The Richard Deming Mystery Megapack

by Richard Deming

  “I could use one too,” the tall man agreed.

  The visitors had coffee with them in the galley while Faraday and Ellen breakfasted on bacon and eggs. Afterward Faraday showed them around the houseboat.

  The men seemed impressed by the comfortable amount of room and the modern facilities. In addition to the galley, which was really a full-sized kitchen and doubled as a dining room and general lounge, there was a bathroom with a shower, two bunk rooms with four bunks each and a storage room. The kitchen was equipped with a butane stove and a butane refrigerator. There were Coleman gasoline lanterns to furnish light.

  “There’s a pump with a filter which removes most of the mud from river water for the storage tank on the roof,” Faraday explained. “We can’t drink it, of course, but it’s adequate for washing. We carry bottled water for drinking. I plan to replenish our supply here; then we won’t have to stop for any sort of supplies until we reach New Orleans. Except for drinking water the boat is pretty self-sufficient.”

  When they returned to the galley, where Ellen was washing the breakfast dishes, Albert Johnson said reflectively, “At fifty miles a day, it would be about sixteen days from St. Louis to New Orleans. Since you’re five hundred miles on your way, I assume you’ve been sailing about ten days.”

  “That’s right,” Faraday said. “We left July tenth.”

  “Then you should arrive in New Orleans in six more days?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Mr. Smith and I have only a week of our vacation left, so we hardly have time to go clear up to St. Louis and rent a houseboat,” Johnson said. “You have more than enough bunk space here, Mr. Faraday. Would you be interested in a couple of paying guests for the rest of the voyage?”

  Faraday was framing a polite refusal when Ellen, who was something of a penny-pincher, said quickly, “How paying?”

  The thin-nosed man threw her a pleasant smile. “We would be willing to assume the full cost of the boat rental if you threw in our food.”

  “You mean all four hundred dollars?” Ellen asked, wide-eyed.

  Albert Johnson shrugged. “We can write it off as a business expense. As I say, we don’t have time to run up to St. Louis and arrange our own voyage. It would be worth it to us. We have been fishing from the bank for a week without catching anything.”

  A warning bell sounded in Faraday’s mind. Neither looked as though he had been fishing from a river bank for a full week. Besides, it was peculiar that fishermen would travel all the way from Massachusetts to fish the Mississippi River. New England was too full of better fishing spots. It just didn’t make sense.

  If they could afford four hundred dollars for passage on the houseboat, why hadn’t they rented a boat for fishing? Remembering the buss plugs they had been using, he suddenly decided they were complete frauds.

  “This is a sort of second honeymoon for us,” he said. “Your offer is very generous, but we prefer to be alone.”

  “But, honey,” Ellen protested. “Four hundred dollars!”

  “I have a reasonably good income,” Faraday said a trifle testily. “Let’s not change plans in midstream, Ellen.”

  “We are not yet in midstream,” Johnson said with an indulgent chuckle. “We are still tied up to the bank. Mrs. Faraday obviously would like at least to discuss it. It would take us only a few minutes to run back to the hotel and get our luggage. We have a car parked at the top of the bank.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” Faraday said firmly. “I’m not interested in your offer.”

  Ellen could tell by his tone that there was no use arguing. With an apologetic smile at the two would-be passengers, she began putting dishes away.

  The wide-shouldered Martin Smith went over to the galley window facing the bank and looked out.

  “Picnic party gathering on the beach,” he said tonelessly.

  Albert Johnson went over to look too. Then he turned with a smile.

  “I guess we will run along, Mr. and Mrs. Faraday. Thank you for the coffee and the tour of the boat. If you change your minds about taking on a couple of paying passengers, we are staying at the Vicksburg Inn.”

  “We won’t,” Faraday assured him. “It was nice talking to you both.”

  “The same to you,” the thin-nosed man said. “Come along, Martin.”

  The two men moved out into the passageway between the galley and the bunk rooms, and then out on deck. Faraday and Ellen followed.

  A group of about a dozen teenagers in swim suits had gathered on a small stretch of sand at the river’s edge only a few yards downstream and were laying out blankets and picnic baskets.

  The visitors picked up their fishing gear, nodded final good-bys and made their ways down the gangplank. Apparently they were through fishing, because they climbed a steep path up the bank and disappeared over its top.

  Ellen said, “Why were you so set against our having a free vacation? We’re not that rich.”

  Faraday was still gazing at the top of the bank. In a slow voice he said, “I have a peculiar feeling that if those kids over there hadn’t appeared, it wouldn’t have been so easy to turn them down.”

  Ellen gave him a quick glance. “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe I’m over imaginative, but I got the impression the big-shouldered man looked out the window to see if any witnesses were around. I know this sounds melodramatic, but if that picnic group hadn’t been there, I suspect they were planning to take over the boat.”

  Ellen’s eyes grew enormous. “You’re kidding! Why would they do a thing like that? You think they’re criminals running from the law?”

  “Criminals on the lam wouldn’t pick a conveyance that only travels four miles an hour,” Faraday said drily. “I don’t think they were just looking for any old boat. I think they came down here with their brand new fishing togs this morning as a deliberate excuse to meet us and get aboard this particular boat.”

  “But that’s ridiculous,” she said. “How would they know we’d be here? We didn’t know ourselves we were going to anchor here until we pulled in last night.”

  “Our trip was no secret, Ellen. Anyone who wanted to take the trouble could easily have found out about it. And at fifty miles a day, they could just as easily keep track of our progress from shore.”

  “But why?” Ellen asked. “What on earth would be the percentage of going to all that trouble to hijack an old tub like this? They couldn’t get away with it anyway. It won’t go anywhere but downstream.”

  “Did you get the impression they might be foreigners?” he asked.

  “Foreigners? Of course not. They’re from Massachusetts.”

  “I could say I was from the moon, but that wouldn’t make it so. Just for the sake of argument, let’s assume they’re a couple of foreign agents. Begin to make sense?”

  She stared at him. “Your formula,” she breathed.

  “Theorem, not formula,” he said patiently. “I don’t know what good it would do a spy, even if he got me to explain it, because they can read the theorem in any scientific journal in about a month. If they’re looking for the formula for the new rocket fuel the news magazines have been playing up, they’re chasing the wrong guy. I couldn’t tell anybody how to build a rocket fuel.”

  “There’s no reason spies would know that, after all your publicity as the man who will send us beyond the stars. I think we should get in touch with the FBI.”

  “My work isn’t top secret,” Faraday said reasonably. “Or at least it shouldn’t be, and probably won’t be when Max Abbott and Earl Laing get through pounding some sense into those pinheads in Washington. Besides, what would we tell the FBI? That a couple of men claiming to be electronic engineers from Massachusetts offered to buy passage on our boat?”

  “It was you who suggested they were spies.”

  “I’ve been reading too much Ian Fleming,” F
araday said. “But I still think there was something shady about them. I think we’ll get out of here and pick up water farther downstream.”

  He went over to the gangplank, drew it aboard and started the motor. As soon as it turned over, he pulled in the anchor, engaged the prop and steered the boat out into the channel. Then he cut the motor and let the houseboat drift.

  Ten miles downstream they spotted a boat livery. Faraday restarted the motor and pulled over to the dock to take on drinking water. They didn’t discuss their strange visitors any more all day, but when it began to grow dark and Faraday showed no sign of looking for a mooring, Ellen didn’t ask any questions. He knew by her silence that the two men were still as much on her mind as on his.

  “I thought we’d go on a few miles after dark,” he said laconically. “I’ll set out the running lights.”

  He lit four Coleman lanterns and set them fore and aft, to port and starboard, then started the outboard motor.

  “We may as well make a little time,” he said. “I don’t want to run in the dark too long.”

  The outboard motor was twenty-five horsepower, which would have pushed the twelve-to-fifteen-foot boat it was designed for along at a clip of from thirty to thirty-five miles an hour. But was barely enough to give the heavy houseboat headway. Against the current the boat would have stood still. With the current helping, it moved along at about eight miles an hour.

  About two hours after dusk the lights of Natchez appeared ahead.

  “We’ve made nearly seventy miles,” Faraday said. “Guess we’ll call it a day.”

  Every night up until now he had moored on the west side of the river, because the main channel tended to hug that bank. Tonight he steered over to the Louisiana side, well out of the channel.

  Without comment Ellen went to the bow and began taking soundings with a leaded line as they neared the far bank. As the flat-bottomed boat drew only three feet, there wasn’t much danger of running aground, and there wouldn’t be a serious problem even if they did, but Faraday liked to know what kind of water he was getting into.

  They edged over a sandbar which showed a depth of only four feet before the water began to deepen again and they found themselves in a small, currentless cove. The Coleman lanterns threw enough light for Faraday to see the river bank. It was low and marshy and there was no sign of habitation along it. A dozen feet away from the bank he cut the motor and threw out the anchor.

  Ellen came back from the bow, glanced toward the Mississippi shore and said casually, “Think they can see our lights from over there?”

  “There won’t be any to see, except through our windows, in a couple of minutes,” he said. “From that distance nobody will be able to tell if the windows are in a houseboat, or just in a cottage near the bank.”

  He shut the valves of all the Coleman lanterns except one, and carried that into the galley. They had a cup of coffee, then he carried the lantern into the bunk room they were using so that they could see to undress for bed.

  “You think maybe we should have contacted the FBI just in case?” Ellen asked as he kissed her goodnight.

  “They probably weren’t foreign agents,” he said. “They couldn’t find us here anyway. They’d be looking fifteen to twenty miles back on the other side of the river. Stop worrying and go to sleep.”

  * * * *

  The next morning he wished he had called the FBI.

  Ellen was still dressing when he entered the galley. He came to an abrupt halt in the doorway when he saw the two men seated side-by-side on the opposite side of the table, facing the door. They were dressed the same as the day before, except that their hats lay on top of the refrigerator. Two small overnight bags stood on the floor in one corner.

  “How the devil did you get here?” Faraday demanded.

  “We borrowed a rowboat,” the thin-nosed man said. “Since we lacked the owner’s permission, we thought it would be unwise to keep it. We set it adrift.”

  The bulky man said, “Your lights made it just as easy to keep track of your boat as in the daytime. We appreciate your lighting them.”

  Faraday heard a gasp of surprise and turned to find Ellen behind him. He moved on into the galley.

  “Since you have no boat, I guess you’ll have to swim,” he said ominously. “Want to dive in yourselves, or be tossed overboard?”

  The tall man raised his hand from his lap. There was a thirty-eight revolver in it. Ellen emitted another little gasp.

  “Sit down, both of you,” the man with the gun suggested.

  After staring at the gun for a moment, Faraday quietly pulled out a chair for Ellen. When she sank into it, he sat next to her, so that they faced the two men on the other side of the table.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” the tall man said. “If you cooperate, we will let you enjoy the rest of the voyage. If you insist on being difficult, we will have to tie Mrs. Faraday to her bunk.”

  “Why just my wife?” Faraday growled. “Why not me too?”

  “We’re not very familiar with boats of this type, Mr. Faraday. We might run it aground. We need you to navigate. You will bear it in mind that unpleasant things may happen to your wife if your navigation isn’t efficient.”

  After digesting this, Faraday said, “What do you want?”

  “Your formula, Mr. Faraday.”

  Ellen whispered, “They are spies, Mike. We should have called the FBI when we stopped for water.”

  The bulky man turned his expressionless face to her. “So you actually suspected us,” he said with mild surprise. “I thought our pose was excellent. Thank you for the information that you did not phone anyone when you made your stop.” Ellen looked abashed.

  Faraday said, “You men are on the wrong track. I have no formula. All I developed was a mathematical theorem, and it can no more be suppressed from the world than Einstein’s theory of relativity could have been.

  “At this moment my two immediate assistants at the university, Professors Max Abbott and Earl Laing, are in Washington explaining the facts of life to a group of thick-headed bureaucrats. I’m quite certain they’ll succeed in convincing them that a mathematical theorem cannot be classified top secret. By the time we get back to St. Louis, I expect to have permission to publish my computations in detail. If you’ll wait about a month, you can read it in any scientific journal.”

  The thin-nosed man gave him a smile of polite disbelief.

  “You’re as thick-headed as those jerks in Washington,” Faraday said dourly. “Can’t you get it through your head that I know absolutely nothing of military value?”

  “Our superiors believe you do, Mr. Faraday. It is not our function to decide the value of what you can tell them. We were merely instructed to deliver you.”

  “Deliver me where?”

  “To a submarine we will rendezvous with some miles out in the gulf.”

  Faraday looked at him with his mouth open.

  “You mean you plan to take this ark out into the gulf?”

  “I think your little outboard motor will push it far enough for our purpose. It will not be required to push it back again.”

  Ellen said in a high voice, “Where will the submarine take us?”

  The bulky man said, “You will learn that when you arrive at your destination, Mrs. Faraday. Now, if you please, will you begin to prepare breakfast while your husband gets the boat underway?”

  Rising to his feet, he drew a blue-steel automatic from beneath his arm. “All right, Faraday. Start the motor and pull up anchor. I think I had better warn you that your wife will remain here in the galley with my partner all day, while you and I will stay on deck. At the slightest sign that you are not fully cooperating with us, my partner will put a bullet through her pretty head. For example, if any boats hail us and you try to give an alarm, your wife will immediately die. Understand?”

 
“I understand,” Faraday growled.

  The man lifted his hat from the top of the refrigerator and dropped it over his gun, completely concealing the gun. Even from close by the occupants of any passing boats would think he was merely carrying the hat in his hand, Faraday realized.

  He preceded the pseudo Martin Smith out on deck, started the engine and pulled in the anchor.

  Faraday had no opportunity to confer with Ellen privately all that day, but he had a lot of opportunity to think. He made and discarded a dozen plans before he finally hit on one he decided just might possibly work. It would require Ellen’s cooperation, though, and he could see no way to get instructions to her.

  At noon the thin-nosed man had Ellen bring sandwiches out to the men on deck, following behind her with his hat also draped over his gun. Faraday decided to test to see if either of their captors had any nautical knowledge at all.

  “If either of you are interested in fishing, you might pick up some jack salmon along here by trolling from the rear of the boat,” he said. “I believe the channel in this part of the river is charted at six fathoms.”

  Ellen gave him a peculiar look. The river current shifted the silt on the bottom so often that accurate depth charts were impossible, and they had no charts anyway.

  The man who called himself Albert Johnson asked without much interest, “How deep is that in feet?”

  “Forty-eight. A fathom is eight feet.”

  He held his breath for some reaction, but neither man commented, indicating that neither knew a fathom was actually six feet. He was conscious of Ellen’s gaze on him and knew she realized he had some plan. He was sure she would be wise enough to go along when the proper time came.

  Neither of their captors showed any desire to fish. When the sandwich plates were empty, the thin-nosed man ordered Ellen back to the galley and followed after her.

  Several times during the day the houseboat was hailed by other boats. Each time the bulky man called a cheery reply. Faraday, afraid that any sound at all from him might endanger Ellen, merely waved to the hailers.