Rick put his lips to Scotty's ear. "Wonder why Captain Douglas didn't see that?"

"He probably did. It wouldn't mean anything with the cargo gone."

Sensible, Rick thought. There would have been no occasion for the captain to mention it. He searched for a bit of firmer ground on which to rest the camera and found it. He began to worry about the hum of the dynamo. Would it be heard when they turned it on? And the filament of the infrared searchlight would be visible, too, against the dark background of the marsh. Did they dare try it?

The crew of the Albatross was in the flatboat—it scarcely could be called a rowboat—already heading upstream. The Kelsos and Marbek walked toward the house.

Good! That would give them a chance to try the camera. Rick waited impatiently until the boat rounded the turn leading to Salt Creek Bridge, then he sighted in on the Albatross, checked his settings, and started both the camera and infrared light. The dynamo and camera motor hummed quietly. He breathed a sigh of relief. Surely that much sound would blend imperceptibly with the normal night noises. Peepers in the fresher water upstream made more noise than that. He walked ahead of the camera and peered into the infrared searchlight. If anyone looked real closely, they might see it. He hoped the men on the opposite shore would be too busy to glance his way.

He switched off the mechanism and settled down to wait. His trousers were wet and heavy with mud, and his legs and feet were chilled. Mosquitoes whined around his head and little gnats settled down for a meal on his exposed neck and head. He began to wonder if it was worth it.

Carrots Kelso came out of the house, and he had his rifle. The boys watched as he disappeared behind the hotel, taking up his position as guard.

Each minute had lead in its shoes. Why didn't the boat return? And then, suddenly, it was rounding the bend! Rick moved behind the camera and loosened the pan-head. He swung the lens upstream. Scotty parted the rushes for him and he began to shoot. Infrared illuminated the boat clearly. He saw the faces of the crew, saw the cases stacked from stem to stem and even read their labels. Hummer sewing machines. He didn't believe for a moment that there were really sewing machines in them, but he couldn't guess their actual content.

He stopped shooting and rewound the camera while Scotty cranked the dynamo spring, then he took another brief sequence, stopped, and waited. No more now until they actually reached the dock and started to transfer the stuff.

Red Kelso and Brad Marbek came out of the hotel and he started shooting again, then he switched to a telephoto lens and took a close-up of their faces as they watched the boat draw near.

Carrots appeared around the front of the hotel and Rick got him, too, before he vanished again, patrolling the grounds.

The boat touched the dock. A crewman leaped to the place where Kelso and Marbek stood. There was conversation with much gesturing and pointing into the boat. Then the crewman jumped down again and motioned to one of his fellows. Rick started shooting. Clearly, as though it were day, he saw the two bend over something in the bow. They heaved upright and a chill shot through him. A man, bound and gagged! Then they turned the man over to hand him up to the dock and Rick's teeth clamped on his lip so hard that he groaned.

It was Jerry Webster!



CHAPTER XIX

The Fight at Creek House

Rick and Scotty watched helplessly as Jerry was carried into the hotel, then they looked at each other wordlessly. In a moment the seamen who had carried him returned, but Brad and Red didn't.

The one who had first reported to Brad, probably the mate or bosun, stood on the dock and called to the men in the boat. The boys could hear him clearly. "Let's get busy. We've got to load this stuff fast."

One of the men in the boat asked, "What they going to do with the kid?"

"Find out what he knows, then knock him on the head and shove him under the fish until we're out where we can dump him."

Rick and Scotty grabbed for each other at the same time. They knew without speaking what they had to do. Rick snatched up the camera, hauling it out of the muck recklessly. He pulled the power plug and Scotty reeled it in. They plowed through the swamp as fast as they could without making too much of a disturbance. Scotty led the way, cutting straight through the marsh to the boat, his highly developed direction sense showing him the way.

It seemed forever to Rick, but it was actually only a few minutes before they were climbing into the boat. "What do we do?" he asked desperately as he stowed the camera. "If we start the boat, they'll hear it, and it would take too long to pole out."

"Swim," Scotty said tersely. "It's faster. Get out of your clothes, but tie the laces of your shoes together and hang the shoes around your neck. We'll need 'em."

Quickly they stripped to their shorts, then draped shoes around their necks and slipped into the mud again. The water deepened rapidly and they began to swim with a noiseless side stroke. Rick followed Scotty, knowing that his friend was at his best in a situation like this.

They reached the edge of the marsh and angled along its edge, swimming strongly. Rick was in an agony of fear for Jerry. How had he gotten caught? And where? Scotty slowed, then stopped. The sudden feel of sluggish current warned Rick they were at the creek mouth.

"Watch the splashes," Scotty whispered. "We'll cross to the outside of the fence."

For the next few moments they would be vulnerable if Carrots Kelso happened to walk to the bank and look across. It had to be chanced. Scotty started out and Rick drew abreast of him. They swam cautiously, making no noise or splash, reached the opposite bank safely and crawled up the beach until they were sure the fence hid them from any watchers at Creek House.

"Got to draw Carrots to the back side of the hotel," Scotty whispered. "Then we can get in through the creek side of the fence. But how?"

Rick thought quickly. If they could make some sort of noise on the other side ... but it would take too long to go over there and then come back again and it wouldn't be safe to enter near where they made the noise, anyway. He started to put on his shoes, and as his fingers touched the strings, an idea blossomed. "Hunt for a piece of rope or wire," he said swiftly, and began running down the reef, eyes searching the dark ground. Scotty went to the other side and began to search, too. Rick knew they would find what he wanted on the wreck of the trawler but hoped he wouldn't have to go that far. He was in luck. He stumbled over a loop of rusty wire, grabbed it, and heaved. It came free. Swiftly his fingers explored it. About eight feet. That was good. Probably it had been buried when the part of the reef nearest the hotel had been filled in with trash to make a parking area. He had noticed odds and ends of junk around. He ran over to Scotty and told him what else was needed and they both hunted until they found a jagged piece of metal that would suit. It weighed about two pounds, and it had holes along one edge, probably originally drilled for rivets. They unkinked the wire carefully, then Rick passed one end through a hole in the steel and made it fast while Scotty bent a loop in the other end and wound the wire around itself to make a handhold.

"You do it," Rick whispered.

Scotty put a hand through the loop he had made and gripped it tight, then he went as close to the hotel fence as he could without raising the trajectory too high and began to whirl the contraption around his head. Faster and faster he whirled it until it began to whine, then with all the momentum of his body he released it.

The missile soared away in a long, low arc, past the hotel and on. The boys waited, not breathing, and heard it crunch through the reeds on the far side of the hotel. They ran to the creek end of the fence and looked around. The men at the pier were looking toward the marsh behind the garage. Red Kelso was walking that way and Carrots was running, rifle lifted.

Scotty and Rick rounded the corner and ran silently to the front of the hotel. Now to find Jerry! Rick stepped to the front porch and tried the door. It was unlocked. Taking his nerve in both hands, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It was quiet in the hotel. He knew the layout; they had explored every inch of it. He led the way toward the kitchen, then flattened against the wall of the hallway as he saw the light streaming through. He felt Scotty brush against him. Rick leaned forward, keeping his face in the shadow, just as Brad Marbek, his curiosity getting the better of him, walked to the side door and stepped out.

Rick took a long step into the kitchen. No one in it. Then he saw a lighted doorway across the room. It was a good bet. With his eyes on the door through which Brad had gone, he trotted swiftly across the floor. Scotty was right behind him.

Rick smothered an exclamation as he saw Jerry. The reporter was seated in a chair, tied fast to it. The gag, a bundle of rags, had been stuffed into his mouth. There was a bad bruise over his left eye and another on his left temple. Rick was at his side in three long steps. He jerked the gag from Jerry's mouth, cautioned him to silence, and started to untie him. Scotty went to the window, which fortunately faced the Seaford side of the house, and leaned out.

Rick heard Brad call, "Find anyone?" Then a faint answering call. "No one here."

"Hurry," Scotty whispered. He went to the door and stood to one side of it, looking into the kitchen.

Rick tugged at a recalcitrant knot, then got it loose. Jerry stood up, hands still tied behind him. Rick fought with the knot and wished for a knife.

There were footsteps in the kitchen. Rick's fingers got a hold and he heaved. The footsteps came closer. Scotty crouched. Brad Marbek entered the room and stepped into a terrific roundhouse swing with all of Scotty's frantic weight behind it. Brad stumbled backward and fell, and he roared.

"They're in the house! Cover the doors!"

He got to his feet and his powerful legs drove him forward. Scotty stepped directly into his way.

The rope loosened in Rick's hand. He unwound Jerry, working as fast as he could. He turned just in time to see Brad's arms reach for Scotty. The fisherman's face was distorted in a snarl and blood trickled from his cut lip.

Scotty back-pedaled swiftly. He took Brad's out-stretched hands, then fell backward, feet lifting, catching Brad in the stomach. Scotty heaved. The heave and the smuggler's momentum shot him headlong. He smashed into the wall.

Scotty leaped to his feet. "Run!" he yelled.

Rick propelled Jerry into the kitchen, and as they started across the room he saw Red Kelso at the door. "The front," he called. "Hurry, Jerry."

The reporter was fast getting the use of his limbs back. Scotty led the way to the front hall and Jerry stumbled after him. As Rick passed through the doorway from the kitchen into the wide hallway he spotted a cabinet. He grabbed it and tugged. It came away from the wall and he stepped from under it, letting it crash at an angle across the passageway. That would hold Red for a few seconds. They sprinted for the open front door and met Carrots head on just inside the entrance.

Scotty dove at him. His shoulder caught the redhead in the chest and slammed him backward. Carrots' arms flew up and the rifle he was carrying sailed from his grasp and slid across the porch to the sidewalk. The boys started to pile out over him, then they stopped short. Two of the crew were pounding up the sidewalk, leaping to the steps, and they carried clubs!

They were trapped! "Up the stairs," Rick said hoarsely.

Scotty bent over the fallen Carrots and jerked him to his feet. "You're coming with us," he grated.

Rick was already halfway to the stairs. Red Kelso was climbing over the blockade in the hallway, Brad Marbek behind him. Rick stopped. "Hurry, Scotty!"

"Hostage," Scotty grunted. He took Carrots' arm in a Japanese wristlock and rushed him across the room. Carrots struggled, then let out a yelp. It was either go peacefully or break his own arm. "Run," Scotty commanded, and Carrots ran, up the stairs. Jerry followed and Rick brought up the rear. Their pursuers were gaining!

Rick's mind raced as he climbed two stairs at a time, reconstructing the plan of the house. He rejected the idea of barricading themselves in a room on the second or third floor; the halls would give their enemies too much room for a battering rush against the door. "The attic," he called ahead to Scotty, "and step on it! They're gaining!"

They crossed the second-floor landing and went up the stairs to the third. At the top of the third landing was a rusty bucket, full of sand. Rick knew, because he had been forced to dig through the sand. It was evidently a relic of Coast Guard occupancy, placed there to extinguish incendiaries. He pressed hard against Jerry's heels, hearing the thud of footsteps on the stairs behind him and the cries of "Get 'em" from Red Kelso.

Scotty, Carrots, and Jerry sprinted for the attic stairs. Rick paused long enough to scoop up the bucket of sand. He hurled it after him, straight into the faces of the smugglers and found time for a grin at their yells and curses.

The attic stairs led straight up, with no landing at the top. The door was ajar. Rick's trick had gained a little time. They went through it with seconds to spare, and Rick slammed it shut. "Find a light," he gasped. "There's one up here." He remembered a tiny bulb, high in the ceiling.

"Key," Scotty snapped. "In the door. Outside. It was there last time."

Rick opened the door and had a quick glimpse of dark figures rushing up the stairs. He fumbled for the key, jerked it loose, and slammed the door. With his shoulder against it he inserted the key on their side and twisted it just as bodies thumped against the other side.

Jerry found the light switch and turned it on. Carrots, lips drawn tight, was bent over in the judo hold Scotty had on him. Rick found a few old pieces of overstuffed furniture, too disreputable to have been moved or sold, and he and Jerry pushed them against the door.

"If we can hold out," Jerry said between swollen lips, "Captain Douglas will get here."

"If!" Rick echoed.

Red Kelso called through the door. "Okay, you kids. Open up and we'll make things easy on you. But if we have to break the door down, it'll be rugged."

The boys looked at each other. Carrots grinned. Rick didn't like the grin. He yelled back, "Try to come through that door and we throw your son out the window!"

Carrots turned white.

"Stop talking like a fool and open up," Kelso demanded.

"We warned you," Rick yelled.

There was a solid thump as shoulders hit the door. Rick cast a desperate look at Scotty. The door wouldn't hold long. Scotty winked at Rick and jerked his chin at Carrots' back.

"Out the window with him," Rick growled. He lunged forward and took the boy's legs. Jerry, who had caught the wink too, took his shoulders while Scotty kept a wristlock clamped tight. They rushed Carrots to the window and Rick let go long enough to throw up the sash. Then they lifted Carrots to the sill.

"Pop!" he screamed. "They're throwing me out!"

The thumping at the door ceased. The elder Kelso called, "Keep your head, Jimmy. They don't dare. They know we're comin' in, anyway, and if they throw you out they haven't got a chance."

Kelso had spoken the exact truth, and the boys knew it. They let Carrots slump to the floor. "Get close," Scotty said. He spoke into Carrots' ear. "One peep out of you and I'll break your arm. Listen. We've got to have help and quick. Who's the fastest runner?"

"Jerry," Rick said promptly. The reporter had been a sprinting champion in school. "Are you okay now?"

"Fine. What's your plan?"

A door panel splintered as shoulders crashed against it. Good thing there was little space to stand out there. The smugglers couldn't get much leverage. Scotty talked fast. "We'll unblock the door and open it suddenly, then, Rick, you dive into the mob. They'll be off balance because the stairs are steep. Jerry, you'll have to leap for it, over their heads, and try to get away." He was behind Carrots and his wink was concealed. "Carrots will help us."

"I won't," Carrots stated.

"You will," Scotty corrected, "and you'll say 'Pop, hold it a minute. They want to talk it over.' Just like that." He twisted his hand slightly and Carrots yelped.

Scotty marched him to the door. Rick and Jerry slid the furniture away. The door was close to giving in now, the hinges starting to pull loose. Rick put one hand on the key and the other on the knob, hoping he had interpreted Scotty's wink correctly. Jerry crouched to one side of the door. Scotty held Carrots directly in front of it and commanded: "Speak your piece."

Carrots did, willingly, under the pressure of Scotty's hand.

The thumping stopped.

"What do they want to talk over?" Kelso demanded.

Scotty nodded. Rick spun the key and jerked the door open. Carrots, all of Scotty's driving weight behind him, catapulted headlong and smashed into the men on the stairs like a battering ram. They tumbled down under the impact like a row of dominoes, and Jerry went out the door as though shot from a crossbow. His flying feet struck backs, legs, and spurned faces. He gained the landing in a mad dive, scrambled to his feet, and was gone.

The smugglers clambered to their feet, or tried to. "After him," Marbek bellowed.

Red Kelso had fallen backward, and his legs were almost at the door. Scotty and Rick grabbed simultaneously and heaved, sending the upper men sprawling again. Then the boys withdrew and slammed and locked the door. Jerry had had the advantage of complete surprise, and his momentum had gotten him past the men on the lower stairs. Rick and Scotty couldn't have made it after the initial shock.

They pushed the furniture against the door again and drew back. Unless help was near, they were done for. There was nothing more they could do except wait, and fight once the door gave. Rick wrenched the leg from an ancient and broken chair and silently handed it to Scotty. Then he found one for himself.

The banging had renewed almost instantly. Scotty went to the window and looked out. Rick joined him just in time to see Jerry round the corner of the fence.

"He made it," Rick said with satisfaction. Two of the seamen crossed below, but Rick knew they would never catch his friend. He turned to face the door.

"Closer," Scotty said.

They moved closer and took places, one on each side of the door, and waited.

Smash. And again, and again. Wood dust flew as hinge screws gave with a loud screech. The door was just hanging now. One more smash! It flew inward and Red and Brad charged, two seamen close behind them.

Rick met Brad Marbek with a lightning thrust of his chair leg, and the smuggler doubled up. But his great body could absorb more punishment than Rick could give. He drove forward, brushed aside a swing of the chair leg, and his arms locked around the boy. Rick groaned as the steely hug drove the air from him; he felt a hand loosen, and kicked frantically for Brad's legs, then Brad's free hand caught him behind the ear, stunning him. Rick slumped to the floor fighting for breath and consciousness. Across the room, the seamen had Scotty, grabbing for his flailing arms while Red Kelso stood back and shot punches at him. Then the seamen got a firm grip and held him fast. Kelso's open hand slapped, back and forth, until Scotty's head sagged.

Carrots crawled into the room, his face contorted, one hand on his ribs. He got to his feet and walked unsteadily over to Scotty. He swung a roundhouse right. Scotty's head moved an inch. Carrots missed, and the force of his swing spun him around and he almost fell.

Rick laughed gaspingly.

Carrots' face turned scarlet. He walked over to where Rick was struggling for wind and drew his foot back. "I'm goin' to kick your teeth right down your throat," he grated.

Cap'n Mike's voice came from the doorway. "I'd call that mighty impolite!"

Rick turned on his side and stared unbelievingly. The old sea captain stood rock steady in the door, and at his shoulder was Carrots' rifle.

He spoke calmly. "Only got one shot in here. You could get me before I had time to pump it up again. Found it on the porch and took me a few minutes to figure it out. Almost put a slug through my foot doing it. But I got it in hand now. Got one shot. Who wants it?"

Marbek took a half step forward and the muzzle swung to cover him. Cap'n Mike's finger tightened. "You, Brad?"

Marbek stepped back.

"Come toward me, both of you," Cap'n Mike said. "Rick and Scotty."

Rick crawled forward, under the line of fire. Scotty, suddenly released, dropped to the floor and did the same.

The smugglers stayed where they were, frozen by the calm threat of the old man's voice. "Been eel fishing," he said. "Saw that young reporter skate around the corner with two men after him. Then I noticed Scotty and Rick looking out, and I thought I better take a hand. Didn't know just what to do until I spotted this BB gun in front of the porch."

His voice hardened as Red Kelso shifted position. "But now I know what to do."

Far down Million Dollar Row, Jerry met the State Police cars. And as Rick grinned up at the Captain, he heard the welcome sound of sirens.



CHAPTER XX

Read All About It!

Jerry Webster came out of the pressroom with a bundle of papers under his arm, the roar of the presses providing a background for his chant. "Extra! Read All About It! Spindrifters Smear Smugglers! Seaman Shows Shootin' Savvy! Simple Sap Scampers, Saves Skin! Read All About It!"

Rick snatched one of the papers. "Thanks, I will. Hey, gang, listen to this!" He read the headline aloud. "'Seaford Gunrunners Caught.'"

Scotty took a paper, too, and read the subhead. "'New Night Movie Camera Supplies Evidence for Surprise Raid.'" He grinned at Jerry and Duke Barrows. "Very restrained. Not a purple adjective in the lot."

Captain Douglas let out a bellow. "Hey! You don't mention the State Police until the second line of the story. Call a cop someone, I want these guys pinched."

"Charge 'em with serving poison coffee," Cap'n Mike suggested. "Never drank such a brew in my life."

Duke grinned. "That isn't coffee, skipper. It's printer's ink with cream and sugar. Go on, Rick, or someone. Read the rest of it."

"Byline," Rick said, "by Jerry Webster, and under that it says copyrighted by the Morning Record. How did you copyright it so quickly, Duke?"

"Sent a copy air mail to the copyright office and enclosed a dollar. The letter will go out tonight. It's standard procedure. Go on, read. I edited Jerry's story so fast I didn't have a chance to enjoy it."

Rick read on. "'A Seaford trawler captain, four members of his crew, and two New Yorkers were arrested tonight on gunrunning charges after a surprise raid by State Police officers culminated a series of events that included the wrecking of the trawler Sea Belle, the use of a new invention by the two youngest members of the Spindrift Island Foundation to photograph the transfer of arms under cover of darkness on the high seas, the kidnapping and maltreatment of a Morning Record reporter, and a fight in the attic of the Creek House hotel that was ended by the timely intervention of a retired sea captain.'" Rick got the last words out with his last bit of breath.

Scotty looked at Jerry with admiration. "He's not only a distance runner, he's a distance writer. That was a hundred-yard sentence."

"I cannot tell a lie," Jerry said modestly. "I did it with my little dictionary. Written by an ancestor who was also famous. Noah Webster."

"'One of the most surprising disclosures,'" Rick read on, "'was the reason for the stubborn silence of Captain Thomas Tyler, master of the trawler Sea Belle, which was wrecked on Smugglers' Reef a week ago. As reported in previous editions, Captain Tyler maintained an obstinate silence as to the real reason for the wreck of the trawler in the face of pleas from friends and officials. He had maintained that he was solely responsible and that his error in judgment had been caused by liquor. After the arrest of the smugglers, Captain Tyler willingly told this reporter that he had discovered the smuggling activities of Captain Bradford Marbek and Roger and James Kelso two weeks before.'"

"That was a good guess we made," Cap'n Mike said soberly. "Poor Tom. He was in some spot. He knew about the smuggling, but he was like we were. Couldn't prove a thing. He could have told the police and asked for protection, but they wouldn't have had grounds for holding Brad and the Kelsos. They would have been free to carry out their threats against his family inside of twenty-four hours."

"That's right," Scotty said. "But he didn't know any more than we did what they were smuggling."

The axes of police officers had disclosed rifles, submachine guns, and ammunition in the cases innocently labeled as sewing machines, and no one had been more surprised than the boys.

"Thousands of guns and ammunition must have gone out before we caught on," Rick said. "What happens to the people that received them?"

"That's not our affair," Captain Douglas told him. "Since they went to ships and nationals of a foreign country, it's up to the Department of State to take action, if there's going to be any."

"We filed the story with Universal Press Service," Jerry explained. "It's all over the country by this time. Copyright by the Whiteside Morning Record." He grinned. "We're modest, Duke and I."

"You are, anyway," Rick scoffed. "'Kidnapping and maltreatment of a Morning Record reporter.' Why didn't you give the reporter's name?"

Jerry turned a little red, but he said loftily, "We heroes prefer to remain anonymous."

"Heroes is right," Duke said dryly. "You came within an inch of having a bronze plaque erected to your memory as one who fell in line of duty."

"What? Only bronze?" Jerry looked hurt.

Rick gave him a comradely wink. Jerry's act had brought him close to the ranks of heroes at that, if quick thinking and nerve combined with bad luck were any qualification. He glanced through the story quickly, and found what the young reporter had said about his own part.

"'While attempting to gather evidence, the Morning Record reporter who figured in the case was caught by the truckmen who delivered the arms to Creek House. After being beaten, bound, and gagged, he was taken to the hotel. His questioning was interrupted by the arrival of Brant and Scott.'"

And that really was modesty. Jerry had been returning from the boat landing when he passed a big trailer truck that carried the name of a large manufacturer of industrial castings. He thought quickly, surprised at seeing such a vehicle in Whiteside. Such trucks always used the shorter main route. To his positive knowledge, there was not a single manufacturing plant on the entire shore road on which Whiteside and Seaford were located. There was a definite chance, he decided, that the truck might be carrying a load for Creek House. He knew the smugglers had made fast changes in their plans, as witness the moving up of the ship sailing. There was a strong possibility they had been forced to ask for immediate shipment of contraband, too.

Jerry passed the truck and stopped at the newspaper long enough to scrawl a note to Duke, explaining what had happened, then he passed the truck again and drove furiously toward Seaford. He went by Salt Creek Bridge and parked his car in a pasture, then ran back to the bridge, made his way into the marsh and waited.

The trailer truck arrived, stopped, and put out flares, and three men got out. They jacked up the rear wheels of the trailer, then started to unload. By so doing, they had a perfect reason for being there. If a police car came along, they had only to explain that they had broken an axle and were replacing it, and that they had taken out part of their cargo to lighten the load until repairs were completed.

The stage was no sooner set than up the river came the flatboat from Creek House. It pushed its way into the marsh, toward Jerry. Not until the actual loading started did he discover his bad luck. He had taken a fairly well-defined path into the marsh. The path was artificial, made by the Kelsos. They had carried rocks to make both the path and the stone jetty to which the flatboat had come. The deception had worked, because the path and jetty surfaces, strong enough to carry the weight of men with heavy cases, were under an inch of mud and water!

Jerry had described the end simply. "They fell over me. I tried to get away, but there were too many of them."

But he had gotten in one good blow. His hand closed over one of the rocks of the path and he swung it effectively. The State Police, hearing his story, made a routine check of doctors and hospitals along the route the truck probably had taken; they assumed it would not turn around on the narrow shore road. The trucker Jerry had felled was in a small clinic two towns below Seaford, and an interstate alarm had gone out for the others, giving license numbers and descriptions supplied by the reporter. They wouldn't get far.

Jerry's luck had been bad, but Captain Douglas' luck had been good. The accumulated evidence probably would have been enough, but one of Brad's seamen had talked, hoping for a lighter sentence.

Rick was most pleased to find that his theory about Smugglers' Light had been close to the truth. The marks on the old tower had been made by a powerful light supplied by Brad Marbek. The light, once used for night purse seine fishing, was powered by a carbon arc. A cable, connected into the same junction box that supplied Smugglers' Reef Light, had furnished the power. The police officers had found signs of tampering in the junction box, but they had called the authorities responsible for the light to make a definite check. The light itself had been stowed in Brad Marbek's home. One quarter of the cylinder had been blacked out with paint. Red cellophane was pasted on to another quarter.

There were still no answers to who had phoned the warning to Rick, or why Carrots had trailed them into Whiteside, but those things weren't important, anyway. Probably their original guesses had been right.

The others had fallen silent, engrossed in reading Jerry's story. Rick went through it again, more carefully. The young reporter had done well. It was an exciting yarn. Then he looked at the "side pieces," other stories dealing with the case, written by both Duke and Jerry in the feverish rush to make the morning paper. There was a simple statement by Captain Killian, who long since was asleep in his own bed at Seaford. There was a photo of Rick and Scotty with the infrared camera and a story by Duke of its use in the collecting of evidence. The staff photographer had taken that one after they all returned to Whiteside, accompanying the police and the prisoners to jail. The entire back page was devoted to pictures, some reproductions from Rick's movie and some taken at the jail by the staff photographer. There was one of Cap'n Mike holding Carrots' rifle, and the caption explained how he had rescued the boys.

"How much per column inch did you say?" Rick asked Duke slyly.

"Too much. This will bankrupt me."

Scotty folded his paper. "We'd better get back to Spindrift, Rick."

"That's right." Rick knew his folks would be waiting to see the paper, too. He had phoned them as soon as they reached the jail.

"I'll take you to the landing," Jerry offered, "then I'll run Cap'n Mike down to Seaford."

"Never mind," Captain Douglas said. "I have a patrol car going down that way in fifteen minutes. It can drop him off."

Cap'n Mike shook hands with both of the boys. "I'll see you tomorrow, I reckon."

"In the afternoon," Rick said. "We'll sleep in the morning." After the fight at Creek House, Cap'n Mike had rowed them to the Spindrift speedboat in his dory. They had gotten their clothes, but left the boat at the hotel. It would be safe; police officers would keep an eye on it while guarding the load of arms.

Captain Douglas shook hands, too. "I should make a speech," he told them with a smile. "You know, about your both being good citizens, aiding the police at risk of life and limb and so on...."

Rick grinned sheepishly. "I'm afraid we weren't thinking about the citizen part of it, Captain. We just...."

"I was about to add that." Captain Douglas laughed. "But thanks, anyway."

Duke Barrows said, "I don't suppose you would accept the coffee we served you as part payment?"

Scotty snorted. "Aren't you the one said it wasn't coffee?"

"All right." Duke's shoulders slumped. "Drive me into debt paying you off. Go ahead."

"We will," Rick retorted, "and don't take the price of these papers you gave us off the amount, either."

The editor laughed. "Okay. Take them home, Jerry. They'll have to wait until the first of the month for their money, just like the rest of our creditors. So long, kids, and thanks a million for a swell story."

As they drove to the landing, Rick glanced quizzically at Jerry. "Well, you asked for it. Remember?"

Jerry was puzzled.

"The night we went to get a story on the wreck," Scotty explained. "Didn't you say you wished you would get in on an adventure with us?"

"I certainly did. I didn't know what I was asking for, believe me." Jerry's grin widened. He touched his head tenderly, patting the bruises he had collected. Then he laughed. "I was scared silly, but you know, I kind of enjoyed it!"

Rick and Scotty broke into laughter, too.

* * * * *

Rick was figuring out some changes in the infrared camera attachment on the following Monday when Scotty came into the room.

"Just got back from Whiteside with the paper and the mail," he announced. "And look at this!" He indicated an item on the front page.

It was a Universal News Service dispatch. Authorities of a republic in the Caribbean had arrested the country's former dictator on a charge of planning a revolution, pointing to a large cache of arms and ammunition found on his estate as evidence. Arrested for complicity was the president of the Compania Maritima Caribe y Atlantica. Warrants were being issued for a number of others.

"That settles that," Rick said. "Looks like we stopped a revolution!"

"We're the kids what did it," Scotty boasted. He dropped a letter in front of Rick. "Got this, too. Look who it's from."

The postmark was Bombay. It was from Chahda, the first letter since the Hindu boy had left them in New Caledonia to return to India.

"He's fine," Scotty said. "I read it at the post office. His brothers and sisters didn't believe some of his stories, but he's convincing them. Also, he's going to work. He can't tell us yet what his job will be, because it's a sort of secret."

"Then he won't come back to America for a while," Rick said, disappointed. "We won't see him." He grinned, remembering the first time they had met Chahda. "He's probably at Crawford Market right now, bargaining at the top of his lungs for something." He picked up the letter and started to read, picturing Chahda, in his native dress once more, at home in Bombay.

* * * * *

Rick's mental image was far from the truth. As he read the letter, Chahda was writing to Rick and Scotty again, but this time he was composing an urgent cable, laboriously working over the cipher that would conceal its content from his strange enemy.

The Hindu boy was in the hiding place he had chosen deep in the Indian quarter of Singapore, but he knew it was only a temporary refuge. Once he emerged, the shadow would find him again. But if he could succeed in getting to the cable office first, Rick and Scotty would get his message, and they would come. Once the three of them were united again, let the shadow do as it would!

Chahda finished his composition, folded it and tucked it securely into his turban, then he slipped through a door into the darkness of the Singapore night. In his ciphered message was the key to an adventure that would plunge his American friends into both darkness and danger in the fabled, terrifying Caves of Korse Lenken, a story to be related in the next volume,

THE CAVERNS OF FEAR.

* * * * *



THE RICK BRANT

Science-Adventure Stories

BY JOHN BLAINE

Rick Brant and his pal, Scotty, have the kind of adventures all boys would like to have. They live on an island called Spindrift where Rick's father heads a group of scientists working in the field of electronics. Here and abroad, the boys encounter many thrilling adventures and solve many baffling mysteries.

THE ROCKET'S SHADOW

THE LOST CITY

SEA GOLD

100 FATHOMS UNDER

THE WHISPERING BOX MYSTERY

THE PHANTOM SHARK

SMUGGLERS' REEF

THE CAVES OF FEAR

Grosset & Dunlap Publishers

NEW YORK 10, N.Y.

* * * * *



THE KEN HOLT MYSTERY STORIES

By Bruce Campbell

Ken Holt, son of a world-famous foreign correspondent, and Sandy Allen, of the redheaded Allen clan, join forces at a time when Ken is very much in need of help. They fall into the thick of a mystery as readily as a duck takes to water, and no sooner are they on the scent than the suspense begins to mount and every reader knows he is in for a thrilling time.

THE SECRET OF SKELETON ISLAND

Ken and Sandy solve the mystery of the strange goings-on at the exclusive resort on Skeleton Island.

THE RIDDLE OF THE STONE ELEPHANT

In Colorado gathering data for Ken's dad about an old lawsuit between two ranchmen over water rights, Ken and Sandy find every move thwarted, every action watched.

THE BLACK THUMB MYSTERY

Ken and Sandy prove the innocence of a banker who has been found guilty of conspiracy in a robbery. The boys track down many clues before they discover the motive behind the sinister plot.

THE CLUE OF THE MARKED CLAW

Vacationing in a fishing village on Long Island, Ken and Sandy play an unexpected part in the capture of a dangerous ring of smugglers.

GROSSET & DUNLAP

Publishers of WORDS: The New Dictionary

NEW YORK 10, N. Y.

* * * * *



THE HARDY BOYS

Mystery Stories

By FRANKLIN N. DIXON

All boys from 11 to 15 who like lively adventure stories, packed with mystery and action, will want to read every one of the exciting Hardy Boys stories listed below. Sons of a famous American detective, the Hardy boys help solve many thrilling mysteries after school hours and during vacations, as they follow up the clues they unearth in their quest to bring criminals to justice.

Now Available:

1. THE TOWER TREASURE

2. THE HOUSE ON THE CLIFF

3. THE SECRET OF THE OLD MILL

4. THE MISSING CHUMS

5. HUNTING FOR HIDDEN GOLD

6. THE SHORE ROAD MYSTERY

7. THE SECRET OF THE CAVES

8. THE MYSTERY OF CABIN ISLAND

9. THE GREAT AIRPORT MYSTERY

10. WHAT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT

11. WHILE THE CLOCK TICKED

12. FOOTPRINTS UNDER THE WINDOW

13. THE MARK ON THE DOOR

14. THE HIDDEN HARBOR MYSTERY

15. THE SINISTER SIGN POST

16. A FIGURE IN HIDING

17. THE SECRET WARNING

18. THE TWISTED CLAW

19. THE DISAPPEARING FLOOR

20. THE MYSTERY OF THE FLYING EXPRESS

21. THE CLUE OF THE BROKEN BLADE

22. THE FLICKERING TORCH MYSTERY

23. THE MELTED COINS

24. THE SHORT-WAVE MYSTERY

25. THE SECRET PANEL

26. THE PHANTOM FREIGHTER

27. THE SECRET OF SKULL MOUNTAIN

28. SIGN OF THE CROOKED ARROW

29. THE SECRET OF THE LOST TUNNEL

30. THE WAILING SIREN MYSTERY

G R O S S E T & D U N L A P Publishers N E W Y O R K

* * * * *

The RICK BRANT SCIENCE-ADVENTURE Stories

BY JOHN BLAINE

THE ROCKET'S SHADOW

THE LOST CITY

SEA GOLD

100 FATHOMS UNDER

THE WHISPERING BOX MYSTERY

THE PHANTOM SHARK

SMUGGLERS' REEF

THE CAVES OF FEAR

* * * * *

THE END