by John Blaine
As they sped past theSeaford 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 atSeaford .
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.
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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 theSeaford , 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 Page 43
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 downto 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 Page 44
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 overSeaford 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.”
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“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 overSaltCreekBridge , 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 inPennsylvania .
“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
preoccupiedwith 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 aNew York lab for processing.
Projecting the test length cleared up his questions.The camera worked beautifully at distances up to three Page 46
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 toSeaford .”
“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 extinguisha 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!BillLake 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. “Well 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 atSeaford . “Be careful, you two,” she said.
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“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 th
e water at over thirty miles an hour towardSeaford , 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 thekind 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 theSeaford 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.”
