Now how do you like that?"

"Fine," Rick said feebly. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

"Start at the house," Brad growled. "Get goin'."

On deck, Rick took a quick look around. Nothing had changed, nor was anyone in sight. With Carrots' rifle at their backs, he and Scotty marched to the side door of the hotel. Inside Red Kelso pointed at another door. "Open it and go downstairs. Step on it, we haven't all night."

Rick caught his breath. Why were they forcing them into the cellar? A little fearfully, he went down the stairs as Red snapped on lights.

At the bottom of the steps, the three faced them. "Start lookin'," Brad commanded. "Go on. Stick your noses in every corner. Get busy!" He gave Scotty a shove that sent him staggering in the direction of the coal cellars. Then Red Kelso gave Rick a hard push that landed him on his knees.

The boy stood up again and looked around him uncertainly. "What do you want us to do?"

"Look," Red snapped. "That's what you came for. Look in every blasted corner until you're satisfied there's nothin' more to look for. Now get goin'!"

And Rick and Scotty looked. Even though they knew now nothing would be found in the old house, they had no choice. With the three hovering over them they searched in corners, under stairs, in bins. They sounded walls and rapped floors. As they passed through the kitchen, four men were playing cards, evidently members of Brad's crew. They inspected the butler's pantry and even the refrigerator, then they were pushed on through the other first-floor rooms and up the stairs.

Rick was tired of the whole affair, but every time he hesitated, Brad or Red gave him a headlong shove that kept him moving, and always Carrots was behind with the rifle. When there were no bulbs in the rooms a flashlight Red produced provided illumination. Room by tiresome room they worked their way to the attic.

From the attic they were run down the stairs again and out into the grounds and forced to cover every inch of land. Then they were taken to the garage-boathouse and made to work their way through what had been the servants' quarters. Downstairs, they inspected the only car, and Rick automatically made a mental note of the make and the New York license number. Then they looked under the seats and into the rope locker of a motor whaleboat that was the only craft in the boathouse, and they were forced to crawl under the boathouse where it rested on piles.

"Now," Brad Marbek said grimly, "let's take a look at the trawler."

"Do we have to?" Scotty said wearily. "We know you wouldn't make us look if there was anything to be seen."

Brad's big hand landed in the middle of his back, smashing him toward the dock. "March!" he commanded.

The tiresome routine started again. Through wheelhouse and cabin and galley and enginehouse and rope and gear lockers they hunted, picking up accumulated layers of dirt and grease on the way, until finally only the huge fish holds were left.

Rick looked into the forward one and thought, "Oh, no!" He started to protest, but Brad's open hand caught him on the side of the face. "Dig!" the skipper commanded. "You asked for it. Dig!"

And dig they did, through tons of stinking menhaden and cold ice until they choked and their mouths felt full of scales. Once or twice they protested, but there was always big Brad Marbek ready to strike out and Carrots and Red Kelso backing him up.

An eternity later they clawed their way up the pile of fish in the last hold.

Rick took a deep breath of clean air. "Anything else?" he asked.

Carrots stepped forward. "You poor jokers got dirty," he said with false concern. "You need a bath." He pointed to the end of the dock. "Go on, jump in." His rifle lifted menacingly.

That, at least, was no hardship. Rick walked to the end of the dock and dropped into the water, savoring is cool cleanliness. Scotty was right beside him.

Overhead, the three waited, and Carrots' rifle was still on them. "Back to the bank," he commanded.

Rick and Scotty swam, clambered up on shore, and stood waiting.

"Hike."

They were herded like two sheep to the front gate. Red Kelso produced a key and the gate swung open.

"You had your look," he said. "You came to spy and we helped you out. Now you know there's nothin' wrong here. We warned you because we didn't like you, see? And that's all. Now get goin' and don't ever come back, or we'll work you over so you'll never be the same again. Now git!"

They were shoved violently forward and landed sprawling on the hard macadam road. Behind them the gate slammed shut, and as they got to their feet and looked at each other ruefully, the sound of Carrots' raucous laughter was like salt on raw flesh.



CHAPTER XI

The Hearing

"You two have certainly got your nerve, going back to Seaford after that," Jerry Webster said.

"We'll stay away from the Kelsos and Brad Marbek. Don't worry about that," Rick assured him. "But we're not giving up, are we, Scotty?"

"Not on your life," Scotty replied flatly.

Jerry's car bounced over Salt Creek Bridge and sped toward the Seaford turnoff. The boys had phoned him early in the morning and found that he had learned about Tom Tyler's hearing during his routine phone calls to the Seaford authorities, and that he was going down to cover it.

They had met him at the Whiteside dock, and on the way down had brought him up to date on their part of the case, including their humiliating experience of the night before.

"So your theory about smuggling must be wrong," Jerry said. "Otherwise, you'd have found something."

"I'm not convinced," Rick argued. "It's still the only answer that fits."

"Then where were the smuggled goods?"

"We could have gotten there too late," Scotty reminded. "If it was a small shipment, it could have been unloaded and disposed of before we showed up."

"Disposed of? How?" Jerry wanted to know.

Rick recalled that he had heard the sound of oars while in the cabin. Red and Brad had rushed out right away, too, after hearing a hail. "They might have taken the stuff up the creek," he mused. "They might even have had a truck waiting at the bridge. There's not much traffic, so it wouldn't be too great a risk. And even if a car came, they could pretend the truck was changing a tire or something until it passed."

"That's reasonable," Jerry admitted. "Did you talk it over with Cap'n Mike?"

Rick grinned ruefully at the memory of the two soaked, bedraggled, filthy specimens who had knocked on Cap'n Mike's door last night. "We were in no mood even to think about it," he said. "But we did find out one thing. Cap'n Mike said it would be easy for anyone to disconnect Smugglers' Light and then reconnect it. All he would need would be an insulated screw driver."

"And that's not all," Scotty added. "He said Tom Tyler was first one back from the fishing grounds eight times out of ten because the Sea Belle was the fastest boat in the fleet and the best handled."

The more Rick thought about it, the more he was convinced that his theory of the wrecking of the trawler would hold water. Cap'n Mike had plugged up another hole, too. Rick had wondered about the backside of the light. He had noticed that there was a red sector on the townside, a common method of construction on lights of that sort. On Cap'n Mike's chart, shaded areas showed how the light worked. It was visible from the seaside in an arc of 180 degrees. It was dark in the quadrant toward the marsh and red in the quadrant toward the town. But warehouses and pier sheds blocked off the light from almost all of the town except Million Dollar Row, and since the red portion would be out for only a short time, it was long odds against anyone noticing it or investigating if they did.

"It's pretty sound," Rick said. "Only I wonder if we'll ever prove it?"

"Not in time for this morning's hearing, that's for sure," Scotty commented. "Maybe Captain Killian will have something to say. If he ever gets back."

Cap'n Mike had tried unsuccessfully last night to see Jim Killian. He was still visiting his mother.

Jerry's car rolled down the main street of Seaford toward the town hall. Rick could see that an unusual number of cars was lined up along the curbs. The hearing was attracting a great deal of interest, as could have been expected. He wondered if the Kelsos would be there.

Jerry pulled into a convenient parking space. As they got out, he asked Rick, "Got your camera?"

Rick held it up. "We've got our press cards, too. That makes us legal spectators for a change."

"For a change is right," Scotty said. "Lead the way, Jerry."

The hearing room was on the second floor. Jerry pushed his way through the crowd in the corridor with Rick and Scotty following, and found the entrance. A police officer stopped them at the door, then permitted them to enter when they showed their press cards. Rick wondered if the hearing would be closed to the public, but when he got inside he saw that every seat was taken. He recognized a face here and there, including that of Bill Lake. The others he recognized were fishermen he had seen during their trip to the pier with Cap'n Mike. Evidently some of them were taking the day off because of the hearing.

The room was actually a small courtroom. Like most courtrooms, it had a low fence dividing the spectators from the participants. At a table inside the fence, Tom Tyler was seated with four other men. Rick guessed from their appearance that they must be the members of his crew. One had an arm in a sling and he remembered Cap'n Mike had said the wreck had caused one broken arm.

Jerry spoke to a man who seemed to be someone of authority, and they were directed to seats in the front row. Across the aisle Rick saw Mrs. Tyler and the little girl who had been with her on that first night. The captain's wife looked pale, but she seemed composed. Then he switched his glance to the captain himself.

Tom Tyler seemed thinner in the few days since the wreck of his ship. He stared at the table before him, seemingly oblivious to the murmur of voices in the room. Rick felt compassion for him. If the theory proved correct, Tom Tyler was the victim of unscrupulous men who had wrecked his ship deliberately, just to remove danger from their path.

He speculated about what might have caused the actual decision to wreck the Sea Belle. There was only one sensible conclusion. Captain Tyler must have used the trawler to spy on Brad Marbek. Wrecking the ship would serve a double purpose: it would remove the possibility of further spying on Brad and it would warn Tyler that the smugglers meant business. After that, simply telling him that his family would suffer if he kept on would strike home. Until the wreck, he probably had been inclined to treat Kelso's warning lightly.

A door to the left of the judge's rostrum opened and three men came out. One was a Coast Guard commander. The other two were civilians. A whisper from Jerry informed Rick that they were officers of the United States Maritime Commission.

Rick turned to see if the Kelsos or Brad Marbek were in the room. He was curious about Cap'n Mike, too. While he was searching the rows of faces, the procedure started. A clerk got up and announced something about the hearing being held before the duly authorized board of inquiry in the case of the wrecking on Smugglers' Reef of the motor vessel Sea Belle, of so many tons, and such and such a registry number, Thomas Lee Tyler, master, holding licenses numbers so and so. Jerry nudged Rick and pointed to the camera. Rick nodded and inserted a flash bulb. He caught the clerk's eye and held up the camera. The clerk frowned, then motioned him to come inside the rail. Rick did so and snapped a picture of the tribunal. Then he turned and got a photo of Tom Tyler and the men at his table, with the audience in the background. He looked at Jerry. The young reporter nodded, indicating that two pictures would be enough.

Rick resumed his seat.

The middle man on the platform leaned over and asked, "Who is representing Captain Tyler?"

Tom Tyler stood up. "No one, sir."

A murmur ran through the courtroom.

"Captain," the man asked, "do you mean you have come into this hearing without counsel?"

"Sir, I'm pleading guilty to whatever the charge is. I don't need a lawyer for that." Tyler sat down again.

There was whispered consultation among the three on the bench. Then the spokesman leaned forward again.

"Captain, as I understand the facts presented by the officers who investigated, if you plead guilty you will, in effect, state that you deliberately wrecked your ship. If you so state, your insurance company will have no recourse but to ask your arrest on a charge of barratry. Do you understand that?"

Tyler's shoulders straightened. "If that's the way it is, sir, I guess that's the way it is. I'm pleading guilty."

The murmur in the court rose.

Rick leaned over to Jerry. "He's scared stiff. He must be, to take this lying down."

But if the Kelsos had threatened Mrs. Tyler and their little girl, there wasn't much else he could do. Wrecking the trawler had shown him they were capable of carrying out any threat. Rick was glad he had had presence of mind the night before to say that other people knew he and Scotty were going to Creek House. He was sure that had the Kelsos and Brad thought that no one else knew, their fate would have been much different.

A hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up into the face of the officer who had been at the door.

"You Rick Brant?"

He nodded.

"Cap'n Mike is outside. Says it's urgent. He wants you and Don Scott."

"We'll come right away," Rick said. He leaned over and explained to Jerry. "We'll meet you outside. Come on, Scotty."

As quietly as possible he and Scotty left the room just as the spokesman for the board declared that the hearing would proceed.

Cap'n Mike was on the steps in front of the town hall. His weathered face lit up at the sight of the boys and he greeted them with a note of worry in his voice. "Come on down to the sidewalk out of earshot of these folks," he said in a low tone.

They followed him to a place where the crowd thinned out, then Rick asked, "What's the matter, Cap'n? Anything important come up?"

"Important? I'll say it's important!" Cap'n Mike leaned forward. "Jim Killian has disappeared!"



CHAPTER XII

The Missing Fisherman

Captain Jim Killian, the fisherman who had been closest to Brad Marbek and Tom Tyler, and who might have been able to say finally whether Rick's theory was true or not, was missing!

"Cap'n, are you sure?" Rick asked.

Cap'n Mike nodded soberly. "Sure as I can be. That's why I had to talk to you boys."

"When did you discover he had disappeared?" Scotty queried. "You said he had been visiting his mother."

"That's just it. Took me all this time to remember." Cap'n Mike shook his white head. "Reckon I'm getting old. His mate said he'd gone to visit his mother, so I thought no more about it. Until this morning. Then I remembered. Jim Killian never knew his mother. He was brought up by an uncle and aunt, both of them dead ten years now. Struck me all of a sudden. It had sort of been nagging at the back of my head that something was fishy about that mate's story anyway, so this morning I went to his house and I collared him."

"Did you get anything out of him?" Rick asked eagerly.

"Not much. Jim Killian showed up at his trawler the morning after Tom Tyler wrecked the Sea Belle. He just told the mate to shove off without him, and said if anyone asked, he was visiting his mother, who was sick. And I'm sure that's all the mate knows, except that he knew Jim Killian didn't have a mother."

Rick pursed his lips thoughtfully. "He showed up himself? Then he must have left of his own free will. At least he wasn't kidnapped. But why would he run away?"

His eyes met Scotty's and he knew his pal was thinking the same thing.

"He was threatened," Scotty said.

"Looks like it. Suppose he had let a word drop that night about something being a little off the beam about Smugglers' Light?" It sounded reasonable to Rick. "The Kelsos would have paid him a visit for sure."

Cap'n Mike wagged his head sadly. "I sure pinned a lot of hope on Jim Killian. After you explained what might have happened to Tom, I was sure Jim might have something real useful to add. But it looks mighty bad now."

"Mighty bad," Rick agreed. Their effort to catch the Kelsos red-handed had boomeranged on them and now what might be proof of their theory had vanished.

"We'd better find him," Scotty said.

"How?" Cap'n Mike asked hopelessly. "We can't go to the police, 'cause Jim went off of his own will, which he has a perfect right to do."

For a moment Rick was about to suggest that they could have the police hunt him as a material witness, then he rejected the idea. Witness to what? Tom Tyler had admitted running the Sea Belle on the reef purposely, or next thing to it. No, the only solution was to find Captain Killian. But where to begin?

"Put yourself in his place," he suggested to Cap'n Mike. "You've known him a long time. If you were hiding out, where would you go?"

"I've thought about it," the old seaman said. "Don't do no good. This is the first time Jim Killian has left town in twenty years, except to go into Newark or New York for a day's shopping."

"Where did he live?" Scotty asked.

"Little Cape Cod cottage over near Tom Tyler. Lived by himself."

"We might start there," Rick said.

"Good a place as any," Cap'n Mike agreed. "Let's get going."

Rick shook his head. "We have to wait for Jerry. Let's sit in the car. I don't think the hearing will last very long. Tom Tyler is pleading guilty."

They walked to Jerry's car and settled down to wait. Through the windshield Rick watched the townfolk clustered around the courthouse steps and noted that they weren't talking much. He guessed everyone in town knew there was something extraordinary about the wreck of the Sea Belle and he wondered if anyone suspected smuggling activities at Creek House.

He said aloud, "If the Kelsos and Brad Marbek took the stuff up to Salt Creek Bridge before we got there, what boat did they use? The boat we saw in the boathouse was dry, and the boats on the Albatross were hanging on the davits. Maybe we're all wet on that, too."

"Maybe," Scotty agreed glumly. "I've never seen a deal with so many dead ends."

Cap'n Mike sounded alarmed. "You're not giving up, are you, boys?"

"Not a chance. We'll get to the bottom of this sooner or later." Scotty spoke for both of them.

Cap'n Mike pointed. "The crowd's coming out."

Evidently the hearing was over, because those who had waited inside the building and those lucky enough to get seats were coming out. Presently Jerry Webster came out, too, tucking his notes into his jacket pocket. He joined them in the car and greeted Cap'n Mike.

"You look like three mourners," he told them. "What's the matter?"

Rick explained briefly, then asked, "Got any bright ideas?"

"Afraid not," Jerry replied. "Finding someone is a tough job even for the police with all their facilities. I don't know how you'd even start."

"We thought of looking his house over," Rick said.

"I wouldn't do that," Jerry replied quickly.

"Why not?"

"You said he left of his own accord, didn't you? You can bet he locked his house up tight. If you try to get in, you'll be guilty of breaking and entering. And even if he left a door open, you've no right to go in. You can bet the neighbors will be on the phone to the constable's office if they see anyone fooling around the house."

"You're right," Rick agreed gloomily.

"There goes his mate now," Cap'n Mike said. "Must have been at the hearing." He pointed to a slender man in a cap and lumberjack's shirt who was crossing the street in front of town hall.

"Think he told you all he knows?" Rick asked.

Cap'n Mike rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Don't know. Maybe he did, and again maybe not. Chick's a quiet one. Never says much and there's no way of telling what goes on inside his head."

"Let's follow him," Scotty suggested.

Jerry looked at him. "What for?"

"For lack of anything else to do," Scotty said. "Can't tell. We've nothing to lose, anyway."

Rick watched the mate reach the opposite sidewalk, then stand uncertainly for a moment, looking back across the street. Then, evidently satisfied, he started off at a brisk walk. It was almost as though he had looked to see if anyone were coming after him, Rick thought.

"Scotty's right," he said quickly. "Let's go after him."

Jerry started the car and pulled away from the curb. He grinned at Rick. "Good thing it's Saturday. No paper until Monday morning, so I've plenty of time. But tell me what to do. I'm green at this business."

"Go slow," Rick said. "Watch him."

The mate reached a corner, looked behind him, then turned down the side street.

"Go after him," Rick directed. "Go right on by him and don't anyone look at him. Cap'n, better crouch down. He knows you, but he doesn't know the rest of us."

Jerry swung into the side street and picked up speed. From the corner of his eye Rick saw the mate walking rapidly. He told Jerry to turn right at the next corner and to slow down. The blocks were short; the mate would pass the corner in a moment.

"Do you know where he lives?" Rick asked the captain.

"Not on this side of town. He lives out in the district toward the main road."

"Any guesses about where he might be heading?"

"Maybe Jake's Grill. It's this way and I've seen him there."

Rick directed Jerry to go on to the next corner and wait. Then he turned and watched the corner they had just passed. If the mate kept straight on the side street, they would go around the block. If he turned down the street they had taken, they would simply round the corner again.

The mate turned and came after them.

"Around the corner," Rick directed. "Cap'n, where is this Jake's Grill?"

"If you'd turned left instead of right just then," Cap'n Mike replied as Jerry finished the turn, "you'd have been about at it. It's halfway down the block."

Rick made a quick decision. "Okay, here's where we split up. I'll get out and go to Jake's. The rest of you keep trailing him. If he goes into Jake's, turn around and park at the next corner where you can see the entrance. If he doesn't, follow him and pick me up later."

As they nodded assent, he got out of the car and waved Jerry on, then he walked swiftly in the opposite direction. He crossed the street from which they had just turned, and caught a glimpse of the mate from the corner of his eye. The man was still walking rapidly. Rick paid no attention to him. He walked at a moderate pace down the street, pausing once to look in a shop-window. A side glance showed him the mate, still coming. Rick resumed walking and came to Jake's Grill, a shabby sort of place with only a half dozen customers. He walked in without hesitation and took a seat at the counter.

The counterman came up and wiped the counter clean in front of him with a rag that might have been white once upon a time. "What'll it be?"

"Coffee," Rick said. He was in a good position, because the back of the counter was lined with a flyspecked mirror through which he could see the whole restaurant.

The mate pushed the door open and paused at the entrance. He reached in his pocket and brought out a crumpled handful of bills and some change. He counted the change, then searched the pocket for more. There was none. He started for the counter.

He must need more change. For what? Rick's quick survey of the place showed him a phone booth in one corner. Quickly, as the mate approached, he fished out a dollar and thrust it at the counterman. "Got any change? I have to make a phone call."

The counterman took the bill and walked to the cash register. The mate cast a quick glance at Rick, then called, "Sam, I need some change, too. Give me some nickles and dimes for this half-buck." He tossed a fifty-cent piece on the counter.

Rick relaxed. Perhaps some of the townfolk had seen his and Scotty's pictures in the paper, but evidently the mate wasn't one of them. There had been no recognition in the man's eyes.

The counterman handed Rick a dollar in change and gave the mate some smaller change. He winked. "Gotta call yer girl, Chick?"

"Sure have," the mate answered. He had an odd voice, as though his nasal passages were completely blocked with a bad cold. He looked at Rick. "Go ahead, kid, make your call."

"After you, sir," Rick said politely. "I'm in no hurry."

"Thanks." The mate walked to the booth and shut himself in.

Rick got up and wandered casually in that direction, his ears cocked for the mate's words. Unfortunately, the booth was tight. He could hear only a faint murmur. He went back to the counter and started sipping his coffee, keeping his eyes on the booth. He heard the dim tone of bells and his pulse quickened. Those were coins dropping into the slots. The mate was making an out-of-town call! If only he could hear!

The hot coffee was almost scalding, but he scarcely noticed. His mind was racing, searching for some way to overhear that conversation. There just wasn't any way. If he walked over and put his ear to the booth, the men sitting at the tables and farther up the counter would see. No, he was sunk this time.

Within four minutes the mate was out of the booth. He came over and took a seat at the counter a few stools up and nodded at Rick. "Thanks, boy."

"That's all right," Rick said. He had to make a pretense of phoning now. Well, he could call Spindrift and tell his mother they would be home for lunch. He hadn't been sure how long the hearing would take when they left.

He went into the booth and closed the door. The phone had no dial. Evidently Seaford, like Whiteside, had no dial system. He started to pick up the receiver and inspiration struck him. If he could imitate the mate . . .

He tried to imitate Chick's nasal tone and thought he did pretty well. He tried again, and it sounded a little better. Anyway, he thought, there was nothing to lose by trying. If Seaford had more than one operator on the town switchboard, which was unlikely because of the size of the town, it wouldn't work, anyway. Or, if there were two and he got the wrong one it wouldn't work.

His hand shook slightly as he lifted the receiver and dropped in his nickel.

"Number, please?" the operator said sweetly.

Rick struggled to imitate the mate's voice. "Say, I have to talk to that number again. Something I forgot to say."

"What number was that, sir?" the operator asked.

Rick took a chance, based on the number of bells he had heard.

"That New York number," he said. "Forget now what it is. Ain't you got it written down there?"

"I'll have to have the number, sir," the operator said with firm sweetness.

Rick grew desperate. "Shucks, lady," he whined nasally. "You ain't goin' t'make me go through that business with that information gal again, are you?"

There was a subdued tinkle of laughter. "All right. I'll find it." There was a brief pause. "That number is Cornish 9-3834. Better write it down this time."

"I sure will," Rick said. He almost forgot and lapsed back into his own voice. But he didn't have to write it down. He wasn't forgetting it.

"What is your number, please?"

He gave it, then waited anxiously. In a moment a voice said, "Garden View Hotel."

The operator spoke. "One moment, please. Please deposit thirty cents."

Rick did so, and the bells clanged in his ear. When the ringing stopped, he said briskly, "Mr. James Killian, please."

"Just a minute." Then, "No one registered here by that name."

"Isn't this the Garden Arms Apartments?" Rick asked.

"No. This is the Garden View Hotel. You have the wrong number."

"Oops, sorry," Rick said jubilantly, and hung up.

He walked to the counter and gulped his coffee, put a dime on the counter and then hurried to the door. The mate was eating a piece of pie.

On the street, Rick looked for Jerry's car and spotted it at a corner two blocks away. He walked rapidly toward it, waving as he did so. The car pulled away from the curb and sped toward him, and he motioned to Jerry to turn the next corner. He hurried and got there just as the car did.

"Any luck?" Scotty asked.

"Luck? Touch me, somebody. Listen to this: Captain Killian is at the Garden View Hotel in New York, registered under a phony name!" He told them quickly what had happened in the grill and finished, "I'll bet the mate had orders to phone right after the hearing and let Killian know what had happened to Tyler."

"He was handed over to the constable after the insurance company issued a complaint," Jerry said. "Forgot to tell you that. Well, we know where this missing captain is. Now what?"

"Now what! What do you think?" Rick asked indignantly. "Let's go to New York!"



CHAPTER XIII

The Tracker

"We can drop your pictures off at the office, then I'll drive you in to New York, if that's okay," Jerry remarked, as the car sped up the road to Whiteside.

"That will be fine," Rick said. "I'll phone Spindrift, too, and let Mom know we won't be home for lunch. We can pick up a hamburger at a roadstand on the way in."

Jerry slowed down to a more moderate pace and Rick looked at him, surprised. "Thought we were in a hurry."

"Trying something," Jerry said. His eyes were on the rearview mirror. After a moment he spoke. "The car behind us slowed down, too. I think he's following us."

Cap'n Mike started to look back, but Scotty said warningly, "Don't! If they're really following, we don't want to let them know they've been spotted."

"There's a curve up ahead, Jerry," Rick said. "Keep your eyes on that car as we round the curve and let me know when they're out of sight."

"Okay."

The curve loomed. Jerry took it smoothly, then glanced up at the mirror. "Now," he said.

Rick reached up and readjusted the mirror so he could see, then settled back. In a few seconds the other car was in sight, too far back for him to see the figures on the license plate, but not so far that he couldn't see clearly that the plate was from New York, or that the car was the same make and model as the one they had seen in Kelso's garage. Reflection of light on the windshield made the occupant hazy, but Rick had a good idea who it was.

"Looks like Kelso's car," he told the others. "Listen, Jerry, don't go to the paper. Drop us in front of Dean's Department Store, then go around the block. Go slowly to give us time to find out who this bird is. No, I've got a better idea. Park the car. He'll have to park his if he intends to follow us."

Jerry nodded agreement. "There's a parking lot next to the store. I'll swing in there."

Cap'n Mike was grinning from ear to ear. "I'll be dadblamed if this ain't just like something I read once," he said. "I knew if I got you two interested we'd have some excitement!"

Jerry chuckled. "What do you think I want to take them into New York for? I usually go swimming on Saturday afternoon."

They were at the outskirts of Whiteside now. Jerry slowed speed again, and three minutes later he swung into the parking lot next to Dean's, in the busiest part of the town. Through the rearview mirror Rick saw the other car go by, heading for a vacant space at the curb, probably. He had noticed one a half block down.

The four got out of the car and Jerry took the parking check from the attendant. "Now what?" he asked.

"We walk down the street," Rick directed, "and if we haven't spotted him by the time we get to Mark's Supermarket, turn into the store. It has two entrances."

"If we split up, he'd get confused and we'd lose him easy," Jerry suggested. "Then we could meet somewhere."

"Amateur," Scotty scoffed. "We don't want to lose him. We want to find out who he is."

Rick and Scotty led the way, Cap'n Mike and Jerry following. As they passed the parked car, Rick saw the license plate clearly. It was the one he had noticed at Kelso's. Probably Carrots or Red, he thought. Maybe both. Without seeming to look around, he noted every possible hiding place where the tracker might wait for them, and decided on the doorway of an office building. There were a half dozen pillars the tracker could use for cover. He waited until they were a half block down from the building, then he turned suddenly as though to speak to the two behind him. Scotty, whose mind worked much the some way, turned at about the same time.

Rick got a quick glimpse of a stocky youth with carrot hair dodging into a doorway. He stopped and said, "Don't look back. I've got him spotted. Let's go into Mark's and we'll figure out how to get rid of him."

"Carrots," Scotty said gleefully. "We'll have to think of something really cute for that little friend."

"Fiend," Rick corrected.

They turned into the supermarket and mingled with the shoppers. Rick led the way behind a counter stacked high with cereals where they couldn't be seen. "The meeting is open to suggestions," he said. "We can shake him with no trouble, but that's too good for him. Any ideas?"

"Lead him on a wild-goose chase," Jerry offered.

Scotty had a grin on his face that boded ill for Carrots Kelso. "I've got one. I saw it pulled once. Jerry, do you suppose Mildred is at the office?"

Mildred Clark, the older sister of one of Barby Brant's closest friends, was the newspaper's bookkeeper. She had been a visitor at Spindrift several times, accompanying Jerry to picnics or swimming parties.

Jerry looked at his watch. "It's Saturday afternoon, and she usually doesn't work, but we're getting out our monthly statements, so she's probably there."

"Swell. Now how well do you know the cop on this beat?"

"We're good friends. I gave him a plug in the paper once. He deserved it, but he thinks I did it out of the goodness of my heart."

Scotty's grin widened. He lowered his voice and rapidly sketched the part each was to play. As he talked, Rick, too, began to grin.

When Scotty had finished, Rick and Cap'n Mike sauntered to the front of the store. Rick glanced through the big plate-glass windows, but he saw no sign of Carrots. That meant nothing, because Carrots would be a complete cabbagehead to let himself be seen. Rick was sure he was watching. He and Cap'n Mike stood talking for a moment, then Scotty appeared beside them, and said, "Well, here goes—Jerry's on the phone now," and faded into the crowd again.

Rick let five minutes elapse while he and the Captain stood in plain sight, then he glanced at his watch and motioned to the old seaman. The two of them went out the front of the store. Long before this, Scotty and Jerry had gone through the side entrance that opened on another street.