THE FLYING STINGAREE

 BY JOHN BLAINE

 A RICK BRANT SCIENCE-ADVENTURE STORY

GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERSNEW YORK, N. Y. 

BY GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC. , 1963

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

_Printed in the United States of America_

[Transcriber's note: Extensive research found no evidencethat the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. ]

 To my sons, Chris and Derek, who have watched the stingarees from the sun deck of the cruising houseboat Spindrift

THE FLYING STINGAREE

What's shaped like a sting ray and flies over Chesapeake Bay? This isthe eerie riddle which confronts Rick Brant and his friend Don Scottwhen, seeking shelter from a storm, they anchor the houseboat_Spindrift_ in a lonely cove along the Maryland shore and spot theflying stingaree. 

The "thing, " they learn, is not the only one of its kind--one isactually suspected of having kidnaped a man!

The residents of the Eastern Shore of Maryland believe the strangeobjects are flying saucers, but, weary of ridicule, have ceasedreporting the sightings. 

Rick and Scotty, their scientific curiosity aroused, begin acomprehensive investigation, encouraged by their friend Steve Ames, ayoung government intelligence agent, whose summer cottage is near thecove. 

As the clues mount up, the trail leads to Calvert's Favor, a historicplantation house--and to the very bottom of Chesapeake Bay. How Rick andScotty, at the risk of their lives, ground the eerie menace forevermakes a tale of high-voltage suspense. 

[Illustration: _Little Choptank River_]

Contents

 I CHESAPEAKE BAY

 II THE FLYING STINGAREE

 III ORVIL HARRIS, CRABBER

 IV STEVE'S PLACE

 V THE FACE IS FAMILIAR

 VI THE SAUCER SIGHTERS

 VII SIGHTING DATA

 VIII CALVERT'S FAVOR

 IX THE DUCK BLIND

 X KEN HOLT COMES THROUGH

 XI ON THE BOTTOM

 XII NIGHT RECOVERY

 XIII THE NIGHT WATCHERS

 XIV DAYBREAK

 XV THE EMPTY BOAT

 XVI STEVE WAITS IT OUT

 XVII CROWD AT MARTINS CREEK

 XVIII THE STINGAREE'S TAIL

 XIX LUCKY LEFTY

 XX HUNT THE WIDE WATERS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Little Choptank River

Scotty fitted the camera to the telescope

Now to find out what he had

The flying stingaree lifted him

CHAPTER I

Chesapeake Bay

The stingaree swam slowly through the warm waters of Chesapeake Bay. Geography meant nothing to the ray, whose sole interest in life wasfood, but his position--had he known it--was in the channel that runsbetween Poplar Island and the town of Wittman on the Eastern Shore ofMaryland. The ray was also directly in the path of an odd-lookingcruising houseboat, the _Spindrift_, that had just rounded the northpoint of Poplar Island and entered the channel. 

The sting ray's color was an olive brown, so dark in tone that he lookedlike wet black leather. He was roughly diamond-shaped, like a kite, withrounded sides. He had a long, slim tail that carried vicious barbs alongthe base of its upper side. It was from the barbs, which served asdefensive weapons, that the name sting ray, or stingaree, derived. Theray was harmless to men--unless one chanced to step on him as he layresting on the bottom ooze. At such rare times, his tail would lash up, inflicting a serious and painful wound. 

A tiny crab, hatched only a week before, swam upward toward the gleamingsurface, his churning legs making a slight disturbance. The ray sensedthe small vibrations and instantly changed course, speeding through thewater like a fantastic spaceship of the future. Intent on the crab, theray ignored the stronger vibrations caused by a pair of outboard motorsand a long, flat-bottomed hull. Not until the crab was within reach didthe ray sense imminent danger. With a single flashing movement, hesnatched the crab and flung himself upward through the shining surfaceand into the air. 

Rick Brant, at the helm of the cruising houseboat, saw the ray breakwater and he let out a yell. "Scotty! Look!"

Don Scott, asleep at full length on the houseboat's sun deck, which wasalso its cabin top, awoke in time to see the dark shape reenter the calmwater. "Stingaree!" he exclaimed. 

Rick had never seen an area more teeming with life than Chesapeake Bay, unless it was the jungles of the South Pacific. Books, guides to easternland and water birds, regional fish and reptiles, rested on the cabintop before him, along with a pair of binoculars. He had used them allrepeatedly, identifying eagles, wild swans, ospreys, wild duck andgeese, terrapin, snapping turtles and water snakes, as well as a hordeof lesser creatures. Trailing lines over the houseboat stern hadcaptured striped sea bass, called "rockfish" locally, a species ofdrumfish called "spot" because of a black spot on the gills, pinkcroakers that the Marylanders called "hardheads, " and the blue crabs forwhich the bay is famous. He had seen clam dredges bringing up bushels ofsoft-shelled, long-necked clams that the dredgers called "manos, " and hehad seen the famous Maryland "bugeyes" and "skip-jacks"--sailing craftused for dredging oysters. The boats were not operated during the oysterbreeding season from the end of March until September. 

Rick's interest in the life of the great bay was to be expected. As sonof the director of the world-famous Spindrift Scientific Foundation, located on Spindrift Island off the coast of New Jersey, he had beenbrought up among scientists. The habit of observation had developedalong with his natural--and insatiable--curiosity. 

The tall, slim, brown-haired, brown-eyed boy was completely happy. Heenjoyed casual living, especially on the water, and life on the_Spindrift_ couldn't have been more casual. He was dressed in a tatteredpair of shorts and a wristwatch. Once, in the cool of the evening, hehad slipped on a sweat shirt. Otherwise, the shorts had been his soleattire while on board since leaving his home island a few days before. 

Scotty, a husky, dark-haired boy clad only in red swimming trunks, camedown the ladder from the cabin top and stood beside Rick in the cockpit. "Now that you woke me up to look at a fish, suppose you tell me where weare? Last thing I remember, we were passing under the Bay Bridge offAnnapolis. "

"That's Bloody Point Lighthouse behind us, " Rick said. "Poplar Island ison the starboard and the Eastern Shore to port. That black thingsticking up ahead of us is a light buoy. When we reach it, we should beable to see the range markers into Knapps Narrows. "

Scotty checked the chart on the table hinged to the bulkhead formed bythe rear cabin wall. "What time is it?"

Rick glanced at his watch. "Five after six. Time for chow. Want torustle up something? Or shall we eat at Knapps Narrows? The cruisingguide says there's a restaurant there. "

"Let's eat out, " Scotty replied promptly. "I'm sick of my cooking--andyours. I'd like some Maryland crab cakes like those we had in ChesapeakeCity. "

Rick remembered with pleasure. "Suits me. "

"Think we'll get to Steve's tonight?" Scotty asked. 

"I doubt it. We probably could reach the mouth of the river about dark, but then we'd have to navigate up the river and into a creek beforereaching Steve's. I don't want to tackle these Chesapeake backwaters atnight. "

The destination of the houseboat was the summer cottage of Rick's oldfriend, Steve Ames, who was also a chief agent of JANIG, the top-secretFederal security organization. The boys, and the Spindrift scientists, had worked on several cases for JANIG, starting with the adventure of_The Whispering Box Mystery_. Steve was responsible for Rick's ownershipof the houseboat, which had been named for Rick's home island on thegrounds that it was now his "home away from home. "

Rick's first glimpse of the houseboat had been from the air. At therequest of Steve Ames, he, Scotty, his sister Barby, and Jan Miller, daughter of one of the Spindrift physicists, had been searching thecoast of New Jersey for signs of strangers in the area. Barby hadspotted the houseboat, which at that time was painted a bright orange. Later, the houseboat had played a major role in the adventure of _TheElectronic Mind Reader_, and Rick had fought for his life and the safetyof the two girls in the very cabin behind which he now stood. Thehouseboat had been impounded by Federal authorities, and recently Stevehad mentioned to Rick that it was to be auctioned. After consulting withhis family, Rick had entered a bid for the boat. His bid had been theonly one, and he became owner at what was close to a salvage price. 

It was Rick's pride that his chief possessions had been bought with hisown money, and the houseboat was no exception. Like his first plane, theCub, he expected the houseboat to pay its own way. Rick had recoveredhis investment in the Cub by using it to operate Spindrift Island'sferry service to the mainland. Rick flew the scientists to NewarkAirport when they had to catch planes, or he flew to Whiteside forgroceries, or into New York to pick up parts and supplies. The houseboatcould not be used in the same way, but he was sure he could get itsprice back by renting it to summer visitors to the New Jersey area. Hehad repainted it in two shades of green with a white top, and had made afew other improvements. 

Before renting the boat, however, he intended to have an extendedhouseboat vacation. He and Scotty had left Spindrift Island, headedsouth into Manasquan Inlet, and then sailed into the inland waterway. Byeasy stages--the houseboat could make only ten miles an hour--they hadmoved down the waterway into Delaware Bay, up the Delaware River, through the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal, and into Chesapeake Bay. Now, some twenty miles south of Annapolis, the boys were nearing Steve'ssummer cottage. 

Rick's parents, with Barby and Jan, were now on their way to WallopsIsland rocket range operated by the National Aeronautics and SpaceAdministration. Hartson Brant had business there in connection withinstruments the Spindrift group of scientists had designed for measuringsolar X rays. The instruments would be launched in rockets. WallopsIsland was near Chincoteague, Virginia, just across theMaryland-Virginia border on the long peninsula called "The EasternShore" that runs between Chesapeake Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. By car, Wallops was less than two hours from Steve's summer cottage. 

As soon as his business was concluded, Hartson Brant planned to drive toSteve's, where the Brants and the two girls would join Rick and Scottyfor a vacation on the houseboat. There was plenty of room. The_Spindrift_ was thirty feet long and ten feet wide, and had two cabins. Four could sleep in the forward cabin, and two amidships where thegalley, dinette, and bath were located. Steve had agreed to drive theBrant car to Spindrift on his next trip to New York. The houseboat, withthe full clan aboard, would travel leisurely back to the home island. 

Rick was delighted with the arrangements. The Brants--and that includedScotty, who had become one of them after his discharge from the UnitedStates Marine Corps--were a close-knit family whose members enjoyeddoing things together. Rick considered Jan Miller, Barby's dearestfriend, a welcome addition to the party. 

"Range light ahead, " Scotty said. 

Rick nodded. The light was set atop a black piling. The color meant hewould have to pass it to port, then pick up the red beacon at theentrance to the Narrows, passing the red beacon to starboard. This wasin accordance with the old sailors' rule: _red right returning_, whichmeans keep red markers and buoys on the starboard, or right, whenreturning from seaward. It was fun navigating in strange waters. He hadnever heard of Knapps Narrows a few days before, or of Tilghman Island, where the Narrows were located. Nor had he heard of the Choptank River, which lay just below the island. 

The houseboat plowed ahead, its twin outboards purring. Its bow, roundedlike the front of a toboggan, slapped into a slight swell. Rick passedthe range light and headed for the red tower that marked the opening ofthe Narrows. In a few moments they were in the Narrows, passing lines ofdocked crab, oyster, and clam boats. There was a bridge ahead, with agasoline dock in its shadow. Rick gauged wind and current and decidedhow he would maneuver into place. The current was heavy in the channel, running in the direction in which he was headed. 

"I'll nose in, and you jump off with a bowline, " he directed Scotty. "We'll let the stern swing around with the current. That will leave usfacing the way we came, so we won't have to turn when we leave. "

In a short time the maneuver was completed. Rick edged the rounded noseof the houseboat against the seawall as Scotty stepped ashore carryingthe bowline. He snubbed it tightly around a piling and held fast whilethe ungainly boat swung with the current. Rick stepped to the seawallwith the stern line as the craft swung completely around, and the boysmade the boat fast. 

"Now, " Scotty said, "let's gas up and eat. "

After filling the gas tanks, loading the icebox with fresh ice, andtopping off the water tank, the boys slipped into shirts, slacks, andshoes, then headed for the restaurant that adjoined the dock. Overdelicious, spicy Maryland crab cakes and coffee, they talked with theproprietor, a friendly, heavy-set Eastern Shore man who spoke with thetypical slurred accents of the region. 

"Quite a boat you got there, " the man said. 

Rick grinned. "It does look sort of odd, but it's comfortable. "

"Expect so. Thought it was a seagoin' flyin' saucer when I saw it comin'through the Narrows. "

Scotty munched crab cake appreciatively. "Seen many flying saucersaround here?" he asked whimsically. 

"A few. "

The boys stared. 

The man smiled at the reaction. "Didn't expect that? It's true. We seeone now and again. "

"Really?" Rick asked. 

"Sure as geese fly. Don't know that they're really flyin' saucers likewe read about in the Washington and Baltimore papers--we get both--butthey're somethin' strange. Not natural, anyway. "

The boys looked at each other. There was no doubt that the proprietorbelieved what he was saying. He was as casual as though reporting acatch of fish. 

"Seen any recently?" Scotty inquired. 

"Two nights ago. Always see 'em about dusk. Real plain, against the sky. Sun hits 'em when they get high enough. They shine, sometimes silver, sometimes red. "

"Funny we haven't seen anything about it in the papers, " Rick commented. 

"Oh, I don't know. Used to be we'd report 'em, and the papers carried afew lines. But the way the stories got written, you'd think us EasternShore folks were short a few marbles. We got tired of being laughed at, so no one says much about the saucers any more. "

"But lots of people see them?" Scotty asked. 

"Sure. Anyone that happens to be outdoors. "

"Ever report these sightings to the authorities?" Rick wanted to know. 

"Did at first. Called the State Police myself. The Coast Guard boys arelocated right here at the Narrows, and they reported to Baltimore. Nothin' happened. The authorities aren't sold on flyin' saucers, youmight say. I guess the last report was when Link Harris was kidnaped byone. "

Rick's scalp prickled. "You honestly mean someone was kidnaped by aflying saucer?"

"It's the only thing we can think of. Link went out to set his crablines, like always, and never came home. We set out to find him, and wefound his boat all right, but no Link. One of the saucers was seen byseveral folks, and they said later it seemed right over where he wasworkin' at about the time he was there. "

The boys digested this startling information. "Maybe he was drowned, "Rick ventured. 

"In a creek? Not likely! Link's been crabbin' for thirty years in thesewaters. Water was smooth. Not a ripple, even out on the bay. Even if hefell over, he could almost walk ashore. Tide was out and he was settin'lines in about six feet, and he's better than two yards high. Shorewasn't more than twenty yards away. "

"Maybe he hit his head when he fell, " Scotty suggested. 

"Possible, but even if he drowned we'd have found his body. "

Rick shook his head. "It's hard to believe a man could be kidnaped by aflying saucer. Couldn't he have gone ashore and walked out of the area?Maybe he _wanted_ to disappear. "

"You're mighty hard to convince, " the proprietor said good-humoredly. Itwas clear he didn't particularly care whether they were convinced ornot. He was making conversation just to be sociable. "Where Link wassettin' lines is just a little creek with marsh all around. No man withany sense would get out of a boat and go ashore into marshland, nowwould he? Besides, there's no reason Link would want to disappear. Helived all alone and did about what he pleased. Crabs netted him enoughmoney for his needs. "

"How long ago did this happen?" Rick asked. 

"Two, three weeks. Not long. "

"Where?" Scotty queried. 

"Few miles south. In a creek off the Little Choptank. "

"That's where we're going!" Rick exclaimed. 

"So? Well, watch for Swamp Creek. It's on the chart. That's where theygot Link. Where you headed?"

"A place called Martins Creek, " Rick replied. 

"Uh-huh. Well, Martins is on the south shore, and Swamp Creek is on thenorth, about three miles closer to the river mouth. You'll pass it onthe way. Better keep an eye open. That boat of yours might attractflyin' saucers the way a decoy attracts ducks. "

Rick saw the twinkle in the proprietor's eye. "We'll set a bear trap onthe upper deck, " he said. "Any flying saucer tries to pick us up, thepilot will catch one of his six legs in it. "

"Likely, " the man agreed. "You catch one, bring it to the Narrows, willyou? Always wanted to see one at close range. "

"We'll do that, " Rick agreed, and no premonition or hunch warned him howclose he and Scotty would come to carrying out the promise. 

CHAPTER II

The Flying Stingaree

Someone once said that the Chesapeake Bay "looks like the deck plan ofan octopus, " but the mental image created by the phrase tells but afraction of the story. Rivers and creeks empty into the bay by thedozens, and every river, and most of the creeks, have tributaries. Evensome of the tributaries have tributaries. The result is thousands ofmiles of navigable waters, forming a maze of waterways that it wouldtake most of a lifetime of weekend cruising to explore. 

The cruising houseboat _Spindrift_ moved steadily across the mouth ofone of the principal waterways of the Eastern Shore, the Choptank River. It was a good three miles across the river's mouth, and Rick occupiedthe time by reading aloud to Scotty, who was piloting. 

"'The Choptank River is navigable for large ships to the city ofCambridge, a principal Eastern Shore port. Yachts will find the rivernavigable for twenty miles beyond Cambridge, depending on their draft, while boats of shallow draft can cruise all the way into the State ofDelaware. '" Rick paused in his reading and looked up. "Be fun to go upone of these rivers to the source, wouldn't it?"

"Maybe we can, " Scotty replied. "Read on. "

"'The name Choptank comes from the Choptank Indians who lived in thearea until the middle of the nineteenth century. These Indians werefirst discovered by Captain John Smith when he sailed into ChesapeakeBay in search of a location for what later became the JamestownColony. '"

"We're sailing through history, " Scotty commented. "And we'd better stepon it. " He pushed the throttles forward. The houseboat accelerated toits top speed of about twelve miles an hour. 

"What's up?" Rick demanded. 

"Look to the southwest. That must be one of those Chesapeake Bay squallsthe book warns about. "

There was a black line of clouds some distance away, but Rick could seethat the squall line was moving fast, crossing the bay in theirdirection. He swung the chart table up and studied the situation. Theywere close to the south shore of the Choptank River now, and the chartshowed no easily accessible place of shelter in the vicinity. They wouldhave to run for the Little Choptank, the next river to the south. Thechart showed several creeks off the Little Choptank. They could duckinto the one nearest the river mouth. 

"Can we ride it out if we have to?" Rick asked. 

Scotty grinned. "We'll find out, if we have to. But I'd rather not be inopen water when a squall hits this barge. It's not built for storms. Keep your fingers crossed and hope we get to cover before it hits. "

"I hear you talking. I'm going to do a little research. " Rick duckedinto the cabin and took the tide tables from the bookshelf. Back ondeck, he leafed through the official publication and found that thenearest point for tidal data was the Choptank River Light, only a fewmiles away and clearly visible. High and low tides at the light wereabout three hours and fifteen minutes earlier than Baltimore, the datastation for the area. Rick checked Baltimore data for the date, subtracted quickly, and glanced at his watch. 

"High tide in about a half hour. The chart shows three feet near shoreat mean low water. High tide will bring it up to four and a half at thevery least. That's plenty for this barge. Get inshore and cut corners. We won't have to stick to the channel. "

Scotty swung the wheel instantly, and the houseboat took a new course, leading them closer to shore. "Better keep an eye out for logs orpilings, " Scotty warned. "No rocks in the area, so we don't have toworry about shoals. "

The wooded shore slid by, the trees gradually giving way to low scruband marsh grass as they neared the mouth of the Little Choptank. Rickalternately kept an eye out ahead and checked their position on thechart. They were in about five feet of water, more than enough for theshallow-draft houseboat. His principal worry was the outboardpropellers. He didn't want to break one on a log that might be stickingup underwater. 

The squall was closer now, and the sky was growing dark. Rick estimatedthat they had no more than ten minutes before the storm would hit. Hehad to look up at a sharp angle to see the storm front. Visibility wasdown to zero directly under it. Whitecaps and a roiling sea told himthere was plenty of wind in the squall. He doubted that the houseboatcould head into it successfully. The wind would catch the high cabinsides and force the houseboat onto the shore. 

Scotty swung around the northern tip of land that marked the mouth ofthe Little Choptank. "We won't make it, " he said, glancing at the chart. 

Rick nodded. "But the wind will be behind us. We can drive right intothe mouth of the nearest creek. According to the chart, there's a covejust inside the mouth where we ought to be out of the wind. " He put hisfinger on the place, and suddenly a chill ran through him. The nearestsafe harbor was Swamp Creek, where Link Harris had vanished!

There wasn't time to talk about it. He would have to be prepared to dropthe anchor quickly. "I'm going up on the bow, " he said. "Once into thecreek, turn as hard as you can into the wind, then cut the power. I'llheave the anchor over and the wind pressure on the boat can set it. Butkeep the motors turning over in case it doesn't hold. "

"Got it, " Scotty agreed. 

Rick stepped out of the cockpit onto the catwalk. The cabin top was justchest-high, and he could hold on by grabbing the safety rails that ranalong the sides of the large sun deck. He moved swiftly along the walkto the foredeck, a small semicircular deck used primarily for dockingand anchoring. The anchor line was coiled on a hook on the curving frontof the cabin, and the patent anchor was stowed on the deck itself. Ricktook the coil and faked down the line in smooth figure eights so itwould run out without fouling, then made sure the anchor was free andready to go. 

When Rick stood up and looked down the length of the cabin top atScotty, he saw that the squall was almost on them. The turbulent cloudfront was directly overhead. He saw the wind line, marked by turbulentwater, move swiftly toward the houseboat. The _Spindrift_ rocked asthough shaken by a giant hand, and its speed picked up appreciably. Thehouseboat began to pitch as the chop built up around it. Visibilitydropped suddenly; it was almost dark. Rick winced as large, hard-drivenraindrops lashed into his face, then he turned his back to the storm andstared ahead. 

The creek mouth was in sight. He pointed to it for Scotty's benefit, butwhen he turned to look at his pal, the driving rain slashed into hiseyes and made him look away. 

Scotty had seen the creek mouth. Staying as close to shore as he dared, Scotty drove the houseboat to within fifty yards of the narrow mouth, then swung the helm hard. The wind, which had been astern, was now abeamand its force was acting on the high side of the boat. The houseboatslewed sideways, and for a moment Rick thought they would be driven onto the upstream bank of the creek. But Scotty had judged his distanceand wind pressure well. The boat shot into the creek mouth with feet tospare. 

The cove opened up ahead. Scotty reversed one motor and the houseboatturned almost in its own length. Rick watched the shore throughsquinting eyes, and the moment he saw the boat's forward motion cease, he dropped the big anchor over. The wind caught the houseboat again anddrove it backward into the cove while the anchor line ran out. When hehad enough line out for safety, Rick snubbed it tight around a cleat, held the taut line between thumb and forefinger until he was sure it hadnone of the vibrations caused by a dragging anchor, and then hurriedback along the catwalk to the cockpit. He and Scotty ran from therainswept deck down the two steps into the cabin. 

For a moment the two stood grinning at each other and listening to theheavy drumming of the rain on the cabin top, then Rick spoke. "We'dbetter get out of these wet clothes so we can sit down. This may lastfor an hour or so. "

Scotty agreed. "First one into dry shorts makes the coffee. "

"That's me, " Rick said. He stripped off the soaking clothes, toweledquickly, and put on dry shorts. The rain had chilled the air, so hereached into the drawer under the amidships bunks, took out a sweatshirt, and pulled it over his head. It felt good. 

Scotty had taken time to dry off the books and binoculars he had broughtfrom the deck before he changed his own clothes. By the time he wasdressed in dry shorts and sweater, Rick had the alcohol stove going andwater heating for coffee. 

"Know where we are?" Rick asked casually. 

"Sure. We're--" Scotty stopped. "For Pete's sake! I didn't make theconnection at first. We're in Swamp Creek, where that man got snatchedby a flying saucer!"

"Right. Worried?"

Scotty grinned. "Any flying saucer that can navigate in this weather iswelcome to what it gets. How's the anchor?"

"Holding, " Rick said. "I hope. " He looked out the galley window andwatched the shore. It changed position as the boat moved, but that wasonly because the houseboat was swinging at anchor. "Seems all right, " headded. 

Ten minutes later coffee was ready. The boys sat at the dinette tableand sipped with relish, listening to the storm outside. It seemed to beincreasing in intensity. 

"Picking up, " Scotty said. "The guidebook wasn't kidding when it said'sudden and severe summer storms lash the bay. '"

"Wonder how long they last?" Rick asked. 

"Hard to say. Perhaps an hour. "

The houseboat jerked suddenly. Rick jumped to his feet. "Did you feelthat?"

The boat heeled under the lash of wind. Rick peeled off his sweat shirt. "Feels as though the anchor dragged a little. I'm going out and let outmore scope. We can't take a chance of drifting in this wind. "

"I'll go, " Scotty offered. 

"No. I put the anchor down. It's my fault if it slips. Stand by. "

Rick pulled the cabin door open and winced at the blast of raindrops, like heavy buckshot on his face and body. For a moment he hesitated, then realized the sooner he got it over with, the better. He hurried tothe catwalk and swung down it, meanwhile estimating his distances. Hecould let out another fifty feet of anchor line without getting the boattoo near shore. The more anchor line out, the better the anchor couldhold. 

He made the forward deck and looked around, realizing that the winddirection had changed and that the blast was now coming down the creek, swinging the houseboat around. That probably was why the anchor hadshifted. He knelt and took the line in his fingers. It no longer seemedto be slipping, but it was better not to take a chance. He unloosed thehalf hitches that held it to the cleat, threw off all but onefigure-eight turn, and let the anchor line run out slowly. When heestimated about fifty feet had run through, he put on more figure eightsaround the cleat, then dropped half hitches over to secure the line. Once more he reached out and held the taut line. It didn't seem to beslipping. He pulled on it hard, and felt the boat move. The anchor wasin solidly this time. 

Rick turned and started back to the catwalk, rain lashing his back. Sudden instinct made him whirl around in time to see something huge andblack rushing at him out of the storm. Rain blurred his vision. He had aswift impression of a black figure, shaped like a diamond, coming athim. He threw himself flat on the foredeck. There was a rustling soundoverhead, and something clanged off the cabin top's aluminum rail. Rickwas on his feet again. Heart pounding, he looked around. There wasnothing but rain and wind. He stood upright and looked across the cabintop. For an instant he glimpsed a black object above the canopy over therear cockpit, then that, too, was lost in the rain. 

Shaken, Rick made his way back to the cabin, entered, closed the door, and leaned against it. Scotty looked up, and was on his feet in aninstant. 

[Illustration (2 page 29 and 30)]

"Rick! What happened? You're white as a sheet!" he exclaimed. 

"Saw one, " Rick managed. He was still shaking. "It went right over theboat. I think it hit the upper rail. We'll check later. But it wasn't aflying saucer. I'm sure of that. "

"What was it?" Scotty demanded. 

"A flying stingaree!"

CHAPTER III

Orvil Harris, Crabber

Rick Brant awoke to the sound of a motor. For a moment he lay quietly inhis bunk, listening. The sun through the cabin windows told him it wasearly in the morning. The sunlight still had the red quality of earlysunrise. He watched the light shift as the houseboat swung on itsanchor. 

By the time the storm last night had ended, darkness had set in, and itwas only sensible to turn on the anchor light and remain in the SwampCreek cove for the night. In spite of his unsettling experience, Rickand Scotty had not been deeply disturbed. Neither he nor Scotty believedin flying saucers--at least, not in saucers that kidnaped people, andthe object Rick had seen had not been saucer-like. It had been shapedlike a stingaree. 

Stingarees don't fly. 

Rick smiled to himself. During another vacation, skin diving in theVirgin Islands, he and Scotty had proved that octopuses don't wail. Butif stingarees don't fly, he asked himself, what looks like a stingareeand _does_ fly?

He realized suddenly that the sound of the motor was louder once again. Someone investigating the houseboat? He swung out of bed. The cool airof morning was in sharp contrast to the warmth of his sleeping bag. Quickly he slipped into shorts and sweat shirt. As he opened the cabindoor, he heard the slap of bare feet on the deck behind him and turnedto see Scotty regain his balance after dropping from the upper bunk. 

"Go ahead, " Scotty called. "Be right with you. "

"Okay. " Rick stepped out into the cockpit and glanced around. It was alovely morning. The ever-present birds of the Chesapeake area werealready active. A huge blue heron stepped daintily in the shallows likea stilt walker afraid of falling over. The heron was looking for smallfish or anything that moved and was edible. An osprey, the great fishhawk of the bay region, swooped overhead on lazy wings, sharp eyes alertfor small fish near the water's surface. In the pine woods behind theshore marsh, a bluejay called, its voice like a squeaky hinge. 

The motor sound was distant now, and the shore upstream blocked Rick'sview. Then, as he watched, a long, low, white motorboat came into sight. Its bow was vertical, its sides low. There was no cabin. Amidships was asingle man, clad in overalls and a denim shirt. The man was surroundedby bushel baskets, and he held a long-handled crab net made of chickenwire. 

Rick watched with interest. On one side of the boat was a roller thatextended out over the water. A heavy cord came out of the water, crossedthe roller, and dipped back into the water again. Every few feet therewas a chunk of something on the cord, apparently bait. As Rick watched, a piece of bait came up with a crab clinging to it. The net swooped andthe crab was caught, pulled inboard, and dumped into a bushel basketwith one fluid motion. The crabber never took his eyes from the cord. The boat continued in a straight line. 

Scotty came out on deck and joined Rick. The boys watched in silencewhile the man caught a dozen crabs, then picked one from the bait andflipped it into the water. 

"Too small, I guess, " Rick commented. 

"Must be. Where does the line go?"

Rick pointed. A gallon oilcan, painted blue and white, bobbed gently inthe creek. "That's where he's heading. "

The crabber approached the can, then flipped the line off the roller. Using a lever next to him, he turned the boat and headed toward anothercan some distance away. A quick pull with a boat hook and the lineattached to the can was placed over the roller. Crabs appeared, holdingonto the bait as the boat moved along the new line. Rick counted. Thecrabber was getting about one crab for every three baits. 

Scotty leaned over the cockpit rail. "There's the end of his line, overnear shore. He'll pass close to us. "

"That's why the motor sounded loud, " Rick guessed. "He moves from oneline to another. Last time he came by the boat he woke me up. "

"Same here. " Scotty nodded. 

The crabber moved methodically, his boat proceeding at a steady pacetoward the houseboat. As he came abreast, he called, "Mornin'. "

The boys returned the greeting. 

"Looks like a good catch, " Scotty called. 

"Fair. Only fair. " The crabber scooped up a huge blue crab from almostunder their noses and went on his way. 

"If it's only fair now, what must it be like when it's good?" Rick askedwith a grin. 

"Two crabs on every hunk of bait, " Scotty said. "You count crabs andI'll make coffee. "

"That's my boy, " Rick said approvingly. 

Scotty went into the cabin and left Rick watching the crabber. Ricktried to figure out all the details. After a short time he concludedthat the floats were attached to anchors of some kind. The anchors keptthe crab line on the bottom, except when it was running over the roller. He also saw that there were no hooks or other gadgets. The crabs werecaught simply because they refused to let go of the bait. 

The aroma of coffee drifted through the cabin door, and Rick wonderedwhy it is that coffee, bacon, and other breakfast scents are so muchmore tantalizing on the water. 

The crabber approached on the leg of his journey closest to the boat. Onimpulse, Rick called, "Come aboard and have some coffee?"

The man grinned. Without missing his smooth swing at a rising crab, hecalled back, "Don't mind. That coffee smell was drivin' me nigh crazy. Be back when I finish this line. "

Rick leaned into the cabin. "Company for coffee, Scotty. "

"Heard you. Got another cup all ready. In here or out there?"

"Out here. It's too nice to be inside. "

In a few moments the motorboat, which turned out to be as long as thehouseboat, came alongside. Rick took the line thrown by the crabber andmade it fast so that the crab boat would drift astern. He looked intothe boat with interest. Covers on four baskets showed that the crabberhad collected four bushels of crabs. A fifth and sixth basket were halffull, one with very large crabs, the other with smaller ones. 

The crabber swung aboard. He was of medium height, with light-blue eyesset in a tanned and weather-beaten face. Rick guessed his age to besomewhere in the mid-forties. He smiled, showing even teeth that wereglaringly white in his tanned face. 

"Name's Orvil Harris, " he announced. 

"Rick Brant. " Rick shook hands. "That's Don Scott coming out with thecoffee. "

Scotty put down the coffeepot and mugs he was carrying and shook hands. "Call me Scotty, Mr. Harris. How do you like your coffee?"

"Strong and often, " Harris replied. "Plain black. Call me Orvil. "

Like all visitors, Harris was interested in the houseboat. "Been hopin'for a look inside, " he said in his slurred Eastern Shore accent. "Almostgave up hope. You get up late, seems like. "

Rick glanced at the sun. "Must be all of seven o'clock. You call thatlate?"

"Been here since four. It's late for me. "

Rick showed Orvil Harris through the boat, then sat with him and Scottyin the cockpit, sipping steaming coffee. The crabber talked willinglyabout his business. 

"Not much profit, " he reported, "but it beats workin'. "

After hearing about a crabber's life, rising in the middle of the night, rain or shine, working crab lines and hauling baskets around until noon, Rick wondered what Harris would consider hard work. Having spent adollar for six steamed crabs a few nights before, he was also amazed tohear the crabber report that he received only six dollars a bushel for"jumbo" crabs and three dollars a bushel for "culls, " or medium ones. All under four and a half inches from tip to tip were thrown back. 

Rick waited a courteous length of time before asking the question thathad been on his mind since hearing the crabber's name. "Are you anyrelation to Link Harris?"

"Second cousin. " The blue eyes examined him with new interest. "Where'dyou hear about Link?"

"At the Narrows, " Scotty replied. "We were talking about flyingsaucers. "

"Flyin' catfish, " Harris said scornfully. "You swallow that yarn?"

"Didn't you?" Rick asked quickly. 

"Not any. That why you picked this creek to anchor in when there's somany nicer ones upstream?"

Scotty explained. "We ducked in here to get out of that squall lastnight. We didn't exactly pick it. Afterward, we realized where we were. "

"Why don't you believe the story about Link Harris?" Rick wanted toknow. 

"Oh, I believe some of it. " The crabber took out a blackened, much-usedpipe and stoked it. "Link disappeared, all right. We found his boatyonder. " He pointed to a spot on the marshy shore. 

"He didn't drown?" Rick pressed. 

Harris shrugged. "Not very likely. We'd have found his body. Way thetides were that day, there was no ebb tide strong enough to carry a bodyout into deep water. The creek was clear. We'd have seen him. "

"Then where did he go?" Scotty demanded. 

"Can't say. When he disappeared, I went to Baltimore and bought everybook on flyin' saucers I could lay hands on. All I know for sure is thatwhat folks have been seein' around here ain't saucers. Shape's wrong, color's wrong, and they don't move the way the books say. "

"Would you say they were diamond-shaped, dark in color, with tails?"Rick asked carefully. 

Harris stopped with a match halfway to his pipe. "I would. For sure. When'd you see one?"

"Last night. Right here. "

"Mmmmm. " Harris got the pipe going well and threw the match into thewater. "I've never seen one close. Hoped to. That's why I crab thiscreek. Would you say it was big enough to catch a man?"

Rick shook his head. "I didn't get a very long look, but I'd saydefinitely not. Unless it had some kind of powerful motor I couldn't seeor hear. "

Harris puffed silently. 

"Any theories?" Scotty asked. 

"Not one. I'm barren as the flats in winter. "

Rick finished his coffee and put the mug down on the cabin top. "WouldLink have gone away of his own accord?"

"I wouldn't think so. " Harris accepted more coffee from Scotty. "Butlet's keep one foot anchored. Who knows what's in a man's mind? Any man?Sometimes there's a deep channel full of black water, and nothin' tomake you suspect it. Maybe Link did walk off. It would be the easiestexplanation--if you hadn't seen somethin' last night. I was about togive up. Now I'm not so sure. What you saw came from somewhere, and itwas goin' somewhere. If we could find out whence and whither, so tospeak, we might have an idea of what happened to Link. "

Harris drew erect. "Speakin' of whence and whither, what's yourdestination?"

"We're visiting a friend, " Rick answered. "He lives on Martins Creek onthe south side of the river. Name is Ames. "

Harris nodded. "I know who he is. Washington man. Has a summer place. "

"You've met him?" Scotty inquired. 

"So to speak. We've howdy'd, but we haven't shook. "

Rick smothered a grin at the picturesque phrase. 

"I'd better get back to crabs, " Harris said. "I'm mighty grateful forthe hospitality. You get to town, look me up, and give me a chance toreturn it. " He shook hands with both boys, pulled his boat alongside, and stepped aboard. In a short time, he was running the crab linesagain. 

"Interesting, " Rick said noncommittally. 

Scotty chuckled. "Here we go again. Sherlock Brant's got his teeth intoa nice fat mystery. Good-by vacation. "

Rick had to grin. "It's not that bad, " he said defensively. "I justthought we might sniff around a little. "

"That's what I thought you thought. Come on, Hawkshaw. Let's get somebacon and eggs on the fire and haul anchor. "

"Okay. " Rick checked the chart. "We're only about twenty minutes' runfrom Steve's place. If we eat here, he won't think he has to feed usbreakfast. "

"Considerate, " Scotty agreed, grinning. "I can see you now. You walk upthe dock, shake hands, and say, 'Glad to see you, Steve. Don't botherabout breakfast. We've eaten. By the way, have you had any trouble withflying stingarees?'"

Rick grinned back. "Not bad predicting. Actually, I was going to waitfor the right opportunity, then say, 'Wonderful hunting and fishingcountry, Steve. By the way, when does the hunting season open for flyingstingarees?'"

Scotty laughed. "Okay. Only let's get going. I want to see how heanswers!"

CHAPTER IV

Steve's Place

A red buoy marked the entrance to Martins Creek. Rick, at the helm, passed it close to starboard and headed into the center of the creek. Past the wooded shores of the creek entrance, he could see fields, obviously tended, and more woods. 

"Steve's place should be the second on the left, " Scotty said. "Thefirst house with a dock. "

"Use the binoculars, " Rick suggested. "We should be able to see it whenwe round the next bend. "

The houseboat passed the first house, a small, modern dwelling set closeto the water. A rowboat was hauled up on the shore. The creek rounded awooded promontory and the next house came into view. Steve's!

Rick's eager eyes saw an attractive farmhouse, set well back from thewater in a frame of willows and white oaks. There was an acre of greenlawn in front of the house, the lawn running down to the water's edge. Asmall dock jutted out into the creek. Tied to one side of it was asturdy runabout with an outboard motor. 

"Pretty, " Scotty approved. 

Rick nodded. The farmhouse was half frame, half white brick, with aslate roof. It was apparently only one story high. On impulse, Rick gavea long blast on the boat horn. 

The front door opened and a man looked out, then walked swiftly down tothe dock, waving. The boys waved back. 

"Get the lines ready, " Rick requested. "I'll back in. "

He throttled down and let the houseboat move slowly past the dock whilehe yelled a greeting to Steve Ames. There were no obstacles, and justenough room for the boat. He reversed his motors and threw his helm hardover, backing slowly into position. Scotty stood ready with a line, which he heaved to Steve. Then Scotty ran lightly to the foredeck andgot the bowline ready. The houseboat nestled against the dock smoothlyand Rick killed the motors. Then the three old friends were shakinghands and grinning from ear to ear. 

"I've been watching since yesterday afternoon, " Steve told them. "Thatstorm last night worried me some. I didn't know whether you could rideit out or not. "

"No trouble, " Rick said. "We ran into Swamp Creek on the north side ofthe river and spent the night there. " He watched the agent's faceclosely, but Steve didn't react. 

"Come on in, " Steve invited. "Coffee's on. Had your breakfast?"

"We ate before hauling anchor, " Scotty said, grinning. 

Steve Ames knew the boys well. "Something's up, " he stated. "Rick iswatching me like a suspicious sand crab and your tone of voice is wrong, Scotty. Coffee first, then talk. Come on. "

Rick shook his head in admiration. It was impossible to catch Steve offguard. The agent had a deceptive appearance, athletic and good looking, with the forthright friendliness of a college undergraduate. But histrained eyes and ears missed nothing. 

Steve's living room was attractive and comfortable, with bookshelvesbetween the windows, a stone fireplace, a striped rug, and deep, restfulchairs. There were lamps in exactly the right positions for reading. 

The agent brought in a tray of coffee cups, with a pot of coffee andplatter of doughnuts. "Even if you've eaten breakfast, you can manage acouple of these. " He poured coffee and made sure the boys werecomfortable, then sank into an armchair and looked at them quizzically. 

"All right. Out with it. "

Rick chuckled. "You're too sharp, " he accused. "We had a plan all cookedup. I was going to comment on the fishing and hunting, and thenask--very innocently--when the season for flying stingarees opened. "

The agent's eyebrows went up. "Flying stingarees? Swimming ones, yes. Open season any time. Flying ones, no. What is all this?"

"Rick saw one last night in the storm, " Scotty explained. 

"That's not all, " Rick added. He told of their conversation at theNarrows and of the talk with Orvil Harris that morning. "So there'ssomething fishy around here besides crabs and rockfish. We thought youmight know, " he concluded. 

Steve shook his head with obvious admiration. "Leave it to the Spindrifttwins! If there's a mystery afoot, you'll unearth it. Nope, lads. Neverheard of your flying stingarees, or flying saucers, either. But that'snot surprising. I'm down here mostly on weekends, sometimes with afriend or two, and the only local folks we see are at the store or gasstation. Usually I'm in too much of a rush for small talk. I don't getthe local papers, and when I listen to the radio or watch TV, it'seither a Washington or Baltimore station. So I'm not in touch with localevents. "

"Anyway, " Rick said, "stingarees don't fly. "

Steve had been in the Virgin Islands, too, and had been involved in theadventure of _The Wailing Octopus_. "You found out that the octopusdidn't wail, " he reminded them, "but for a while it looked as thoughyou'd found a new species. Maybe this is the same thing. What makes thestingaree fly?"

"It would be fun to find out, " Scotty admitted. 

"You'll have time to make a start, and I won't be in the way with plansfor fishing or crabbing. I'm sorry, boys, but I'll be in and out ofWashington for a few days. Got a hot case working that I can't leave forlong. "

The boys protested. "You deserve some vacation, " Rick said hotly. 

Steve held up his hand. "Whoa! I'm getting a vacation. This case shouldbe settled in three or four days, and I'll be with you. Meanwhile, youmove in here. You can drive me to the airport at Cambridge and pick meup when I come back. That will leave you a car, and you can use themotorboat for exploring or for fishing. If you feel like skin diving, you can try for rock or hardheads off the northern tip of TaylorsIsland, right at the mouth of the river. Did you bring gear?"

"The whole set, " Rick replied. "Lungs, compressors, guns, and evensuits. "

"You won't need suits. The bay is shallow and warm. At night you canrelax right here. Plenty of books, TV, radio, or a chessboard. If itgets cool, there's wood for the fireplace. "

"Sounds good, " Scotty agreed. "But we wanted you with us. "

"I will be. Before the weekend. "

"When do you have to leave?" Rick asked. 

"Three this afternoon. I have an evening meeting at headquarters. I'llbe back on the four-o'clock flight tomorrow afternoon, and, with luck, Iwon't have to go again. If I do, it will be only for a day. "

"Okay, " Rick said reluctantly. "We'll settle in, but we won't move in. We'll sleep on the boat. No need to use up your linens and stuff when wehave sleeping bags if the weather is cold and cotton blankets when it'swarm. Besides, housekeeping is easier on the boat. "

Steve grinned. "I'll bet it is. If I know you two, you eat out of cansand never use a dish if you can help it. Your idea of washing a coffeecup is to hold it under running water or to dip it in the bay. Waituntil your mother and the girls join you. Life will undergo a drasticchange. "

"Don't rub it in, " Scotty said ruefully. "Now, how about showing us overthis estate of yours?"

Steve was pleased by the request. He obviously was proud of hiscreekside home, and with reason. There were fifty acres of land, mostlyoak forest, with a private access road. Electric power came in from thepublic power lines, but he had a gasoline generator in case of failure, and his own artesian well. He explained:

"The house has been completely remodeled, but it's really quite old. When it was built, there was only a wagon track. In those days, therivers and creeks were the highways, and the people traveled by boat. You'll see old mansions fronting on the rivers here. The back doors facethe roads. Water transport was the reason. The landed gentry had bargesrowed by slaves. The poor folks rowed their own. Of course, there wereplenty of sailing craft, too. There still are. "

The creek in front of the house proved deep enough for swimming, and thethree went for a dip. Rick tasted the water. It was salty, but not likethe ocean. The backwaters of the bay were brackish, with low-saltcontent. 

In the afternoon, the boys--somewhat reluctantly--got into what theyreferred to as "shore-going clothes. " These consisted of slacks, sportshirts, light casual jackets, and loafers. Steve had a bag packed. Theygot into his car, a late-model convertible, and headed for Cambridge. 

The plane, a small twin-engine craft, was late coming from Norfolk. Bythe time Steve was en route to Washington, it was nearly the dinnerhour. 

"Eat out?" Rick suggested. 

"Absolutely. More crab cakes?"

Rick shook his head. "Crab imperial. Maybe some steamed clams. "

"You're making me hungry, " Scotty protested. "I'll say one thing for thebay area. The folks eat well. How about some terrapin stew?"

"Crab imperial, " Rick said again. "Baked in a crab shell. Lots ofmayonnaise, paprika, and butter. I'll have a hearts of romaine salad onthe side, with oil-and-vinegar dressing. Maybe tarragon vinegar. A fewFrench fries, too. But first, a couple of dozen steamed clams. What dothey call 'em here? Manos, pronounced Man! Oh!"

"Just tell me where, " Scotty begged. "Say no more. "

"How about that place we passed just before we got to Cambridge? The onebuilt like a Colonial mansion. "

"The Bay Gourmet, " Scotty remembered. "Okay. You're driving. "

Rick put the convertible in gear and moved out of the airport drivewayonto the highway. "We're on our own, " he said. "It's up to us toentertain ourselves. But food isn't enough. Man cannot live by breadalone, the Scriptures say. "

"I knew it. " Scotty slumped down in the seat and sighed. "Since mancannot live by bread alone, his life must be filled with other things. And guess what things!"

Rick smiled in anticipation. "Uh-huh. Flying stingarees. "

CHAPTER V

The Face Is Familiar

The Bay Gourmet was all that its outside appearance promised. A waiter, elderly and courteous, his voice soft with the Eastern Shore accent, ledthem to a table in a main dining room that was like something out ofearly American history, Maryland style. The Maryland colony had not beenpoor, and many of its settlers had been of the English nobility. Theyhad brought with them furniture, paintings, and chinaware from Englandand France, and their homes were gracious and livable. 

The restaurant followed the pattern. Rick wouldn't have been surprisedto see the ghost of Lord Baltimore walk through one of the arches. 

The boys pored over the menus and finally settled on crab gumbo, clamfritters, and crab imperial. While they waited, Rick opened the subjectthat was on his mind. "How does a stingaree fly?"

Scotty shrugged. "Easy. He climbs to the top of a tall tree, spreads hiswings, and takes off. He flaps his wings to gain altitude. He steerswith his tail. "

"I'm serious, " Rick said sternly, his eyes twinkling. 

"So am I. Alternate method: the stingaree climbs on a fence and lassos apassing airplane. Or catches a ride on an eagle's tail feathers. Takeyour choice. "

"I've got a better way. The stingaree poses for his picture. The pictureis used as a model for making a kite, probably of black plastic. Thekite gets flown in the wind. "

Scotty stared. "Maybe--just maybe--you've got something there. Thestingaree shape would make a good kite. Could what you saw have been akite?"

"It's possible. " Rick nodded. "The wind was funneling down the creekpretty fast, and it would have carried a big kite. There's only onesmall difficulty. Why launch a kite that has no string?"

"You certain it didn't have a string?"

"In that wind, the string would have had to be a cable. I'd have seenit, and maybe felt it. The kite--stingaree, that is--just missed. Ofcourse, the string might have broken. "

"There's another small difficulty, " Scotty said thoughtfully. "If it wasa kite, where was it launched and why?"

"Up the creek somewhere. We don't know what's up there. "

"True. From the looks, I'd say not much. Maybe some opossums andmuskrats, which don't launch kites. "

Rick spread butter liberally on a hot biscuit. "We can always take alook. "

"We can. In Steve's boat, the creek would be only a few minutes away. "

Rick savored the biscuit and took another bite that finished it. "Icould eat a ton of these. What else would make a stingaree fly?"

Scotty accepted a pitcher of honey from the waiter and poured adisgraceful amount on a biscuit. "How about some kind of experimentalaircraft?"

Rick shook his head. "The stingaree was vertical. An experimental planein that position would have to be rising straight up, and this creaturewas traveling almost horizontally, with the wind. Besides, I heard nomotor or any kind of power plant. "

"You're as lucid as lamplight, ol' buddy. You explain everything--exceptwhat made that stingaree fly. "

Rick grinned wryly. "I'll never get a swelled head with you stickingpins in it. "

"Only carrying out my proper function, " Scotty said virtuously. 

The first course had arrived. Crab gumbo turned out to be spicy, hot, and very, very good. 

"I may decide to live here, " Rick said as he spooned up the lastmouthful. 

"I'm a native already, " Scotty stated. "The Chesapeake Bay is my home, if the rest of the meal lives up to the soup. "

The clam fritters were light, crisp, and succulent. "Meet a brand-newMarylander, " Scotty announced. 

Rick started to reply, then stopped as a party of three entered thedining room and were shown to a table nearby. He knew one of the men, but he couldn't remember where they had met. 

"Scotty, " he said softly, "look around at the group that just came in. Who's the man in the plaid jacket? I know him, but I can't remember. "

Scotty's napkin "accidentally" fell to the floor. He had to turn to pickit up. When he straightened, he shook his head. "The face is familiar, but I can't place it. "

Rick studied the man through half-lowered lids, not wanting to be rudeby staring openly. The familiar face was lean, and lined. It was not apleasant face, although its owner would be described as a"distinguished-looking man of middle age. " The lips were not especiallythin, but they were tightly held. The chin was firm, with a shadow ofbeard even though the man looked freshly shaven. His hair was crisp, wavy, and pure white. 

"Could be of French or Italian ancestry, " Rick said. "Or, maybe, Spanishor Portuguese. Anyway, I'd vote for Southern European. "

"On the button, " Scotty agreed. 

Rick's eyes dropped as the man looked their way. The eyes were darkbrown, he saw, with heavy lids. The eyebrows, in startling contrast tothe white hair, were dark. 

The boy looked up again, his glance guarded. The man was smartly, butconservatively dressed, in dark-blue slacks, white sport shirt open atthe collar, and a linen sport jacket of subdued plaid, much like thoseaffected by some Ivy Leaguers. 

The other two men were not familiar. One was almost bald, with a wisp ofsandy hair combed in a pitiful and useless attempt to conceal thebaldness. He wore glasses with clear plastic frames. They sat on a nosethat could have served as a golf-ball model. His lips were almostnonexistent, and his chin receded so far that Rick wondered why hedidn't conceal it with a beard. He seemed like a complete non-entity. Incontrast to the white-haired man's style of dress, the nondescript manwore a rumpled black suit of synthetic fabric, a regular white shirt, and a tie that a color-blind old aunt might have given him for Christmastwo decades past. 

[Illustration (2 page 51 and 52)]

The third man was the largest of the three, with an expressionless faceand eyes that never stopped moving. He sat motionless in his chair, apparently completely relaxed. Rick knew that the relaxation wasdeceptive. Steve Ames at times looked relaxed like that, but it was thesame kind of quietness one finds in a coiled spring that has not yetbeen released. The man had brown hair, light-brown eyes, and a heavytan. He spoke only twice while Rick watched, and then only to giveorders to the waiter. The other two men talked steadily, but in such lowtones that the boys could not hear words. 

The crab imperial arrived, and the riddle of the familiar face wasforgotten in a new taste treat. After one luscious bite, Rick said, "I'mgoing to bring the folks here and order a duplicate of this meal. They'll go crazy. "

Excellent food was a tradition in the Brant household. Mrs. Brant was asuperb cook, and both she and Hartson Brant had taught the Spindriftyoung people to appreciate a well-prepared dish. 

"I'll order the same thing just to keep them company, " Scotty offered. 

"Generous, always generous, " Rick replied. "You'll eat the same thingeven if you have to force it down. "

"I'll do just that, " Scotty agreed. "Remember where you've seen yonderdiner?"

Rick shook his head. "Not yet. It's an odd trio. He's the dominant onein the group. The bald one looks like a servant, and the big one like apolice dog on guard. "

"Bodyguard?" Scotty asked quickly. 

"Maybe. Or, perhaps, a chauffeur. It's hard to say. "

"Do you suppose the white-haired man is just a familiar type and we'venever seen him before?"

"No. It isn't that. I know I've seen him before, but I can't tell youwhere or when. "

The boys finished the meal with a scoop of lemon sherbet and rosereluctantly. "We'll be back, " Rick promised. 

"That we will, " Scotty echoed. 

The old waiter bowed them to the door. As they were leaving, Rickpaused. "Do you know that white-haired man at the table near us?"

"Why, sir, that's Mr. Merlin. Summer folks, you might say. He bought oneof the old mansions. This is his second summer with us. "

"Which one of the old mansions?" Scotty asked. 

"Calvert's Favor. It's in the guidebooks, sir. We have copies for saleif you'd like one. "

"We have one, " Rick replied. "Thank you. "

"Not at all, gentlemen. Hurry back. "

The boys walked into a lovely summer night, with a newly risen moon, near fullness, floating just above the horizon. By unspoken agreement, they put the top down on Steve's convertible. Rick was just snapping itin place when he sensed someone standing next to him. He turned, to facethe big man of the trio. 

The man got to the point without preliminaries. "You were asking thewaiter about Mr. Merlin. "

"We thought he looked familiar, but we couldn't place him, " Rickreplied. "We meant no discourtesy. "

"I'm sure you didn't, " the man said smoothly. He didn't smile, eventhough his voice was pleasant enough. "Mr. Merlin is a very prominentman. He comes down here to get away from people. Naturally, he doesn'twelcome inquiries. I'm sure you understand. "

"We have no intention of intruding, " Rick stated coolly. "As I said, helooked familiar. We merely asked out of curiosity. "

"You're not local boys. " It was a statement. 

"No. We're visitors. "

"The local people have learned not to ask questions about Mr. Merlin. Isuggest you follow their example. " The man turned and walked back intothe restaurant. 

The boys stared after him, openmouthed. 

"If that poor soul only knew, " Scotty said, "he picked the best possibleway to arouse our curiosity. "

"I haven't been warned so politely in a long time, " Rick agreed. "Comeon, son. Let's head for Martins Creek. " He slid behind the wheel whileScotty got into the passenger side. 

Rick started the car and listened to it purr for a moment. "I noticedthat Steve has quite a few books about the Eastern Shore on hisbookshelves, " he said casually. 

"So did I. Including one called _Tidewater Maryland_. Lots of picturesof the old estates in that one. "

"Be interesting if there was a picture of Calvert's Favor, wouldn't it?"

"Interesting and maybe informative. Well, are we going to sit here allnight?"

"Nope. We're going to Steve's. Looks as if we have a small researchproject. "

"To be followed by a second project, " Scotty added. "First we read up onCalvert's Favor, and then we find it and look it over. "

Rick grinned. "Nobody warns Scotty with impunity. "

"But nobody!" Scotty said cheerfully. 

CHAPTER VI

The Saucer Sighters

"We shoot a line straight north, " Rick explained, "for a distance ofabout twenty miles. Then we start asking questions. If we getaffirmative answers, we head north again for another ten miles andrepeat the process. We do this until we come to an area where saucershave not been sighted. Okay?"

Scotty nodded. "Okay. There is only one tiny flaw in this plan. If wehead straight north, we drop Steve's car into the Little Choptank. If wecross that safely, we'll get wet in the main Choptank. "

Rick sighed. "If there is anything I detest, loathe, and despise, it ispeople who get up in the morning feeling full of humor. We will go toCambridge, missing the Little Choptank, and cross the Choptank on thebridge. Route 50 goes almost straight north. Is that more precise andacceptable, Donald?"

"It is indeed, Richard. I'm a stickler for accuracy. "

"You're a stickler in the mud. Let's get a notebook and starttraveling. "

A conference after dinner the night before had resulted in a plan ofaction. The boys had decided to reduce all the rumors about flyingsaucers to statistics that could be examined to see what elements thevarious sightings had in common. The way to obtain the statistics wasthrough interviews. 

The problem of the white-haired man with the familiar face stillremained. Steve's books had disclosed that Calvert's Favor was famous, that it had been so named by the original settler because he had beengranted the land by Lord Calvert, that it had changed hands only twicein more than a century. What the books didn't give was its location. Theplace was identified only as "a quiet creek, entirely within theoriginal land grant. " There was no mention of a Calvert Creek in thevicinity. They decided to put the question of its location aside untilSteve's return. 

It was a lovely morning. The convertible hummed smoothly over theblacktop roads to Cambridge, onto Route 50, across the Choptank Riverand north. Rick braked to a stop as the highway met the turnoff toEaston. "Think we're far enough north?"

Scotty had been consulting a road map. He shook his head. "Not yet. Easton is almost due east of Knapps Narrows, and we know the saucershave been sighted there. Better go on to Wye Mills. "

"Okay. " The road was dual-lane cement, now, and Rick relaxed while thecar sped northward. "Odd name, Wye Mills. Lots of Wyes around here. Three Wye Rivers on the chart, a Wye Landing, and a famous old Wye Oak. "

"Sounds like a song, " Scotty said. "Wye, tell me Wye, are there saucersin the sky--"

"Please, " Rick protested, "I'm in pain. "

Route 50 turned at Wye Mills, leading to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge thatcrossed the bay to Annapolis. There was a gas station and lunch stand atthe intersection. Rick pulled in and drifted up to the gas pump. "Fillit up, please. Any bottles of Coke around?"

"In the machine. " The attendant pointed to the red automatic vendor. 

The boys equipped themselves with Cokes and walked back to watch theattendant fill the tank. "We must be somewhere near where all thoseflying saucers were sighted, " Rick remarked. 

The attendant looked up. "Farther south. Never heard of anyone this farnorth seein' one. They see plenty down toward Cambridge. Ask me, they'reseein' spots in front of their eyes. "

The boys exchanged glances. When the car was ready, Rick turned andstarted south again. "See any stores on the way where we could askagain?"

"There's a restaurant. I saw two grocery stores, too, but from the waythe attendant talked, we'll have to get closer to Cambridge. " Scotty wasmaking a note in their notebook. 

Five miles back toward home, Rick stopped at another gas station andasked the attendant to look at the oil. None was needed, so the boysbought another pair of Cokes and engaged the man in conversation. 

"Ever see any flying saucers in this area?" Rick asked. 

"Nope. My brother did though, late one afternoon when he was on duty. "

Scotty took out the notebook. "We're trying to get some informationabout them for a story we're writing. Do you remember when it was?"

"Let's see. I was workin' in the evenin' that day, so it must have beena Saturday. Last month, it was. Oh, I recall it now. Next day I took thekids to my mother's. It was her birthday. That would make it the tenth. "

"Where was your brother when he saw it?" Rick queried. 

"Pumpin' gas. Right here. He said it sort of came up over the trees, glittering like fire. " The attendant pointed to a patch of trees downthe road. The direction was almost directly southwest. 

Scotty scribbled in the notebook. "Any other details you remember? Whattime in the afternoon was it?"

"Between four and five. Can't say exactly. He was still buzzin' when Icame on duty at six. Wanted to call the newspapers, but I talked him outof it. People would think he was a fool. "

"Did you?" Rick asked quietly. 

"Nope. I know Chick. He's got a straight head on him. It may not havebeen a flyin' saucer, but you can bet it wasn't anythin' common, oranythin' he'd seen before. "

"Score one, " Scotty said triumphantly as they drove off. 

"One flying saucer doesn't make a Martian invasion, " Rick reminded him. "Let's keep it up. "

By lunchtime they had interviewed a dozen people who claimed to haveseen flying saucers. All details of the sightings had been noted inScotty's book. During lunch, at a small restaurant in the old town ofOxford, they scored three more times after interviews with fishermen. 

After lunch, they crossed the Choptank and headed south to the littletown of Vienna. From there the route led to the shore town of Elliott, back to Vienna, and past the corner of Delaware to Salisbury, agood-sized town on the Maryland Eastern Shore. 

There was a newspaper office in Salisbury. A chat with the editor and aquick skim through the back files added more data to the growing list. Rick had a hunch there was a pattern shaping up, but he could not besure until the information was all laid out for examination. 

By the time the boys met Steve at the small airport, both Rick andScotty had writer's cramp, and the notebook was nearly used up. They hadrecorded over half a hundred sightings. 

Steve listened to a report of their day with an appreciative smile. "Nothing like a mystery for keeping you two out of mischief, " he toldthem. "Want to eat out? Or cook a steak in the yard?"

"Eat out, " Scotty said promptly. 

"We can get steak at home, " Rick added. "But not Chesapeake Bay clamfritters or Maryland crab cakes. "

Steve had a favorite place of his own, a small, nondescript joint called"Louie's Crab House" up the Choptank River, near the town of Denton. There, on wooden trestle tables covered with brown wrapping paper, heintroduced them to a favorite Chesapeake Bay pastime known as a "crabfeast. "

The waiter set wooden blocks in front of them, with a round piece ofhardwood, a fork, and a sharp paring knife. A stack of paper napkins wassupplied, and individual pots of melted butter completed the setting. 

The boys waited impatiently, hungry, but trusting Steve's word that theresult was worth the wait. The waiter reappeared carrying a huge tray, stacked with a towering pyramid of whole crabs, steaming and red, coatedwith the spices in which they had been cooked. Placing the tray on thetable, the waiter asked, "Anything else?"

Scotty said, dazed, "I don't believe there's anything else left in thekitchen. We have all the crabs in the world right here. "

"Only three dozen, " the waiter said. "Jumbos, of course. You wantanything, you yell. "

Unidentified flying objects were forgotten as Steve initiated them intothe proper method of eating fresh crab. It turned out to be quite anart, but one that they mastered quickly. Soon all three of them weremunching succulent back-fin crab meat drenched in fresh butter. Thewooden block served as an anvil, and the round hardwood piece as ahammer for cracking claws. The paring knife was used for trimming andfor scooping out delicious bits of meat. The fork was utilized topersuade small tidbits to leave their shell cages. Three or four napkinswere used between each tidbit to mop buttery hands, and even chins, downwhich the butter sometimes dripped. It was a feast, indeed. 

"If I hadn't been a heavy eater before, I'd be one after this, " Scottyobserved happily. 

"Beats hunting flying stingarees, " Rick agreed. "Pass another crab, please. "

Not until the table had been cleared by the waiter, who simply removedthe utensils and tray, then wrapped up all the shells in the brown paperand carried it off, did the conversation return to the mystery. 

Rick hadn't told Steve of last night's meeting with the white-haired manor of the thinly veiled warning. He described them now in detail. 

"Odd, " Steve said. "This familiar face needs identifying. No normalperson worries about anyone asking casual questions. That's a sure markof insecurity. In other words, the man is afraid. People who are afraidoften have something to hide. Do you have any reason to think he may betied up with the flying stingarees or saucers?"

"None at all, " Rick answered. 

"Do you know where Calvert's Favor is?" Scotty asked. "The locationwasn't given in your books. There was quite a lot about the plantationhouse. "

"No, never heard of the place. But we'll find out when we pass throughCambridge. I know a man there who knows everything about this area. "Steve held out his hand. "Let's see your notebook. "

Scotty handed it over. The young agent leafed through it rapidly. "That's some list. If I had any doubt that people were seeing things, it's gone now. How are you going to arrange the data?"

"In tables, and on a map, " Rick explained. 

"Fine. We can do it tonight. Want anything else?"

Scotty groaned. "I couldn't even drink a glass of water. "

"Same here, " Rick agreed. 

"Then let's leave the crabs behind and take a ride. "

On the way back to Cambridge, Steve Ames mused aloud. "You know, it's anodd world. A few years ago there were flying saucer reports by thedozen. Each one was given lots of newspaper space. The Air Forceconducted investigations. Then flying saucers got unpopular, the AirForce closed its project, and the newspapers wrote a funny story everytime a report came in. Now we have a rash of sightings in one smallarea. People talk about it, but no one gets excited. The authoritiesbrush it off as just hokum. Yet, your investigation today shows thatpeople are seeing _something_, even if we don't know what. "

Rick nodded thoughtfully. "What's even odder is that a well-known mandisappears, people search for him for a couple of days, and then donothing but talk about it. The police aren't even interested, so far aswe can tell. "

Steve laughed. "You're right. But look at it in another way. Assumeyou're the local policeman. Someone rushes in and tells you that JoeDoakes has been carried off by a flying saucer. You don't believe inflying saucers, but you know Doakes. You investigate. His boat has beenfound, but his body is missing. What do you assume? That he was reallytoted off by some mysterious object? Nope. You assume he was hurt orkilled falling out of the boat. You know that sharks come into the bayand sometimes swim up creeks. You figure that the currents sometimes actin odd ways, depending on the winds. You figure a dozen natural kinds ofthings, none connected with mysterious flying objects. You call acoroner's jury, and not a man on it is willing to say for the recordthat he believes in flying saucers. What happens?"

"Case closed, " Scotty said slowly, "because the body isn't around. Noproof of death, or even of accident. Pending proof of death--meaning thebody--the jury finds that Joe Doakes is missing under mysteriouscircumstances and may have met with death or an accident by misadventurewhile engaged in his lawful business of crabbing. "

"That's about it, " Steve agreed. "It isn't really odd when you look atit that way. But you can bet the case isn't closed. It's just inactive, until something turns up. Remember there's no detective squad in a smalltown. "

There was a combination gas station and store on the outskirts ofCambridge. Steve drove in and honked the horn. A young boy looked out ofthe store and called, "Howdy, Steve. Want gas?"

"Not tonight, Jimmy. Ask your grandfather where Calvert's Favor islocated, will you?"

The boy came out of the store and walked toward the car. He was afreckle-faced towhead, with a grin wider than the Choptank River. "Heck, Steve, I don't have to ask gran'pop that. Everybody knows whereCalvert's Favor is located. "

"Not everybody, " Steve returned. "I don't. How about letting us in onthe secret, Jimmy?"

"It's no secret. Everybody around here knows it's located across theriver from you. It's at the head of Swamp Creek. "

CHAPTER VII

Sighting Data

Steve's living room was an excellent place to work. In fact, it was ashade too comfortable. Rick and Scotty spent a half hour arguing overwho would do what in putting their data down on paper, and both knewperfectly well that they were just stalling. 

Finally Rick said, "Let's admit it. We're both stuffed with crab, alittle sleepy, and too comfortable in these armchairs. "

Scotty waved a hand languidly. "All right. I concede the point. "

Steve Ames chuckled. "Suppose you move to less comfortable chairs. Thosedining-room chairs should keep you upright. Get to work and I will too. "

The boys hauled themselves to their feet reluctantly. Rick walked to thedoor and looked out through the screen. He could see the creekglistening, and, out beyond the dock where the houseboat and runaboutwere tied up, he saw ripples spreading where a fish had jumped. The airwas still, and he could hear cicadas in the trees and shrubs. 

"This is the land of pleasant living, " he observed. "I'm surprisedanyone on the Eastern Shore ever gets a lick of work done. "

"You certainly don't, " Scotty retorted. "Come on over here and stopadmiring the scenery. "

Steve had produced large sheets of white paper, a ruler, and pencils. Rick sat down. "I'll act as recorder. "

"Volunteering for the hardest job?" Scotty inquired. "The air must beaffecting you. "

"Nope. " Rick shook his head. "I have just enough energy left to berealistic. I can't read your writing. Suppose I put down the headings. Location, date of sighting, time of sighting, direction of sighting, number of persons who saw object. What else?"

"Description, " Scotty suggested. "Maybe that ought to be in two parts. One for shape and one for color. "

Rick nodded. "Good idea. I'll rule lines as we go. " He drew lines forthe columns, printed his headings, and put in the first severalhorizontal lines. "Ready, " he announced. 

"We'll start with the first one. Location: five miles south of Wye Millson Route 50. "

Rick printed: "5M S Wye Mls Rte 50. "

"Date of sighting, July 10. Time of sighting, between five and six inthe evening. "

Rick printed industriously. Scotty read from his notes until over twentylines of information had been printed on the chart. Then Steveinterrupted, bringing a tray of tall glasses of iced ginger ale. 

The young agent put the tray down and scanned the columns while the boyshelped themselves. In a moment Steve nodded. "There's a pattern takingshape, at least in the descriptions. But I can't make much out of thedates and locations, yet. "

"We'll keep plugging, " Rick said. "Maybe we'll need to rearrange thecolumns before they make sense. "

"You have a point, " Steve agreed. "Use the chart for the source, then wecan fill out sheets on the individual items, or I have somefour-by-five-inch file cards that would be ideal. "

"But we'll be at it all night, " Scotty objected. 

"I don't think so. Once the basic data are on paper, it will go fast. Keep at it. Yell if you want refills on the ginger ale. I need to finishmy own homework. "

The boys returned to logging the data while Steve settled down with abulky report. In another hour the notebook had been exhausted, and thebig sheet of paper was nearly full of ruled lines and columns, recordingdata. 

"We're done, " Rick announced. 

Steve put his report aside and joined them at the table. The boys waitedexpectantly while the agent scanned the sheet. 

"You've done a good job of collecting information, " Steve said. "Now itneeds breaking down some more. The mixture in the 'color' column bothersme. I have a hunch those colors may be related to the position of thesun. Look. "

Rick watched as Steve's forefinger touched a line that showed the coloras "dark. " The finger moved across the line to the time of day, elevenA. M. Steve pointed to another line where the color was listed as"orange. " The time of day was seven fifteen P. M. , with an additionalnote of "twilight. "

"Got it, " Scotty agreed. "You think the objects may actually be dark, but appear in various colors depending on the position of the sun andthe position of the viewer. "

"It makes sense, " Rick agreed. "All of the colors listed--red, orange, silvery, bright--could be reflections of the sun on a smooth object. "

Steve walked to a bookshelf and pulled down a copy of _The WorldAlmanac_. "Sunrise and sunset times are listed in here. You can figureout quickly enough where the sun was in relation to the observer. Itwill take another sheet of paper and some more columns. "

"You gave us an extra sheet, " Rick replied. "How should I head thecolumns?"

Steve thought for a moment. "Three columns for the position of the sun. Rising, high, setting. Four columns for the position of the observer inrelation to the flying object--north, south, east, or west. One columnfor color, and one for other comments such as 'shiny. ' And, of course, you want a column for the time. "

Rick recorded the data as Scotty read it off, checking _The WorldAlmanac_ for the sun's approximate positions. Steve was obviouslyinterested. He started to read his report again, then abandoned it andcame back to the table where the boys were working. 

When the data had been transferred, the three studied it. Rick ran hiseye down the columns quickly, getting an impression, then he went overthe data slowly. "You're right, Steve, " he said finally. "It alltallies, even at a quick look. In every case where the object lookedcolored, the observer saw the sun striking it. Where it looked dark, theobject was between the observer and the sun. Or, at least, the observerwasn't in a position to see the sun reflect off the object. "

Scotty added, "In every case where the object looked red or orange, thesun was setting or had already set. In every case marked 'bright, ''silvery, ' or 'shiny, ' the sun was high and the observer could see thesun reflecting from the object. "

"It seems pretty clear, " Steve agreed. "Now, we have only one reallyclose-range sighting, and that was Rick's. How sure are you that theobject was black?"

Rick shrugged. "I know enough not to trust my eyes completely in windand rain. But there certainly wasn't any light to reflect off theobject, and I'm pretty sure it was either black or very dark brown. "

"That would fit all the sightings, " Steve pointed out. "I'm assumingthat the objects have a smooth surface that reflects light, even thoughthe material may be dark colored. Didn't you suggest a kite made of darkplastic? That would fit the bill, except that the objects don't act likekites. "

"What do they act like?" Scotty demanded. 

Neither Steve nor Rick had an answer. 

"Let's try for another piece of information, " Steve suggested. "Put thedates down on cards. If you have sightings by different people on thesame dates, and at about the same times, put them on the same card. Ifthere's a big time discrepancy--say one sighting in the morning andanother in the afternoon--put them on different cards. "

Rick looked up. "What are you trying to find?"

"Periodicity, " Steve said promptly. "Is there any regularity in thesightings? Do they occur every three, four, or five days, or once a weekon Mondays? Which reminds me. You might put down the day of the week, too. There's a calendar on the wall behind you. "

"You read and I'll copy, " Rick told Scotty. "Go ahead. " He waited withpencil poised over a card. In a moment he looked at his pal. "What areyou waiting for?"

Scotty was poring over the notebook again. His eyebrows knit. "You know, there's one chunk of data on just a few sightings that we didn't putdown because we didn't have a column for it. "

"What is it?" Steve asked. 

"I know!" Rick exclaimed. "There were a few times when people said theysaw yellow glows in the sky after they saw the objects. Isn't that it?"

Scotty nodded. "I've been counting. There were five instances. Twopeople said the glow wasn't really connected, because it came fromWallops Island. "

"Why on earth didn't you include it in the chart?" Steve demanded. 

"It doesn't fit, " Scotty replied. "In every single case, the glow was tothe southeast. "

"Maybe it does fit, " Steve said emphatically. "Boys, never leave out abit of data because it doesn't seem to fit. This particular chunk couldvery well be the clue. "

"Why?" Rick asked quickly. 

Steve shook his head. "I'm not sure, so I don't want to say. But includeevery sighting of the yellow glow on the date cards. I'm going to borrowthat set for a closer look. "

Scotty began reading, while Rick recorded. When the cards were complete, they ran through them. There was no periodicity. The dates seemedcompletely random. Sometimes two sightings had been made at differenttimes on the same date. There would be two days, three, four, five, oreven six between sightings. 

"Not a trace of pattern, " Rick said. 

"Who says stingarees have to fly on schedule?" Steve asked with a grin. "They're not supposed to be like planes. What's the next step?"

Scotty produced the map they had used. "One more job to do, and that'sto plot the locations of the observers and draw lines in the directionsof the sightings. That will show us if there's any regularity in theplace where the flying objects appear. "

"Very good, " Steve approved. 

Scotty took pencil and ruler and laid the map out flat. "You readlocation and direction, Rick, and I'll plot the data. "

"Okay. " Rick began with the first. "Five miles south of Wye Mills onRoute 50. Direction, southwest. "

Scotty measured the distance from Wye Mills, using the map scale ininches, then estimated the compass direction and drew a line. "Next. "

Rick read on. By the time he had reached the tenth sighting, all threeof them were waiting anxiously for each new bit of data to be plotted. 

Finally the job was complete. Steve had hurried off a moment before andreturned with a pair of compasses in his hand. As the boys watched, heput the sharp point of one compass leg into a spot on the map, adjustedthe radius, and drew a perfect circle. He adjusted the radius again, anddrew a second circle, slightly larger, then a third. 

"Bull's-eye!" Rick said excitedly. 

The direction lines bisected the outer concentric circles like the radiiof an orb spider's web. In the center of the web was the smallestcircle. Within the circle was the focal point of all flying objectobservations. 

Rick said the name aloud. 

"Swamp Creek!"

CHAPTER VIII

Calvert's Favor

There was a faint hint of coming daylight in the eastern sky when Rick, Steve, and Scotty walked down the pier to the tied-up boats. The boyshad spent the night--or most of it--aboard the houseboat, until thealarm pulled them from their sleeping bags at four o'clock. Steve hadbreakfast cooking when they arrived at the farmhouse, and after coffee, bacon, and eggs, they started on their mission. 

"Daybreak is the lowest peak of daily activity, " Steve said as theyclimbed into the runabout. He took the pilot's seat, while Rick andScotty prepared to cast off. 

"You might say that the first glimmer of daylight is man's worst hour, "Steve continued. "It's the time when battles start, when planes take offfor dawn bombing runs. I've read that it's the time when most deathsoccur in hospitals, although I don't know for certain that it's true. What's more important to us, it's the time of day when guards are mostsleepy and least alert. "

The young agent had been working as he talked, checking the outboardmotor, checking the connections to the gasoline tank, and pumpingpressure into it. Now he pressed the starter and the well-kept motorcaught at once. Rick and Scotty cast off bow and stern lines and settledthemselves in the seat next to Steve. 

"Unless this mysterious Mr. Merlin suffers from sleepless nights, he'sdeep in slumber. The sound of a small boat won't disturb him, becausehe's used to the noise of motors from crabbers. We'll hope there is noguard on the place. If there is, we'll be fishing. Better have the rodsready. One of you can sit in back and troll from there. "

The outboard runabout moved away from the pier and into the creek. Steveknew his way perfectly, and he opened the throttle to half speed, steering through the curve at the mouth of the creek, rounding the buoy, and heading directly toward Swamp Creek. 

It had taken the houseboat over twenty minutes to make the run. Stevecovered the distance in ten. As he throttled down and swung the runaboutinto Swamp Creek, Rick's eye picked up a glimmer of light, then theshape of something white cruising toward them. 

For a moment he stared into the lessening gloom, then said, "It's OrvilHarris. Anyway, it looks like his boat. "

Steve said nothing for a moment, then he headed directly toward thecrabber. As the two boats closed, Harris paused in his crabbing andwatched the three in the runabout approach. 

Steve matched the crab boat's speed and nudged the runabout alongside. "Howdy, " he called. 

Orvil Harris reached out and caught the runabout's gunwale, then tookthe line Rick passed to him. He made it fast around a cleat. "Up early, "he greeted them. "Come to watch me crab?"

"Not exactly, " Rick returned. "Mr. Harris, this is Mr. Ames. "

The crabber reached out a muscular hand and Steve stretched to meet it. "Mighty pretty place you have on Martins Creek, " Harris said. "Admiredit many's the time. "

"Thanks, " Steve returned. "Be glad to have you drop in any time. "

"I may do that. Thanks. "

"The boys tell me your cousin was the one taken by a flying saucer. "

Harris grinned. "He was taken. I'm not sayin' how until I know. "

"What do you know about Calvert's Favor?"

Harris rubbed his chin, and made a slight correction in the crab boat'scourse. "Present owner is a man named Merlin. No one knows anythin'about him, and no one asks. Has a big thug with him all the time, andtakes exception to people gettin' nosy. Most folks got snubbed and drewback, so to speak. Jim Hardin--he's a fisherman hereabouts--tookexception and got beaten up. Hardin's not easy to lick. After that, folks stopped speakin' to Merlin and company. "

"How big's the company?" Steve asked. 

"Merlin, bodyguard, a little squirt with no chin, and three others. Cooks and bottle washers, likely. Would it be polite to ask why you'reinterested?"

Steve had been studying Harris since the two boats joined up, Rick knew, so he wasn't surprised when Steve gave a direct reply. 

"You'll keep this to yourself, please. The boys have been doing a littleresearch, and it's clear these unidentified flying objects people havebeen seeing come from Swamp Creek. That points to the old mansion, especially since Mr. Merlin is so secretive about himself. We decided toget up before the people at the mansion were likely to be about, andlook the place over. If it looks promising, we'll try keeping an eye onit. "

Harris nodded. "I'll keep it to myself, you can be sure. If the mysteryof those flyin' stingarees gets solved, we may find out what happened toCousin Link. I'll help if I can. "

"You know these waters pretty well, " Steve returned. "Is there any wayof getting to Calvert's Favor, or within watching distance, withoutgoing up this creek?"

The crabber reached over and turned a switch, cutting his engine. "Thereis, for that boat you're in. About thirty yards downstream from theentrance to this creek, there is a break in the line of swamp grassalong the shore. It's a little lead, a channel maybe six feet wide andfrom two to three feet deep. It runs into the swamp. Right at the placewhere the water gets too narrow for the boat, a man who didn't care ifhe got muddy or wet could go through the brush to an old duck blindright across from the mansion. A pair of good glasses would give him aright good view of the whole thing. "

"We couldn't see the mansion from the boat?" Rick asked. 

"The brush is too thick. Tell you what, if you got ground tackle aboard, drop a hook and come over with me. I'll run you up the creek and you cantake a good look. If anyone's out watchin', they'll only see a crab boatlookin' for a place to set lines. "

"Scotty, " Steve directed, "there's a grapnel on a line up on the bow, under that small hatch. Toss it in, please. "

Scotty stood up on the seat, stepped to the bow, and found the small, four-pronged anchor. He dropped it into the water, let out line, andtied the line fast to the bow cleat. "Okay, Steve. "

The three got aboard the crab boat as Harris started his engine. "Makeyourselves comfortable, " the crabber invited. "There's a pair of glasseson the engine box. "

With the binoculars Rick and Steve had brought, that made three pairseach. The crabber swung the boat around expertly and headed upstream. The sky was light now, and far overhead a wisp of cirrus was glowingpink, a warning of coming sunrise. 

Rick sat on the gunwale and looked ahead. The creek narrowed for a fewhundred yards, then widened again. The left bank, going upstream, waslined with scrub and swamp grass. The right bank began to change, theswampy area giving way to good ground that rose slightly from thewater's edge. Soon the right bank was nearly three feet above the water, and the scrub had given way to an occasional tree, and some grasslandthat hadn't been mowed this year. 

Then Calvert's Favor came into view and Rick caught his breath. It was astunning plantation house. The tall columns made Rick think of picturesof the Old South, but as the boat turned slightly and more of the housecame into view, he saw that it had a strictly Maryland character. Attached to the largest portion of the house, the one with the columns, was a slightly smaller section, with a still smaller section completingthe picture. It was a "telescope house"--the kind that the Eastern Shorenatives referred to as "big house, little house, and one in the middle. "

A broad sweep of lawn, broken only by flagstone walks and trees, extended from the creek's edge to the house. The trees were ancientdogwoods, with a single huge willow for extra shade. There was a smallpier extending into the creek, and from the rotted pilings next to it, Rick saw that the original pier had been much larger. 

A white barn stood at a short distance from the house. A barn of thatsize, Rick thought, meant a pretty substantial farm. He searched forsigns of life and saw none. There was a boat, he noticed, an outboardskiff perhaps fifteen feet long, pulled up on the bank under an oak treeat the edge where the lawn met uncut field. A lawn table and chairsunder the big willow looked inviting, and he speculated that Merlin andfriends must spend considerable time there. Some of the chairs were ofthe padded variety, covered with plastic wet from the morning dew. 

Scotty pointed to the roof of the mansion. "Must be a ham radio operatorthere. Look at that hay rake. "

Both Rick and Steve had the same thoughts as they stared at the tallantenna, with its cluster of small rods joining a single main bar atright angles on top of the pole. The antenna might be needed forfringe-area television--or, on the other hand, it might be acommunications antenna, as Scotty had said. 

"Looks interesting, " Steve said. 

The creek flowed only a little distance past the mansion before itbecame so narrow that Orvil Harris had to turn for the trip downstream. As the crab boat came abreast of the mansion again, Rick looked to theother side of the creek and saw the duck blind. It wasn't exactlyopposite the house, being designed so that gunners in the blind wouldshoot diagonally across the creek and downstream, rather than near thehouse itself. 

The blind was on stilts, made of board, with a big "picture window"without glass through which duck hunters could fire freely. It wasdesigned for entry by boat, and there was a line of poles sticking upfrom the water that marked the boat's docking place. In season, theentire blind including the poles would be covered with a screen of freshfoliage, so that hunters, blind, and boat would seem like a naturalobject to any duck that flew by. 

Rick saw that the entrance, at the point where the boat would nose in, was downstream from the mansion, at the back corner of the blind. Anyoneapproaching from the swamp behind the blind could enter unseen fromCalvert's Favor. 

Not until they were back at the cove did any of them speak. 

"That antenna was odd, " Steve said. "Did you ever see anything like it, Rick?"

"Not exactly, " Rick admitted. "It could be for TV, although it's anunusual design, or it could be some kind of ham rig, as Scotty said. "

"Or it could be something else, " Steve concluded. 

"No sign of a flyin'-saucer launcher, " Orvil Harris said. He was stokinghis battered brier. 

Rick grinned. "I wouldn't know one if I saw it. "

"Well, that wraps it up, " Steve said. "Let's get aboard the runabout andhead home. I've got to make a plane. " He shook hands with Orvil Harris. "Glad to have met you after waving at you for so long. "

"Likewise. Now, you let me in on this if you can. I'm Link's only kinhereabouts, so I feel responsible, so to speak. Call me up. I'm in thephone book. I'll keep crabbin' in this creek until further notice, soyou can find me here until midmornin' any day. "

"We'll let you know if anything comes up, " Rick agreed. 

Scotty borrowed a boat hook and pulled the runabout closer, then hestepped to the forward deck while Steve and Rick got into the seat. Scotty pulled up the grapnel while Steve started the motor. In a momentthey were waving to Harris as the runabout headed for home. 

It was full daylight now, and the rim of the sun was just above thetrees on the horizon. 

"Two items from the morning's work, " Scotty summed up. "We know how themansion can be watched, and we have an odd kind of antenna. Anythingelse?"

"We have an ally, " Rick reminded. "Orvil Harris. "

"We bought him on pure faith, " Steve pointed out. "It isn't often Istake the game on a man's face, but if Orvil Harris isn't a soundindividual, I'll lose my faith in human nature. "

Back at the farmhouse, Steve made fresh coffee and toast. While the boysrelaxed sleepily, he went to a closet and brought out a case and aleather gadget bag. 

The boys sat up and watched while he opened the case. Rick gasped. Itwas a telescope, a marvelously compact reflector type, precision madeand very expensive. Rick had often studied the ads of this particularmodel, and he looked at it with some envy. He could hardly keep frompicking it up. 

Steve opened the gadget bag and brought out a Polaroid camera and set ofrings. Then he returned to the closet and brought back a sturdy tripodwith a geared head. 

"Here's the equipment, " he said. He took the telescope from its paddedcase, and screwed its base to the tripod, then he adjusted the tripoduntil it was standing securely. 

"Watch this, " he commanded. "You'll have to do it, because you can'tcarry the whole thing assembled. "

Using the rings, which were adapters, he fitted the camera to theeyepiece of the telescope. "That's all there is to it. You focus the'scope eyepiece by turning this knurled knob. Then you set the camera toinfinity, adjust the iris for the proper light, and put the camera inplace. Any questions?"

"What aperture?" Rick asked. "Normal exposure?"

"Make it one f-stop less than you'd use if you were taking the picturethrough a regular camera with a long lens. Anything else?"

Scotty grinned. "It's pointless to ask what you want us to do with this. We're to get pictures of that antenna--from the duck blind. "

"Plus anything else that looks interesting, including the occupants, "Rick added. 

Steve spread his hands in an expressive gesture. "What more could aninstructor want than students who know the answers before the questionsare asked? I won't even tell you to be careful, because I know youwill. "

"We will, " Rick assured him. 

"All right. Listen, boys, we have no idea what we're up against, but wedo have some facts. " Steve ticked them off on his fingers. "One, flyingobjects originate at the mansion. There's no other place on the creekthat seems likely. Two, the house is inhabited by a man who doesn't likequestions. Three, said man has a bodyguard who gets rough. Four, one manalready is missing, perhaps because he got curious. Enough said?"

The boys nodded soberly. 

"Then go to it, whenever you feel like it--after you've dropped me atthe airport, that is. Be here by four this afternoon. If I don't call, meet the five-o'clock flight. If I do, it will mean I've gotten tiedup. "

Steve hesitated. "Just one more thing. Be _really_ careful. All I haveis a hunch, but that hunch tells me we're up against somethingdangerous. If Link Harris is dead, as he probably is, there's a fairchance he was murdered. "

The agent's keen eyes met theirs in turn. "Don't get into a spot youcan't get out of, " he concluded. 

CHAPTER IX

The Duck Blind

Orvil Harris had described the opening to the hidden waterway, but whenthe boys examined the line of reeds and marsh grass there was no sign ofit. "He said thirty yards downstream, " Scotty remembered. 

Rick was at the wheel of the runabout. "Climb out on the bow, " hesuggested. "Take the boat hook with you. I'll just keep nosing in untilwe find it. "

"Okay. " Scotty took the short, aluminum boat hook from its fastenings inthe small cockpit, stood up on the seat, and stepped over the windshieldto the bow. For a moment he surveyed the shoreline from his highervantage point. "There's a place that looks promising. " He held the boathook out like a spear, pointing. 

Rick put the runabout in gear, and moved forward at idling speed. Looking over the side, he could see the bottom clearly. They were inonly two feet of water, and the outboard was stirring up mud at thestern. 

"No good, " Scotty called. "That one doesn't go anywhere. Try upstreamanother six feet. "

Rick turned the boat, watching for the opening Scotty had spotted. Hesaw it a moment later. "Looks too small, " he called back. 

"I think it opens up. Go ahead slow. "

The runabout nosed up to the almost solid line of tall swamp grass, andScotty leaned forward. "I think this is it. Take it easy. "

The heavy grass rubbed on both sides of the boat, but nothing impededits progress. The runabout pushed through the brown-green swale until itwas almost enclosed by the grass. Then they were through, into a narrowchannel with high grass on both sides. It was hard for Rick to see aheadbecause of the turns, and Scotty served as his eyes, motioning from oneside to the other as the channel shifted. 

Rick wondered if the sound of the outboard motor could be heard at themansion, and decided it probably could not. The heavy marsh grass was agood sound baffle and the motor was relatively quiet. He leaned out, trying to see ahead. There were many birds in the swamp, and next to theboat a surprised snapping turtle looked up briefly, then scurried intothe mud for cover. 

The channel was narrowing now. Scotty looked back and drew his handacross his throat in the old signal to "cut. " Rick instantly killed themotor. 

"I'll pole us, " Scotty said softly. He began using the boat hook as apole, digging it into the bank and pulling the runabout ahead. Finallyhe stopped, and wiped sweat from his face. "This is about as far as wecan go. "

Rick took a swipe at a black fly that bit him on the arm. "Okay. Let'scollect the gear and get started. "

Scotty tied the boat to a projecting root while Rick took the equipmentfrom its place under the seat and put it within reach on the forwarddeck, then jumped ashore. His feet hit apparently solid ground, but keptright on going down into a foot of ooze. 

He lifted one foot that was a black blob of mud, tried to locate moresolid footing on which to place it, and gave it up as a bad job. Heleaned over and took the telescope case and tripod. 

Scotty picked up the Polaroid camera and their binoculars and cameashore, sinking into the swamp as Rick had done. He grinned wryly. "We're up to our knees in this mystery already. "

Rick lifted a foot with five pounds of mud clinging to it. "If we get init up to our hips, we'll have a fine time getting out. How far do youthink it is to the duck blind?"

"Maybe twenty-five yards. Not much more than that, maybe less. Come on. "

Slowly, because of the need to haul each foot out of the mud, the boysstarted through the swale. The marsh grass was over their heads, forminga thick screen. The grass, however, was no handicap to the biting flies. Within a few seconds each boy was carrying equipment in one hand, usingthe other to fight off the swarms. An occasional mosquito added to theirdiscomfort. 

The muddy ooze thinned, then gave way to higher ground. The marsh grasswas less thick and there was an occasional clump of willow. Rick studiedthe terrain ahead, and in a moment caught sight of dark-green foliageamong the brown tips of swamp grass. In a few more feet he made out thetops of trees, and then the glint of sunlight on the aluminum of theantenna they had come to photograph. 

Scotty had seen it, too. He stopped and the boys consulted. 

"We're about twenty yards too far upstream, " Scotty guessed. 

Rick estimated as best he could. "I think you're right. Let's stay onhigh ground and head downstream a little. We must be almost there. "

Scotty turned and Rick followed, waving uselessly at the cloud ofinsects. He was grateful for the advice Steve had given them to wearlong trousers and long-sleeved shirts. If they had been wearing shorts, the insects would have had free access to several square feet of barehide. 

Both boys counted steps automatically, and after twenty pacesdownstream, Scotty turned toward the mansion once more. They pushedthrough the tall grass into thick mud, then into water with a deep muddybottom. A few more steps and the grass thinned. Scotty stopped andmotioned Rick back. They moved sideways, then forward again, and emergedwith the duck blind between them and Calvert's Favor. 

Rick thought to himself that it had been pretty good navigation, considering that most of the journey had been blind, in grass over theirheads. Apparently Scotty thought so, too. He turned and gave Rick a biggrin, then headed for the rear of the duck blind. 

The water deepened, washing off some of the mud. Rick reached down andsplashed a handful on his face. It was warm. He saw a wet black heademerge from under the duck blind and speed for shore. It was a startledwater rat. Alerted by the small splash of their coming, the rodentdecided to take better cover. Then they were at the corner of the blindwhere the entrance was located. 

The floor of the blind was level with their chests. Rick looked in. There wasn't much space, since the blind had been built to provide onlya place for hunters to sit, wait, and then shoot from kneeling orsitting positions. 

Both boys put their equipment on the dry wooden floor. Then Rick swunghimself up and pushed the equipment back to make room for Scotty. For amoment they sat on the floor, resting. Coming through the swamp had beenexhausting work. 

After a few moments' rest, Rick moved to the side of the duck blind andfound a small opening, a square window about six inches on a side, thathad apparently been made to give the hunters a view in that direction. The opening was near the forward, upstream corner, and it looked out onCalvert's Favor. 

Merlin the mysterious and his two close companions were sitting underthe willow tree enjoying something liquid from tall glasses. As Rickwatched, a fourth man, evidently a servant, brought a tray on which asilver pitcher rested. The boy could see the trickles of water cascadingdown the outside, and knew they were caused by moisture condensing onthe cold metal of the pitcher. He moistened his lips. A fine pair ofdunderheads, he and Scotty were. They had come without even a canteen ofwater. 

"Easy shot, " he whispered to Scotty. "Let's set up and take thepictures, then get out of here. I'm getting thirsty just watching them. "

Scotty adjusted the tripod, while Rick took the telescope out of itscase with reverent hands. It was a beautiful and delicate piece ofequipment, Steve's personal property, and he appreciated the trust theagent had placed in them by allowing its use. He fitted the instrumentto the mounting screw on the tripod, then aimed it through the six-inchwindow. When he squinted through the eyepiece, he saw only willowbranches, but, by keeping his eye in place and cranking the gearedtripod head, he quickly aligned the telescope with the trio under thewillow. 

[Illustration: _Scotty fitted the camera to the telescope_]

The telescope had a fixed focus, and was designed for looking at stars. Consequently, the field of vision was extremely narrow at the shortdistance across the water, and Rick could only manage to get Merlin andhis small, insignificant-looking companion into the frame. What's more, they were upside down, as is common in reflecting telescopes. The boyknew there was an erecting prism in the case, a device that would putthe image upright, but it couldn't be used with the camera. Anyway, itwouldn't matter, since the print could be turned over. 

He studied the faces in the upside-down position. The telescope gave himan even better close-up than at the restaurant. Again he groped for theidentity of the white-haired man, but it eluded him. 

Scotty tapped him on the shoulder and motioned that the camera wasready. Rick moved aside and his pal quickly fitted the camera to thetelescope and tightened the mounting rings. Rick nodded to indicate thatthe telescope was on target, and Scotty tripped the camera. 

The advantage of the Polaroid camera is that the picture can be seenwithin seconds. Scotty quickly went through the simple routine, andwithin a quarter of a minute the boys were looking at the photo. It wasan excellent close-up, but a trifle dark. Scotty opened the iris on thecamera another stop and Rick rechecked the alignment. Scotty snapped thepicture and processed it. This time it was perfect, only slightly hazybecause of the rising heat waves across the hundred yards of distance. 

Rick readjusted the telescope for a full view of the third man. Hispicture was added to the others. Scotty wiped both with fixative and putthem on the floor to dry. 

The antenna was next. Rick focused on it without difficulty, but thefield of view was so narrow that he couldn't see all of it. They wouldhave to photograph it in two sections, then fit the prints together. 

Five minutes after their arrival at the duck blind, they were back inthe swamp, the pictures protected in a plastic bread wrapper Rick hadbrought. They cut directly across the swamp and emerged, hot, sticky, and dirty, only a few yards from the boat. They stowed the equipmentwordlessly, then poled backwards into the wider channel. It was toonarrow to turn, so Rick started the motor and backed out with greatcaution. 

Once in the clear, they headed at top speed for Steve's, tied up at thepier, and plunged into the water without even bothering to remove theirclothes. Their only precaution was to empty their pockets. 

Rick luxuriated in the coolness of clean water, then stripped to hisundershorts and threw his sodden clothes onto the pier. Only when he wassure he had washed off the last of the clinging mud did he pull himselfup to the houseboat cockpit, Scotty following. 

They toweled and put on clean clothes, then carried the equipment backto the farmhouse. Two bottles of Coke apiece from the refrigerator hadthem feeling normal again. Over the last one, they studied the photos. 

"I don't think we've ever known Merlin, " Rick said thoughtfully. "We'veseen him, but we don't know him. "

Scotty scratched a mosquito bite. "Think he might be some kind of publicfigure?"

Rick looked up sharply. "I think you hit it! If that's true, we shouldbe able to get him identified easily. "

"Steve could do it through JANIG, " Scotty suggested. 

"It would take too long. He won't be home until tonight, and the picturewouldn't reach JANIG until tomorrow. Then it would take a day to checkit out. "

"Are we in a hurry?" Scotty asked. 

Rick chuckled. "I am. But don't ask me why. Look, I'll bet Duke or Jerrycould identify it by going through the newspaper morgue. " Theirnewspaper friends were owner-editor and reporter for the Whiteside paperback home. 

"They're on vacation, " Scotty reminded him. Once each year, the paperwas turned over to a friend of Duke's, a former newspaperman turnedprofessor of journalism, who used the occasion to give some of hisstudents practical experience. 

That was true, Rick remembered. Neither Duke nor Jerry would beavailable. Who else did they know who could help? Suddenly he snappedhis fingers. "I've got it! Ken Holt would help, if we could get thepicture to him. "

Ken Holt, the young newsman whose adventures were favorite reading forRick and Scotty, had once asked Spindrift for help, and Rick had givenhim a set of pocket-size radio transceivers of the kind known as "TheMegabuck Network. "

"Sandy Allen is a photographer, " Scotty pointed out. "He might knowthese people. "

Rick took a chair next to the telephone and dialed the operator. "Aperson-to-person call, " he stated, "to Mr. Ken Holt, at the _BrentwoodAdvance_, Brentwood, New Jersey. " He put his hand over the mouthpiece. "Let's hope he and Sandy aren't off on an assignment somewhere. "

Luck was on their side. Ken Holt was in, and he was delighted to be ofhelp. "Put the picture in the mail, " the young reporter suggested. "Ifyou make it airmail, special delivery, we'll have it first thing in themorning. With luck, we might even get it tonight. We'll phone you assoon as we have an identification. Incidentally, the Megabuck unitsworked like a charm, as I told you when I wrote. Thanks a lot. "

"Glad they were helpful, " Rick replied. "We'll hurry to town and get thepicture in the mail right away. "

He hung up and nodded at Scotty. "We'll get the picture ready, and takeit to town when we go to pick Steve up. If we're a little early, theletter probably will go out on the early evening plane to Washington. "

Scotty nodded. "What time is it?"

Rick glanced at his watch. "Nearly three. We'll be ready to take off assoon as Steve calls, or doesn't. "

"If he calls, that means he won't be back, " Scotty reminded. 

"No matter. We'll go to town anyway, and have an early dinner. "

Rick had envelopes and letter paper on the houseboat. He wrote a briefnote to Ken, addressed the envelope, and printed AIRMAIL SPECIALDELIVERY on both sides, then enclosed the best picture of Merlin andsealed it. Scotty spent the time on a small repair job, taping up theneoprene gasoline hoses that carried fuel to the houseboat motors. Bythe time he was finished, it was nearly four. The boys went into thehouse to wait. 

Steve called on the dot of four. "Rick? . .. Steve. I'm sorry, fellow. Ihave a little more to do on this case, and I'll have to stay over. Everything going all right?"

Rick briefed him quickly on the day's events and Steve replied, "Ittakes about half an hour for a letter to make the early evening plane. Allow enough time. "

"We will, " Rick assured him. "Anything new on the sighting data?"

"Not yet. I sent the cards to the computing center, but they won't havetime to run the data through until tomorrow or the next day. Makeyourselves at home, and don't spend all your time on flying stingarees. Get in some fishing and swimming. "

Rick assured him that they were enjoying the vacation and would try toget in some fishing. He hung up and turned to Scotty. 

"He'll be in tomorrow on the same plane. He wants us to get in somefishing. "

Scotty chuckled. "I thought he knew you better than that. Give you amystery to chew on and there's no room for anything else in that thickBrantish skull. "

"We'll solve this one, " Rick said confidently. "Then we'll fish. "

Scotty just grinned. 

CHAPTER X

Ken Holt Comes Through

Somewhere in the oak trees across the creek a cardinal sang his lovelyevening song. An osprey, etched in black against the dark blue of thesky, whirled in lazy circles watching the water below. A muskratappeared briefly, his sleek head making a V of ripples in the calmwater. 

Rick and Scotty, sprawled comfortably in beach chairs on the lawn infront of Steve's house, sipped the last of their iced tea, and watchedthe movements and listened to the sounds in companionable silence. Bothboys, admitting that, for the immediate present, they were slightlyoverdosed with rich food, had agreed to settle for a sandwich and icedtea. A brief stop at a store en route back from the post office hadprovided the necessities. 

Rick was physically relaxed, but mentally active. It was characteristicof him that he never let go of a puzzle until he had found a solution, or had tried all possibilities and been forced to admit defeat. He was along way from defeat at the moment. The case of the flying stingaree wasjust getting interesting. 

"What are the flying stingarees?" he asked quietly. 

Scotty shifted position in his chair and looked at Rick quizzically. "You don't expect an answer. But I can tell you a few things they arenot. "

"Tell away, " Rick urged. 

"They are not flying saucers, aircraft, kites, sting rays, birds, fish, or good red herrings. Beyond that, deponent sayeth not, as the legalboys say. "

"Uh-huh. And why are they not flying saucers?"

"For the same reason they're not aircraft. If you recall all the talkswith people who've seen them, they don't maneuver, and they don't travelvery fast. They appear--or they're noticed, let's say--and they just getsmaller and smaller until they vanish. They move, but not much. "

Rick nodded. "The circle we drew around all the sightings doesn't covera very large territory. All the sightings have been within that circle. People had to look toward Swamp Creek to see the objects. Yet, they didsomething interesting. They grew smaller. What makes things seem to growsmaller?"

"Apparent size decreases with distance, " Scotty replied promptly. 

"Sure. And how do you get distance, when the sightings are all within acircle only a few miles in diameter?"

"Only one way. With altitude. The things had to be going up. "

Rick agreed. "That's how I figure it, too. It also explains why thecircle of sightings is so small. Above a certain altitude, the objectsare no longer visible. Or they're not so visible that they attractattention. I suppose we could work out some calculations. How large anobject can be seen readily at what distance? Then we could apply alittle trigonometry and figure their size. "

"We could, " Scotty agreed, "but do we need to? Let's assume the objectyou saw was typical. How big was it?"

Rick thought it over. He had had only a quick glimpse, and thebackground had been the gray of the storm. His vision had been obscuredbecause of the rain. "Maximum of ten feet across and maybe eight tall. It was probably less. "

"Okay. So the reason sightings are confined to this area is because theobjects are fairly small. When people see them, they're relativelyclose, and fairly low. Even the small planes that fly from the airfieldare much bigger than the flying stingarees, but when the planes go overat about five thousand feet, they seem tiny. At that altitude the flyingstingarees must be at the limit of really good visibility. "

"I read you loud and clear. So the objects are sent from Calvert'sFavor, and they climb. They don't climb straight up, though. The windcarries them. The reason I think so is that the one I saw must have beendriven by the wind, right down the creek toward me. It didn't climbuntil it got away from the funneling effect of the creek and into theriver, then it went up pretty fast. At least it seemed to have risenfast when I looked over the top of the boat at it. "

Scotty crunched an ice cube. "We're getting somewhere. There's only onekind of unpowered, vertical rising thing I know of. Are you with me?"

Rick finished his drink. "Balloon, " he said crisply. 

"On the beam, " Scotty approved. "The only thing that doesn't fit is theshape. "

Rick asked, "What's a balloon? It's just a gas-tight container. We'reused to thinking of balloons as spheres, because it's the most efficientshape for internal pressure. But a balloon can be any shape. Anotherthing--balloons for high altitudes aren't fully inflated on the ground. Maybe the flying stingarees have a different shape when they get higherand in less dense atmosphere where the gas distends them. "

"An odd shape could be used as camouflage, too, if you didn't wantpeople to recognize the balloon. But why would a strange assortment ofcharacters like Merlin and company send up balloons?" Scotty wondered. 

Rick smiled. "I've been wondering that myself. Would they send up aballoon that didn't carry something?"

"I don't know. Was the one you saw carrying anything?"

Rick sat upright. "Maybe it was! You know, I haven't even thought of itsince then, but I think there was a splash when it went by. Somethingsort of clanged off the rail over me, even if it didn't dent the rail. Do you suppose the thing dropped its payload right next to us?"

"You'll have to decide that, " Scotty said. "If you heard somethingbounce off the rail, then a splash, I'd say there might be a pretty goodchance that's what happened. I couldn't see any marks on the rail whenwe looked. " They had checked the rail during the first day at Steve's. 

Rick closed his eyes and made himself remember what it had been likewhen he went down the catwalk to the bow. His mind drew a picture, andhe saw himself bent forward into the wind. In his memory he felt theslashing rain, the slipperiness of the wet anchor line. He couldvisualize the water whipped into dimpled wavelets by wind and rain. Hesaw the flying stingaree loom, and saw himself dropping flat. There hadbeen a clang as something hard hit the rail! There _had_ been a splash!

He went over it again, searching his memory for details he had forgottenor which had only registered vaguely at the time. He studied the shapeand texture of the object he had seen so briefly. He saw its red eyesopen and glare at him, saw the extended claws reaching. .. . 

He came out of his chair with a yell, arms extended to defend himself. 

Scotty stood next to him in the darkness. "Hey, take it easy, Rick! Ididn't think I'd startle you so when I shook you. "

Rick stared. "Did I fall asleep? I must have. I was trying to remember, and suddenly I was dreaming about red eyes and claws--"

Scotty laughed softly. "If you've got to have nightmares, at least do itin comfort. Let's go to the boat and go to bed. "

Rick dreamed no more of the flying stingarees. In the morning hecouldn't have said what his dreams had been about, except that they hadbeen pleasant. 

In the bright glare of morning, the whole thing seemed dreamlike. It waspreposterous to imagine that flying objects, probably balloons shapedlike stingarees, were launched from a famous mansion that dated back tothe days of the early Maryland colony. But the sighting data couldn't beignored. Dreamlike or not, something strange was going on at Calvert'sFavor. 

The boys breakfasted in the farmhouse, reducing Steve's supply of eggssubstantially and wiping out the bacon reserve. "We'll have to shopsometime today, " Rick observed. "Steve has plenty of food here, but wedon't want to use it when there's a store so close. "

"Sure, " Scotty agreed. "But when? It may have to wait until we go afterSteve. We can't very well leave the house, or at least both of us can't. Ken Holt might call. "

Rick nodded and poured himself a cup of coffee. He had thought of that. They had to give Ken time to get the picture and check it out. By thelatest, they should hear before noon--unless the job turned out to bevery difficult. That would leave four hours before they would have toleave the house to pick up Steve. Four hours was time enough for theinvestigation Rick had in mind. 

After breakfast they settled down with the data sheets and notebook toreview them once more. But only one additional fact emerged. Two peoplethought, but weren't absolutely sure, that they had seen a spurt of firefrom the flying stingarees. Rick wondered if they had seen a suddenflare of sunlight from some highly reflective part of the object. 

It was two minutes before nine when the phone rang. Both boys jumped, but Rick got there first. "Hello?"

"Rick? . .. This is Ken. Why don't you give us something hard to do? Theenvelope arrived three minutes ago, and I was just taking the pictureout when Sandy walked in. He took one look and asked what I was doingwith a snapshot of Lefty Camillion. The hair is white and the mustacheis gone, but it's Lefty. "

Rick gasped. "My sainted aunt! Of course! I should have known itmyself. "

"There's more. Sandy recognized Lefty's small friend too. This is an oddone, Rick. The man is Dr. Elbert K. Drews. He was fired six months agoby Space Electronics Industries. It was a big story for us, because theplant is located in the next town. The reason he was fired came outduring the monopoly investigations. Turned out he had been selling thefirm's industrial secrets to its competitors. It was a shock, because hehad such a big reputation as an electronics wizard. He got some kind ofnational prize a year ago for developing a new high-speed system forsomething. Let's see--here's my note. It says, 'Dr. Drews was theoriginator of a new and unusual system for the rapid telemetry of datafrom space. The system is considered remarkable for its compactness andspeed of operation. The ground installation is scarcely larger than aconsole-model television set. ' Hope that means something to you, Rick. "

"Thanks a million, Ken. It seems to fit, but I'm not sure how. "

"Let us know if you find out. And if we can do anything else, you knowthe phone number. "

"We'll call if anything comes up. Thanks again, Ken. "

Rick hung up and stared at the phone thoughtfully, trying to fit thisnew information into the scheme of things. Scotty had been sitting onthe edge of his chair since the conversation started. He said, with someexasperation, "Well? Out with it!"

"Mr. Merlin is Lefty Camillion. His pal is an electronics wizard who wasfired by Space Electronics Industries for selling industrial secrets tothe firm's competitors. " Rick rapidly sketched in the rest of theconversation. 

Scotty sank back into his chair. "His hair was black, and now it'swhite. He must have been keeping it dyed, and decided to go natural. Andhe shaved off that mustache. Probably that was dyed black, too. "

"You're right. " Rick shook his head in dismay. Lefty Camillion, whosefirst name was Thomas, was a notorious crime syndicate leader who hadcome into prominence about two years ago during Senate investigations ofracketeering. In three days Camillion had become a televisionpersonality, of sorts, when it became clear that he apparently wasresponsible for a number of murders and a thousand lesser crimes, although he himself had not done the actual killings. There wasinsufficient evidence to jail him, but enough to deport him. He droppedout of sight while his lawyers were fighting the deportationproceedings. Now he had shown up again, on the Eastern Shore. 

"A crime syndicate chief, a crooked scientist, flying stingarees, an oldmansion, a peculiar antenna, and a missing crabber. What does it add upto?" Rick demanded. 

Scotty shrugged. He didn't answer. There was no answer--yet. 

CHAPTER XI

On the Bottom

There were three wooden cases stored in the full-length closet in thehouseboat cabin. Rick and Scotty took the two bulkiest to the cockpitand opened them to disclose full skin-diving equipment. The boys hadmade the cases themselves, to be carried like suitcases. Each held asingle air tank, regulator, mask, fins, snorkel, underwater watch, depthgauge, weight belt, equipment belt, and knife. The third case containedspears and spear guns, but they wouldn't need those in searching for theobject that had splashed near the houseboat. 

While Rick checked the equipment, made sure there was sufficient air inthe tanks, and put on the regulators, Scotty searched for a heavy stakeand something with which to drive it. He found a sledge hammer inSteve's workshop. At the edge of the woods was a pile of saplings thathad been cut to make a fence. He chose a sapling that would serve as astake and took it back to the boat. 

One of the spare lines that the houseboat carried was quarter-inchnylon. Scotty fastened one end of the small rope to the sapling, abouthalfway up, and secured it with a timber hitch. Then he wound the ropeon the sapling as smoothly as possible. 

Rick finished checking the equipment and announced that he was ready. 

"Same here, " Scotty replied. "Let's get into swim trunks. "

As the two changed, Rick asked, "Suppose we find something, but can'tget it up without help? How do we mark the place?"

Scotty paused. Normally they would simply attach a line to a float andsecure the float to the object. But a float would attract attention. "Take bearings?"

Rick shook his head. "The boat will be swinging at anchor. It might behard to get good bearings. Would a piece of fish line work? We could tieit to the object, carry it to the shore, and secure it to somethingunderwater. The line would sink. Later, we could just drag until wecaught the line. "

"It would work, " Scotty agreed. "There's a new spool of heavy line onthe shelf in the closet. Fifty yards. That should do. "

"Especially since the most we would need is fifty feet, " Rick agreed. "I'll stick it in a belt pocket, just in case. "

Back on deck, Rick started the houseboat's outboard motors and listenedcritically. They were operating smoothly. Scotty walked up the pier anduntied the bowline. At Rick's signal, he stepped aboard on the foredeck, bringing the line with him. Rick cast off the stern line, pushed thehouseboat away from the pier, then put the motors in gear. 

The trip to Swamp Creek was a familiar one now. Rick cut corners, knowing he had enough water under the keel, heading directly for thecreek entrance. Scotty came back to the cockpit and joined him. 

"Do you suppose Orvil Harris will be around?"

Rick shrugged. "It's pretty late for a crabber. He's probably gone bynow. "

"I wonder if he'll ever see any flying stingarees come out of thecreek. "

Rick shook his head. "Most of the sightings are in the late morning orlate afternoon. Only a couple were around dawn. "

While the houseboat moved across the Little Choptank, Scotty checked thetide tables. He reported that the tide was coming in. It was about onehour from high tide. Rick had been studying the chart. "No problem, " hesaid. "Mean low water averages four feet in the cove, with seven feet inthe middle. Think your stake will be long enough?"

Scotty had placed the sapling with its winding of rope on the cabin top. He estimated its length again. "Depends on how deep the mud is. If it'smore than three feet, the top of the stake will be under water. "

"Three feet is a lot of mud, " Rick said. "It's likely a lot less thanthat. "

He turned into the creek mouth, throttling back. It would be hard toanchor precisely where the houseboat had been anchored that first night, but he was sure they could find the spot within twenty feet. Scotty wentup on the bow and got the anchor ready. 

"Use about thirty feet of line, " Rick called. He took the houseboat tothe exact center of the cove, as closely as he could estimate, then putthe motors in reverse to kill the speed. When it fell to zero, he yelledto Scotty. Scotty lowered the anchor and made it fast, then hurried backto join Rick, who backed off until he felt the anchor dig in. 

It was silent in the cove with the motors off. "I'll start, " Rickoffered, and at Scotty's nod he picked up his Scuba and slipped into theharness. His weight belt was next, then his fins. Finally he slipped themask strap over his head, and put the mouthpiece in place. He took acouple of breaths to make sure he was getting air, then walked to theedge of the cockpit and fell backward into the water, letting his tanktake the shock of landing. He slipped the mask off, took the mouthpieceout, and spat into the mask to prevent fogging, then he rinsed it, putit on, and replaced the mouthpiece. 

Scotty had taken the sapling from the cabin top. He handed it to Rick, who dove with it, thrusting the sharpened end into the mud far enough sothat the sapling stayed in place. 

Rick surfaced again and swam to the boat, which had drifted a few feet. Catching the leg of one motor, he pulled the boat back to where thesapling projected above the surface. He held the boat in position whileScotty took the sledge and drove the sapling down until its top was onlya few inches above the water. Rick tested the pole. It was firm. 

He removed the mouthpiece, treading water. "Looks okay. I'm going tostart. "

"Good luck, " Scotty called. 

Rick submerged and swam down, using the pole as a guide. The rope, attached to the pole, was perhaps two feet above the bottom. He freedthe end of the rope, unwound a few feet, slipped the end through hisbelt, and secured it with a slip knot. Then, hands extended, he beganthe slow work of covering the cove bottom inch by inch, searching forthe thing that had splashed. 

The boy swam in an ever-widening circle, the rope unwinding from thesapling as he moved. The unwinding of the line, which he kept taut, ensured that he would cover new ground each time he rounded the pole, but without missing any. He couldn't see, because his hands stirred upmud as he traveled. Only his sense of touch told him what was on thebottom. He wasn't afraid of grabbing a crab or an eel. All underwatercreatures with any mobility at all get out of the way as fast aspossible. He knew the compression wave caused by his movement would warnall living creatures. 

His groping hands identified various pieces of wood, all natural, andassorted other objects including an old tire. There were cans, some ofthem food tins that had been opened, and some beverage cans, recognizable because of their triangular openings. Once he found asection of fishing pole. 

It was a long, tedious job. The world closed in on Rick and there wasonly the murk outside his mask and the rhythmic sound of his ownbreathing. Only his hands, constantly probing the mud, were in touchwith reality. He lost all sense of time. Once, to see how much ground hehad covered, he pulled himself to the pole by the line, estimating hisdistance. He was about fifteen feet from his starting point. He returnedto the full extent of the line and started the round again, afterlooking at his watch. He had to hold it close to see the dial throughthe murk. He had been down only twenty minutes, although the time seemedmuch longer. 

Ten minutes later his hand swept over something smooth. Instantly heturned in toward the pole, and swam back around the circle for perhapsten feet. Then, covering the ground again by crawling along the bottom, he felt for the object. His fingers touched it. His first impression wasof something cylindrical, but he made no attempt to pick it up. Heneeded to explore it thoroughly, first. His breathing was faster, and heknew his pulse had accelerated at the moment of discovery. If thiscontinued, he would use air too fast. He willed himself to slow hisbreathing, and for a few seconds he stopped altogether. 

In that instant, Rick heard a slap on the water, then another. Hewaited, holding his breath. There was a pause, then more gentle slaps. He counted them. 

One, two, three, four--the signal for danger!

He and Scotty had long ago agreed that four sounds underwater would bethe danger signal. He reacted instantly. The fishing line was in apocket on his equipment belt. He took it out and pulled line from thespool. Then, probing deeply with one hand, he pushed the line under thesmooth object, reached across and down with the other hand. When hishands met, he passed the line from one to the other and pulled the linethrough. Now it was around the object. He tied the line quickly, thenrolled over on his back and looked upward at the surface. He could gaugethe position of the sun, even though he could see no details. Using therays filtering through the murk as a guide, he oriented himself. 

"Which bank?" He thought quickly. Danger could only come from themansion, and that was on the south bank. He turned and swam north, goingslowly, paying out line from the spool. Now that he was traveling in astraight line, he covered the bottom quickly, and in less than a minutehe was in shallow water. He stopped, afraid that his tank would showabove the surface. 

It was clearer in the shallows. He made out the line of a branch, orroot of some kind that thrust its way through the surface. It wouldserve. Quickly he passed the spool around it and made a knot, then hepushed the spool itself into the mud and turned. 

Now to find the boat again. Cruising slowly, he headed in the generaldirection, rising slightly as he swam. Finally, he found the boat by itsshadow and swam under it to the stern. Again orienting himself by thesun, he made sure that the boat would be between him and the south bank. He surfaced and pulled off his mask. 

Scotty was swabbing the deck of the cockpit as casually as thoughtrouble was the last thing on his mind. Rick wondered briefly if he hadimagined the danger signal, or had mistaken some other sound for asignal. Then Scotty hailed him. 

"Where are all the clams?"

Rick's mind raced. Obviously someone was listening. Was the someone onthe boat, or ashore?

"I only found one, " he called back. "I don't believe there are enough inthis cove to bother about, no matter what those fishermen said. "

"Did you dig deep enough?" Scotty asked. 

"As deep as I could without a shovel. The mud is two feet thick downthere. "

"Well, you might as well come aboard. I guess if we're going to haveclam chowder, we'll have to buy clams from a commercial boat. "

Scotty wouldn't invite him aboard if there was any danger, Rick knew. Heaccepted the hand Scotty held down and got aboard. 

He surveyed the situation quickly. There was no sign of any danger. 

"Pretty murky down there?" Scotty asked. 

"Like swimming in ink. "

"We'll try again out in deep water. It should be clear near the rivermouth. "

"Suits me, " Rick said. "I never did think we'd find clams in this cove. The mano boats dredge in deeper water than this. "

"Maybe the fishermen didn't want us stirring things up where they clam. Come on in and I'll fix you some coffee. I made it while you were downbelow. "

"Okay. "

Once inside the cabin, Scotty said softly, "Two men. On the shore. Oneis the bodyguard. I've never seen the other one before. Both of themhave rifles. "

Rick considered. "They couldn't possibly know the thing--whatever itis--dropped in the water here. Or could they?"

"I don't know. Anyway, they're suspicious. Did you find anything?"

"Just as you signaled. How did you signal, by the way?"

"With the mop pail. Four taps with the bottom on the water surface. ThenI filled the pail and began swabbing down. "

Rick nodded. "I don't know what I found. A cylinder, maybe two inches indiameter, maybe less. Smooth. I got the fish line around it and carriedthe line to the shore. We'll have to come back later. "

"We certainly will. " Scotty's eyes sparkled. "But for now, let's upanchor and get out of here. "

"How about the stake with the rope on it?"

"The tide's still coming in. It will be completely under the water athigh tide. We'll have to avoid it, and warn Harris if we don't get backtonight. "

An idea was beginning to form in Rick's mind. "Okay, " he said. "Let'sget going. "

Within minutes the houseboat was on its way out of the cove, the twoboys acting normally, as though no one was observing their departure. Rick saw no one on shore, and not until they were sunward from the coveentrance did he see the sparkle of sunlight on binocular lenses. Scottyhad been right, as usual. 

CHAPTER XII

Night Recovery

On the way back from the airport, Steve Ames listened intently to thereport of the day's activities, but delayed comment until supplies hadbeen purchased, and a dozen eggs turned into an omelet that a Frenchchef might have praised. 

Rick was eager to discuss the whole affair with Steve, but the youngagent was adroit at fending off questions without being rude, andfinally the boy gave up. 

Over after-dinner coffee, Steve smiled at both of them. "End of today'slesson in patience, which is one virtue neither of you has developedsufficiently. Okay, where are those two pictures?"

Scotty whipped them from the breast pocket of his shirt and handed themover without comment. Steve studied them for long minutes, then went toa table and took a magnifying glass from the table drawer. He placed thepictures directly under a lamp and studied them with the aid of themagnifier. 

"It _is_ Thomas Camillion, " he said finally. "Your friend Sandy Allenhas a sharp eye. I wouldn't have known him, either. "

That surprised Rick. Steve had never met the owner of Calvert's Favor, but because of Camillion's notorious reputation, Rick had been certainthat Steve would recognize him on sight. 

Steve saw the expression on Rick's face. He grinned. "You disappointed?First of all, my knowledge of Camillion is not greater than yours. I'venever seen him in person, or had any reason to study him. Crime isn'tJANIG's business. Second, one expects to see a duck near water, or asquirrel near a tree. Criminals are generally found near centers ofcrime. They're not common in historic mansions, far from largepopulation centers, so one doesn't expect to find them there. My reasonsfor not recognizing Camillion, without Allen's identification, areexactly the same as yours. "

"It's just that we expect you to know everything, " Scotty saidhalf-seriously. 

"Then I'm glad you're learning better. Joking aside, it's interestingthat Camillion should be here. It's even more interesting that hissidekick is a crooked electronics engineer or scientist. When you addflying stingarees to that combination, it totals up to something novelin criminal ideas. But what?"

"We thought you might have an idea, " Rick prodded. 

"Yes and no, " Steve said ambiguously. "What ideas do you have?"

Rick stared at him accusingly. "Are you holding out on us? Do you knowsomething we don't?"

"Not yet, " Steve said, and grinned at their expressions. "I mean thatliterally. I think I may possibly know something, but the evidence isn'tin yet. It's that computer run I mentioned. We should have the resultstomorrow. "

"All right, " Rick said. He knew better than to push Steve for moreinformation. The agent went in for speculation only when it served apurpose. With only a hint of evidence, he avoided guessing until theevidence had been checked out. "We figured out that the flyingstingarees probably are balloons, " Rick reported, recapitulating theirconclusions of the previous evening. 

Steve nodded approvingly. "Very good reasoning. Now connect up anelectronics crook, Camillion, and that peculiar antenna. "

"The balloons carry radio equipment, " Scotty said promptly. "The antennapicks up their signals. "

Steve nodded again. "That's reasonable. Now, why do the balloons carryradio equipment? And why are they launched?"

"We're like a dog chasing his tail, " Rick said with a grin. "We're notgetting anywhere, but we're covering plenty of ground. "

"Maybe we are getting somewhere, " Steve corrected. "You found somethingtoday that may be the balloon payload. You also found out that peoplefrom the mansion were interested in your activities, but didn't want tobe seen. It's obvious that the object you found must be recovered. You've got a plan. I'm sure of it. "

"We do, " Rick agreed. 

Scotty added, "First of all, we have to warn Orvil Harris. If he goescrabbing in the middle of the night, he might foul a prop on the stakewe left there. "

"The people in the mansion can't be suspicious of Orvil, " Rick went on. "He goes crabbing there every day. They must be used to him by now. Suppose we call him, to warn him about the stake, and to see if he'llhelp out. "

"He'll be glad to help, " Scotty said. 

"Help how?" Steve asked. "By providing cover?"

Rick nodded. "Exactly. Scotty and I will suit up, so our skins won'tshow at night, and have our Scuba equipment on. Harris could come by andtake the runabout in tow with us in it. We would drop off near the creekentrance and push the runabout into the channel where it would behidden. Then we would swim into the cove and recover the object. Withtwo of us, it would be a cinch to find the fish line. "

"If the thing is too heavy to swim with, " Scotty went on, "we'll hand itinto Orvil's boat. Of course we'll pull up the sapling and hand that toOrvil. If the gadget is light, we'll swim back to the runabout with it, push the runabout away from the cove into the river, and then get aboardand come home. "

Rick concluded, "With Orvil's motor going, no one would hear ourbubbles. "

Steve had followed the plan carefully. "Fair enough, " he agreed. "It's agood plan. No one will see you enter the cove, and no one will see youleave. There will be only Orvil Harris catching crabs as usual. "

Scotty spoke up. "We could make one change, Steve. You could be with us, either in the water or in the runabout. "

Steve shook his head. "No thanks, Scotty. I have some business of my ownlater tonight. You carry out your plan and I'll carry out mine. "

"Is your business connected with ours?" Rick asked. 

"Yes, but I'm going to follow a different line of investigation. If itbrings results, we'll compare notes at breakfast. "

"We could postpone recovery and help you tonight, " Scotty suggested. 

Steve smiled warmly. "Thanks, but no thanks. What I have to do is for alone hand. Rick, you phone Orvil Harris and make arrangements. "

Rick consulted the telephone directory and turned to Steve. "Any chancethe line may be bugged?"

"I doubt it. You might ask Orvil if he's on a party line, though. If heis, be careful. If not, go ahead and talk. "

Orvil Harris had a private line, so Rick described their adventure inthe cove and asked for the crabber's help. Harris responded at once, asthe boys had known he would. 

"I'll come by at half past three. You hook on and I'll tow you to themouth of the creek, then you cut loose. We'll fix up the details when Isee you. "

Rick thanked him and hung up. "All set, " he reported. "But we'll getlittle sleep tonight. "

"It's only about eight, " Steve pointed out. "You could go to bed rightaway. " He managed to say it with a straight face. 

"We could, " Scotty agreed. "But we won't. How about a little televisiontonight?"

Steve waved a hand. "Take your pick. Medical drama, crime drama, westerndrama. "

"The purpose of television drama, " Rick declared, "is to provide anescape from the real world into the world of fantasy. So no crime dramafor us because that's the real world. We will watch a medical-typeshow. "

"Western, " Scotty said. "Trot-trot, bang-bang. "

"Medical. " Rick held out a hand dramatically. "Scalpel! Sponge! Quick, nurse, tighten the frassen-stat! The patient is going into nurbelingaspoxium!"

"Western. " Scotty crouched, hand curved at his thigh. "Make your play, Brant!"

"Medical. " Rick tapped an imaginary stethoscope on his palm. "I regretthat you have all the symptoms of thickus headus, Mr. Scott. "

Steve held up both hands. "Whoa, Mr. Scott. You too, Dr. Brant. As theonly impartial participant, I will select. We will improve your minds byfinding a panel show about the problems of agriculture in Basutoland. "

The boys groaned. 

It turned out to be an entertaining TV evening, with one good showfollowing another, and the late show an exciting sea adventure filmedmany years before the boys were born, but one of their favorites fromother late-night movies. The three had no intention of staying up towatch it, but lingered for the first reel--and were lost. 

It was the same with the late, late show, a horror movie so badly donethat it served as a new type of comedy. By this time, all were too tiredto go to bed, and by mutual consent, they watched the program to theend, then rallied in the kitchen for sandwiches and coffee. 

By the time the boys had retired to the houseboat, checked theirequipment, and climbed into diving suits of black neoprene with helmetsand socks, Orvil Harris was coming down the creek. 

Scotty checked the runabout outboard to make sure it would start easilyand that there was plenty of gas, while Rick put their tanks andregulators aboard. Then, with a final farewell to Steve, the boys gotaboard Orvil's boat, secured the runabout to the stern, and started off. 

On the way to Swamp Creek, Rick and Scotty described their plan to thecrabber. Harris slapped his thigh. "Now we're gettin' somewhere. Youjust lay the pole and rope up on the gunwale as I go by, and leave therest to me. If the thing on the bottom is too heavy, I can pull it in. Got a line to put on it?"

Rick admitted they had forgotten that detail. "We can cut a length offthe pole line. "

"No need. Plenty of short lengths in that rope locker behind you. Takewhat you need. "

The boys each selected a ten-foot length of half-inch nylon rope, sufficiently long for hauling the object up, if need be. 

Harris asked, "Sure you can find your way underwater in the dark?"

"We have wrist compasses with luminous dials, " Scotty explained. 

"Good. Any danger of you comin' up under me?"

"No. We'll see the white bubbles from your prop. They'll bephosphorescent. " Rick pointed to the crab boat's wake. Thousands of tinybay creatures, most of them almost invisible bits of jelly, flashed bluewhite as the prop disturbed them, so that the wake twinkled as thoughstudded with stars. 

They fell silent as Harris crossed the Little Choptank, the steady beatof his motor nearly lost in the darkness. Rick could not make outdetails or landmarks, but Harris knew the way as well as he knew theinside of his own boat. Rick enjoyed the coolness of the night, and eventhe heavy scent of the salted eel the crabber used as bait. 

Harris tapped each boy on the shoulder in turn, and pointed. They couldbarely make out the entrance to the creek. They nodded, and shook hands, then Rick pulled the runabout towline and brought the smaller boat tothe crabber's stern. Scotty stepped aboard and held out a hand. Rickjoined him, casting off as he embarked. In a moment they were adrift. 

It took only five minutes to get their tanks in place, put on fins, andgo through their routine of checking weight belt releases, makingcertain that the emergency valves were in the "up" position on thetanks, and ensuring that regulators were operating smoothly. Rickslipped into the water with only a small splash, and Scotty followed. They took the runabout's bow rope and swam easily and quietly. 

There was no hurry. Orvil Harris would need a little time to put out hislines. He would avoid the pole they had placed; its top would be abovewater at this stage of the tide. 

Scotty led the way to the opening into the small waterway through whichthey had gone to the duck blind. He found it without difficulty, and forthe thousandth time Rick marveled at his pal's sure sense of positionand direction, even in darkness. The boat was pushed backward into theopening and tied to a root. 

Rick rinsed his mask, put it on, and slid noiselessly under the water. Scotty followed in a direct line, letting Rick pick the course, andfollowing by the feeling of Rick's flipper wash on his cheeks. 

It was like swimming in ink. Rick kept his hands out in case ofunexpected underwater objects, but forged ahead at a good speed. He kepttrack of his own rate of progress through the water by timing the numberof flutter kicks per minute. At the count of fifty he turned to theleft, heading directly into the creek's mouth. He could hear the steadybeat of Orvil's motor. When he estimated he had covered the properdistance, he stopped and let Scotty catch up with him. He put a hand onhis pal's shoulder and pressed down, a signal to hold position. Then, very carefully, he swam to the top of the water and lifted his headabove the surface. He could see the sapling a dozen yards away, slightlyto his right. Orvil was putting out lines upstream, near the point whereSwamp Creek widened into the cove. 

Rick went under again and tapped Scotty. He headed for the pole, handsoutstretched to intercept it. His left hand hit it and held. Scotty camealongside and they swam to the bottom. Both gripped the pole, put finsflat against the muddy bottom, and heaved. The pole came up withoutdifficulty. While Scotty held it, Rick wrapped rope around it until theline was fully wound again. Orvil's motor was nearer now. Rick took oneend of the pole while Scotty took the other. They operated entirely bytouch; nothing was visible except the luminous dials of their compasses. The motor sound was muted in the burbling exhaust of their bubbles. 

It was almost possible to stand on flipper tips with head above water. The boys thrust their heads out with care, and saw Orvil bearing down onthem, peering forward anxiously. He waved when he saw the two helmetedheads. There was a slight gleam from the masks even in the darkness. Ashe came alongside, the boys held the pole overhead, water churning undertheir flippers. Orvil bent and took it, lifted it on board, andcontinued on his path. 

The boys went under again, operating on a prearranged plan. This timethey swam side by side, hands searching for the fish line. Since Rickknew the approximate position where he had tied it to the projectingstump, he led the way toward shallow water, hoping to intercept it. 

The water shoaled rapidly as the boys approached the shore. Scotty'shand suddenly gripped Rick's, and Rick felt the line. 

At the same instant, Rick was aware of bubbles in the water, a trail offaint phosphorescence shooting downward past his mask. Then somethingglanced from his tank and he heard a sharp clang like a brazen bell inhis ears. The impact rolled him partly over, and as he turned, anotherline of phosphorescence streaked past his eyes. 

The skin on his back crawled in the blazing moment of recognition. Theywere being shot at!

CHAPTER XIII

The Night Watchers

Scotty, who had realized they were being shot at, was pulling at Rick'sarm in frantic jerks, trying to lead him back into deeper water. Rickneeded no urging. His fins thrashed in the shallows as he drovedesperately for the safety of the deepest part of the cove, his handskeeping contact with the bottom. 

The increased pressure on his eardrums told him they had reached thesanctuary of deeper water where the velocity of bullets would beabsorbed before they could strike. He was bewildered. What had happened?Who was shooting? For a moment it crossed his mind that Orvil might bedoing the shooting, but he dismissed it. He had no proof that thecrabber hadn't suddenly turned on them; he just didn't believe it. 

Yesterday Scotty had seen watchers on the shore, presumably fromCalvert's Favor. Apparently the watchers were there now. The boys hadgone into shallow water, and their tanks had shown above the surface, drawing fire. It was the only reasonable explanation. Probably the nightwatchers had seen the pole handed up to Orvil, or had seen the faintlight reflecting from their masks. 

What had happened to Orvil?

One thing was certain. They couldn't stay on the bottom indefinitely. 

Rick consulted his wrist compass and closed his fingers on Scotty'sshoulder. He led the way toward the mouth of the cove. 

Somewhere on the shore, he thought, the night gunmen were watching theline of bubbles. The boys' only hope of escaping detection had been toavoid drawing attention to themselves. Rick knew that was impossiblewith watchers on the shore. Watchers at four in the morning was onething he hadn't expected. What had drawn them?

Suddenly he knew. While he, Steve, and Scotty had examined the mansionthrough glasses from Orvil's boat, Merlin and company, or a singleguard, had been watching them. They had drawn attention not only toOrvil, but to the time of day when the guards would need to beespecially alert. 

Bubbles would attract the guards' attention, not only because theyfoamed on the surface, but because they would leave a glow ofphosphorescence. How far would bubbles and glow be visible? He had amental image of the watchers following the shoreline. They couldn'tcross the creek or its mouth to where Steve's runabout was stowed, butthey could shoot that far, if they could see the bubbles. 

The only way for Scotty and him to escape was to eliminate the bubbletrack. That meant not breathing. Not breathing was possible for a shorttime. During the interval, they could swim into the marsh grass and useit for cover. 

Rick's thoughts raced. He tried to recall the shoreline. There must besome promontory, some outcropping of grass, behind which they couldhide. Perhaps the best way was simply to swim directly out from thecreek mouth until distance hid the bubbles and darkness shrouded twoblack-covered heads. 

There was a problem, though. Scotty's air tank hadn't been used untilnow. Rick's had, during the initial search yesterday. He estimatedquickly. Less air is used at shallow depths than at deeper depths. Thewater depth for most of the way was shallow enough so that tank time wasessentially the same as swimming on the surface. He had had at leastforty-five minutes of air to begin with, and it might be stretched tofifty minutes. He probably had used no more than forty minutes of air, total. But the remaining ten minutes would not take them out into reallydeep water in the river itself, and then back to shore. There was notenough air to take them to Steve's place. 

He had to make up his mind. Scotty, undoubtedly, was doing some fastthinking along the same lines. Their thoughts usually followed the sametrack in such situations. Rick touched Scotty's side and forged ahead, heading straight out. He counted his kicks, estimating distance covered. When he reached a count of three hundred he angled right, toward thenorth shore of the Little Choptank. They were well out of the creek now. 

When the water shoaled, he found Scotty again and pressed him down;then, very gingerly, he put his head above water, half expecting to feelthe shock of a bullet. 

There was a fallen tree nearby. He submerged again, touched Scotty, andled the way to its shelter. A cautious survey told him they were somedistance from the creek mouth, and certainly invisible behind thewaterlogged trunk and its load of leaves and other debris. 

He put his lips to Scotty's ear. "Wonder what happened to Orvil?"

"We've got to find out, " Scotty whispered back. 

"Yes, but how?"

"We go overland. "

Of course! They were on the same side as the boat, and not far away. There was the stretch of marsh between the channel and the creek. Theycould cross that, and overlook the creek. "Let's go, " Rick whispered. 

They inched their way along the fallen tree to the bank, then crawledslowly into the shelter of the marsh grass. The grass grew in a narrowswath at this point, with a tangle of scrub and trees deeper inland. They kept going until the scrub concealed them, listening for soundsfrom the creek. There was the beat of a motor. It sounded like Orvil'sboat, and Rick thought it probably was. But would Orvil continuecrabbing? Again the doubt came. Had the crabber tried to kill them? Hecouldn't believe it. 

The boys stopped and slipped off their fins. "Lead on, " Rick saidsoftly. 

"Okay. When we get to the boat, we'll wade across the channel andcontinue right on through the marsh grass to the bank of the creek. We'dbetter be as quiet as possible. "

"I'm with you. "

Carrying their swim fins, the boys started through the dense growth, Scotty in the lead. It was hard going. Mosquitoes whined in a steadyswarm around their heads, but with the neoprene suits and helmets, onlytheir faces and hands were exposed. Each traveled with one handoutstretched to fend off branches, the other hand waving the fins tochase the insects from their faces. The outstretched hands were wipedfrequently across the suits to get rid of the pests. 

Rick was careful to step where Scotty stepped. When it came to silenttracking at night, the ex-Marine had few peers. 

The two skirted the shore, keeping within the tree belt, until moremarsh grass warned them that the water was near. The ground gave way tomud, and the mud to water. They stepped into the narrow channel up whichthey had gone to the blind. They now were less than two yards from therunabout. Scotty turned at once, and keeping to the water, movedupstream. Rick followed, careful not to splash. The darkness was lessdense than under the trees, but he could not make out any details. 

The channel ran roughly parallel to the creek, with a strip of landabout thirty yards wide between the two. When Scotty estimated they wereeven with the cove, he left the channel and moved into the marsh grassagain. Rick followed closely, careful to make no noise. In spite oftheir best efforts there was an occasional sucking sound as his foot orScotty's pulled out of the muck, and there was a steady rustle of marshgrass. He hoped that the sounds were drowned out by the steady chuggingof Orvil's motor. 

Scotty slowed to a cautious pace and Rick knew they were approaching thecreek bank. The marsh grass did not thin appreciably. Rick wondered ifthe night watchers could see the tassels of the grass waving as theyapproached, and decided that the small motion probably was invisibleagainst the high bank of trees farther inland. 

Rick stopped as Scotty turned. Soundlessly, Scotty lowered himself tothe mud, then inched ahead, moving each strand of marsh grass with care. Rick followed suit, and crawled in Scotty's track until he saw theglimmer of water. Then, moving with great caution, he drew alongside hispal. They looked out into the cove through a thin screen of grassstalks. 

Orvil Harris was crabbing, as unconcerned as though nothing hadhappened. As Rick stared, disbelieving, the crabber's net swooped. 

The crab boat moved on, exposing a glow on the opposite bank. Ricksucked in his breath. He could make out the forms of two men. One wassmoking a cigarette. Both carried rifles. 

CHAPTER XIV

Daybreak

Rick tugged at Scotty's suit, then crawfished backward through the marshgrass until he was sure the night watchers could not see him. He stoodup, and Scotty joined him. Rick motioned toward their own boat. 

The boys made their way back through the swamp to the runabout in almosttotal silence, each busy with his own thoughts. 

Orvil Harris was crabbing as though nothing had happened, while thenight watchers stood in plain sight on the opposite shore. Orvil musthave seen the shots fired, Rick was certain. Even if he had been lookingthe other way, the first shot would have caught his attention. 

Or, Rick wondered, had Orvil tipped off the two guards that divers werebelow? If so, the game was up. Once Merlin and company knew the payloadhad fallen into the cove, they would be diving for it themselves, undercover of guns. Merlin undoubtedly knew that the launching the evening ofthe squall had gone wrong, but he couldn't know how, or where. 

But somehow, Rick didn't think Orvil had been a party to the shooting. Maybe it was stubbornness, refusing to think the crabber was involvedjust because they liked him. Or maybe it was because the crabber had noreason for helping Merlin and his gang; at least Harris had no reasonknown to Rick and Scotty. 

They reached the boat and conferred in whispers that were inaudible sixfeet away. 

"Could Orvil have put the finger on us?" Scotty questioned. 

Rick shrugged. "I don't want to think so, and I don't. But I have toadmit it's possible. "

"If he's in with them, they'll be diving for the 'what's-it' at firstlight. "

Rick glanced at the eastern sky. It was beginning to glow with the firsthint of daylight. "That's not long from now. "

"How are we going to recover it first?"

Again Rick shrugged. "There's only one way. Go in and get it. "

"Under those guns?"

"A diver on the bottom isn't in danger from the guns. I could find thething again without going into the shallows. That's what made us targetsbefore, because we took the easy way to locate the fish line by goinginto the shallows near where I tied the line. "

"Let's see your tank, " Scotty whispered. 

Rick unsnapped his harness release and swung the tank around. Theirprobing fingers soon identified where the bullet had glanced off. Therewas a dent, coated with silvery metal. 

"Lead, " Rick said. "Part of the slug. "

"Good thing it didn't rupture the tank. "

Rick shuddered. "If it had, I'd have been out of air suddenly andwould've had to come up. Listen, Scotty. My plan is a simple one. I'lltake your tank, since you have the most air, and swim right into thecove, find the 'what's-it' and swim out again. If it's too heavy to towfar, I can at least wrestle it part of the way, and then bury it in themud. Meanwhile, you get the boat out where it's clear and be ready topick me up. "

"They'll see your bubbles, but they can't do anything about it withrifles, " Scotty pointed out. "One thing they can do, though, is jump inafter you. The cove isn't so deep that a pair of good swimmers couldn'ttackle you. The lung wouldn't improve your chances by much. "

"Too true, " Rick observed. "But what else can we try?"

Scotty thought it over. "Listen, we'll take the boat out right now. You'll have to do the diving, because you know about where the thing is, and I don't. When we get out, you go over the side. I'll run around tothe river, opposite where the guards are standing, and raise a littlefuss. That might draw their attention away from the cove. "

"Okay. " It made sense to Rick. "They'll see both of us in the boat, butthey won't see me get out. Only you'd better plan our course. I have noaching desire to collect a rifle slug where it hurts. "

"They may not shoot if they see we're leaving, " Scotty pointed out. 

"Uh-huh. And they might shoot, anyway. "

"They might. But we'll be moving fast, and I'll swing that boat fromside to side like a swivel-hipped fullback. Let's get going. We don'twant too much daylight. "

Scotty unsnapped his harness and Rick took his pal's tank and regulator. They put Rick's unit in the bottom of the runabout cockpit, along withScotty's fins and mask. Rick put on his own fins and made sure he wasready to hit the water at a moment's notice. 

Rick went to the stern of the runabout and felt down the motor leg tothe prop to make sure it had not picked up any grass that might slowthem down. It was clear. Scotty, meanwhile, untied the boat and slidinto the driver's seat. Rick reached over the transom and pumped up thegasoline tank to ensure plenty of pressure, then he waded to the side ofthe boat and got into the seat next to Scotty. 

"Pull us out to where the nose is almost projecting beyond the grass, "Scotty whispered. 

Rick did so, by grasping clumps of marsh grass and pulling the boatalong. As the bow cleared the grass, Scotty punched the starter button, threw the runabout into gear, and shoved the throttle all the wayforward. 

The runabout jumped forward, slamming Rick back against his tank. Theboat hit the shoal at the entrance and slowed for a long, breathtakingmoment, then the driving prop pushed it over into deeper water. Thestern went down and the bow lifted, and they were clear. 

Scotty swung the boat to the right, putting its stern to the cove. Ricktensed, expecting any moment to feel the impact of a rifle bullet, either in the boat or in his own body. There was no sound other than theracing motor, and he knew it would drown out the crack of a distantrifle. 

The distance from the cove entrance widened. "Get ready!" Scotty yelled. "Lay flat and be ready to roll. I'll turn so the motor is moving awayfrom you. When I tap you, we'll be directly in line with the coveentrance. "

Rick moved out of the seat, keeping low, and lay on his side along thegunwale, facing Scotty. He put the mouthpiece in place and made sure hewas getting air, then pulled his mask down. He was ready. The impactwith the water would be hard, at this speed, but his tank would cushionthe shock. He tensed for the signal. 

Scotty swung the boat to the left, held it on course for a moment, thenbegan a shallow turn to the right. That way, the motor would be steeringitself away from Rick when he went over. 

The boat came abreast of the cove entrance and Scotty slapped Rick onthe shoulder. Instantly Rick rolled, one hand reaching for the back ofhis head, the other grabbing his mask. He hit the water on his back, hishand and the tank breaking the shock of the stunning impact. He threwhis legs upward, and his momentum took him under the water instantly. 

The racing motor receded, leaving him in silent darkness. He rolled overinto normal swimming position and consulted his wrist compass. The creekentrance ran on a course of 80 degrees. If Scotty had gauged thingscorrectly, that course would take him into the cove. If Scotty hadn't, Rick Brant would end up on the beach like a stranded whale. 

Rick considered. The boat was gone, and it was extremely unlikely anyonehad seen him leave it. The turn had caused the boat to tilt, lifting theside away from him. He was certain that the guards had not seen themaneuver. That being so, and taking into account his distance from thecreek entrance, he thought it would be safe to look and check hiscourse. 

He held the compass in front of his eyes, and rose to the surface. Hebroke through slowly and without a splash. One look was enough. Heshould have trusted Scotty. He was dead on course. 

Rick went to the bottom and began the long swim, counting his legstrokes. He and Scotty had practiced estimating underwater distance bythe number and timing of their leg strokes. It wasn't an exact method, of course, but it was practical. 

There were no underwater obstacles, and the depth was great enough. Rickremembered from the chart that the entrance into the creek varied fromeight to eleven feet, dropping inside the creek mouth to about seven. Nobullet could harm him if he stayed on the bottom. If the night watchersfired, the bullet would be slowed by the water. 

He heard the sound of a motor and recognized it as the runabout. Thesound faded again. Scotty was going through some kind of maneuvers. Then, in a short time, another motor made itself felt, more than heard. The slower beat identified it as Orvil Harris's crab boat. He wasnearing the cove!

Like all divers, Rick's ears were sensitive to pressure changes. Sensingwhen the depth lessened, he knew he had reached the cove itself. Now tofind the payload--if it was a payload. His groping hands began thesearch. 

The first foreign object he touched was a cord. It was the wrongthickness for his own line, and he felt along it until he came to asoft, round mass, and knew he was touching one of Orvil's crab baits. Hegrinned in spite of the mouthpiece. Wouldn't Orvil be surprised if adiver came up hanging to his bait!

He let the crab line drop and continued his search. Once, Orvil passedwithin a few feet of him, and Rick wondered if the crabber had noticedthe air bubbles from his regulator. 

Rising ground told Rick he had reached the end of the cove. He turnedleft and held his course for about twenty feet, then turned left again, heading back toward the cove entrance. His hands never stopped moving, probing the mud for a trace of fish line. He crossed another of Orvil'scrab lines, and kept going until pressure change told him he was back inthe deeper water at the creek entrance. He turned right again. A checkof his compass told him he was on course. 

His groping hands trailed over a thin line. He grabbed it, and stoppedhis flutter kick. Then, moving with care, he turned and followed theline. His pulse was faster now, and he rigidly controlled his breathing. Fast breathing wouldn't do, and he would have to be careful not to letout a sigh that would cause bubbles to gush upward in one big rush. 

A hand found the end of the line and the smooth cylinder to which it wasattached. Orvil passed very close, and Rick looked upward. He could seethe white circle of water around the single propeller. 

Now to find out what he had. His hands stroked it from one end to theother. One end was rounded. The other was a circle with an odd-shapedhole running into it. Rick poked his finger in, but couldn't feel theend of the depression. The only protuberance on the thing was a bandnear the rounded end. The band felt like metal, and had two ringsprojecting from it. The rest of the cylinder didn't feel like metal. Thetexture was that of a smooth plastic. 

Rick lifted the object gingerly. It was hard to estimate weight underwater, but he thought ten pounds would be about right. The total lengthwas less than three feet. It would be easy to carry. 

This time he needed a reciprocal compass course. It would be 260 degreesgoing out. He oriented himself properly, picked up the cylinder, andbegan the long swim back. He wondered if Merlin's guards were watchinghis bubbles. He had seen no sign of bullets, but he hadn't been lookingfor them. With Orvil's motor so near, it was likely he would not haveheard the slap of a bullet on the water. 

Pressure told him he was out of the cove. He breathed a little easier. Now to count leg strokes again. He looked up, and saw that the surfaceof the water was shining with light, the first rays of true daylight. Scotty would have no trouble finding him. 

Because of the daylight, he continued on for a distance beyond whereScotty had dropped him. No use giving the guards too good a shot. Finally, exhausted, he surfaced. He lifted his mask and surveyed thescene. 

Orvil Harris was still crabbing. Rick could see the boat, but the anglewas wrong for him to see the crabber at work. He turned slowly in thewater, and saw Scotty. The runabout was floating, motor off, about amile away. He lifted an arm. The glint of first sunrise turned thelenses of Scotty's binoculars into a crimson eye, and Scotty waved back. In a few seconds Rick heard the motor start and saw the boat racingtoward him. He kept his mouthpiece in place, and floated, waiting. 

[Illustration: _Now to find out what he had_]

Scotty came alongside and reached down. Rick handed him the cylinder. Scotty put it on the seat without even looking at it. He gave Rick ahand and pulled him over the side. He asked anxiously, "Are you allright?"

"Done in, " Rick said wearily. "But otherwise okay. "

"Let's get out of here. " Scotty put the runabout in gear and headed backtoward Martins Creek. 

Rick sat down and picked up the cylinder. There was a gob of mud stillon it. He wiped it off with his hand and examined the thing. Thematerial was fiber glass set in resin, and it was designed so therounded nose could be removed. He didn't remove it, however. Instead helooked at the other end, down into the hole with the puzzling shape. Itwas like a cutout Star of David in shape, the hole gradually narrowinguntil its apex was almost at the other end. 

The light dawned. Rick's lips formed the word. "Grain. "

Scotty was watching. "What?"

"Grain, " Rick said again. "This thing is a small solid-propellantrocket!"

CHAPTER XV

The Empty Boat

The Swiss torsion clock on Steve Ames's fireplace mantle read 6:49. Rickand Scotty, in slacks, shirts, and moccasins, sat in armchairs and triedto stay awake. The small rocket, cleaned and dried, rested on anewspaper on Steve's table. 

"Rockoon, " Rick said. "That explains the funny antenna, the presence ofthe electronics expert, and why the stingarees are launched. "

"Not to me, it doesn't, " Scotty retorted. He sipped steaming coffee. "What was that word you used? Grain?"

Rick nodded sleepily. "That's what solid rocket fuel is called. It'spoured into the casing around a form. The form is withdrawn after thefuel hardens. The shape is designed to give maximum burning surface. Since the solid fuel is grainy, it's called grain. "

"Logical, " Scotty replied with a languid wave of his hand. "Allperfectly logical. I also understand that a rockoon is a combination ofa rocket and a balloon. The balloon carries the rocket up to where theair is less dense, then the rocket fires and breaks away. How does therocket know when to fire?"

"Two ways. A barometric switch can be installed that will act at acertain altitude, or a signal can be sent from the ground. "

"The antenna, " Scotty said. "It can send a signal. "

"Sure. "

"I'm with you all the way, until you say this shows why the stingareesfly. Why send up rockoons? What's the reason?"

Rick forgot he was holding a coffee cup and waved his hand. He recoveredin time to keep from spilling the hot liquid on Steve's rug. "Scientificresearch is usually the reason for rockoons. They carry experiments. "

Scotty snorted. "Are you telling me Lefty Camillion has turnedscientist?"

"Nope. " Rick yawned. "I take it back. We still don't know why thestingarees fly. We only know what they are. Where do you suppose Steveis?"

"That's the eighth time you've asked. He'll be here when that businessof his is over. "

The telephone rang. Rick jumped to his feet and beat Scotty to the phoneonly because he was four steps nearer. "Hello?"

An unfamiliar voice spoke. "Stay away from the creek, and stay away fromthe house. If you don't, your crab-catching buddy is going to be turnedinto crab food. " The line went dead. 

Rick turned, eyes wide. Suddenly he was no longer sleepy. "Did you hearthat? He said to stay away from the creek and the house, or ourcrab-catching buddy would be turned into crab food!"

"He must have meant Orvil Harris!" Scotty exclaimed. "Rick, let's getgoing!"

The boys started for the door at a run, but Rick stopped as his eyecaught the rocket. "Check the gas, " he told Scotty. "Steve has a sparecan in the workshop. The runabout tank must be getting low. I'm going tohide the rocket. "

Scotty left at a run. Rick picked up the rocket and surveyed the scene. Where could he hide it? He hurried into the kitchen and examined thecabinets, then shook his head. Too obvious. 

The refrigerator caught his eye. An apron at the bottom concealed themotor unit. He knelt and pulled the apron free from its fastenings. There was room next to the motor--unless the heat of the motor causedthe rocket fuel to burn. He opened the refrigerator and examined thecontrol, then turned it to "defrost. " It wouldn't go on until they gotback. Hurriedly he put the small rocket in at a slight angle. It justfit. He snapped the cover back in place and ran to join Scotty, who wasalready in the boat. 

"Gas okay, " Scotty called. "Let's go. "

Rick cast off and jumped aboard. Scotty started the motor and backedinto the stream, then turned sharply and headed toward the river. Neither boy spoke. Their sleepiness was gone now, forgotten in theirfear for Orvil. 

Scotty held the runabout wide open, at its top speed of nearly twentymiles an hour. They sped across the Little Choptank River straight forSwamp Creek, with no effort at concealment. 

Rick saw a low, white boat some distance down the river and grabbedScotty's arm. "Isn't that Orvil's boat?"

Scotty looked for a long moment. "It looks like it. Let's go see. "

They swung onto a new course, in pursuit of the white boat. It might notbe Orvil's, but it was like it. Both boys could now recognize the designcharacteristic of boats built on the Chesapeake Bay. The boats wereknown as "bay builts, " and distinguished by their straight bows--almostvertical to the water line--square sterns, and flaring sides. The designwas ideal for the shallow, choppy waters of the bay, and the boats couldtake a heavy bay storm with greater comfort and safety than mostdeep-water models. 

As they came closer both boys looked for the boat's occupant, but therewas no one in sight. Worried, Scotty held top speed until they werenearly alongside, then he throttled down and put his gunwale next tothat of the crab boat. 

"It's Orvil's, " Rick said. "But where is he?"

"Get aboard, " Scotty suggested. 

"Okay. " Rick stood up and timed his motion with the slight roll of bothboats, then stepped into the crabber. Orvil's crab lines were coiledneatly in their barrels, the stone crab-line anchors and floats werestacked along the side of the boat. There were three covered bushelbaskets of crabs, and extra baskets stacked in place. One open basketheld a dozen jumbo crabs. Orvil's net was in its rack on the engine box, but there was no sign of Orvil himself. 

Wait--there was a sign. Rick knelt by a small brown patch on the deck. He touched it, and a chill lanced through him. Blood, and only recentlydried. Orvil's?

Rick straightened. Someone had turned the boat loose, idled down to itslowest speed. The stable crab boat had continued on course, heading outthe mouth of the Little Choptank into the wide bay. Only a bloodstainshowed that there had been violence aboard. 

The flying stingaree had claimed another victim!

CHAPTER XVI

Steve Waits It Out

The two-boat procession moved down Martins Creek at slow speed, Scottyleading in the runabout and Rick following in Orvil's boat. The boys haddecided to take the crab boat back to Steve's, because it could not beleft adrift, and they did not know where Orvil berthed it. 

Both agreed it was senseless to return to Swamp Creek. That wouldn'thelp Orvil, at least for now, and they might possibly be picked off bythe riflemen. 

As they neared the pier, Scotty moved out of the way while Rick backedthe big crab boat into the runabout's place. Before he had finished, Steve was coming down the walk at a run. 

The agent took the line Rick tossed and made it fast, then caughtanother line and secured the bow. Scotty backed in with the runabout andRick helped him secure the smaller boat to the side of the crabber. 

"Bumpers on the houseboat, " Rick called. "Under the cockpit deck. "

Steve hurried to get them, and they were placed between the crab boatand the runabout to prevent rubbing. 

The boys climbed to the pier and faced their friend. 

"We found the boat headed into the bay, " Rick said grimly. "Bloodstainon the deck, but no other sign of violence. We had a phone call tellingus to keep away from the creek and the house, or Orvil would be fed tothe crabs. There's no doubt about it. They have Orvil. "

Strangely, Steve replied, "Yes, I know. Come on in the house. "

The three walked up the path to the farmhouse, with Rick and Scottystaring incredulously at the agent. How had he known?

"Did you get a phone call after we left?" Rick asked. 

Steve shook his head. 

"Then how did you know?" Scotty demanded. 

Steve held up a hand. "Easy, kids. I'm trying to get my thoughtsstraightened out a little and make some plans. We'll talk it overshortly. "

Inside the house, Rick went at once to the refrigerator. As the otherswatched, he pulled the bottom panel loose, took out the small rocket, and replaced the panel. Then he turned the refrigerator control back tonormal and handed the rocket to Steve. 

The agent examined it wordlessly, his forehead wrinkled in thought. Thenhe put it down on the kitchen table and investigated the state of thecoffeepot while Rick and Scotty stood first on one foot, then the other, and fumed quietly. 

Steve decided more coffee was needed and proceeded to make it. Not untilthe pot was heating did he motion the boys to sit down at the kitchentable. He joined them, turning a chair around and straddling it, hischin resting on his hands on the back, his eyes alert. 

"Testing our patience again?" Rick asked acidly. 

Steve's warm grin flashed. "Sorry, kids. I was working over a few factsin my head, trying to make them add up. Okay, let's talk. Start bytelling me about last night. "

The boys reported, taking turns. "At first we thought Orvil might havetold the riflemen guards we were on the bottom, " Rick said finally, "butthat's out. He's a victim, not a member of the gang. I saw his boat justbefore Scotty picked me up, but I couldn't see him. "

Scotty picked up the tale. "After Rick dropped off, I made a high-speedrun out into the river, then turned and headed for a spot on the northbank opposite where I thought the guards were. I got in close to shoreand throttled down, deliberately giving them a chance at me if theywanted to take it. There weren't any shots, but I saw one of the guards. The visibility wasn't very good, so I propped the extra tank up in theseat and put my headpiece and mask on it, hoping any watchers wouldthink there were two of us. I don't know whether they were fooled ornot. "

"Pretty smart, " Steve approved. 

"Thanks. I ran back out into the river and fished around in the lockerunder the seat. You had a few old wrenches there, and some rags. Well, Iowe you a wrench. It was the biggest one, which means it isn't used veryoften on an outboard, anyway. "

"Just so long as it wasn't my size seven-sixteenths wrench, " Steve saidwith a grin. "Go on. "

"It wasn't. I wrapped rags around it and tied them with a hunk of line, then searched for matches. I finally found a paper folder in the glovecompartment. I had to open the gas tank and let out pressure to get anygas on the rags, and it wasn't easy, standing on my head in the cockpit. What I really needed was a Coke bottle. I could have made a Molotovcocktail by filling it with gas and using the rag for a fuse. Well, Imade another run inshore and watched for the boys with rifles. Theydidn't show up. I got as close as I could without grounding, touched amatch to my bomb, and heaved it into the marsh grass. My eyebrows took abeating. " Scotty rubbed the slightly scorched areas. 

"I wanted to set the marsh on fire, but the blaze was only a small one. I figured if the grass would burn, the riflemen would have to runupstream to safety. But the stuff only charred in a circle. Anyway, itscared them. They came running to stamp it out, and one of them took ashot at me. But I was nearly a mile out from the creek by then, and hedidn't even come close. "

"Let's hope I never have you two for enemies, " Steve said fervently. 

Scotty concluded, "I decided Rick probably had been in and out of thecove by that time, so I moved to where I could watch with binoculars, putting the sunrise behind where I thought he would appear. I knew Icould see him better against the light. Finally up he popped, and away Iwent, and here we are. "

Rick ended their recital. "We got back and took off our diving suits, then went for a swim with a bar of soap. When we were clean, except formy hands, which got stained by the mud, we dressed and came into thehouse. We were sitting down enjoying coffee and trying to keep awakewhen the phone rang. How did those hoods get the number, anyway?"

"That's not hard, " Steve said. "It's probable that Camillion's boysstarted checking up on you the moment you showed interest. My car isknown at the local gas stations. It would be just a matter of asking whoowns a convertible of that description. Name and telephone directory addup to the right number. Watching you enter Martins Creek would cap theinformation. You could be seen easily with glasses from the river shoreopposite the cove. "

The agent got up and turned down the stove as the coffee began topercolate. "My tale is pretty short. "

"Wag it, anyway, " Rick suggested. 

Steve put a hand to his forehead. "Gags like that at this time of daycause shooting pains. Please be attentive, and not waggish. "

"Ouch!" Scotty exclaimed. 

Steve sat down again. "After you were safely on your way I changed todark clothes, smeared a little black goo on my face, and took off forCalvert's Favor. I drove to within a half mile and parked the car in thewoods, then hiked. The first thing I came to was a chain-link fence. Ittook some time to see if it was wired for an alarm--and it was. So I hadto find a tree with a limb that overhung the fence. I'd taken theprecaution of carrying a rope. I found the tree, fixed the rope to anoverhanging limb, and down I went. "

"We could have postponed recovering the payload and helped you, " Scottysaid reproachfully. 

"Sure you could. But I'm used to operating alone, and I was interestedin what you might find in the cove. Anyway, I approached from behind thebarn and had to take cover when two men went by. They had rifles. Theyheaded down the peninsula toward the cove. I scouted around, but noother guards were in sight, so I started with the barn. "

Steve paused. "That is quite a barn. No hay, no oats, no horses. But ithas the loveliest dish antenna in it you've ever seen. "

"A microwave dish?" Rick gasped. 

"Exactly. It's mounted on a truck, and I suspect the electronic gear isinside. I couldn't get a good look. There are also little cubiclesinside the barn, probably horse stalls, and I could hear a man snoringin one of them. There wasn't much light, and I couldn't use my littleflashlight beam too freely, but I did get a look at several gas bottlesracked along one wall. They were big ones, of the kind used forcommercial gases like propane or oxygen. "

"Or hydrogen?" Scotty asked quickly. 

"Or hydrogen, " Steve agreed. "And that's probably what they contain, forinflating the balloons. "

He got up, turned off the coffee, and poured three cups. "Along aboutthat time, I heard rifleshots. You can imagine what I thought. I had avision of two bodies sinking slowly into the mud. If I'd had a weapon, Ithink I'd have run down to see what was going on. But common sense gotthe better of me, and I figured it was highly unlikely that a pair ofdivers could be picked off with rifles if they were underwater. I wassure you had sense enough to stay down. So I left the barn and went tothe house. "

"You actually went in?" Rick asked, his eyes wide. 

"Sure. It was safe enough. The gang was sleeping upstairs and the twoguards were interested in you and Orvil. No papers were left where Icould get them. There's a built-in safe, but I'm no Jimmy Valentine whosandpapers his fingers and opens boxes by touch. I couldn't do anythingwith it. Finally, I figured all had been seen that could be seen, andleft the house. I could hear a motor racing, and I recognized therunabout, so I knew you were still alive. I retired to the woods behindthe barn and headed for the riverbank. I saw Scotty hurl his homemadebomb. "

Scotty shook his head. "I didn't see you. "

"You weren't supposed to. I decided Scotty must be creating a diversion, and that meant you, Rick, were still diving in the cove. I took off forthe cove, keeping a weather eye out for the guards. There was plenty ofcover along the bank, so it wasn't hard. I got a good view of thefestivities. After the fire was stamped out, the two guards walked up tothe bank of the cove and waited until Orvil got close, then they pointedtheir rifles at him and invited him to come closer still. He didn't havemuch choice. "

Rick thought that was an understatement. 

"They questioned him for a while. Who were the divers and what were theyafter? Orvil played dumb. He said he knew nothing about divers and ofcourse he had seen bubbles. He always saw bubbles. Marsh gas was risingall the time. He couldn't understand what all the shooting was about. "

"Good for Orvil, " Scotty muttered. 

"He put on a pretty good act, saying he didn't know what they wereshooting at, but the guards weren't having any. They finally made himpull up his lines, throw his bait overboard, and get everythingshipshape. Then one of the guards invited him to step ashore. Orvilbalked and took a swing at the nearest one and got a rifle across thehead. He dropped to the deck. That must be how the stain got there. Theyslapped him back into consciousness and made him get out. One guard helda rifle on him while the other put his weapon down and got in the boat. He took the boat out into the middle of the cove, aimed it toward theriver, and put it in gear, then dove over the side and swam ashore. Theboat headed out and the guards walked Orvil back. "

"So he's alive, " Rick said with relief. 

"Probably. I waited until the parade went by, then fell in line. Theytook Orvil into the barn, and I managed to get a look through a window. They tossed him into one of the horse stalls and locked the barn door. Idecided it was time to leave. "

Steve sipped his coffee and made a face as it burned his tongue. "Youcan imagine how I felt. If one had gone away, I could have jumped theother. But two with guns, and me with not even a rock--I was deadcertain to end up with Orvil. Besides, I couldn't take the chance. "

Rick stared. If Steve felt he couldn't take a chance on rescuing Orvil, there had to be a good reason. The only reason Rick could think of wasthat Steve had decided there was more at stake than Orvil himself. 

"We know where Orvil is, " Scotty pointed out. "We can go after him. Thistime we'll be armed. "

Steve shook his head. "Sorry. I wish it could be like that, but we'renot engaged in a personal vendetta. Orvil may be out of there bytonight, or he may not. He'll have to take his chances. "

One thing had been bothering Rick, aside from Steve's untypical attitudeabout rescuing Orvil. "You haven't accounted for all your time. Youcould have reached here before we did if you had started back rightaway. "

Steve shook his head. "I didn't. I went to the airport and used a publicphone booth by the side of the road to call Patuxent Naval Air Station. In twenty minutes I had a Navy jet fighter on the Cambridge field. Ihanded the pilot the pictures you took and told him what to do withthem, then I made another call to my office in Washington to tell themthe pictures were on the way and to look them over and take actionaccordingly. We'll be seeing the results pretty soon. "

The young agent stopped smiling. "Your little mystery has turned into acase for JANIG, kids. I'm pretty sure of my facts, but I'll knowdefinitely before noon. Right now, you'd better finish your coffee andget into bed. You'll need sleep if things start to pop. That rockoonidea of yours about cinches things. "

Rick blurted, "If it's a case for JANIG, there must be security involvedsomewhere. Is Wallops Island involved somehow?"

"Go to bed, " Steve said sternly. "By the time you wake up, I'll have alot more than guesses, and I'll give you the details then. "

CHAPTER XVII

Crowd at Martins Creek

Rick and Scotty awoke to find four newcomers at Steve's house. Steveintroduced them to Dave Cobb, electronics specialist; Joe Vitalli andChuck Howard, JANIG agents; and Roy McDevitt from Wallops Island. 

McDevitt, who had just driven over from the rocket range, was a tall, lean engineer dressed in slacks and a spectacular sport shirt emblazonedwith tropical flowers. He shook hands cordially. "You're Hartson Brant'sboys. We've certainly enjoyed having your family over at the island. When Barby and Jan leave, the whole base will go into mourning. "

Rick grinned. "Somebody loses, somebody wins. We're anxious to have themback with us again. "

Vitalli and Howard greeted the boys as old comrades. Although they hadhad no chance to become well acquainted, the two agents had been part ofthe JANIG team during the case of _The Whispering Box Mystery_. 

Dave Cobb, who was scarcely older than the boys, had been hastilyborrowed from the Naval Research Laboratory in Washington. He spared notime for greetings other than a cordial wave, and immediately got towork on the rocket Rick had found in the cove. 

The group pulled chairs up to the kitchen table on which Cobb wasworking, and watched. 

Cobb studied the rocket for a few minutes, then took a pointed tool andpressed it into a spot five inches below the rounded nose. He rotatedthe cylinder and pressed a similar spot on the other side. Rick saw athin line appear around the rocket below where Cobb had pressed. 

The electronics specialist gripped the cylinder above and below the thinline and twisted. The nose of the rocket came off. Cobb pointed to apair of metal prongs that extended out of the nose into the rocketcasing. "Contacts, " he said. "They press against strips inside therocket casing. The whole assembly acts as a dipole antenna. "

No one commented. Cobb took a tiny screwdriver and removed two screwsfrom a metal plate in the bottom of the nose cone. The screws were longones, holding the entire nose assembly in place. With the screws laidcarefully aside, Cobb tapped the cone and the assembly dropped into hishand. 

"A terrific job of miniaturization, " he commented. "First-rate design. "He pointed with a screwdriver to a segment about the size of two silverdollars stacked together. "Tape recorder. It accumulates data, thenplays it back in a single high-speed burst. "

Rick watched, fascinated, as the electronics expert identifiedcomponents and circuits. The whole unit, scarcely larger than a commonsoup can, contained receiver, tape recorder, transmitter, batteries, andcommand circuits that could be triggered from the ground. It was ahighly complex and beautifully engineered package for receiving data, storing it, then retransmitting it. 

"But why?" Rick demanded. "Why send up a rockoon at all? What data doesit receive and transmit, and what do the people at the mansion do withit?"

"What Rick is asking, " Scotty observed, "is the question that haspuzzled us since we got here. Why do the stingarees fly?"

Steve waved a hand. "Patience for just a few more minutes. Anythingelse, Cobb?"

The electronics expert shook his head. "Not unless you have specificquestions. In summary, this is a very elegant little assembly ofreceiver, data recorder, transmitter, and command circuits. "

"Fine. McDevitt, what about the rocket?"

The man from Wallops Island shrugged. "Nothing very complex about it. It's a simple solid-fuel rocket with star grain, fired by a squib thatis commanded from the ground. A squib is simply an igniter to start thefuel burning. Battery power makes it glow red hot when turned on. "

"How high an altitude would the rocket reach?" Steve asked. 

"It's difficult to be precise, but I'd estimate the balloon carries itto ten thousand feet, then it is fired by signal from the ground at theproper time. The rocket would go to about one hundred thousand feet, plus or minus twenty thousand. In other words, I'd guess its maximumaltitude at nearly twenty-three miles. "

"Did you say fired at the proper time, or proper altitude?" Rick askedquickly. He wanted clarification of the point, although he was sureMcDevitt had said "time. "

"The altitude isn't important. I'd say time was the principal factor. "

"But if altitude isn't important, why use a rockoon? Why not use arocket launched directly from the ground?" Scotty demanded. He lookedpuzzled. 

Rick looked at Steve expectantly. The young agent smiled. "Got theanswer, Rick?"

"Maybe. It's a matter of secrecy, isn't it? The folks around here werepuzzled by the flying stingarees, but they would have been more puzzledby rocket firing. They'd have been curious enough to want to know whythe rockets were being fired, and it's certain that an investigationwould have resulted. By using rockoons, with balloons that didn't looklike balloons, Camillion confused the issue. People who reported seeingthings got laughed at, mostly because they call any unidentified flyingobject a flying saucer. The rockets fired only when high in the air, where people wouldn't notice. "

"Two did, " Scotty reminded him. "Remember? We had two interviews wherethe people saw spurts of flame. "

"Sure, " Rick agreed, "but they had no idea it was a rocket taking offfrom a balloon. And only two out of the whole bunch even noticed flameat all. "

Steve nodded. "You've hit it, Rick. It's the only answer that makessense. "

"Not until we know what data were collected by the rockoons, " Rick saidstubbornly. "That's the whole key. Nothing will really make sense untilwe know that. "

"We ran the dates and times of sightings through the computer with a lotof other dates and times for various things, " Steve explained. "I had ahunch, but the computer turned it into good comparative data. "

"What data?" Scotty demanded. 

"Every single sighting you collected coincided with the launching of aresearch rocket from Wallops Island!"

The boys sat back, openmouthed. Rick said, "So that's why the glow fromWallops Island in the south-eastern sky was so significant. That's whatput you on the trail!"

"Right, " Steve agreed. "The yellow glow is from sodium vapor rocketsfired from Wallops. The rockets allow visual measurement ofmeteorological data. People around here are used to seeing them to thesoutheast, over Wallops. When I saw that sightings had been made overSwamp Creek at the time of sodium shots, I got an idea. It wasn't muchto go on, but it was at least a good clue. The computer did the rest. "

"Then Lefty Camillion and his friends have been intercepting data fromour rocket launchings at Wallops, " Scotty said unbelievingly. "But why?How could Lefty use data like that? It's all straight, unclassifiedscientific and meteorological stuff. He's no scientist. "

Steve grinned. "I doubt that he even knows what the data are. He and hisfriends are a bunch of chuckleheads of the very worst kind. But aboutwhat he does with the data--Joe Vitalli has been doing someinvestigating along that line. "

Vitalli nodded. "With the FBI. They put agents on the case and found outLefty had been in touch with the Soviet Embassy in Washington, through athird secretary whose function it is to gather various kinds ofscientific intelligence. We're not absolutely certain, but it looks verymuch as though Lefty plans to sell his data tapes to the Soviets. "

"So that's why JANIG has moved into the case, " Scotty concluded. 

"On the nose, " Steve agreed. "Now it's time to move in on our foolishfriends at Calvert's Favor. Do you boys want to take a hand?"

"Try and leave us out, " Rick said with a grin. "JANIG is welcome toassist us, but the flying stingarees are our babies. Scotty's and mine, that is. "

"Be glad to have you help, " Scotty echoed. 

The JANIG men laughed. "You've got a point, " Chuck Howard conceded. 

"Want to plan the operation?" Steve asked with a twinkle. 

Rick held up his hand. "Whoa! We didn't say that. You've got informationwe don't have. "

"Only one piece of information, " Steve replied. "The time of the nextlaunching from Wallops Island. "

"When?" Rick asked eagerly. 

"At dusk tonight. "

CHAPTER XVIII

The Stingaree's Tail

"This is the plan, " Steve Ames said. "Joe and Chuck will approach fromupriver and go around the mansion fence by wading downstream. They'llstay under cover somewhere at the edge of the mansion grounds until theyhear my signal on the radio to close in--or until they see the balloonlaunched. I'll go in the way I did before. "

The two JANIG agents nodded, and bent over the chart borrowed from thehouseboat. 

"Cobb will set up his equipment here at my house, " Steve continued, "andtry to intercept all signals from the mansion. McDevitt will set up heretoo, and track the balloon through my telescope--if it rises--watchinguntil the rocket fires. McDevitt also will keep in touch with WallopsIsland by radio, and notify me on the walkie-talkie when the countdownreaches thirty minutes. "

Steve turned to Rick and Scotty. "Before I go to my post, I'll take youtwo to the creek mouth in the runabout. Then you will swim up the creek, underwater, and take up stations in the weeds directly in front of thehouse. "

Rick's pulse stopped. "They'll see our bubbles, " he protested. "It wouldgive the whole show away!"

Steve motioned to Joe Vitalli. "Show 'em. "

Joe walked to the car in which he and Chuck had driven from Washington, and opened the trunk. He brought out a pair of riot guns, automaticshotguns, which he handed to Chuck, then he reached into the trunk andbrought out a pair of small cylinders with full face masks attached. 

"Rebreathers!" Rick exclaimed. He grinned at Steve. "You planned thisbefore you ever told us what was on your mind!"

"I thought it was best to be prepared, " Steve said. "You know how thesework?"

Rick nodded. "We both do. " The rebreathers, unlike Scubas, which werefilled with compressed air, used oxygen which was recycled through acanister of chemicals that removed water vapor and carbon dioxide. Theywere completely self-contained; no bubbles were emitted. 

Cobb was already opening a pair of leather-covered cases, exposingelectronic gear. He had also brought a portable antenna, which he begansetting up. McDevitt had a radio in his car with which to talk toWallops, and Steve handed him one unit of a walkie-talkie radio network. Another unit went to Chuck, and Steve retained one. 

Steve glanced at his watch. "Let's get going. Time your travel so youwill be in place at eight o'clock on the nose. " He looked at the boys. "Get into your gear, and take spear guns with you. When we move intoaction, I want you to bring that balloon down if you can. "

The boys ran to the houseboat. Rick was excited, and he knew Scotty wasfeeling the same way. It was the first time they had been in on a JANIGoperation as full partners. Their previous adventures had either been asaccidental participants or as observers. 

They got into full gear, including their skin-tight neoprene helmets andfootgear. Then, leaving their fins and rebreathers, they hurried back tothe others. Joe and Chuck were in their own car, the riot guns andwalkie-talkie out of sight. McDevitt had the telescope set up next tohis car and was practicing with it by tracking a high-flying osprey. Cobb was finishing work on his electronic setup. His antenna was inplace, the dish on top of the collapsible pole aligned on the compassdirection to Calvert's Favor. 

Steve shook hands with Joe and Chuck. "On your way. See you when theballoon goes up. " He motioned to the boys. "Got spear guns?"

"We left that till last, " Rick said. "Ready to go?"

"Ready. "

The three hurried down the pier to the houseboat, where the boys tookguns from their spear box. Each chose a high-powered gas gun, operatedby a carbon dioxide cartridge, and selected the spears that would cutthe biggest holes. There would be time for only one shot. 

"Get on the floor in the runabout when we cast off, " Steve directed. "Ifthere are any watchers, I want them to see only one man. "

The boys cast off, then climbed in as Steve backed into the creek. Theycrouched on the floor and adjusted the straps on their face masks untilthe fit was tight. There was no conversation. Rick was so excited it washard to sit still. As they began the crossing of the Little ChoptankRiver, Steve gave them instructions. "When we get opposite the creekmouth, the engine is going to stutter and kick up a lot of smoke. Theboat will drift into the smoke and out again. You'll have a few secondsto go over. I'll pretend to work on the motor, and finally get itstarted, but running rough. Then I'll take off and pretend I'm headinghome. Okay?"

"How are you going to make smoke?" Rick asked. 

Steve reached into his breast pocket and produced a small bottle. "Theseare chemicals that smoke when they touch water. Got your plans allmade?"

Rick looked at Scotty. "We'll have to stick our heads up once in awhile. I'll lead, since I know the creek as far as the cove. When Ithink I'm lost, I'll head for the north bank, making a sharp turn. Thatwill be your signal to stay put, while I look. What I'd like to do isbring us out in back of the duck blind. We can pick our spots then andcross the creek when we're ready. "

"Got it, " Scotty agreed. 

Steve reached down a hand and squeezed their hands in turn. "Good luck, kids. And no unnecessary chances. If shooting starts, get underwateragain. We'll have guns, but you'll have only single-shot spear guns. "

"Good luck, " the boys said in unison. They put on the masks and turnedthe valves that started the oxygen cycles. Rick grinned at Scottythrough the glass, and knew that his grin was strained. Scotty grinnedback and held up his hand with thumb and forefinger making the signalfor "Okay. "

"Be ready, " Steve said. 

Rick checked himself once again to be sure all was in order. Weightbelt, knife, compass, spear gun with safety cap on, mask fittingtightly, and the pack in place. He got ready to jump on Steve's command. 

The outboard slowed, raced, slowed, raced, back-fired, slowed. Steve'shand went over and trailed chemical in the water. The boat turned, andRick saw the smoke cloud rising. The boat went into it, and the motorcut out. 

"Go, " Steve said. 

Rick stood upright and went over the gunwale in a dive, knifing towardthe bottom. He felt the pressure wave as Scotty followed and reached ahand upward to meet his pal. His hand touched Scotty's arm, found thehand, and gave it a squeeze. Then, with a glance at his compass toorient him, Rick started the long swim. 

It was odd to be wearing the oxygen lung. The sound of bubbles from thecustomary compressed-air Scubas was missing, and the silence wasstrange. Then Steve started the motor of the runabout and Rick heard thebroken rhythm as the motor skipped. He knew that Steve probably hadturned the carburetor mixture to too lean or too rich. Either wouldcause the motor to run rough. He kept moving, his fins keeping a steadystroke. The motor sound grew distant, and finally faded entirely. 

Rick usually depended on pressure to tell him location, but the creekwas too shallow for any strong indication on his ears. He kept goinguntil the visibility and brightness told him he was in the shallows, then steered out into the middle of the stream again. 

He thought they must be halfway to the mansion, but wasn't sure. He gavea pair of swift kicks to alert Scotty, then turned sharp left, rollingover on his back. He could see the water surface clearly. Rising alittle, he lifted his face above the water for a brief second, then wentback under. 

Now was the time to get behind the duck blind. Rick swam back to whereScotty waited, and plucked at his shoulder. This time he started offclose to the north shore, heading directly for the duck blind. Hiscourse was straight. In a few moments he found himself among the pilingsand turned to put the blind between himself and the mansion on theopposite shore. Scotty followed. 

Rick lifted his head cautiously. He saw only the marsh grass and theback of the blind. He tapped Scotty, who rose until his head was levelwith Rick's, his face only a few inches away. They pulled off theirmasks. 

"We can swim under the blind and look out the front, " Rick whispered. "There's enough brush to give us cover. We'll each pick our own spot andgo to it. Sound all right?"

"Okay. Better fix our guns right here, though. "

It was good advice. Rick removed the safety cap from his spear, makingsure the barbed shaft was properly seated. Now he needed only to flickoff the safety catch and fire. Scotty did the same. 

"You go right and I'll go left, " Scotty suggested softly. "Be better ifthere's a little spread between us. We'll also want to find places wherewe can look out. There's some weed along the shore, and I think Iremember a brush pile around a stake near the right-hand edge of thelawn. One piling is there. There's a bunch of old pilings off to theleft where the original pier was. I can see if there's cover there. Ifnot, I'll find something. "

Scotty had worn his waterproof watch. It was just four minutes to eight. Time to get going. 

The boys shook hands, grinned at each other, and pulled their masks backon. They ducked under the blind, side by side, and swam to the front ofthe structure where brush from last year's cover remained. 

Cautiously Rick peered out, then sucked in his breath. A truck had beenwheeled out of the barn. It had a dish antenna on top. And next to thetruck, a mass of black plastic was slowly inflating. A flying stingaree!

Rick looked quickly for a spot to which he could swim. Near the edge ofthe cut lawn was the piling Scotty had mentioned. It was tall, with alight on it for night navigation. Rick realized he had seen it onearlier trips, but had not noticed it particularly because his attentionhad been on the house and its occupants. Slightly upstream from the tallpiling were a series of stakes, saplings pushed into the bottom toindicate the limits of water deep enough for a boat. Around three of thepilings brush and grass had gathered, picked up from the current. Themiddle pile was highest. Rick decided to head for it. 

Scotty was also searching for a hiding place. Apparently he found onethat was satisfactory, because he gripped Rick's shoulder for a moment, then submerged. Rick saw him as a shadow, hugging the bottom. 

Now was the time. Rick took a deep breath to quiet his taut and shakynerves, then sank to the bottom and began the last leg of the trip. Itwas only a few dozen yards to the sapling he had chosen. He reached itand glanced upward. The mass of debris made a black blotch on the brightsurface of the water. Moving with infinite caution and using the saplingas a guide, he swung his legs under him and rose to a sitting position. The debris was still above the level of his eyes, so he swung his legsback again and knelt. The kneeling position brought his head to just theright level. He lifted his face and looked at the debris. Workingcautiously, he brought a hand up and poked a hole through. His fingersenlarged the hole until he could see sufficiently. 

The flying stingaree was tugging at the rope that held it! The shape wasalmost perfect, Rick thought, but he doubted that it had been designedto look like a sting ray. More likely it had been picked to look aslittle like a conventional balloon as possible. Well, it had served itspurpose. 

Merlin, alias Lefty Camillion, and his electronics wizard were fitting arocket into a loop on a plastic strap that dangled from the balloon. Rick couldn't see it clearly, but thought it was a replica of the one hehad recovered. 

There was sound from the truck containing the dish antenna. Rick pulledhis mask away to hear a little better and heard a loudspeaker, rebroadcasting something. 

". .. Reports no aircraft within range limits. We are now at thirty-oneminutes and counting. On my mark the time will be zero minus thirtyexactly. "

There was only the crackle of the loudspeaker. The set was tuned in onthe Wallops Island command frequency, Rick realized. That was howCamillion and company knew when to release the balloon, and when totrigger the rocket!

Camillion's bodyguard was manning the rope holding the balloon. It wasattached to a ring on the truck. As Rick watched, the bodyguard let outmore line and the balloon rose slightly, tugging at the rope, and movingtoward Rick. The tail hung down almost to the ground, the rocket hangingat an angle at its end. 

The loudspeaker voice said, "Stand by. Mark! Zero minus thirty. "

The bodyguard reached up and cut the rope!

Rick saw the flying stingaree heading directly toward him, risingslowly, caught by the ground wind. He brought his spear gun intoposition and rose to his full height, snapping off the safety catch. Oblivious to the yells from the lawn, he aimed and fired. With a sharphiss, the spear flashed through the air--into the balloon and rightthrough it!

The balloon didn't even falter. It would take time to lose sufficientgas to bring it down. The wind swept it right toward Rick, still rising. As it passed over him, the dangling rocket would be almost within reach. 

Rick didn't hesitate. He saw the track of the balloon curving, as thewind shifted direction downstream over the water. He threw himself toone side and forward, dropping the spear gun, one hand outstretched. Therocket slapped into his palm and his fingers closed around it. The jerkpulled him forward and he grabbed with his other hand, missed, andgrabbed again. This time he caught the rocket, and both hands grippedtight. 

The flying stingaree lifted him, dragging him through the water. Rickspun around at the end of the line, and caught a glimpse of thebodyguard raising a pistol to shoot at him! Then the scene whirled andhe saw Scotty, standing in water to his waist, spear gun lifted to fire. 

[Illustration: _The flying stingaree lifted him!_]

Rick saw the spear leave his pal's gun, and he whirled his head in timeto see the bodyguard looking down with horror at the shaft protrudingfrom his side. 

The boy didn't see the piling. His last quick impression was of thebodyguard falling forward, then there was a stunning impact as the sideof his head met creosoted wood and darkness flooded in. 

CHAPTER XIX

Lucky Lefty

Rick awoke to fiery agony. His face was burning, the flames searing hisflesh. He tried to reach a hand up to ease the pain and found the handgripped firmly. He struggled, and Steve's voice said, "Take it easy, Rick. We'll be through in a minute. "

The boy subsided and gritted his teeth. If Steve was there, it was okay. But why didn't Steve put out the fire?

"Don't move, " Steve said sharply. "I don't want to hurt you any morethan I can help. "

Rick closed his eyes and fought the pain. He heard Steve say, "Give methe spray can. " Then something cool and soothing spread over his face. 

An arm circled his shoulder and raised him to a sitting position. Heopened his eyes and looked into Scotty's worried face. Rick managed agrin. "It's okay, " he said hoarsely. 

"If being alive is okay, then it's okay, " Scotty said with relief. "Butyou're a mess, boy. "

Rick looked up dazedly. Steve was smiling at him, and next to Steve, Orvil Harris! "Glad you're all right, " the boy murmured. 

"Thanks, Rick. I'm glad you finally came around. You had us worried fora bit. And, Rick, meet my cousin Link. "

A tall, gaunt man stepped forward. "Howdy, Rick? How do you feel?"

"Woozy, " Rick said honestly. "Help me up, somebody. "

Scotty lifted him, then guided him to a lawn chair. "Sit down. You'retoo weak to stand. "

Rick subsided gratefully. He could see better now, although it wasnearly dark. There were other people seated in chairs on the Calvert'sFavor lawn. Camillion, his electronics expert, and two others. At fulllength, covered by a blanket, was the guard. He looked up at Rick, hiseyes dull and malevolent, but he said nothing. 

"What happened?" Rick asked. 

Joe Vitalli stood behind Camillion and company, his riot gun ready. TheJANIG agent was wet up to his armpits. Chuck Howard came into sight frombehind Rick, and he carried an open first-aid kit. 

"You jumped for the balloon, " Steve reminded him. He motioned to thebodyguard. "This one tried a pot-shot at you and Scotty nailed him witha spear. Then you smashed into the piling and got knocked out. Thepiling was rough. Your mask was ripped off and your face dragged alongthe wood just enough to take the skin off and leave you full ofsplinters. We were taking the biggest splinters out when you came to. How does your face feel?"

"Awful, " Rick said. The soothing effect of the antiseptic spray waswearing off and the pain was returning. "Where's the balloon?"

"On the ground behind you. Scotty got to you first, and with his weighton it, the thing finally came down. " The young agent grinned admiringly. "We had to pry your hands off the rocket. Never saw such a stubborn cussin my life. Out cold, and still holding on. "

"Persistent, " Rick said weakly. "Not stubborn. Did you round up thewhole gang?"

"The whole lot. "

Lefty Camillion glared at Rick from a chair on the other side of thesmall circle. 

"Why did you do it?" Rick asked. "What did you hope to gain?"

The syndicate chief shrugged, but kept his silence. 

"I can shed a little light, " Steve said. "Some of it is speculation, butit stands up. Lefty knew his appeal against the deportation order wasalmost certain to be turned down. Within a few weeks he'd be on his wayout of the country. The FBI has been trying to get the full dope onLefty, and one thing they found was that expensive living had taken mostof his money. He needed cash, in other words. This was the way he choseto get it, collecting the data transmitted by the research rockets fromWallops and selling it. "

Rick shook his head, then winced. "It's a crazy idea, " he said. "I don'tknow why. I just know it is. I could tell you, but I can't seem tothink. "

There were sirens far away, but getting closer. Scotty put a hand onRick's shoulder. "Don't try to think now, old buddy. The ambulance iscoming. Plenty of time to talk when you're feeling better. "

Rick nodded weakly. It was getting very dark. He closed his eyes andleaned back. Scotty kept a hand on his shoulder. 

The ambulance, led by a state trooper, pulled into the grounds. Anattendant and an intern jumped out. "Who's hurt?" the intern asked. 

"This one first, " Steve said. "Then the one on the ground. "

Rick felt a hand grip his chin and opened his eyes. The intern wasexamining his face with a strong flashlight beam. 

"Messy but superficial, " the intern said calmly. "I'll bet it hurts. "

"You win, " Rick muttered. 

"How did it happen?"

Steve described Rick's accident briefly. The intern nodded. He shinedthe light into Rick's eyes and watched the pupils contract. "Possibleconcussion. We'll check at the hospital. " He knelt and took a roll ofcloth from his bag and unwrapped it to disclose hypodermic needles in asterile inner wrapper. He fitted a needle to a syringe and found abottle of alcohol and a vial of sedative. Working swiftly, he wiped thevial top and Rick's arm with alcohol, then drew fluid into the syringe. "This will help the pain, " he said, and pressed the needle into Rick'sarm. 

"Now, " the doctor said briskly, "let's look at the next one. Whathappened to him?"

"Fish spear in the side, " Steve replied. 

Scotty and the attendant helped Rick to the ambulance. He lay down onthe stretcher gratefully and closed his eyes. Scotty stayed with himwhile the attendant went to help with the bodyguard. 

"Quite a party, " Rick said faintly. 

Scotty covered him with a blanket. "You missed most of it, but I'll giveyou the details tomorrow. How are you feeling?"

"Groggy. " Rick's eyes were closed. He was never sure at what point hedrifted off into deep slumber. He knew only that he had no recollectionof the bodyguard being placed next to him or of the ambulance leavingCalvert's Favor. 

Rick awoke to bright daylight. The pain in his face had subsided to afaintly aching stiffness and he felt fine. He knew from the surroundingsthat he must be in a hospital, probably at Cambridge. He groped for thecall bell and found it wound around the bedpost. He pushed it. In a fewmoments a nurse came in. 

"Well, " she greeted him, "how are you this morning?"

"Hungry, " Rick replied promptly. 

The nurse, a pleasant-faced woman of middle age, smiled. "That's a goodsign. Let's see what we can do. Ready for visitors?"

"Send them in, " Rick said cheerfully. "Or is it just one?"

"Two. " The nurse went to the door and beckoned. "I'll send in somebreakfast, " she said, and left. 

Rick's hand touched his head gingerly. The right side of his face wasbandaged, the pad held in place by tape that crossed his forehead andcircled down under his chin. He probed gently and discovered that thesorest places were his temple and an area just in front of his ear. 

Steve Ames and Scotty came in and greeted him with wide smiles. "Thenurse says you're hungry, " Steve said. "Sounds like the old Rick. "

Scotty asked, "How about crab cakes for breakfast?"

"Bring 'em on, followed by a dozen steamed clams and an order offritters, " Rick replied. "How's the bodyguard?"

"Well enough so his disposition is pretty nasty, " Steve reported. "He'llbe here for at least a week before the jail cell opens wide. Seriously, Rick, are you all right? Apparently there was no concussion. "

"I'm fine, " Rick assured him. "But I'll bet this bandage makes me looklike a survivor of Custer's Last Stand. "

Steve and Scotty drew chairs up to the bed. "One last look by the doctorand we'll take you home, " Steve told him. "If you feel up to it. "

"What'll I do for clothes?" Rick asked. 

"They're in your closet, " Scotty replied. "We brought them with us. Lastnight we took your gear home after the hospital folks peeled you out ofit. "

"Good. " Rick looked at his two friends. "Now suppose you tell me whathappened last night? I must have been out like a light while theexcitement was running high. "

Scotty nodded. "I'll start. I was behind one of the pier piles when thebodyguard cut the balloon loose. I jumped out for a clear shot, but bythen you had put your spear through the thing. I was going to add minefor good luck when I saw the bodyguard reach for the old equalizer anddraw a bead on you, so I shifted targets. I looked back at you just intime to see you dangling from the stingaree like an extra tail. Andright then you went boom into the piling. But would Brant ever let go ofevidence? Not you, ol' buddy. There you dangled, limp as a wilted bananawhile the balloon drifted along with you. I started toward you as fastas I could go, which wasn't very fast with water up to my waist. "

"Wish I could have seen it, " Rick said with a grin. 

"So do I, " Scotty assured him. "Camillion and his friends were alsosomewhat interested in you. They started down the lawn, and I was surethey'd get to you before I could. Only then Joe and Chuck stepped out ofthe bushes not ten yards from where I'd been hiding, and yelled to thelads to hold fast and get their hands high. Steve stepped around thecorner of the barn with a . 45 in his mitt and emphasized the point. Lefty and company got the idea and skidded to a stop with all brakeslocked. I put on more speed, and Steve joined the chase. "

"I didn't see you hit the piling. " Steve picked up the story. "But Iheard it. When I saw that the boys had things under control with theirshotguns, I stepped on it and got to you a few seconds after Scotty hadgrabbed you by the waist. When I saw your face, I had a few bad momentsuntil I could take a closer look. You were a bloody mess, to put itmildly, with more than a few splinters adding color. But I could seeyour manly beauty wasn't gone forever. We pried you loose from therocket and stretched you out on the lawn. Your pulse was pretty good andyou were breathing steadily, so we gave you a few whiffs of oxygen fromScotty's tank for good luck. "

Rick could appreciate how worried his friends must have been in spite oftheir half-humorous report. 

"Lefty spoke up, " Steve continued. "It was the only time he spoke. He'ssaid nothing since. He said, 'There's a first-aid kit in the kitchen. 'We got it, and went to work on you. Of course we put in a call to thepolice, and asked for an ambulance. Joe Vitalli kept a watch on thecrowd and Chuck went into the barn while we pulled splinters out of you. He found Orvil, and he also found Lincoln Harris. "

"I remember meeting him, " Rick nodded. "I was too groggy to besurprised. "

"He was okay. They hadn't mistreated him. Link said he had gone up thecreek just in time to see them launch a balloon with a rocket on it, andthey got the drop on him with rifles, then grabbed him. His curiositygot the better of him. He'd heard about the people at Calvert's Favorand decided to take a look, the waterways being free to all navigators. Orvil had a bump on his head, but otherwise was all right. Lefty hasn'ttalked, but I suspect he had plans for their release, once he was safelyout of the country. "

"Where is Lefty?" Rick asked. 

"He and his friends are in the local jail. You know, Lefty is a chump. But he's also an excellent example of what happens to people when theystart operating in unfamiliar fields. "

"Why is he a chump?" Rick demanded. 

"Because every bit of data he went to so much trouble to collect was hisfor the asking, if he'd only waited until it was processed. "

The light dawned. Rick knew at once what Steve meant. "That's what wastrying to get to the surface in this addled brain of mine last night. Ofcourse! Wallops Island is an unclassified launch site. Everything aboutthe launchings is reported in scientific publications! But, Steve, theSoviet Embassy was interested in buying the stuff!"

Steve chuckled. "Sure, but not for a very high price, I suspect. TheReds are so suspicious they can't believe that a country like the UnitedStates can afford to give away data. They'd buy the tapes just to makesure we weren't holding back information they could use. "

"Even a casual investigation would have told Lefty the data from Wallopsfirings is published by scientific publications, " Scotty pointed out. "How could he have been so stupid?"

"He fell into a natural trap, " Steve answered. "Most people think thereis military secrecy connected with rocket firings. They don't make adistinction between the civilian space agency and the military services. But the law does. It says the National Aeronautics and SpaceAdministration is required to report on its scientific findings. "

"And it does, " Rick concluded. "Dad has already written a report on theinstruments for measuring solar X rays. The scientists who actually usethe instruments will also write a report on the data they obtained. "

"That's it, " Steve agreed. "What's a little more puzzling is why theelectronics expert didn't know. I suspect he has been concerned onlywith the design of telemetry equipment and not with any actuallaunchings or space experiments. "

"Maybe he did know, " Scotty offered. "He might have kept quiet just toget money from Lefty for doing the work on intercepting the data. Youknow we had the clues, but it never occurred to us there might be aconnection between Wallops Island and the stingarees, because who couldimagine going to all that trouble to intercept open, unclassified datayou can get by asking for it?"

Rick had to laugh. "Whether he knew or not, it's still a joke on Lefty, and on us for not suspecting the connection. And poor Lefty won't have anest egg to take back to Europe with him. "

"He won't need a nest egg, " Steve corrected. "Lefty violated the law bykidnaping Link and Orvil. I don't know whether we can make a federalespionage rap stick or not, since the data he was collecting wasunclassified. But we'll try. Anyway, he won't be going back to Europe. He'll end up in a Maryland prison, or a Federal one. Either way, it'llbe some years before he has to worry about money. "

"Lucky Lefty, " Rick said. "A cell of his own, plenty of food, and noworries about money. We did him a favor. "

Steve grinned. "Just don't expect any gratitude for a favor like that!"

CHAPTER XX

Hunt the Wide Waters

The cruising houseboat _Spindrift_ moved sedately across Eastern Bay, off the main Chesapeake Bay, toward the town of Claiborne. It was alovely day with a blue sky dotted with occasional fair-weather clouds. The temperature was in the low eighties, the wind gentle, and the waterwarm. 

Rick Brant sat on the bow of the houseboat, with his feet dangling over. Next to him sat Jan Miller. His sister Barby, with their mother andfather, were relaxing in deck chairs on the sun deck, while Scottypiloted the boat. 

Now and then the bow dipped, and the spray splashed up in a coolingshower. Rick enjoyed the feeling of the cool spray, and the taste ofsalt on his tongue. Jan did, too. Rick thought she made quite a picturewith her white bathing suit and golden tan contrasting with her darkhair. His one regret was that he couldn't swim with Jan, Scotty, and thefamily. Both Jan and Barby were expert Scuba divers, and he had lookedforward to spearfishing with them in the bay. The girls had broughttheir own Scuba equipment in the luggage compartment of Hartson Brant'scar. 

Rick's bandages had been reduced to a single jumbo-size gauze patch, buthis folks would not allow him to go swimming until his face was entirelyhealed. He knew they were right, though he chafed under the restriction. Even so, swimming was really only a small part of the fun ofhouseboating, and the ban on swimming wouldn't last long. 

Jan had put on a fresh bandage for him after breakfast that morning, andremarked in her soft voice, "It will be completely healed in another dayor two, Rick. You can go swimming then. "

Meanwhile, he had found an acceptable substitute. Steve Ames was asubscriber to _Bowhunting Magazine_, and in a back issue Rick had foundan article on fishing for sting rays with bow and arrow. Steve hadloaned a bow, and Rick had invested in fishing arrows and a reel for thebow. So far, he had found only one sting ray, and in his excitement hehad failed to take into account the refraction of the water. He aimedwhere the ray seemed to be--but wasn't. 

Rick's pretty, blond sister called down to him. "Rick! There's a sandbar at the tip of that point. "

He looked to where Barby was pointing and saw a good-sized sand barextending out under the water. "I see it, Sis. Thanks. It will be awhile before we get there. "

Jan smiled at him. "Going to try again?"

"You bet I am. Got to catch up with you somehow. "

Jan had bagged a ten-pound rockfish underwater on the day before, andthey had baked it in a driftwood fire on a beach at Poplar Island. Rickwas as proud as though the catch had been his own. He had been Jan'sdiving instructor and had taught her how to stalk a fish. 

"You can catch up day after tomorrow when the folks will let you dive, "Jan assured him. 

"Can't wait that long, " Rick replied. "I'm going to find a fifty-poundray right now. "

"Go get your bow, " Jan said. "I'll join the others and we'll all spotfor you. "

Rick got to his feet and gave Jan a hand up. He went down the catwalk tothe cabin while she went up the ladder to the top deck. 

The bow was in the closet. Rick checked the string, then strung the bowand selected two arrows. He went out on deck and stopped at Scotty'sside. "Looks like a good place. Cruise slow and easy and be ready tomaneuver. If there's a ray there, I want it. "

"Okay. Go for broke, Robin Hood. What I can't understand is why youdon't shoot for something edible. "

"Can't, " Rick said cheerfully. "Edible-type fish don't hang aroundwaiting for boats to bring bowmen close. "

He climbed the rear ladder to the upper deck and joined his family. Hartson Brant smiled at his son. "Next time we let you go off byyourself don't get involved in mysteries. Then you won't have to bowhuntinedible sea animals. "

"It's fun, " Rick returned. "I'd want to do it even if I could spearfish. Want to take a shot?"

"I'll take a shot after you've boated your first ray. "

"Fair enough, " Rick agreed. 

Mrs. Brant asked, "Where are we going, Rick?"

He pointed to the peninsula. "Around that land. There's a creek on theother side called Tilghman Creek. The cruising guide says there's a goodanchorage just inside. If it looks all right, well spend the nightthere. If not, we'll go across to the Wye River. Tomorrow we'll go downthe Miles River to the town of St. Michaels and put in supplies. "

The scientist smiled at his wife. "It's nice to relax and have ourchildren do the work and the thinking, isn't it?"

"It's too good to last, " Mrs. Brant returned. 

Barby and Jan were standing far forward, close to where the cabin topcurved downward to the forward deck. Rick joined them. 

"This is fun!" Barby exclaimed. "Rick this houseboat was the best ideayou ever had!"

"We all should have traveled down together, " Jan said. "Then the wholefamily could have been in on the case of the flying stingaree. "

"That will be the day, " Barby replied. "When Rick Brant lets us in onany real adventures, I'll know the world is coming to an end. " Her tonechanged suddenly. "Look, we're getting into shallow water. Keep a sharplookout!"

Rick went down the ladder to the foredeck and tied his arrowhead to thefish line wound in the reel on his bow. He nocked the arrow and gotready to shoot. He looked up at the two pretty girls standing above him. "Let out a yell if you see a dark blot. "

Barby gave him a scornful look. "Of course we'll yell. Did you think wewere standing here waiting for flying saucers to land?"

The houseboat plowed through a patch of sea grass and emerged over sandybottom. Rick kept careful watch, but he knew the girls would see thefirst sign of a ray before he did, because of their higher vantagepoint. 

Steve would enjoy this, he thought. The JANIG agent was back inWashington, his vacation interrupted again because of the work thatremained on the case of Lefty Camillion. Lefty was in jail, too, alongwith his friends. 

Rick shook his head. He was still amazed at the mobster's stupidity increating such an elaborate setup to get data that was his for theasking. Apparently it just hadn't occurred to Lefty that a rocket rangecould be without secrets. 

If there _had_ been secrets, though, the system was a good one. By usingthe combination of a balloon and a rocket, Lefty got his equipment highenough to intercept Wallops Island telemetry, and he did it withoutanyone suspecting he was launching rockets. The rockets and balloonsdropped into the ocean, unseen--or, if seen, the first thought would bethat they had come from Wallops. The shape of the balloons also keptanyone from suspecting that the theft of data was the real purpose. Itwas a fine scheme, even though it had all been unnecessary. 

The girls let out a yell that startled Rick from his reverie. Scottyimmediately throttled back, and the boat's momentum carried it forward. Rick watched the water, and finally saw a dark blur on the sandy bottomahead and to the left. He drew, then waited until he saw the dark patchmove. This time he allowed for the water's refraction. He loosed thearrow. 

The stingaree felt the impact and reacted violently. Its tail lashed upto strike with sharp barbs at the intruder. The tail lashed the arrowshaft without effect. The ray's wings moved in a rippling motion likethat of some weird flying carpet. It flashed upward, and into the air, then crashed back on the surface of the water again. It dived, headingfor the bottom. 

Rick kept the drag on his reel, letting the ray fight against thebraking action. The fish didn't give up easily. It had the primitivenervous system and great vitality of its relatives, the sharks, and itfought long after an edible fish, like a rockfish, would have given up. 

When the ray moved toward the now stationary boat, Rick reeled in line. When the ray showed a new burst of energy and started away, Rick let itfight against the drag, pulling out line. 

The girls were down on the foredeck with him now, and Scotty had joinedthe Brants on the upper deck in order to get a better view of the fight. 

Finally, the ray tired. Rick drew it in close to the hull and waitedwhile the vicious tail lashed futilely. Jan took the gaff that Scottyhanded down to her and gave it to Rick. He hooked the sea beast andlifted it from the water. 

"Stand clear!" he warned. "I don't want either of you getting hit withthat tail!"

The girls hurried up the ladder to safety, and Rick lifted the stingareeto the deck. 

It was a small one, weighing about fifteen pounds. The wet, leatherybody glistened, and the kite-shaped wings flapped like those of somefantastic bird. 

Scotty looked down at the ray. "You caught a cripple, " he said. "There'ssomething wrong with it. "

Rick looked up. He knew the answer, but he asked the question anyway, grinning. "Yes? What's wrong with it?"

"It can't fly, " Scotty said. 

 * * * * *

RICK BRANT SCIENCE STORIES

[Illustration: RICK BRANT]

Rick Brant is the boy who with his pal Scotty lives on an island calledSpindrift and takes part in so many thrilling adventures and bafflingmysteries involving science and electronics. You can share every one ofthese adventures in the pages of Rick's books. They are available atyour book store in handsome, low-priced editions. 

 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 STAIRWAY TO DANGER THE GOLDEN SKULL THE WAILING OCTOPUS THE ELECTRONIC MIND READER THE SCARLET LAKE MYSTERY THE PIRATES OF SHAN THE BLUE GHOST MYSTERY THE EGYPTIAN CAT MYSTERY THE FLAMING MOUNTAIN THE FLYING STINGAREE THE RUBY RAY MYSTERY THE VEILED RAIDERS RICK BRANT'S SCIENCE PROJECTS