The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wailing Octopus, by Harold Leland Goodwin
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: The Wailing Octopus
Author: Harold Leland Goodwin
Release Date: March 3, 2010 [EBook #31495]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WAILING OCTOPUS ***
Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
THE WAILING OCTOPUS
A RICK BRANT SCIENCE-ADVENTURE STORY
BY JOHN BLAINE
1956
BY GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC.
NEW YORK, N. Y.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Printed in the United States of America_
[Transcriber Note: Extensive research was unable to find a U.S. copyright
renewal.]
[Illustration: _With his spear Scotty jerked off the enemy frogman's
face plate_]
Contents
I DESTINATION: CLIPPER CAY
II THE SCUBA SLIP
III THE SHADOW
IV VISITORS BY NIGHT
V THE WARNING
VI THE DEADLY TANK
VII THE DERELICT
VIII THE FANCY FROGMEN
IX WRECK OF THE "MAIDEN HAND"
X THE WAILING OCTOPUS
XI LIGHTS ON CLIPPER REEF
XII CLOUDS OVER CLIPPER CAY
XIII MESSAGE IN THE STORM
XIV BELOW THE DARK CORAL
XV HOW SINGS THE GAY SARDINE?
XVI THE DEADLY SPRING GUN
XVII TRAPPED IN TWENTY FATHOMS
XVIII THE FIGHT ON THE "MAIDEN HAND"
XIX JANIG TAKES TO THE WATER
XX THE BURIED SECRET
List of Illustrations
_With his spear Scotty jerked off the enemy frogman's face plate_
_Pretending to lose his balance, Rick fell squarely against the man_
_The valve assembly, traveling with bullet speed, barely missed Scotty's
head_
_Rick turned in time to see a six-foot shark speed past_
_A third man lowered something that glistened like gold_
_Rick nudged Scotty to back away_
[Illustration: Spindrift Island]
THE WAILING OCTOPUS
CHAPTER I
Destination: Clipper Cay
The Sky Wagon droned through Caribbean skies, following a compass course
that led to Charlotte Amalie, capital city of the Virgin Islands. With
eager interest, the four people in the small plane watched the blue
water below. In a few moments they should pass over the island that was
their ultimate destination.
Rick Brant, in the pilot's seat, turned to the husky, black-haired boy
next to him. "See anything yet?" he asked.
Don Scott had been surveying the far horizon through binoculars. He took
them from his eyes and shook his head. "Nothing but water. You sure
there is an island called Clipper Cay?"
Rick let the plane fly itself for a moment while he stretched
luxuriously. He was a lean, long-legged boy with brown hair and eyes and
a bone-deep tan. He grinned at his friend. "No faith. That's the trouble
with you."
"No logic, that's the trouble with you," Scotty countered. "If there
were such an island it would be called an island, not a cay. A cay is
something that follows an O, as in okay."
The two scientists in the rear seat had been listening with amusement to
the boys. Since the start of the expedition Scotty had professed doubt
and misgiving, more for the sake of conversation than anything else,
Rick was sure.
Dr. Anthony Briotti, archaeologist of the Spindrift staff, leaned
forward. "At least pronounce it correctly, Scotty. 'Cay' is pronounced
'key.'"
"See?" Scotty exclaimed triumphantly. "The only place where they have
islands called keys is in Florida. We're on a wild-goose chase, I tell
you!"
Big Hobart Zircon, a nuclear physicist and long-time friend of the boys,
tapped Scotty on the shoulder. "Since you're so certain of that, may I
ask why you came?"
Scotty tried to look martyred. "Only because of the buddy system," he
said solemnly. "The first rule of underwater safety--or above-water
safety, for that matter--is that you have to swim with a buddy. You and
Tony swim together, so I had to go along as a buddy for Rick. Somebody
has to chase the mermaids away from him, and it might as well be me."
"That's nice of you," Rick said soberly. "There'll probably be a whole
horde of mermaids guarding the treasure, not to mention half a dozen sea
monsters."
Tony Briotti said, "There's one mermaid I wish were with us, and that's
Barby. After all, she started this whole thing. Too bad she has to miss
out."
Rick's pretty sister, Barbara Brant, had unwittingly launched the flight
to the Virgin Islands by getting into an argument with Tony Briotti
about the authenticity of the legend that pirates had once used
Spindrift Island as a hangout. Tony had challenged the legend. After
that, of course, proof had to be found.
Rick had recalled digging up the remains of a campfire in Pirate's Field
during the installation of equipment for the moon rocket, the first
great experiment that had put the Spindrift Island scientific group in
business as a research foundation headed by Rick's father, Hartson
Brant. It was during this experiment that Scotty had joined the staff
after rescuing Rick from an unscrupulous gang. The two boys had been on
a number of expeditions together since that time and were fast friends.
Zircon was one of the original Spindrift group. Youthful Tony Briotti
was one of the new staff members, but he had already earned the loyalty
and friendship of the boys by his fine leadership of the expedition to
the Philippines, as related in _The Golden Skull_.
Starting with the campfire site, Barby and the boys had excavated
Pirate's Field under Tony's direction. They had unearthed positive
evidence that pirates had landed there. The most vital evidence was the
remains of a logbook, once the log of the bark _Maiden Hand_, sunk by
the woman pirate Anne Bonney off the island of Clipper Cay in the Virgin
Islands.
Scotty turned and looked at the two scientists. "I'm just kidding, of
course. You couldn't have kept me from coming without tossing me into
irons. But seriously, do you expect to find treasure, Tony?"
The archaeologist grinned. "Depends on what you mean by treasure. As I
recall, one definition is 'something rare or precious.' Well, a chance
to go skin diving in the Virgin Islands is certainly that--a rare and
precious opportunity. At least I think so."
Hobart Zircon grunted, "And so do I."
"Amen," Rick echoed.
"You're evading the issue," Scotty accused. "You know perfectly well
what I mean. Do you expect to find that golden statue mentioned in the
logbook?"
"Expect? On a treasure hunt, one hopes; one doesn't expect," Zircon
stated in his booming voice.
Rick smiled to himself. Probably no Spindrift expedition ever had
started with such a flimsy excuse. According to the log of the _Maiden
Hand_, the ship had gone down before the pirates could locate a golden
statue of St. Francis, hidden by the bark's captain, Thomas Campion.
According to Captain Campion, the statue had weighed "an
hundred-weight." Certainly a hundred pounds of gold was worth going
after, but there were a few considerations that made finding it rather
unlikely.
In Captain Campion's words: "_That we did prevent the boucaniers from
fynding the blessede statue was moste fortunate, yette the bark did go
to her deathe in twentye fathomes, and so the statue is loste._"
Rick and Scotty had become underwater enthusiasts on their return from
the Philippines, and both had aqualung equipment that would take them to
twenty fathoms without difficulty. However, working time at that depth
was sharply limited by the capacity of their tanks. This was assuming
that they were able to find the wreck of the _Maiden Hand_ in the first
place.
Still, there was enough of a chance to provide an excuse for a vacation
expedition. The real purpose, so far as Rick was concerned, was to get
in some superb swimming in clear water. He also intended getting plenty
of underwater movies of the colorful reefs and fish. Scotty planned to
do some underwater hunting.
Tony Briotti's interest grew out of his profession. The Virgin Islands
had been pretty well worked over by archaeologists, and most of the
early Indian middens and mounds explored. But on the west coast,
archaeologists equipped with aqualungs had recently found primitive
artifacts a half mile offshore, and Tony wanted to do a little
underwater artifact hunting of his own.
Hobart Zircon was the only one without a specific objective. He had
readily agreed to go along simply because he wanted a vacation. He had
said, "Tell you what, I'll go along and do some surface fishing. Rick
and Scotty can catch fish underwater and put them on my hook, then
signal me to pull up. If the fish aren't heavy enough to ruin my rest,
I'll haul them in."
Mr. and Mrs. Brant had already made plans to take a vacation in Canada,
and Barby was registered at a summer girl's camp. Weiss, Winston,
Gordon, and Shannon, the other staff scientists, were away on various
projects. So the four "treasure hunters" had welcomed an excuse to go
off on a venture of their own.
They would have a wonderful time, Rick thought, and who knew? They might
even find the treasure!
Scotty had been looking through the binoculars again. He gave Rick a
grin. "I take it all back," he said. "There's an island ahead."
The scientists leaned forward eagerly, and Rick strained to see. Sure
enough, in a few moments they began to make out the island on the
horizon ahead. Rick had enough confidence in his navigation to be
certain that it was Clipper Cay.
The group had spent the night in Puerto Rico, then departed early in
order to fly off the direct route for an advance look at Clipper Cay.
Rick didn't intend to land. He would circle the island once or twice,
then head again for Charlotte Amalie on the island of St. Thomas.
Scotty asked, "Where does the word 'cay' come from, anyway?"
Tony Briotti answered. "It's from the Spanish, Scotty. It means island,
or islet. However, the Spanish got it from the Taino people, who were
the Indians of the Antilles."
The island was close enough now so that they could discern its shape.
Rick saw that it formed a rough crescent, running from north to south.
It was about a mile long, perhaps a half mile wide at its greatest
width, tapering to the horns of the crescent. He saw also that the color
of the water changed gradually from the fathomless blue of the ocean to
the green of shallow water.
Inwardly excited, he put the nose of the plane down and let the small
craft pick up speed. Scotty grinned his pleasure, and Rick knew that his
pal was just as excited in spite of his joking skepticism.
Rick leveled off at an altitude of four thousand feet and put the plane
in a wide circle. Zircon leaned over Tony to look out the window, and
Rick had to compensate in a hurry because the big scientist's weight
threw the plane out of trim. Then Scotty, just as eager, leaned over to
Rick's side and the trim had to be corrected again.
The island was a travel agent's wildest dream. The blue water gradually
shifted to green, then lighter green, and finally the white of lovely
beaches on both sides of the island. Lines of surf marked the position
of reefs off both shores.
Somewhere along the western reef was the wreck of the _Maiden Hand_.
Rick wondered if they would have diver's luck and locate the ancient
bark, and at the same moment he was sure they would.
"Plenty of vegetation," Briotti remarked.
"Probably palms, perhaps some mangrove," Zircon agreed. "Take us down
for a closer look, Rick."
Rick obliged by standing the Sky Wagon up on a wing and sliding down as
quickly as safe flying allowed. He, too, wanted a closer look. He cast a
glance at his gas gauge. There was enough fuel, with a margin of safety,
unless he got too enthusiastic about lingering around the island.
He leveled off again at a thousand feet and flew up the east coast,
between the outer reef and the beach. This was the Atlantic side of the
island, and the surf on the reef was heavy.
"Cottages," Scotty called. "Look!"
They counted seven on the eastern side of the island, most of them near
the middle. It was hard to see details among the palms, but they seemed
small and unpainted, like fishermen's shacks. Rick reversed course and
flew down the western side and they counted five more. One fairly
pretentious beach house was near the northern tip of the island. In
general, the houses on the western side seemed better kept, and slightly
larger. A few houses had small docks. Off the southern tip of the
island, on the western side, a boat was trolling. The occupants waved as
Rick flew over.
"Wonder which house is ours?" Scotty asked.
They didn't know, of course. Arrangements for a beach house had been
made for them by a friend of Zircon's, and not until they landed at
Charlotte Amalie would they get the details. The same friend, Dr. Paul
Ernst, had also arranged for a boat, to be used as a diving tender.
Rick was tempted to land in the smooth water off the western shore. The
Sky Wagon had been equipped with pontoons for that very purpose. They
had realized that no landing place would be available on the cay for a
wheeled aircraft. But there was little to be gained by landing now when
they didn't even know which house would be theirs.
Besides, there were supplies and equipment to be picked up and charts to
be obtained, and the Sky Wagon needed to have the tank topped off, since
they couldn't very well carry aviation gas to the island.
Reluctantly, Rick asked, "Anyone want to see anything else?"
"Not me," Hobart Zircon said flatly. "I want to get to Charlotte Amalie
so we can get started back. That water looks clear enough to drink."
"See any sign of wrecks on the bottom?" Tony inquired.
No one had. No one had looked. They were too interested in getting an
over-all view of Clipper Cay.
Rick set his course for St. Thomas. Now that he thought about it, he was
rather pleased with himself. The flight from Spindrift was the longest
single trip he had ever taken in the Sky Wagon. The party had stopped
for fuel as needed and had stayed overnight as darkness overtook them
along the way. He had hit every destination on the nose, on time. And
now the end of the trip was in sight without a single incident to mar
its smoothness.
In a short time the mountains of St. Thomas rose out of the sea, and
soon afterward Rick circled high above the colorful roofs of Charlotte
Amalie. He switched on his radio and asked for seaplane landing
instructions. The airfield directed him to the proper landing place, a
beach and pier at the edge of the city. Then Scotty took over the mike
and, while Rick started in for a landing, asked the airfield tower to
phone Dr. Paul Ernst, Zircon's friend, and notify him of their arrival.
Apparently the tower operator phoned immediately, because as Rick taxied
toward the dock, Zircon saw his friend waiting. Following the
instructions of a dockman, Rick beached the Sky Wagon and cut the
engine. Two husky Virgin Islanders hauled the ship higher onto the
beach, and the Spindrifters climbed out.
Dr. Ernst was a small, bespectacled man with a shock of unruly white
hair. He looked like a country doctor--which was reasonable enough, Rick
thought, because that's just about what he was. Charlotte Amalie, with a
population of about 11,500, could not be described as a big city.
The doctor greeted them all cordially, then immediately got down to
business. "I'm sorry you are not remaining in Charlotte Amalie. However,
Hobart, I have done as you requested. For tonight I have reservations
for you at one of our oldest hotels, Alexander's Rest. Named for
Alexander Hamilton, of course."
Rick remembered that the Revolutionary hero had been brought up in the
Virgin Islands.
"The beach cottage is waiting at Clipper Cay. It is on the western side,
the third from the southern tip of the island. You shall have my own
boat. I think you will find it ideal for a diving tender. I call it the
_Water Witch_. An attractive name, is it not? I have checked on your
equipment. It is held at the warehouse in my name. The supplies you
wished to buy here have been ordered and are waiting at Andersen's
Supply House. I have told them you will be calling."
The group listened, delighted at the obvious efficiency with which Dr.
Ernst had taken care of Zircon's requests.
By lunchtime they had picked up their equipment and supplies, Scotty had
tested the twin diesel engines on the _Water Witch_ and announced
himself more than pleased, Rick had checked over the aqualungs and
compressor that had come down with his camera and other equipment by
freight, the supplies had been stowed, the Sky Wagon refueled, and
nothing remained but to check in at the hotel. This, they had decided,
could wait until after lunch.
While the scientists drove off in Dr. Ernst's car to pick up the doctor
at his office, Rick and Scotty walked into town, headed for "The Danish
Pastry" where the group was to meet for lunch.
Rick spoke his amazement. "Look at us," he marveled. "Ready to go. No
trouble, no strain, no pain. Ever see an expedition get off to such a
smooth start? We can't lose, Scotty. After a beginning like this we
couldn't help finding the treasure."
Scotty grinned his agreement. "I didn't ask," he said, "but I wouldn't
be surprised if the good Dr. Ernst hasn't done some advance diving and
marked the statue's location with a buoy hung around its neck, just to
make things easier for us!"
"Twenty fathoms," Rick said reflectively. "That's a lot of water.
Besides, we don't know how accurate Captain Campion's guess was. We may
be getting into water that's too deep for us."
Which, though unknowing, was one of the most prophetic remarks he had
ever made.
CHAPTER II
The Scuba Slip
Charlotte Amalie had color. It was an old community, dating back to
Danish ownership of the Virgin Islands, and there was a feeling of
antiquity underneath the color of the tropics. There was no sharp lines
to buildings; everything had a pleasant weathered look.
"Friendly folks," Scotty observed, after the tenth passer-by had bidden
them a good day. "Doesn't seem to matter whether they're rich or poor.
They look happy, and they're certainly polite."
"I like it," Rick agreed. "Those colored roofs get me." He stumbled on a
cobblestone and added, "But the street could stand improving. Cobbles
are fine for horses, maybe, but they're hard on cars."
"What do they do here for a living?" Scotty asked. "Wish we had Chahda
along. He could reel off the straight dope from his _Worrold
Alm-in-ack_." Their Indian friend, Chahda, was at home in Bombay and
they hadn't heard from him in some time. His ability to quote from _The
World Almanac_, which he had memorized, had caused the boys considerable
amusement, even while they appreciated having a kind of walking
encyclopedia with them.
They passed a fruit stand where women were shopping for mangoes,
soursops, and other delicious-looking things, including sugar cane.
"That's part of it," Rick said. "Sugar. This is also the headquarters
for bay rum."
Scotty's eyebrows went up. "_Bay_ rum?" He stepped out of the way to let
an ancient woman on a donkey go by. "What's the bay part of it?"
Rick shrugged. "Search me. Anyway, you don't drink it, you put it on
your face. I guess it was originally distilled from bayberry trees or
something. Anyway--" He stopped suddenly as Scotty's fingers sank into
his arm.
"Look!" Scotty exclaimed.
Rick looked, and let out a yell. "Steve! Steve Ames!" In the next moment
he could have bitten his tongue out, because it was entirely possible
that Steve wasn't traveling under his own identity.
Ames was an athletic-looking young man in a white suit and Panama hat.
He stopped at Rick's hail, turned, and waited for the boys to catch up.
His face split in a pleased grin.
Rick breathed his relief. Evidently Steve didn't mind being called by
name.
The boys knew Steve as Spindrift's contact with JANIG, the Joint
Army-Navy Intelligence Group for which Spindrift had worked in the past,
once to solve _The Whispering Box Mystery_, and again to track down the
secret of _The Caves of Fear_.
"Wonder what he's doing here?" Scotty muttered.
"We'll soon find out," Rick said.
Steve greeted them cordially. "What brings you two wanderers to these
shores?"
"We were about to ask the same of you," Rick returned.
Steve grinned at the obvious curiosity in the boys' faces. "Nothing very
exciting. I'm here on a little vacation. Swimming."
"What kind of swimming?" Scotty wanted to know.
"Oh, skin diving, mostly."
"Gosh, that's wonderful!" Rick exclaimed. "Scuba or snorkel?"
There was the barest of hesitations before Steve replied. "Snorkel.
There's nothing that's more fun than snorkeling around the reefs. That's
the only way to swim in waters like these. You can get right down among
the fish."
Rick saw Scotty's mouth open to point out Steve's error, but he stepped
on his friend's foot and said quickly, "We're here for the swimming,
too. Maybe we can join forces."
He knew the answer would be no. Steve wasn't vacationing; he was on a
case. A vacationing skin diver would know that a snorkel is nothing but
a tube that allows a swimmer to float face down on the surface of the
water while looking for something to dive after. Once the dive starts,
the snorkel has no purpose, since its short length only allows it to
project a few inches above the surface while a diver is floating face
down. On the other hand, the Scuba--Self-Contained Underwater Breathing
Apparatus, like the boys' aqualungs, really does allow the diver to get
down among the fish.
"Thanks for the invitation," Steve said. He smiled. "I don't usually try
a cover story unless I have it down cold. Just for my future guidance,
where did I slip? Your faces were quite a study."
Rick told him. Steve nodded. "Thanks. I just got here on the morning
plane, and I haven't been briefed yet. By tonight I'll be an expert on
skin diving."
The statement only whetted further Rick's over-sharp curiosity. If Steve
was to be briefed on skin diving, it sounded like a case that would
interest him and Scotty.
Steve continued to smile. "I don't want to linger too long. Want to give
me a hand?"
Rick refrained from shouting and merely nodded his head. Scotty, with
only slightly less restraint, said, "You know we do."
"Fine. Don't look. In the doorway of the tailor shop is a
dark-complexioned man in a gray sharkskin suit. He's a tail. He picked
me up at the airport. I don't know the town well enough to lose him
easily in broad daylight. Never been here before today. Take him out for
me?"
Rick and Scotty nodded. Neither looked toward the doorway. "How will we
get in touch with you?" Rick asked.
Steve hesitated. "There's no one I'd rather see more of, and no one I'd
rather have on my side. But this case is not for you. Just do me this
favor, then forget you saw me."
"You never know when you'll need help," Rick pointed out. "We won't horn
in, but it won't do any harm to know how we can reach other. Tonight
we'll be at a hotel called Alexander's Rest. Tomorrow we take off for an
island called Clipper Cay."
"All right. If you really need to reach me, call the duty officer at the
UDT base and leave a message. I'll get it."
Rick turned slightly. In a plate-glass window across the street he could
see a reflection of the tailor shop Steve had mentioned, and he could
make out the form of a man in the shadowed doorway. He estimated that
the shop was about fifty feet away.
Scotty was also measuring the situation. He said, "Walk away from us so
the tail will have to come by."
Steve nodded. He shook hands, gave them each a grin, and was gone.
Rick said loudly, "Give me your shoulder to lean on. I've got a rock in
my shoe."
Scotty obliged, and Rick half turned as he did so. He saw the man in the
gray sharkskin suit saunter out of the doorway and start toward them.
Rick balanced on one leg, one hand on Scotty's shoulder, the other hand
fumbling with the shoelace on his lifted foot.
The tail walked toward them, unfolding a paper as he did so. He was
apparently devoting his full attention to the paper; his actions said he
didn't even know the boys existed.
"You ought to get tighter shoes," Scotty observed. "Then you wouldn't
get stones in them."
"Save the advice," Rick grunted. "I've got a knot in the lace."
The man came abreast of them, between Rick and the building, and in that
moment, clawing wildly for balance, Rick lost his hold on Scotty's
shoulder. He fell squarely against the man in the gray suit and crushed
him into the building.
[Illustration: _Pretending to lose his balance, Rick fell squarely
against the man_]
"Hey!" the man yelled. "What's the idea?"
Scotty rushed to the rescue, took the fallen shadow by the shoulders,
and tried to pull him to his feet. This only made matters worse, since
Rick was stretched across his legs.
"I'm so sorry," Scotty said. "Gosh, I'm sorry. He slipped. Here. Let me
help you up."
"Get off me," the man yelled.
Rick tried, lost his balance again, and fell against the man's chest,
pinning him to the sidewalk.
Scotty groaned. "Rick! You clumsy ox. Get off the man!"
"I'm trying to," Rick said plaintively. "My shoe came off. Here. Help me
up."
"Help yourself!" Scotty returned sharply. "I'm trying to help this
gentleman."
Rick rolled clear and Scotty got the man to his feet. He was something
less than spotlessly clean, thanks to the dust of the road, and there
was a rip in the arm of his coat.
"Look at that!" Scotty exclaimed. He made ineffectual efforts to dust
the man off. "Rick, you ripped his coat."
Rick looked embarrassed. "I'm terribly sorry. Here, sir. Let me take you
to this tailor shop. We can have it repaired in a jiffy."
"Forget it!" the man snapped. "And get out of my way. I'm in a hurry."
"It was all my fault, and I refuse to take no for an answer," Rick said
firmly. He took the man by the arm. "Come on. It will only take a
moment. You can't walk around town like that. I insist on having your
suit repaired. I'm sure that the tailor can mend it so no one would ever
notice."
"No," the man grated. "Please stand aside." Both boys had managed to
block the sidewalk.
"Please," Rick pleaded. "This is terribly upsetting. We really should
have the damage to your suit repaired."
The man's dark complexion was turning a grayish pink with rage. Rick
estimated quickly. If he knew Steve Ames, the JANIG agent was long gone,
and the tail would not catch up with him again. They had delayed the
shadow for perhaps two minutes, but for Steve that would be enough.
Rick stepped aside. "Very well. If you insist--"
"I do." The man brushed by and hurried off.
The boys looked at each other and grinned.
"He won't catch Steve," Rick said.
"Not a chance. Well, my clumsy friend, shall we put your shoe back on
and go meet the others for lunch?"
"We shall," Rick returned. "Indeed we shall." He slipped his shoe on and
tied it quickly. "Wasn't it interesting, where Steve said we could reach
him?"
Steve had said at the UDT base. That meant simply at the home of the
Navy frogmen--the Underwater Demolition Teams. No wonder Steve had said
he would be an expert on skin diving by nightfall. He was going to be
with the most expert experts of all.
Rick sighed. "Just our luck he doesn't want us in the case. Wouldn't it
be great to work with the Navy frogmen? We could learn plenty."
"Forgetting St. Francis?" Scotty inquired. "There he lies, twenty
fathoms down, probably covered with barnacles and waiting to be rescued.
And you want to go fogging off with the frogmen."
"All right, all right! Don't rub it in. We'll go back to being
interested in the bark _Maiden Hand_. And St. Francis. And pirates.
Let's cast off, my hearty."
The Danish Pastry was only a few blocks away, and Dr. Ernst and the
Spindrifters were already seated. The boys joined them, with apologies
for being late, but without mentioning their meeting with Steve Ames.
There was nothing to be gained by bringing the matter up in front of Dr.
Ernst. They could tell Zircon and Tony later. Zircon knew Steve, but
Tony didn't.
Over dessert, Dr. Ernst reached into his bag and brought forth a chart.
"I thought you might need this," he said.
It was a detailed chart of Clipper Cay and the surrounding waters. It
showed clearly the position of the reefs, and it gave soundings that
showed the depths.
Zircon shook his massive head. "Paul, your thoroughness has never failed
to amaze me. What would we have done without you?"
Ernst smiled his pleasure. "Thank you, Hobart. I try to be thorough.
Besides, I want you all to have a pleasant recollection of the Virgin
Islands. We who live here love them very much."
The boys and Tony echoed Zircon's thanks, then fell to a study of the
chart.
It was apparent that the water deepened rapidly beyond the western reef.
In a few places, the twenty-fathom line was only a short distance out.
"Have you any idea where this ship went down?" Dr. Ernst asked.
"A bare idea," Tony replied. "It was off the western shore of the
island, probably close to the reef, in twenty fathoms. The bark had been
hit and was sinking. The captain ran for the island with the hope of
beaching the ship on the reef, but he never made it. The bark went down,
and Anne Bonney's pirates picked up the survivors."
"We know of Anne Bonney here," Dr. Ernst told them. "You realize that
the Virgin Islands were once a hangout for pirates? Oh, we have a dark
and bloody history, what with piracy, slave rebellions, even Indian
massacres."
"You'd never know it," Rick said. "This is the most peaceful place I've
seen in years."
He didn't add that the peace was only apparent. Steve Ames wasn't needed
in really peaceful places. Something was stirring under the tropical
calm of St. Thomas.
"Tonight you must have a taste of St. Thomas home life," Dr. Ernst said.
"You shall be my guests at dinner. Dr. Briotti will be interested in my
collection of Indian pottery. And you young men will be interested in my
wife's hobby, which is fish. She has an amazing collection."
"Alive?" Scotty asked.
"Yes, indeed. In salt-water aquariums. Our misfortune makes it easy. You
see, we have no natural fresh-water supplies on St. Thomas. We depend on
catching rain for our drinking water. So our plumbing is operated by sea
water, of which we have plenty. As a result, Mrs. Ernst is able to have
a constant supply of salt water flowing through her aquariums. I know
you'll be interested."
The boys agreed. Mrs. Ernst's hobby sounded like fun.
After lunch Dr. Ernst departed for his office, leaving the Spindrift
group to their own devices. Not much remained to be done, except for
checking in at their hotel. For now, they were content to walk around
town.
As they passed the post office where Alexander Hamilton had once been a
clerk, Scotty smiled meaningfully at Rick.
"Steve lost a tail this morning. Remember?"
Rick looked at him doubtfully. "Of course. Why?"
"Somebody loses, somebody gains," Scotty replied cheerfully. "Don't look
behind you, but we've found one!"
CHAPTER III
The Shadow
The two scientists had been walking ahead of Rick and Scotty, but
Zircon's keen ears had overheard the boys' remarks. However, he was too
wise to make his interest obvious. He waited until the group passed a
store with a large display, then stopped, as though to examine it.
Rick found himself surveying a collection of tools for the
do-it-yourself addict.
"What's this about Steve and a tail?" Zircon asked. He pointed at a
power-drill set, as though discussing it. His normally loud voice
couldn't have been heard five feet away.
Rick shook his head, then pointed at a different drill set. Anyone
watching would have thought the tools were the subject of conversation.
Rick quickly outlined what had happened and concluded, "Scotty spotted a
tail on us a few minutes ago. Same guy?"
Scotty bent down for a closer look at a series of wood power bits. His
voice was scarcely audible. "Not the same one. This one is a Virgin
Islander. Looks like a farmer. When we stopped he walked right on by.
He's out of sight now. But he'll pick us up as soon as we start."
Tony Briotti, to whom this kind of adventure was new, asked, "What do we
do about it?"
"Nothing," Zircon answered. "Steve Ames wanted to get rid of his shadow
and the boys helped him out. But we have no particular reason for
wanting to get rid of ours. Let him follow. Undoubtedly whoever is
tailing Steve got interested when they saw him talking with the boys,
but they'll learn nothing by trailing us."
"And it's one less for Steve to contend with," Rick added.
Scotty straightened up. "I have to admit this bunch of tools is
beginning to bore me a little. Where are we going?"
Zircon shrugged. "I have nothing in mind. We might check in at the
hotel."
"I'd rather swim," Rick said.
"Same here." Scotty made a quick survey of the street without seeming to
do so. "No sign of our friend. He's probably in another doorway."
"Then Hobart and I might as well check in," Tony suggested. "I'd like a
swim, but frankly I'm a little sleepy from too much lunch."
"How about checking in for us?" Rick asked. "Then we could get right
into the water. No need for all of us to go to the hotel."
The scientists agreed, and at Scotty's suggestion hailed a taxi. As the
car rolled off toward the boat where their luggage was stored, Scotty
grinned. "This was the only taxi in sight. Wonder how our friend will
manage to follow us?"
He had his answer at the pier. While Zircon was piling their overnight
bags into the taxi, a farmer rode past on a bicycle. He didn't look at
them. "There he goes," Scotty said. "Pretty easy after all. Guess the
town is small enough so he wasn't worried about finding us."
"We'll give him a choice to make when Tony and I leave." Zircon smiled.
"Let's see whether he stays with you, or follows us."
Not until the boys had changed to swimming trunks in the cabin of the
_Water Witch_ did they find the answer to Zircon's question. The shadow
had decided to stay with them. This time it was Rick who spotted him.
The shadow was nearly hidden beyond a curve in the shore line. To anyone
not aware of being tailed, he would have appeared to be with any of the
other casual figures that went unhurriedly about their business in the
neighborhood. If Scotty hadn't pointed him out, Rick would not have
suspected that the shadow had the slightest interest in the Spindrift
party.
"We going to rig the aqualungs?" Scotty asked.
"Let's not bother. Masks, snorkels, and fins. We can swim out and take a
look at some of the coral heads."
"How about a gun?"
Rick considered. "I guess not. We don't want to do any hunting. But you
might take a hand spear in case something real inviting shows up. And
let's take our knives." He had also decided against taking his camera. A
leisurely, unencumbered swim was what he wanted. There would be time
enough for hunting fish or taking pictures later, when they got to
Clipper Cay.
While Scotty went into the cabin to select a spear from their assortment
of fishing gear, Rick surveyed the _Water Witch_ with satisfaction. It
was a thirty-five-foot craft with a small cabin forward and a spacious
cockpit aft. It had been used as a diving tender before, apparently,
because there was a ladder that could be swung outboard for a diver to
use. There was also a small boom that could be rigged quickly for
lowering or lifting gear from the water.
The gas tanks were ample for their purposes. One filling would be more
than sufficient for a round trip to Clipper Cay plus any cruising they
would do while at the island. The tanks were full.
Water capacity, an important consideration on waterless Clipper Cay, was
more than adequate. In addition to a built-in fifty-gallon tank in the
cabin, there was a rack of five ten-gallon jerry cans in the cockpit.
Scotty emerged from the cabin with a short, low-powered spring gun.
"Thought I might as well bring a light gun," he said. "It's just as easy
to carry as a spear."
"Okay." Rick led the way down the pier to the beach, carrying his mask,
snorkel, and slippers. These he placed carefully on one of the Sky
Wagon's pontoons, in order to protect the clear glass of his mask from
any possible scratching. Then, with a yell to Scotty to hurry, he
bounded through the shallows, threw himself forward, and planed along
the surface of the water. Lifting his head for a quick breath, he dove
under, feeling the wonderful coolness of the water close over him. He
judged its temperature quickly. It was close to eighty degrees, he
estimated, and cool only by comparison with the warm air.
He reversed course quickly and stood up. Scotty was also in the water.
"I'm glad we didn't bother with suits," Rick said. "In water like this
we'd even be too warm in midseason suits."
Because of the coldness of the water off the New Jersey coast, the boys
had equipped themselves with full, waterproof rubber suits under which
long under-wear was worn, and with lighter "midseason" suits of foam
neoprene. Because of the reported warmth of water in the Virgin Islands
they hadn't added the suits to their already heavy load of supplies.
They returned to the beach, picked up their equipment, and took it into
the water. Rick sat down and rinsed out his flippers, then carefully
removed the last traces of sand from his feet. He pulled the flippers
on, adjusting them for maximum comfort. His face mask was next. He spat
into it, then rubbed the saliva over the glass. This rather
unsanitary-appearing trick was essential, since saliva is an excellent
antifogging compound needed to help keep the glass clear underwater.
Then he rinsed his mask lightly and adjusted the head straps, leaving
the mask on his forehead.
The snorkels used by the boys were plastic tubes curved at both ends. At
one end was a mouthpiece; at the other was a cage that held a rubber
ball. A dive or rough wave action floated the ball upward, closing the
tube and preventing water entry. Rick and Scotty adjusted the rubber
bands of their snorkels around their heads above the mask straps.
Scotty was ready. He slipped his mask into place, molded the soft rubber
skirt of the mask to the contours of his face, inhaled through his nose
to make sure the seal was airtight, then called, "Let's go!" He gripped
the mouthpiece of his snorkel between his teeth, the rubber flange under
his lips, and slid into the water.
Rick was right behind him. As his mask touched water he saw the white
coral sand of the bottom a few inches down. The only sign of life was a
hermit crab, perhaps a half inch in length, dragging his home of the
moment--a tiny spiral shell.
In one hand, Scotty carried the spear gun by its pistol grip. He swam in
the position that suited him best, both arms hanging limply down. Rick,
on the other hand, preferred to swim with arms relaxed along his sides,
as long as his hands were empty. When carrying a spear gun or his
camera, he also swam with arms hanging downward. Neither boy used his
arms for swimming. The rhythmic, powerful leg strokes were enough,
thanks to the swim fins.
The water deepened rapidly but lost none of its clarity. Even at a depth
of a dozen feet, Rick thought, he could have counted every grain of
sand. This was unlike anything he had ever experienced. At home,
visibility of five feet was considered good. Lost in the enjoyment of
really clear water, he completely forgot about the shadow.
Scotty reminded him. He touched Rick's arm and signaled a stop. The boys
removed their snorkel mouthpieces and faced each other upright in the
water, holding position with easy flipper movements.
"Just pretend we're talking," Scotty said. "Don't look around. I'm
trying to spot our friend over your shoulder." After a moment he shook
his head. "No sign. Wonder if he ran for a bathing suit?"
"Forget him. Let's swim. See any coral heads?"
"Darker water off yonder. Let's look."
They readjusted their snorkels and headed in the direction Scotty had
indicated.
Rick breathed easily through his tube, constantly scanning the bottom.
Now and then he saw various kinds of debris on the bottom, including
abandoned beer cans and a section of newspaper that had not yet rotted
away. Rubbish like this was to be expected in a harbor, he supposed,
still it was as unattractive to a swimmer as junk along the roadside is
to the motorist.
Suddenly he noticed a fish--the first he had seen. He took a deep breath
and dove by letting his head drop and then lifting his legs to a nearly
vertical position. He slid underwater without a splash. When his fins
were below the surface he started his leg motion again, and the flippers
propelled him smoothly downward.
The fish was perhaps a foot long, silvery, with a pointed nose and
yellow fins. Rick couldn't identify it. The fish was busily rooting in
the sand for morsels of food and paid no attention to the diver until
Rick reached out and almost touched it, then it sped just beyond reach
and commenced rooting again.
His curiosity satisfied for the moment, Rick surfaced and rejoined
Scotty. As he took position at his friend's side, the other boy hooted
once, their signal for "attention." The hooting was done by making a
kind of "hooty" groan into the snorkel mouthpiece, about the only sound
that could be made without letting water pass the lips. Because water
conducted sound so well, the hoot could be heard clearly some distance
away.
Rick lifted his face from the water and saw that Scotty was pointing to
an area a short distance to their right. He followed Scotty's lead and
saw the reason for the signal. It was a rocky, coral-covered area about
thirty feet square and perhaps fifteen feet below the surface.
The boys swam directly over it, then floated motionless, watching the
activity below. At first glance, there appeared to be only a pair of
odd-shaped file-fish nibbling at the formation, but as their vision
adjusted they made out literally dozens of tiny, colorful fish in
clefts, under overhangs, or waiting motionless against a patch of color
on the rocks. Rick pointed to a school of about ten vivid little fish of
electric-blue color. The largest was less than two inches long. Scotty
hooted for attention and pointed in his turn to a section of the rock
that held over a dozen sea urchins that looked like black horse
chestnuts with exaggerated spines.
Rick watched a pair of brown doctorfish about eight inches long swim by
below, then his attention was attracted by a brilliant red squirrelfish
peering out of a cleft. He pointed the red fish out to Scotty, who in
turn showed him where a little moray was peering out of a hole near the
base of the rock.
Rick was fascinated. If a tiny patch of rock held this amount of life,
what must the real reefs be like off Clipper Cay? He was suddenly
impatient to get going, to put on his aqualung and explore the reef from
top to bottom. And if they should really find the wreck of the _Maiden
Hand_, there was every chance that the exploration of the wreck and the
sea life it had acquired would more than compensate for the treasure
none of them really hoped to find anyway. What a vacation!
He was suddenly conscious of a throb in his ears. He listened and tried
to identify it. A motorboat of some kind, but it didn't sound like a
very powerful one. He lifted his head and searched for it.
Scotty, too, had heard the boat. He began to tread water, lifting his
mask, then rinsing it because it had fogged a little.
Rick spotted the boat. It looked like a large row-boat, powered with an
outboard motor, and it was headed in their direction.
Scotty took his snorkel out of his mouth. "Better stay topside and
watch. We don't want to start our vacation by getting run over."
"Too true," Rick said. "Isn't this great? I've never seen so many kinds
of small fish in one place in my life. Wait until we get out to the
reefs where the big ones are."
Scotty patted his spear gun. "I'll keep us supplied with fresh sea food.
Wonder if there are any lobsters around?"
But Rick had stopped listening. "Scotty, that guy is heading right for
us!"
The boat was getting close, and through his face plate Rick could make
out the figure of a single occupant.
Scotty suddenly gripped his arm. "Rick! It's our shadow!"
Rick started. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. I don't like this. What would he come out here for? Get ready to
dive." Scotty pulled his mask into place and molded it to his face, then
gripped his snorkel between his teeth.
Rick followed suit and leveled off in the water in diving position, but
he hesitated, waiting to see what the boat would do.
It didn't take long to find out. The boat stayed on a perfectly straight
course, headed directly for them. Rick waited. Perhaps the shadow
intended to sheer off when he got close. He might have come out to talk
with them.
Scotty hooted four times, their signal for danger! Then he went under.
Still Rick hesitated, until it was clear that the boat did not intend to
swerve. He saw the shadow's face, set in grim lines, then his legs went
up and he slid under, using his hands as well as his legs to pull
himself down to safety. He thought incredulously, "He tried to run us
down!"
A dozen feet under he turned over on his back and saw the bright circle
of the propeller and its trail of foam. The boat was past. He shot to
the surface and filled his lungs with air, waiting for the next move.
The boat spun around in a tight turn and headed back.
Scotty surfaced next to Rick, pulled the snorkel from his mouth, and
gritted, "Swim away. Let him use you for a target. I'm going to get that
son of a spiny sea walrus."
Rick saw from the position of the spear in Scotty's gun that his friend
had charged the weapon during the dive. He nodded, then turned and swam
away, flippers flailing as though trying to hurry. He watched over his
shoulder and saw the boat head for him.
He was breathing hard from the excitement now, but he took a deep breath
and got ready to dive. But still he swam, leading the rapidly overtaking
boat until it was almost on him. Only then did he shoot downward,
twisting as he went. He looked back in time to see Scotty sight the
spear gun and fire as the boat went past.
At first Rick thought his pal had missed, then he realized what Scotty
had done. The spear shaft was attached to a long wire leader, and the
leader to a safety line coiled around a spool just ahead of the pistol
grip. Scotty had deliberately fired ahead of the propeller, knowing that
the wire leader would be caught and would wrap around the shaft.
Rick saw the spear stop short as the wire caught, saw it hauled back
against the propeller and drop free as the prop blades cut it loose.
Scotty shot up for a breath, then dove instantly, toward the rapidly
falling spear.
Rick had to breathe himself. He surfaced, caught a quick breath, then
went under again. Scotty was picking up the spear. Rick saw him place it
in the gun barrel, swing the loader over the razor-sharp harpoon head,
and shove down on the spring. In a moment the gun was loaded again.
Luckily the spear had not bent when the prop blade hit it.
The boat had come to a halt, the engine dead. The propeller could no
longer turn against the wrapping of wire and heavy fishline. Scotty
hooted twice, their signal to surface, and Rick followed him up. Near
the surface they separated, Rick taking the side of the boat away from
his friend. He longed for a weapon, even a hand spear. But he was
helpless. Scotty would have to get in the first blow with the gun. But,
Rick thought, that might give him time to get over the gunwale to
grapple with the shadow.
His head broke water. He pulled the snorkel from his mouth and let it
hang. As luck would have it, the shadow saw him first. He stood up, oar
in hands, poised for a swing at Rick's head.
Scotty's voice stopped the swing. "Don't do it or you'll get three feet
of steel through you!"
The man turned and faced the needle point of Scotty's spear. The oar
dropped from his hands.
Rick gulped his relief. Apparently the shadow had no weapon.
"Jump overboard!" Scotty ordered.
The man hesitated. Scotty thrust the spear gun forward. "Jump, I said!"
The shadow did, and sank in a flurry of bubbles. When he rose to the
surface again, the point of the spear was against his back. "Hang on to
the boat with both hands," Scotty directed.
Rick got to his side with a kick of the flippers and ran his hands over
the man's clothing. He found a switch knife, which he put in his belt.
"He's clean," he said. "No other weapons."
"Take a look in the boat," Scotty suggested.
Rick did so, lifting himself up on the gunwale. There was nothing in the
boat but oars and a can of gasoline.
"Want to tell us why you tried to run us down?" Rick asked.
The shadow merely stared.
"Talk," Scotty ordered, "or I'll put this spear through you."
The man spoke, and his accent was the soft speech of the island. "No,
you won't. I could explain running down swimmers by accident, but you
could never explain putting a spear through a man in a boat. You don't
want that kind of trouble."
Scotty grinned at the truth of it. "Okay," he said. "Just one thing.
Don't push us too far. Stay in the water until we're ashore, and don't
try to overtake us."
"Better heed that advice," Rick warned. "Come on, Scotty. Let's go." He
put his snorkel in place.
Scotty moved to his side. "Welcome to the hospitable waters of St.
Thomas," he said. "What say we look up some friendly sharks before we go
ashore?"
CHAPTER IV
Visitors by Night
Rick and Scotty stood on the pier and watched their erstwhile shadow row
slowly toward another pier some distance away.
"We probably should have tied him up and called the police," Rick
remarked.
"It wouldn't have gotten us anything," Scotty disagreed. "He could
always claim he didn't see us in the water. After all, it wouldn't be
the first time divers had been run over by motorboats."
"It's too late now, anyway. Let's dress, then go to the hotel and tell
Zircon and Tony about this."
As they dressed in the small cabin of the _Water Witch_, Rick spoke
aloud the question that had been bothering him. "What did he have to
gain by running us down? That's what puzzles me. It was a stupid thing
to try, because he didn't really have much chance of getting both of us,
or even one, once he failed to catch us by surprise."
"He wasn't very well prepared for murder, either," Scotty added. "No
weapons except a switch knife."
Rick nodded agreement. "He was desperate," he concluded. "Suddenly he
had to take a chance on getting us. He must have known it wasn't much of
a chance. Either he lost his head, or he wasn't very bright. What could
have made him try?"
Scotty had no answer, nor could Rick even hazard a reasonable guess.
They locked the cabin of the _Water Witch_, walked into town, and found
a taxi. Their shadow did not show up again, and if a new tail had
replaced him, the new one was too good to be spotted. However, the boys
doubted that they were being followed.
"I just don't get it," Rick said for the twentieth time. "Our friend
must have lost his head. Otherwise he'd have waited on shore and
continued to follow us when we came out of the water."
"We'll probably never know," Scotty returned. "After all, we'll be gone
in the morning."
"I know. But meanwhile, we'd better have eyes in the back of our heads."
The taxi discharged them in front of Alexander's Rest and they climbed
out and surveyed the hotel with interest.
Scotty spoke first. "Alexander's Rest? Which Alexander? The Great, or
Hamilton? If it was Hamilton, as Dr. Ernst said, he must have built it
personally."
It was a two-story frame structure that had definitely seen better days.
On closer inspection Rick decided that the second story had been added
as an afterthought. It looked like the second layer of a poorly
constructed cake.
Inside, however, the hotel proved to be very comfortable. It was cool,
and the rooms were large and clean. The boys learned that they had been
registered in a twin bedroom on the second floor, while Zircon and
Briotti were on the first floor.
The boys found the scientists attired only in shorts, cooling off over
long, cold drinks. They accepted glasses of iced ginger ale and told the
scientists of their adventure.
"It's amazing." Tony Briotti shook his head. "Do you realize that you
two are a phenomenon? I should write you up for one of the scientific
journals."
"You mean because we turned the tables on the shadow?" Scotty asked.
"No. Because you're adventure-prone. Did you ever hear of people who are
accident-prone?"
Zircon chuckled. "A good observation of these two. I agree absolutely,
Tony. They are adventure-prone."
Rick sighed. "All right. What's the joke?"
"None. I'm quite serious." Tony found more ice for his glass. "Insurance
statistics show that certain people are accident-prone. Accidents happen
to them. They're going along minding their own business and bang! A
streetcar jumps the tracks and hits them. Or they step into open
manholes. They're the kind of people who always manage to be walking
under things when workmen drop tools."
"And you," Zircon concluded, "are adventure-prone in the same way.
Consider this. Had you walked down the street either a minute earlier or
later this morning you would not have seen Steve Ames. It's quite likely
that you would never have known of his presence in town. But what
happens? You walk right into an adventure. One thing leads to another,
and suddenly a stranger is trying to run you down with a motorboat."
"That's what bothers me," Rick replied. "There's no pattern. It just
makes no sense."
"It doesn't have to," Tony Briotti said with a grin. "The Golden Skull
pattern makes no sense, either. But you got us into more excitement than
I knew was possible. You're just adventure-prone."
"And for the sake of my gray hair, stay out of trouble," Zircon pleaded.
"Stay close to us until we get to Clipper Cay."
"It will be a pleasure," Rick assured him. "Only let us out of your
sight long enough to shower, please. I'm sticky."
"We'll stay in the hotel," Scotty promised.
"Fine. I'll feel better about it if I know where you are. Suppose you
come by in an hour and we'll have a quiet dinner at the Ernsts'."
Dinner was quiet but interesting. The Ernsts were excellent hosts, and
both Dr. and Mrs. Ernst had many tales of the islands to tell. As the
good doctor had promised, the boys enjoyed the wonderful variety of sea
life Mrs. Ernst had collected to keep in salt-water tanks. She
identified for them a number of the smaller reef fishes, including
clowns, demoiselles, and even the deadly scorpion fish.
The party broke up early, since the start for Clipper Cay was to be made
at dawn by the scientists. The plan was for Zircon and Tony to make the
trip in the _Water Witch_, with the boys flying over in the Sky Wagon.
That way, both the plane and boat would be available. Zircon thought
that fast trips to St. Thomas might be necessary to replenish supplies,
and he added that he would be happier if the plane were available in
case of accident. That way, the patient could be in Charlotte Amalie in
a short time.
As the boys bade good night to the scientists and started up the stairs
to their room, Rick asked, "Any sign of a shadow tonight?"
"Nope. Guess Steve's friends--or enemies--must have lost interest."
"I hope that you're right. As long as Steve ordered us to stay out of
the case, I'll be glad when we get to the cay and get underwater. We
have to find that precious gadget even if it takes two solid weeks of
diving. If we don't, Barby will never let us forget it."
This last was uttered as Rick turned the key in the lock and pushed the
door open. He flicked on the light, then gave a sudden gasp.
The shadow and a stranger--in their room!
The boys looked into the muzzles of .38-caliber pistols.
"Come on in quietly," the stranger said. "Put your hands on the tops of
your heads and sit down on the bed over there."
The boys did so. They had no alternative. Rick's mind raced. Somehow
they had to warn the scientists, and they had to get out from under the
muzzles of the guns! What could these men want of them?
The stranger sat down on the other bed. His pistol muzzle was centered
precisely on Rick's belt buckle. "We want information. Give it to us
without any trouble and we'll go away. Give us a hard time and you'll
regret it."
Rick studied the stranger. He was of medium height, dressed in tan
slacks and sport shirt with a darker jacket. His face was ordinary. He
might have been a store clerk, or streetcar conductor, or nearly
anything. But Rick saw from the way his jacket fitted that he was
powerfully built for his size, and his hands were lean and
strong-looking. He had a heavy tan, as though he had spent many months
in the sun.
"What do you want to know?" Scotty asked.
"Let's start with what you were saying when you walked in. Who is
Barby?"
"My sister," Rick said. "She's at home, in New Jersey."
The stranger sighed. "I was afraid of this. Give us straight answers or
you'll buy plenty of grief. Now, who is Barby? Who does he represent?"
"He told you," Scotty answered. "She's his sister."
The stranger tried a different tack. "How did you know where to swim
today? Did Ames tell you?"
"No," Rick replied. "We just swam straight out from the pier looking for
coral heads."
"Come on! You must have had some source of information. Who gave it to
you?"
"We didn't have any source of information," Scotty protested. "We just
went for a swim!"
The stranger lifted the pistol menacingly. "You'd better sing, and it
better be straight. I'm warning you!"
"Warn all you like," Rick said angrily. "What do you want us to say?"
The shadow walked over and pulled back his fist.
"Lay off!" the stranger growled. "You've pulled enough stupid stunts for
one day. You'll be lucky if the boss doesn't rip the hide off you."
The former tail subsided and glared at the boys.
The stranger rose. "All right. If you won't talk here, we'll take you
where you will talk. Get up."
The boys looked at each other. Scotty raised his eyebrows. Rick grinned.
He asked calmly, "Suppose we don't go?"
"You'll go!" the stranger snapped.
"I don't think we will," Scotty answered. "Look, mister. You're in a
hotel. It's early, and there are people in the lobby. How far do you
think you'd get if you tried to march us downstairs with a gun in your
hand?"
"We're not going through the lobby," the stranger told them. "We're
going the way we came--through the window. And you'll go quietly or
we'll take our chances. They might catch us, but you wouldn't care with
a couple of slugs in you. Pete, go outside and wait. They'll come down
one at a time. Keep them covered, and don't hesitate to shoot if they
try anything."
The shadow slipped through the window, hung by his hands, and dropped.
The stranger's gun singled out Rick. "Get going."
Rick shrugged. There was nothing else to do but obey--at least for the
moment. He looked at Scotty, and his pal made a small gesture to the
right. Rick's forehead wrinkled. This was no signal he recognized,
unless Scotty meant to jump to the right.
He swung a leg over the sill and looked down. The shadow was waiting,
and the light from the window glinted dully off the gun in his hand.
Rick went on out, then holding by his hands he gave a swing to the right
and dropped. The gun covered him as he rose to his feet again.
"Against the wall!" the shadow hissed.
Rick dutifully moved back against the wall. The shadow was standing
about six feet away.
Overhead, Scotty was climbing through the window now. Rick watched
carefully as his pal lowered himself to full length, and swung _to the
left_.
Instantly Rick divined Scotty's tactics. If the two boys were apart, the
gun couldn't cover both of them at the same moment, and there would be
an instant while the stranger jumped when only a single gun would be on
them. And the shadow had already shown that he wasn't the smartest man
in the world. Rick slipped to the right a step or two while the shadow
was distracted by Scotty's jump. Scotty fell to his knees, and in
getting up he managed to put a few more feet between himself and Rick.
"Watch 'em!" The stranger's voice floated down. Rick glanced up and saw
the stranger with one leg over the sill. He tensed.
Scotty said, "Listen, you mug ..."
The shadow's head turned toward Scotty, and Rick left the ground in a
wild spring. He struck the shadow, hand clawing for the gun. He found a
wrist, and twisted, falling backward as he did so. The shadow, the
entire weight of his own body on his wrist from the throw, screamed!
The gun landed on the ground. Rick let go and scrambled for it, but
Scotty was there before him.
In the instant of the struggle the stranger had hesitated on the window
sill, hand grabbing for the pistol he had tucked in his belt. He pulled
it free and aimed at the struggling figures below, but in the gloom
there was no way to distinguish friend from foe. And in that heartbeat,
Scotty picked up the shadow's gun and fired one snap shot.
The stranger's gun dropped to the ground and he fell backward into the
room.
Scotty thrust the pistol into the shadow's stomach. "Face the wall," he
ordered. "Put your hands against it. Now support your weight on your
hands."
The shadow did as ordered. Rick took the man's legs and pulled them
backward so that the shadow's whole weight was against his hands, his
outstretched body forming the hypotenuse of a right triangle. The only
way he could move to regain his balance was to lower himself to the
ground and then get up.
Rick picked up the stranger's fallen pistol and hefted it. "Better see
about the one upstairs," he advised. "I'll watch this one."
"I fired at his hand, but I was high," Scotty told him. "He got it in
the shoulder. He won't get far."
Zircon and Briotti charged around the corner of the hotel in pajamas and
slippers, followed by other guests and members of the hotel staff.
"We had a little trouble," Rick explained briefly.
The scientists took in the situation at a glance.
"As I said," Tony Briotti muttered. "Adventure-prone. And lucky! How do
you beat a combination like that?"
CHAPTER V
The Warning
Steve Ames walked into the hotel dining room accompanied by a young Navy
lieutenant. He spotted the boys immediately and waved.
Rick breathed a sigh of relief. "There he is."
"We can turn this whole business over to him and then get out of here,"
Scotty returned.
The events of the night before had culminated in two phone calls, one by
the hotel manager to the police, the other by Rick to Steve Ames.
However, the duty officer at the UDT base had replied that Ames was not
available. Rick had then asked for intelligence, and his query had
gotten fast results. Steve Ames didn't show up, but Navy Shore Patrol
officers did. The SP's had conferred with the local police, and the
affair had ended with the shadow and the stranger, whom Scotty had
potted in the shoulder, being carried off by both groups. First,
however, the senior Shore Patrol officer had listened to their story,
then instructed the boys, "Wait for Steve Ames. Talk to no one else. The
police won't ask any questions."
After conferring, the Spindrift group decided to go ahead with their
plans. The scientists were anxious to transfer their activities to
Clipper Cay, not only to get on with their vacation, but to get the boys
away from the mysterious danger that dogged their footsteps in Charlotte
Amalie.
The scientists had departed at dawn in the _Water Witch_, after
extracting a promise from Rick and Scotty that they would not stir from
the hotel until Steve Ames contacted them, and that they would then fly
at once to Clipper Cay.
The wait had been a long one. It was now nearly noon, and the boys,
hungry because their breakfast had been at daybreak, were ordering
lunch.
Steve Ames sat down and motioned the lieutenant to a seat. "Jimmy, this
is Rick Brant and Don Scott. Boys, Lieutenant Kelly. Have you ordered
lunch?"
"We were just looking over the menu," Rick replied.
"Fine. We'll join you."
The four consulted menus, then ordered. Steve turned to Kelly. "Jimmy,
being the athletic type, you've probably never heard of the Spindrift
Scientific Foundation."
The lieutenant, a heavily tanned young man with crisp black hair, shook
his head. "Sorry. I never have."
"Well, it's a reputable, highly competent and conservative group of some
of the best scientific brains in the country. But somehow, these two got
attached to it. They're not very conservative, although they're
competent--especially at getting into trouble."
Kelly gave the boys a comradely grin. "If he talks that way, he must
like you."
The boys grinned back. The lieutenant was likable.
"All right. Last I saw of you two, Rick was lying across the legs of the
guy who had been tailing me. The next thing I heard, two men we've been
keeping an eye on were in the hoosegow, one with a slug in his shoulder.
And I also heard some wild tales of jumping out of windows. Now fill in
the details."
Rick started from the moment they first noticed that a shadow had picked
them up. He told the story in careful and accurate detail, knowing that
Steve's trained mind might find significance in things that meant
nothing to him. Now and then Scotty elaborated on a point.
When Rick concluded the recital, Steve cupped his chin in one hand and
stared at them thoughtfully.
Kelly complimented them. "Sounds as if you took care of things like real
professionals, both in the water and in the hotel. And I must say, I
wish my people would learn to give reports like that."
The boys thanked him, and Scotty added, "I don't suppose you can tell us
anything about what you do?"
"Sure I can. I'm not one of Steve's hush-hush crew. I'm a simple Navy
lieutenant."
Rick chuckled. "In other words, you can't tell us."
Steve said, "He's executive officer of the UDT group here. And he's
group intelligence officer. I might also add that he's brighter than he
looks."
"Then what do you make of this business?" Scotty inquired.
"I'm not that bright," Kelly replied. "Seriously, this one has me
stumped. First of all, it's easy to understand why a shadow picked you
up. After all, it must have been obvious that you knocked Steve's tail
off. So they simply picked you up instead, hoping that you'd lead them
back to Steve, or that you might be important in some way they couldn't
understand."
"It's nice to have someone do my thinking for me," Steve said. "Carry
on, Lieutenant."
"Aye, aye, Sir. The tail stuck with you. When your party split in two,
he decided to stay with you instead of Zircon and Briotti. There could
be two reasons: First, you were the ones who contacted Steve on the
street. Second, you stayed at the waterfront while the others went off
in a taxi. I like the second reason better because of what happened
later. How about you, Steve?"
"I'm with you. Go ahead."
"Well, at this point I get lost. You put on your gear and swam out, not
with any particular destination in mind, but looking for a rock or a
coral head or something of the kind where you could see fish. The shadow
watched you. Suddenly he got excited, grabbed a boat, and tried to run
you down."
Steve grinned at the boys. "In fact, he got so excited that he stole a
boat right out from under the owner's nose. What do you think of that?"
Rick scratched his head. "We'd about decided he was either desperate or
stupid. I guess he was both."
Kelly continued. "The big point is, what made him desperate? It could
only have been one thing, as I see it. You were getting close to
something, and he was afraid you'd find it. So he lost his head. That's
borne out by the remark his pal made last night, that he'd pulled enough
stupid stunts for one day."
"But what could we have been getting close to?"
"I don't know. Whatever it was, it isn't there now."
Scotty and Rick sat up straight. Scotty demanded, "How do you know?"
Steve smiled. "Because a team of Navy frogmen went over the entire area
inch by inch this morning."
At the boys' surprised looks, Kelly explained, "You told the Shore
Patrol enough to get us interested. We put teams in the water at
daylight. There's nothing there."
"But there could have been," Scotty pointed out. "If they suspected we
knew about it, they could have removed it yesterday afternoon or last
night."
"Correct," Steve agreed. "They were worried, too. Otherwise why the call
on you last night? And the questions?" Steve paused while the waiter
served them. "The conclusion is this: Something they value was in the
water near where you swam. You met me yesterday morning, and they had
already identified me. Which means that they must have agents in
Washington who warned them JANIG was moving in on the case. Since it's
no secret that I'm with the outfit, they could peg me easily. When you
swam out toward this object, whatever it was, they were convinced that
somehow JANIG had learned about it. The tail got desperate and tried to
knock you off. Then, last night, they tried to find out what you knew,
and how."
"Who are 'they'?" Rick asked.
"If I knew that, I'd wrap the case up and go home. Jimmy has been
working on it for a week, but he hasn't any answers yet. I've been here
twenty-four hours, and I know even less."
"Could you identify the two men?" Scotty queried.
"Yes. Both small fry, both local. And both are obviously green at this
kind of business, otherwise you'd be a pair of real cold turkeys by
now."
That was true, Rick knew. Experienced agents wouldn't have given him and
Scotty the chances that they'd seized.
"The men must know what was under the water," Scotty said.
"Not necessarily. They just knew it was important, and they may have
been ordered to protect it. But your former shadow was on the griddle
all night, and told all he knew. It wasn't much. He didn't even know who
had hired him. He wasn't stalling, either."
"What's the next step?" Rick wanted to know.
"Jimmy and I will drive you to the plane. Then you take off for Clipper
Cay. And stay there until your vacation is over. Have you a short-wave
radio, by the way?"
"Yes. Why?" Rick had an all-wave battery portable.
"Monitor the Navy command frequency. Here, I'll write it down for you.
Listen every night at six for five minutes. If I want you, I'll send a
message. I don't think I will, but it won't do any harm to set up a
schedule."
Steve lowered his voice. "Now listen to me. This thing is big. The two
you ran up against yesterday were not good samples. We're dealing with
some tough professionals. I don't know who they are, but from what I've
seen I can tell you they're dangerous. So you two are to stay out of
this case. That is an order. Stay on Clipper Cay and have fun."
"I can add a small note to that," Lieutenant Kelly said. "I'm new here.
I was ordered down from Norfolk only a week ago. A first-class
intelligence officer had my job. He turned up in a hospital in the
British Virgins after being missing for two days. He had a fractured
skull. He still doesn't know what happened to him, and neither do we."
"Okay," Steve said flatly. "I appreciate the way you handled things
yesterday, but that's the end so far as you are concerned. Get out, and
stay out! And that's final!"
CHAPTER VI
The Deadly Tank
The Sky Wagon droned smoothly through a series of figure eights as Rick
and Scotty inspected every inch of Clipper Cay and its surrounding
waters. While Rick flew, Scotty marked off landmarks on the chart of the
island that Dr. Ernst had provided.
"I wish we could spot the wreck of the _Maiden Hand_," Scotty remarked.
"Too deep," Rick said. "We can't see bottom at twenty fathoms even in
water as clear as this."
"I've got everything important marked. What say we land and look over
our property?"
"Okay. I'll shoot the beach while you look for coral heads. We don't
want to snag a pontoon."
The boys had already identified their house. It was set at the edge of
the palms, about fifty yards inland from the beach. It looked fine.
There was a small dock to which the _Water Witch_ could be tied up when
the scientists arrived.
Rick estimated that Tony and Zircon would arrive about sundown, two
hours hence. The boys had flown over the _Water Witch_ en route from St.
Thomas. Apparently the scientists were enjoying the trip. Zircon had
been sprawled in the cockpit while Tony trolled for fish.
"I'm a little surprised there wasn't something wrong with the plane,"
Rick observed. He and Scotty had gone over the Sky Wagon from propeller
hub to rudder, fearful that the unknown enemy might have sabotaged the
plane. But there was no sign of any tampering. However, the inspection
had taken so long that it was late afternoon before they got away. It
was significant and perhaps a little ominous that Steve and Jimmy Kelly
had assigned a pair of husky Shore Patrol men with .45-caliber sidearms
to stay with them until the plane actually took off.
"Maybe the two men who came after us were acting without orders," Scotty
replied. "Maybe the real brains of the gang aren't even interested in
us."
"I hope that you're right. See any coral heads?"
Although most coral growth was limited to the reef area, outcroppings of
coral called "heads" had grown up toward the surface in some places.
There were none in the stretch of water before the beach house where
Rick planned to land.
"The water's clear. Pick your direction. There's not enough wind to make
any difference."
"I'll land parallel to the beach."
Rick turned south down the center of the island. When he had reached the
right position he cut the throttle, and the nose of the Sky Wagon
dropped. He banked tightly, reversing course, until the plane was headed
north a hundred yards out from the beach. He let the plane feel its way
toward the water, then felt the first bump as the pontoons touched. In a
moment they were down, and Rick swung the plane to taxi in toward their
new home.
Scotty was already stripping off his shoes and socks. As the pontoons
touched bottom a few yards from shore, Scotty climbed out. Rick cut the
gun while his pal pulled the plane up on the beach.
Rick got out and waited until Scotty slipped his shoes on again, then
they walked to the cottage.
The door was unlocked. Few people came to Clipper Cay, and locks weren't
considered necessary. The boys pushed open the front door and walked in.
There was a large living room and three bedrooms, each with twin beds.
In the rear of the cottage was a kitchen with kerosene stove and
kerosene refrigerator. A fifty-gallon drum out back provided the fuel
supply, which was piped in through copper tubing. Rick checked the fuel.
The tank was full. He read the simple instructions tacked to the wall
over the refrigerator, then lighted the burner. There were frozen foods
and soft drinks as well as dairy products among their supplies, packed
in dry ice in the _Water Witch's_ food locker; the refrigerator would be
cold enough for the supplies by the time the boat arrived.
For bathing in fresh water there was an outdoor shower, a shower head
rigged to a five-gallon drum and supported on a frame of two-by-four
wooden members. A canvas curtain gave privacy. Other sanitary facilities
were equally primitive but effective.
Scotty opened the door of a lean-to shed on the rear of the house. "We
can stow our diving gear in here. There's a bench, too. Looks as though
the owner used the place for cleaning fish and stowing his fishing
equipment."
They walked around to the front of the house where there was a small
porch. A few wicker chairs were upended against the wall. The boys
righted them and sat down.
"This is the life," Rick observed. "Look at that view."
They looked from the porch down to the sandy beach, past the pier and
the Sky Wagon to water that was almost glassy calm. The water continued
in a smooth stretch for about five hundred yards out to the reef. Light
breakers foamed along the reef, and beyond, the water was a blue waste
to the horizon. A quarter mile south, a break in the reef marked a
passage where boats could enter.
Somewhere, out beyond the reef, was the wreck of the _Maiden Hand_. In
his mind, Rick planned how they would go about finding it. The first
step was to rig some kind of underwater towing boards. Then he and
Scotty, equipped with their aqualungs, would be towed behind the _Water
Witch_, scanning the bottom as they went.
He wasn't worried about finding material for the towing boards. Any kind
of planks would do, or they could even make a tow board out of a fallen
log, although that would be harder to control.
"Come on," he invited. "Let's walk through the palms. We need a few
planks, and we might as well get them now."
By the time the scientists approached the pier, the boys had explored
the central part of the island and had returned to the cottage lugging
planks found in the ruin of a cottage apparently blown down by some
long-past hurricane. They dropped the planks beside the house and
hurried to catch the line that Zircon threw, then they warped the _Water
Witch_ in to the dock.
All hands turned to, and in a short time supplies were unloaded and
stored, beds were made with linen and blankets loaned by Dr. Ernst, and
the cottage began to take on an inhabited look.
While Tony Briotti began preparations for dinner, the boys carried their
aqualung equipment to the shed at the rear of the cottage and began to
check it over. Since their lives would depend on proper functioning of
the equipment, they inspected the regulators carefully, checking the
condition of the neoprene flaps. Once checked, the regulators were hung
on nails on the shed walls, out of harm's way.
The next step was to inspect the tanks. Rick had already looked them
over, but for the sake of safety the boys did it again. There were six
of them, each of seventy-cubic-feet capacity. There was an advantage to
this particular capacity at the depth where they expected to dive; a
diver could work only fifteen minutes at 120 feet without requiring
decompression, and seventy cubic feet of air would last just long
enough. Double tanks would have meant the boys would be able to stay
down nearly twice as long, but would also have meant the nuisance of
waiting through the decompression period of about thirteen minutes ten
feet below the surface on the ascent. For this reason, the boys planned
to dive with single tanks, leaving the spares on the surface.
Of course, to get even fifteen minutes of diving at twenty fathoms the
tanks had to be filled to capacity. When full, they were under enormous
internal pressure of over two thousand pounds per square inch. The tanks
had been filled at Spindrift, but the boys decided to check them again,
in case there had been some leakage through the valves during shipment.
Scotty swung one tank upright and prepared to attach the pressure gauge.
Rick, inspecting another tank for bumps that might have weakened the
tank wall, saw him do it.
For a moment Rick continued his inspection, then what he had seen
suddenly registered. He yelled, "Scotty! The valve!"
In that instant, as Scotty attached the pressure gauge, the valve blew
out!
The entire valve assembly and the pressure gauge, propelled by the
tremendous pressure in the tank, blew straight upward, ripping clear of
Scotty's hand and taking a patch of skin along. The ascending assembly,
traveling with bullet speed, clipped a lock of hair from his bent head.
[Illustration: _The valve assembly, traveling with bullet speed, barely
missed Scotty's head_]
Scotty yelled, "Run!"
The tank, its air free to escape, writhed and turned, then fell over on
its side. It was like an inflated balloon, turned loose to fly around a
room. Air jetted from it with terrific velocity, so that the tank was,
for the period while its air lasted, a true rocket.
It struck the wall of the shed and went through it like paper, smashed
into a stud and caromed slightly, so that its trajectory was altered
enough to drive it directly at Rick. He fell flat and it went over, just
grazing him, then flew into the palm grove. It hit a palm a slanting
blow and turned upward, shooting high in the air, clipping off the top
of another palm as it went.
As the boys watched, horrified, it climbed straight up. Then, its high
pressure nearly exhausted, it turned leisurely and plunged back into the
grove, almost burying itself in the sandy soil.
The boys sat down and stared weakly at each other. For the first time,
Rick noted that Scotty's hand was bleeding. He said shakily, "Here, let
me look at that."
The scientists rushed out of the house and demanded to know what had
happened. The tank had blown through its devastating course so fast that
they had not even had time to get outdoors.
Zircon bandaged Scotty's hand with supplies from the first-aid kit while
the boys told them what had happened. Tony said, "Very careless, leaving
a valve loose like that."
Rick told him positively, "It wasn't left unscrewed, Tony. We always use
a wrench on those valves because high pressure is so dangerous. And it
wasn't like that yesterday. I checked the tanks when we stowed them on
the boat."
Scotty gestured toward the other tanks. "Better take a look."
Rick did so, and gave a low whistle. The valves had all been loosened.
They were in place only by a turn or two of the threads.
"They could have come out any time," he said grimly. "Any rough handling
could have knocked a valve out. And if it had happened on the boat, the
tank would have gone right through the bottom or side. It was just luck
Scotty and I weren't killed."
Zircon wordlessly found the valve wrench and got to work screwing the
assemblies back in place. The others watched silently, until Scotty
said, "Well, at least we're out of St. Thomas. There won't be any more
sabotage!"
CHAPTER VII
The Derelict
Rick and Scotty were up at dawn the next morning. They didn't bother
with anything so prosaic as breakfast. Instead, they collected masks,
snorkels, and flippers for a preliminary dip. They didn't use the lungs;
those were to be saved for more important work than casual swimming.
For this first swim, each boy selected a spear gun. Scotty chose the
same light spring gun he had used to save them from the shadow, while
Rick took his favorite gun, a four-strand rubber-powered weapon that
packed a terrific wallop. They belted on their knives and blew up their
plastic floats. These were essential for resting, if necessary, and for
bringing home their catch, if any. Once a fish was speared, it was
important to get it out of the water as soon as possible, since blood
would bring sharks or barracuda if any were in the neighborhood.
"Come on," Rick said impatiently. "Let's go."
"I'm coming." Scotty finished coiling up the light line he used to
tether the float to his belt, and they stepped into the water. The
temperature was just right. They ducked under, then put on their
equipment. Scotty pulled a rubber glove over his injured hand. Pushing
their floats ahead of them, faces down in the water, they started for
the reef.
Rick watched the bottom carefully. It was clear sand, with no sign of
life other than an occasional conch or other shellfish. This was to be
expected, since marine life tended to collect around reefs, rocks,
pilings, wrecks, and similar things. As they approached the reef, coral
heads and outcroppings began to appear. And with them, fish.
Rick hooted for Scotty's attention, then lifted his head and let his
mouthpiece fall free. "Let's go outside!" he called as Scotty looked up.
The other boy nodded agreement. Both were anxious to examine the reef.
The surf was light. They crossed over the reef by towing their floats
and timing their movements through the breakers. Once beyond the point
where the waves broke, the water was fairly calm, with only light surges
from the passing waves.
Rick looked down and saw the reef drop away under him. It shelved off
perhaps twenty feet down, then beyond the shelf it fell away into the
depths. He looked into the blueness with a stirring of excitement. To
find the _Maiden Hand_, they would have to swim into that mysterious
blue realm.
Scotty hooted. Rick looked, and followed the direction of his pointing
arm. There, browsing around the shelf below, was a handsome red snapper,
perhaps fifteen inches long. They had stopped in Miami and Rick had
noticed that red-snapper prices were about the same as those for steak.
There was no doubt that the fish was very good eating. He gestured to
Scotty to go after it, then floated motionless, watching.
Scotty put the loader over the tip of his spear and pushed down, cocking
the gun. Then, without a splash, he slid under the water. Rick watched
as his fins propelled him slowly toward the snapper. Scotty was moving
slowly, because this was the prime rule in underwater hunting. As he
swam, he extended the spear gun, aiming over the short barrel. The
snapper stopped browsing and his dorsal fin suddenly erected, a sign of
alarm. But he didn't move because he was not yet sure the big invader
was an enemy. Before he could make up his mind, Scotty fired.
The spear took the fish right behind the gills. He gave a quick spurt
that brought the line humming from its spool. Scotty followed quickly,
caught the shaft, then sped upward to where Rick waited.
"Good shot," Rick complimented him as Scotty caught his float. Together,
they took the fish off the shaft and examined him with some pride. Their
first catch off Clipper Cay was a good one. The snapper was pink and
firm-fleshed. He would make good eating.
Rick put his face down in the water again while Scotty secured the catch
to his float. As he did so he saw a target and hooted for attention.
Scotty joined him and they looked down to where a barracuda hovered
motionless.
The 'cuda was perhaps two and a half feet long, not big as such
predators went, but big enough. Scotty motioned to Rick to get him.
Obviously the fish had been attracted by the blood or the struggles of
the snapper. Rick hoped that his big brothers wouldn't join him. This
one was plenty big enough. While Scotty held both floats, Rick charged
his gun, pulling back the strong rubbers a pair at a time. Then he
checked his safety line, filled his lungs, and went under.
The barracuda hovered, waiting. Rick knew that his apparent disinterest
could change to lightning flight. Few fish were so fast. He followed
Scotty's example, moving slowly toward the quarry. He was a dozen feet
down now, and in the lessened light the barracuda loomed large, a slim
arrow of a fish, poised for flight.
The spear gun was extended, the spear point nearing firing range. Rick
planned to shoot from about six feet. He doubted that he could get
closer. Flippers propelling him gently, he closed. Now he could see the
pointed jaws that contained razor-edged teeth. The fish was watching
him, but without apparent fear.
The barracuda head was squarely in his sights. Rick squeezed the
trigger.
For a moment he thought he had missed, then the safety line ran out and
the jerk almost pulled the gun from his hands. He was running out of
breath, too. Quickly he planed for the surface, feeling the fury on the
end of his line. He broke water, gulped air, then dove again. He pulled
in the line until he saw the fish struggling. He had nearly missed. The
harpoon had taken the barracuda near the tail, fortunately hitting the
spine. Rick pulled him in, hand over hand, then gripped his spear by the
extreme end. He had no desire to close with those slashing, dangerous
jaws. Holding fast to the spear he shot to the surface again. Scotty was
waiting, knife in hand. As Rick extended the spear toward him the keen
knife flashed across the 'cuda's spine just behind the gills. Rick
tossed his gun onto the float, then together they heaved the fish up
beside it.
"Spindrift was never like this," Scotty said, grinning.
Rick gulped air and grinned back.
A hail from the shore reached them. They turned and saw Tony Briotti. He
was waving a frying pan in a signal for breakfast. Suddenly Rick
realized that he was famished.
"Let's go," he said. "We'll trade these for bacon and eggs."
It was nearly noon before they got into the water again. The first part
of the morning was spent in fashioning sea sleds from the planks the
boys had gathered. This was simple enough, but it took a little time.
First the planks were cut to proper length, then two of them were nailed
together. A bridle was arranged so that they could be towed, and spare
weight belts and weights were used to counteract their bouyancy. They
were very much like the aqua-planes commonly towed behind motorboats,
but much cruder, and designed to go under rather than remain on the
surface.
Two long ropes were arranged so that a sled could be towed on either
side of the _Water Witch_. Once this was done, the boys rechecked their
equipment, attached the regulators to the tanks, and carried them to the
beach.
Zircon would pilot the boat, following the 120-foot mark on the chart.
Tony would act as tender at the stern, while Rick and Scotty would ride
the sleds. The first leg would take them through the reef channel, then
south to the tip of the island, reverse course and north again, staying
at the twenty-fathom mark. Zircon was sure that he would be able to
follow the prescribed course by judging his distance from the reef.
When all was in readiness, they loaded their gear aboard the _Water
Witch_, including the spare tanks. Only the runaway tank was missing,
and Rick had determined that its wild flight had not weakened it. The
valve and pressure gauge had been recovered after a considerable search,
and the tank could be refilled with the others.
Zircon took the _Water Witch_ through the reef, and the boys donned
their equipment while Tony swung the ladder outboard. Rick checked his
own straps, and then those of Scotty, while Scotty returned the favor.
Then each checked the flow of air through his mouthpiece, and made sure
the reserve rod was in the "up" position. This done, they entered the
water. Tony tossed the boards over and made sure the lines were secured.
Rick and Scotty paddled the boards to the extreme length of the lines,
then separated as much as the lines allowed. They were about thirty feet
apart and a hundred feet behind the boat.
They waved their readiness to Tony, who relayed the go-ahead to Zircon.
The boat started slowly.
Rick moved forward on his board, and the weighted board tilted down. It
acted as a hydrofoil, its forward motion pulling it deeper into the
water. Rick waited until he was only ten feet from the bottom, then
shifted his weight back again. Obediently the board tilted upward and
raced for the surface. Rick moved forward again just in time to keep
from breaking through the surface. By adjusting his weight, he could
keep the board level, or go up or down. It wasn't easy and he had to
fight the board level almost constantly.
Bubbles rose from the regulator between his shoulder blades as he
breathed rhythmically. The lung performed effortlessly, giving him as
much air as he needed. He felt the pressure on his ears as he steered
the board toward bottom, and there was an instant of pain before his
ears adjusted.
The bottom was sandy. To his right he saw the wall of the reef, and once
a startled snook shot out of his way. To his left he could see Scotty.
Before he knew it the boat had throttled down, a signal that they were
at the southern end of the reef. He tilted upward and surfaced.
Tony called, "How is it?"
"Great!" Rick called back. "But we'll need lots more line. It was
shallow on the way down, but if we try to go any deeper the angle of the
line will make the boards come up."
"You should try it," Scotty said. "Honestly, Tony, it's wonderful!"
"I'll try it a little later," Tony promised. "I'm giving you all the
line we have, about three hundred feet each. If you can't make it,
surface. We'll have to splice the two lines together and use just one
board."
Zircon came to the stern and bellowed, "You forgot these!"
He tossed in two fishing floats and coils of line. Those were in case
they found the wreck. Whoever spotted it was to drop off his board,
secure the line to the wreck, and let the float rise to the surface. In
that way, they would have a guide.
Each boy took one of the units and fastened it to his weight belt.
"We're off!" Zircon called. "Ready?"
The boys yelled that they were. Rick fitted his mouthpiece and checked
the seal of his mask. Scotty did the same, then both tilted their boards
and slid under.
On the northbound leg they had trouble keeping the boards down because
of the tendency of the lead rope to pull the front of the boards up, but
by crawling far forward, they managed.
They were deeper than they had ever gone before, but Rick felt no
sensation of fright or strangeness. It was a green world, not dark but
yet not bright. The light was subdued, filtered by the fathoms of water.
The bottom was mostly clear sand, dotted now and then by patches of
growth. There did not seem to be many fish, or perhaps their eyes were
not adjusted to the subdued light. Scotty was close to the reef on the
northbound leg, while Rick was about twenty feet farther out.
For long moments there was only the sensation of rushing through the
water, the distant throb of the engines, and the sound of their own
bubbles. Then, ahead, Rick saw a mass of growth and tilted his board
upward just in time to clear it.
Scotty hooted once, then again. Rick turned in time to see his pal's
board leap ahead, free of Scotty's weight. Sudden fear gripped him. Had
Scotty been caught? Instantly he released his own board and saw it scoot
for the surface. He reversed his course and swam rapidly back.
The obstruction he had cleared was dead ahead. And there were fish! So
many that they seemed like a swarm of flies around it. The biggest was
not more than five inches long. Then he saw Scotty. His friend was
fastening the float line to a projection!
Rick's heart leaped. What he thought was a rock formation on the sea
floor was the wreck of a ship! Scotty had recognized it and dropped off.
The _Maiden Hand_? He hooted and Scotty looked up. The other boy shook
his head.
It wasn't the _Maiden Hand_, then. But how did Scotty know? In a moment,
when he joined the other boy, he saw the curling edges of steel plate.
This was a steel ship, then, and not a very large one at that. He
estimated its length as not more than a hundred feet. Still, it was a
wreck--their first. There, at twenty fathoms, he and Scotty shook hands
solemnly while the tiny fish swam around them like curious gnats.
Scotty finished tying his line and unwound it from the wooden spool. The
float rose upward and vanished far overhead. They heard the throb of the
returning boat, and Rick hooted twice, the signal to surface. Scotty
nodded, and they went up, slowly, careful to breathe naturally and not
to overtake their small bubbles, as doctrine dictated. In a moment Rick
saw the hull of the boat, propellers barely turning, and knew that
Zircon was holding position overhead.
They broke water off the side of the _Water Witch_, and Rick waited
until Scotty hailed the scientists. "We found a wreck, but it's a steel
ship."
"Come aboard!" Tony called, and helped them up the ladder when they
complied. The tanks were cumbersome when out of the water.
"It's a fish paradise!" Rick said excitedly. "I'm going to get my camera
working and take some pictures. You've got to go down and look, both of
you."
"How did you spot it?" Zircon asked.
"Scotty did. I thought it was a rock formation and went over it, but
Scotty dropped off."
"I saw curled plate," Scotty answered. "I knew it wasn't the _Maiden
Hand_, with steel sides, but I didn't think we'd want to pass up a
wreck."
"You were so right," Rick agreed, grinning.
A check of their tanks with the gauge showed that only about five
minutes diving time remained at the twenty-fathom depth, so the
regulators were transferred to spare tanks. Tony and Zircon, already in
trunks, donned diving gear and followed Scotty's line to the bottom. The
boys waited impatiently, Scotty taking the helm to hold the boat in
place.
Ten minutes later the scientists surfaced, and Rick helped them aboard.
Tony removed his mask and grinned. "It's as wonderful as you said it
was."
"What kind of ship was it?" Rick asked.
Tony had been a destroyer skipper during the war and he knew ships.
"Probably an interisland cargo carrier of some kind. At any rate, it
appears to be a small cargo ship. It's so overgrown with marine growth
that the shape is cluttered. It might have been a small tanker."
"We can explore it from stem to stern," Rick suggested excitedly.
Scotty joined them and commented, "But not right now. We'll have to go
ashore and charge the tanks. There may be time for one more dive this
afternoon if we hurry."
"Besides," Hobart Zircon said with a smile, "I'm hungry. As you say,
Rick, diving certainly develops the appetite!"
They docked, and Tony and Zircon went off to see about preparing
sandwiches. The boys decided that rather than carry the tanks back and
forth from the pier to the shed, it would be more sensible to bring
their small, portable gas-driven compressor to the pier.
Scotty went after it while Rick tied the tanks to the afterrail of the
_Water Witch_, in position for filling.
A yell from Scotty stopped him. He looked up and saw his friend beckon,
and ran down the pier to the house. The scientists joined him and Scotty
at the shed where the compressor had been stored.
"We've been sabotaged again," Scotty told them flatly. "There's oil in
the compressor!"
"Are you certain?" Zircon pressed close to examine the machine.
"Yes. I stumbled over my own feet and tipped the compressor on its side.
And oil ran out through the air fitting. Look!" Scotty held up his hand,
and it was smeared with glistening oil.
A cold shiver traced its way down Rick's spine. Oil in a compressor was
blown into fine particles, too small to be seen. If they got into an air
tank they would be breathed in, leaving a thin coating on a diver's
lungs. The result was a condition almost exactly like pneumonia, called
"lipoid pneumonia." Their special filter, designed by Zircon, probably
would have taken all the oil particles out of the air before it got into
the tanks, but that didn't alter the fact that faced them. Someone had
deliberately put oil in the compressor. Someone just didn't want them
around!
CHAPTER VIII
The Fancy Frogmen
"The question is," Rick stated, "when was the oil put in? While we were
at Charlotte Amalie? Or while we were out hunting the wreck just now?"
"In Charlotte Amalie, of course," Tony said. "Why do you think it might
have been done just a little while ago?"
Rick shrugged. He had no answer to that. The question had popped into
his mind unbidden.
"We didn't take the compressor apart," Scotty reminded him.
That was true. But Rick had started it in Charlotte Amalie to be sure it
was functioning. There was no oil in it then. He said as much.
"You started the compressor at the same time you checked the tanks,"
Zircon reminded him. "I believe the oil was put in at the same time the
valves were loosened."
That seemed reasonable. Rick put aside his hunch. "Well, we found it in
time, anyway. Now Scotty and I will have to tear the compressor down and
clean it before we can recharge the tanks."
"After lunch," Tony said. "Don't you remember? A diver is supposed to
rest after each dive. Relax, and I'll have some sandwiches ready in a
few minutes."
All hands were hungry. Scotty stowed away four sandwiches and Rick did
nearly as well. Then they started work on the compressor. It wasn't a
hard job, but it was tedious, and nearly two hours elapsed before they
finished. Each part had to be washed in soap and water, then carefully
dried. Finally, the compressor was ready. They carried it to the boat,
started the gas engine, and connected the tanks. But before the air
started to flow, Rick carefully inspected the filter system to be sure
that hadn't been tampered with too.
"You know," he observed, "these enemies Steve is hunting know a lot
about sport diving."
Scotty considered. "They knew that tanks could be dangerous, and they
knew that oil in a compressor is dangerous. You're right, Rick. They
know plenty about it."
"But it doesn't do us much good to know that they know," Rick concluded.
"Well, now what? It will be a few hours before all the tanks are
charged."
"Where are Zircon and Tony?"
"Napping. We probably should join them."
"Not me. There's nothing to do after sundown but sleep. I'd like to take
a walk and look the island over."
Rick sighed. "Always an eager beaver. I'll go with you, if you don't
walk fast."
They turned north and walked up the beach. Somewhere off this stretch of
beach was the _Maiden Hand_. But where? They strolled along leisurely,
stopping now and then to examine some bit of beach flotsam. There were
shells, but most of them were small and water worn.
"We'll have to collect a few shells on the reef," Rick said. "Barby will
be disappointed if we don't."
"That's easy enough to do," Scotty replied. "I saw half a dozen
different varieties this morning."
They passed a beach house, obviously empty. Rick gestured toward it.
"Funny how few people there are here. If I owned a place on this island
I'd be here all the time."
"Unless you had to make a living," Scotty added practically. "This isn't
the season for vacations. I expect vacation time finds plenty of
activity here. There's one cabin occupied to the south of us. I saw
people there this morning. They're probably the same ones who waved at
us from a boat when we flew over day before yesterday."
"The boat isn't there now," Rick observed. "At least, I haven't seen
it."
"They may have gone to St. Thomas for supplies. Or they may have gone
home." Scotty pointed to what seemed to be the largest house on the
island, near the northern tip. "That's quite a place. Let's go have a
look."
There was a long pier in front of the house, and, unlike the others on
the island, this house had a second story. There was no sign of life.
They walked around it and found a barbecue pit. Scotty examined it.
"This has been used recently, probably in the past few days."
Rick bent down and peered at a scrap of meat. "You're right. They had
steak. And this piece hasn't dried out yet."
"Maybe they're still here." Scotty walked to the back of the house.
"They might be out fishing or something." He looked in a window and
called urgently, "Rick! Look!"
Rick hurried to his side and peered in. The room was evidently used for
storing diving equipment. Hung along one wall were three full diving
suits of expensive make. Next to them, neatly racked, was an assortment
of spear guns, all of the spring type, and all of Italian make.
On another wall were three Scuba regulators, not aqualung types such as
the boys used, but the variety that carries a full face mask through
which the diver breathes. In a rack on the floor were nine spare tanks
and a compressor much larger and more expensive than theirs.
Swim fins, also of Italian make, were lying on a table. They were the
shoe type, put on like a pair of slippers. Rick identified an underwater
camera, complete with steering fins and outside controls, and a number
of face masks with built-in snorkels. Boxes stacked on the floor carried
labels that identified them as midseason suits of French make.
"We've found some real fancy frogmen," Scotty observed. "This place
looks like a high-priced show-room for diving gear."
"Pretty plush," Rick agreed.
They wandered back down to the beach and found that this area of the
island was apparently more open to the sea. There were bits of flotsam,
including coconuts that had washed in. The sea shells were larger, and
they found a few worth picking up.
Scotty beckoned and pointed to a piece of wood, nearly buried in the
sand. "What do you make of this?"
Rick examined it. It was curved, and a shred of green metal still clung
to the rusty remains of an ancient hand-fashioned nail. He looked up
with sudden excitement. "It's a section of a ship rib. And a pretty old
one, too." His finger indicated the shred of metal. "Copper. Or used to
be." He broke it off. "Completely oxidized. It's been in the water a
long time, perhaps even centuries."
The boys stared out at the reef, both half afraid to put their thoughts
into words. Finally Scotty asked, "Do you remember reading about any
earthquakes or big tidal waves down here recently?"
Rick tried to recall. "No. Why?"
"Well, the _Maiden Hand_ has been under the water out here for a couple
of centuries--and in pretty deep water, too. It would take some
disturbance that could reach down a hundred and twenty feet to break off
a chunk."
Rick grinned. "You're right. But we haven't anything to lose by taking a
look, have we?"
They trotted down the beach toward their own house at a half run. Rick
looked at his watch. "At least one pair of tanks should be full by now,
and there's plenty of time for a dive. Come on!"
They paused at the pier, put the pressure gauge on the first two tanks
in series, and found them charged, as Rick had predicted. Then they ran
for the house.
Zircon and Tony were gone and there was a note on the living-room table.
"_We're exploring the southern end. Be back in an hour or two._"
"Shall we wait?" Scotty asked.
"No need. We can take our floats. Let's get going."
They changed to trunks. Then, since they would not have anyone on the
surface to keep track of time or depth, strapped on wrist watches,
compasses, and wrist depth gauges. Floats and weight belts were put on,
then the boys added small plastic slates and pencils for writing
underwater. Knives, masks, snorkels, their favorite guns, fins, and
lungs completed their equipment.
"Shall we walk up the beach, or swim?"
"Swim," Rick said promptly. "This stuff is too heavy to carry
comfortably."
They launched floats, placed aqualung mouthpieces on top of their masks,
and swam parallel to the beach. By using snorkels they avoided the
effort of lifting their faces out of water to breathe and conserved the
air in the tanks. With effective but effortless leg strokes they moved
along rapidly.
As they approached the ship rib that Scotty had found they turned and
swam straight out toward the reef, crossed it, then came to a halt.
"Let's tie our floats to something," Rick suggested, and Scotty nodded.
Aqualung mouthpieces replaced the snorkels, and each boy tested his flow
of air, checked to be sure his mask was connected to the lung by a
safety line, charged his gun, and set his watch. The watches, designed
especially for underwater swimming, had an outer dial that could be set
to show elapsed diving time.
Rick hooted and pointed down. Scotty nodded and they submerged. Because
of their belt weights, and the weight of air in their tanks, they were
just heavy enough to sink slowly. After the dive, when the air in the
tanks was nearly exhausted, they would weigh about five pounds less and
have a slight positive buoyancy that would help them to rise.
They found coral outcroppings and tied their float lines, being careful
not to cut their hands. Rick suddenly wished they had brought canvas
gloves. Scotty still wore a single rubber one.
Then, with a few strong kicks to overcome their inertia, they started
down the face of the reef. It fell off sharply for about forty feet,
then more gradually until sand bottom was reached at about ninety feet.
Rick felt the sensation of thrusting his face into a wedge as the
pressure increased. He swallowed a couple of times and felt his ears
equalize, but his mask was beginning to hurt. He exhaled through his
nose and equalized the pressure inside the mask.
There were plenty of fish around now. A grouper saw them coming and
ducked into his hole in the coral. A fairly large moray eel, only his
head visible, watched their progress. Tiny demoiselles fluttered around
them, and a pair of red squirrelfish watched from the shelter of a
purple coral fan.
The coral growth was spectacular, with fantastic shapes and colors.
Then, as they went deeper, the colors gradually faded to a uniform
green. Rick knew from underwater flash photographs that the appearance
was deceptive. The colors remained, but the quality of light changed.
Scotty hooted four times, the signal for danger! Rick looked and saw a
barracuda hovering near by. He gulped. The fish was easily five feet
long. Both boys lifted their spear guns just in case the 'cuda attacked,
but the motion alarmed him and he was gone with one powerful flick of
his tail.
Rick consulted his wrist depth gauge, holding it close to his face
plate. They were at bottom at ninety feet, and the clean sand dropped
away at an angle of about thirty degrees. The boys planed downward, a
few feet above the sand until Rick's gauge read 120 feet. This was the
limit of their dive. Going deeper would mean stopping for decompression
on the way up.
He recalled that the waves came into the beach from a slightly northerly
direction and motioned to Scotty that they should turn north. Scotty
moved out to the limit of visibility, and they swam on a compass heading
of north, watching for any sign of a wreck. Now and then a coral shelf
extended out from the reef, but they saw nothing that could have been a
wreck. Once they swam over a patch of marine growth perhaps twenty feet
long and ten wide, and a huge eagle ray lifted from it and glided off
like a weird futuristic airplane.
It was quiet, except for the regular chuckle of their exhausts, and the
light was subdued and even. It was a world without shadows. Still, Rick
thought, there was plenty of light for photography. Next time he would
bring his camera.
The watch showed him that over half their allotted time was gone, and he
hooted once to Scotty, then reversed course, heading back toward their
floats.
They approached the patch where they had seen the ray and Rick paused
suddenly. There was an odd shape on the sand near the patch. He
flippered over to it and examined it. Scotty joined him. It looked like
an oversized mushroom protruding from the sand at an angle.
Rick unsheathed his knife and poked at it. The sharp tip penetrated for
a fraction of an inch, then stopped. It was either rock or metal, and
judging from the shape, it was unlikely that it was rock. He put his
knife under it and pried, and the thing moved in the sand.
Both boys went to work on it, scooping the sand from around it. In a
moment they had it clear. It was something like a dumbbell, covered with
marine growth where it had been above the sand, but fairly smooth under
it.
Rick took his belt slate and scribbled, "Metal."
Scotty nodded. Then both of them turned to look at the patch of marine
life.
A distant throb, as though of a boat, caught their attention. They
looked up, but the surface was invisible.
It was Tony and Zircon, Rick decided. They probably had returned to the
cottage and found the diving equipment missing. They could spot the
location where the boys were diving easily enough, first by the floats,
then by the bubbles of their exhausts.
Scotty hooted suddenly, four times. Rick turned quickly in time to see a
six-foot shark speed past. The tips of the pectoral fins and the second
dorsal were darker than the rest of the fish, and Rick identified it as
a black-tipped shark. Obviously, the shark was on business of its own,
not particularly interested in them. Still, it was curious. The shark
was rushing almost straight up.
[Illustration: _Rick turned in time to see a six-foot shark speed past_]
Scotty gripped his arm and pointed. More sharks! Another black tip. And
a ten-foot leopard shark! All rushing upward.
The boys watched tensely, and then out of the dimness above something
sped down at them, followed by the sharks. It landed in the clear sand
just beyond the marine growth. Rick saw a black tip go for it, then the
black tip was struck from the side by the big leopard. In spite of his
sudden apprehension, Rick couldn't help wishing for his camera.
The sharks rushed again, and the falling object was lifted from the sand
by the disturbed water. This time, Rick recognized it. A chicken! It was
tied to a length of string from which dangled a lead sinker. The bird
was dead, but apparently freshly so. He knew that it was the chicken
blood that had brought the sharks--and a giant barracuda! The great
fish, a full six feet in length, slashed past the sharks and tore a
chunk out of the bird.
The leopard shark made a fast pass at the barracuda, then turned and
snapped at a black tip. Rick gulped. A hole suddenly appeared in the
black's side, as smooth as though scooped out of ice cream. And then the
other sharks hit the wounded black tip.
There were many sharks now, worrying the chicken and the wounded black
tip like fierce dogs over scraps of meat. Rick thought, "We'd better get
out of here!" He hooted twice at Scotty, the signal to ascend. Scotty
motioned to him to retreat. Rick picked up the dumbbell-shaped object.
It was heavy, but not too heavy to handle, and he started a slow retreat
along the sand.
The sharks were paying no attention to the boys, but Rick wasn't at all
sure that they wouldn't, once the supply of chicken and wounded shark
were exhausted. His mind raced. Where had the chicken come from? Whoever
had tossed it into the water would have known that the blood would bring
sharks. It wasn't a casual toss, either. Not when the chicken had been
weighted with a fishing sinker big enough to carry it to the bottom.
Tony and Zircon would never do such a thing. Besides, they had no
chickens.
Rick and Scotty backed far enough away so that the sharks could no
longer be seen. Then, heading toward the reef, they started for the
surface. Scotty was slightly in the lead, and Rick kept glancing back in
case one of the big fish decided to follow. But they reached the surface
without incident and broke water about two hundred feet from their
floats. There was no boat in sight.
Replacing aqualung tubes with snorkels, they swam on the surface, faces
down, alert for sharks. When they reached the floats, Scotty kept watch
from the surface while Rick dove to untie the lines.
As they climbed on the floats and lifted masks, Scotty and Rick pointed
and yelled "Hey!" simultaneously.
But they had seen different things. Rick had seen the _Water Witch_ pass
through the reef and head for them. Scotty had seen another boat, a big
cabin cruiser, tied up at the pier in front of the house occupied by the
fancy frogmen!
Rick turned and looked at the cruiser, then at the house. He was in time
to see the front door close. There would have been plenty of time for
someone to drop the chicken from the cruiser and then cross the reef and
tie up at the dock.
"I'll bet that's where the chicken came from," Rick said harshly.
"That's a bet I won't take," Scotty returned. "But you can bet we'll
find out!"
CHAPTER IX
Wreck of the "Maiden Hand"
Tony Briotti examined the metallic object they had brought from the
bottom, then took his knife and scraped at it. Under the covering of
marine growth, red rust appeared. He looked at Hobart Zircon. "Recognize
this, Hobart?"
"There's only one thing I can think of that fits the shape, Tony. Bar
shot."
"My conclusion exactly." Tony weighed the thing in his hand. He grinned
at the boys. "Adventure-prone, and lucky. Describe the place where you
found it."
Rick did so, concluding, "The patch didn't look anything like a ship,
though. If that's what you're thinking."
"After two centuries, the ship would no longer look like a ship. But
this is unquestionably a bar shot for an ancient cannon. It was used to
cut ship's rigging, and to knock down masts, and create other damage of
that sort. It's likely that the pirates, or the _Maiden Hand_, would
have carried bar shot."
"I think you have found the ship," Zircon told them, "and the question
about earthquakes was a good one. There was a heavy quake in this region
about a year ago. I had occasion to recall it a half hour ago when we
found a slight fault at the southern tip of the island that had
uncovered an Indian midden."
"And a fine one," Tony added. "You boys can dive for treasure if you
want to. I've some work of my own to do."
"Incidentally," Scotty reminded Rick, "in the confusion below we forgot
to send up a buoy. Hope we can find the place again."
"We can."
"What confusion?" Zircon asked.
Rick told him. "A freshly killed chicken was dropped near us. And it
must have been bleeding when it hit the water, because we suddenly had a
shark convention around us." He pointed to the boat tied at the pier,
now far behind them because the _Water Witch_ had been moving. "And we
think that was the boat that dropped it."
"It was weighted," Scotty added.
The scientists looked at each other. Tony grunted. "It makes no sense,
Hobart. Why would anyone weight a freshly killed chicken and throw it
over the side?"
"No reason at all," the big scientist said, "unless he wanted to create
mischief below."
"But just the act of dropping a chicken wouldn't ensure harm to divers
below," Tony objected.
"That's why I said mischief. Inexperienced divers might panic under such
circumstances and attract the sharks to themselves."
Rick hazarded a guess. "What if they just wanted to keep people from
diving in the area?"
"That might be one way of doing it." Zircon said thoughtfully. "Are you
suggesting that there are others after the _Maiden Hand_ treasure?"
Scotty spoke up. "How could anyone else find out about the treasure?"
"It's possible that there are other references besides the logbook we
found," Tony replied. "But it would be too farfetched to speculate that
other treasure hunters had found the location and were diving right at
this time."
"This might be related to what happened on St. Thomas," Rick ventured.
Zircon shook his massive head. "Extremely unlikely. Consider." He ticked
off the points on his fingers. "Who knew we were coming to Clipper Cay?
Ernst, Steve, and his Navy friend. We did not mention it to the people
from whom we bought supplies, nor did we discuss it in the presence of
others. We were not followed here. No, Rick, I think that we cannot
blame this incident on the ones in St. Thomas."
"Then it was a dangerous practical joke," Tony concluded. "Unless there
was some legitimate reason for throwing the chicken over that we don't
know about."
Zircon steered the _Water Witch_ through the reef entrance, and the
Spindrifters tied up at the dock. Rick and Scotty inspected the
compressor and then measured the amount of air in the tanks. They hooked
the tanks up, refilled the gas tank of the compressor engine, and left
the tanks to fill while they went to the cottage.
Rick and Zircon prepared dinner while Tony and Scotty refilled the
gasoline lanterns that provided light, and generally straightened up the
cottage.
Rick called, "Tony, tell us more about this Indian stuff you found."
Scotty added, "And what's a midden, anyway?"
Tony leaned on his broom. "A midden is a polite name for a refuse heap.
Before the days of rubbish collection, people used to dump their trash
in the yard. The Indians did, and thereby provided archaeologists with
an important source of information. Apparently a tribe lived on this
island, close to the southern tip. It's likely that they simply dumped
their rubbish into the water. Well, the earthquake Hobart spoke of
shifted the old coral formations at the southern tip slightly and lifted
a few square yards out of the water."
He went to the front porch and brought back a curved piece of material,
encrusted with coral. "This used to be a pottery bowl, probably Taino in
origin. I'll probably find many like it."
It didn't look like much of a find to Rick, but he knew that Tony's
trained eyes could see many things that he couldn't. "You'll dive with
us, though, won't you?" he asked.
"Of course. But you and Scotty are the real enthusiasts, and the diving
I do will use up air that you properly should be using. I'll go down
with you in the morning, because I want a look at the wreck. But after
that I think Hobart and I can amuse ourselves on the midden while you
and Scotty hunt treasure. Of course we'll be ready to help if you need
us."
A few minutes before six, Rick turned on his portable all-wave radio to
the channel Steve had given him, but the air was silent. He waited for
ten minutes, then snapped it off again. Apparently Steve had no message
for them.
Dinner consisted of fresh snapper and barracuda steaks served with
coconut sauce for which Zircon had learned the recipe during his tours
of the Pacific. It was delicious, and Rick wondered about the fussiness
of people who refuse to eat barracuda simply because the fish is a noted
predator. However, he knew that people are served barracuda every day
under less offensive names.
After dinner they sat over coffee on the porch and watched the sun sink
beyond the reef. It was like a Pacific sunset--colorful and somehow
soothing.
The boys walked to the pier, checked their tanks, and found them fully
charged. Then, at Scotty's suggestion, they locked tanks and compressor
in the cabin of the _Water Witch_. Fresh-water rinses for the remainder
of their equipment followed, and they carried the equipment into the
house.
Zircon was already engrossed in a book, while Tony was engaged in
scraping the pottery shard he had found. The boys watched him for a few
minutes, then Scotty suggested, "How about a walk?"
"Okay." There was an idea stirring in the back of Rick's head. As they
walked down to the beach he said, "We ought to take a look at the folks
who own that boat."
And Scotty said in the same breath, "Let's visit the fancy frogmen."
They grinned at each other, amused at how much alike their thought
processes were.
"We'd better approach from the back," Scotty suggested.
Rick agreed. "Suppose we cross to the eastern shore, then walk up until
we're in sight of the house. It's close to the northern tip, anyway."
It was almost fully dark now, and no lights appeared in the houses south
of them. As they watched, lights showed far up the beach where the fancy
frogmen lived. But there were no other lights anywhere on the island.
"Just two houses occupied," Rick said.
"We'll probably have more neighbors during the week end," Scotty
answered. "The people in the house south of us must have left, but they
may be back. Come on."
They made their way through the palm grove, watching fruit bats whirl
against the darkening sky. There was a slight breeze, just enough to
make the palms whisper. It reminded Rick of Hawaii.
The eastern shore was rough. The reef was much closer here, and long
swells that had come all the way across the Atlantic sounded like
subdued thunder as they broke. It was dark now, and only the white of
the breaking water could be seen.
They walked up the eastern shore until the lights of the frogmen's house
were directly opposite, then turned toward it, moving with caution.
"Take it easy," Rick whispered. "They may be outside."
As they drew closer they could see that the lights were in the front
rooms of the house. The back was dark, except for light that came
through open inner doors.
"Wait." Scotty whispered. "I'll see if they're out front."
Rick sat down to wait as Scotty vanished. Few could equal his pal when
it came to moving silently and invisibly.
In a surprisingly short time Scotty reappeared. "No one out front," he
reported. "They're all in the living room."
Rick rose, and together they walked swiftly and silently to the rear of
the house. The door of the room in which the diving gear was stowed
opened into the living room. Perhaps they could see in there.
A card game was in progress by the light of a kerosene lamp. Rick
studied the face of a heavy-set, dark-haired man who sat facing him. The
man wore a T shirt that displayed the heavy muscles of arms and chest.
His face was square-jawed and powerful, the eyes set deep under bushy
eyebrows. His hair was short and curly, sprinkled with gray. He looked
like one used to command. Rick's quick imagination pictured him on the
quarterdeck of a slaver, ruling his cutthroat crew with iron fists.
The others were not visible through the door. The boys moved silently to
the side of the house and drew back so they could look through the
living-room window. The second man was visible now. He was young,
perhaps in his twenties, and he had an unruly shock of blond hair. Once
he might have been good-looking, but a scar crossed a nose that had been
badly broken.
The third man sat with his back to them. Rick touched Scotty's sleeve
and they went around the house via the back. The view was blocked by an
open door.
Scotty put his lips close to Rick's ear. "The front."
Rick led the way, moving carefully because light spilled out of the
front windows and the open front door. They reached a vantage point and
looked in. The third man was clearly visible. The boys reached for each
other at the same moment.
The third man was Steve's shadow!
* * * * *
Morning found the _Water Witch_ anchored on the reef close to the place
where the boys had found the bar shot. There was no sign of activity at
the fancy frogmen's house, and the boat was tied up as it had been the
previous evening. Apparently they were late sleepers.
The Spindrifters tossed coins to see who would make the first dive, and
the lot fell to Rick and Tony. They donned their equipment, then Rick
picked up a spear gun while Tony selected a wrecking bar from his
equipment.
It took ten minutes of their precious fifteen to find the wreck again.
This time, Rick took the precaution of tying a float to a projection and
unwinding line while the float rose to the surface.
Tony started at one end of the mass of marine growth and inserted his
wrecking bar. Rick joined him in heaving, and a cloud of dust and fish
eggs rose to envelop them. It took a moment or two for the water to
clear enough so they could see, then Tony hooted his triumph. The pull
had exposed rotted timbers. This had to be a ship! But was it the
_Maiden Hand_?
Rick wondered if they would ever be sure. Yet, he felt that it was, even
though he realized that the feeling grew as much out of optimism and
hope as anything else. Still, it was unlikely that another ship would be
wrecked at this same depth.
Tony wrote on his slate, "Mor undr sand thn can see, likely."
Rick nodded. The shifting sands had undoubtedly covered, exposed, and
recovered the wreck dozens of times in the years it had lain here. He
looked at his watch, then reluctantly gave Tony the signal to surface.
Their time was up.
On the _Water Witch_, Tony said, "It's a ship all right. And since its
on the western reef at twenty fathoms, I'd say that it's very likely the
one we want."
"Wonder how Captain Campion pegged the depth so accurately?" Scotty
inquired.
Zircon had a possible answer. "Let's assume the pirates knew he was
carrying the golden statue. It would have been logical for them to
sound, just to see if there was any possibility of recovering the
treasure from the wreck. Since they kept Campion for ransom, he would
have heard the depth mentioned."
It seemed reasonable, and it was as good an answer as any, since there
was no hope of knowing whether it was right or wrong.
"How do we find the statue?" Rick asked.
Tony handed him the wrecking bar with a grin. "Take the wreck apart a
piece at a time. And if you still haven't found it, start digging."
The boys sighed. Rick recalled reading somewhere that treasure hunting
was synonymous with ditch digging. Now he knew what the author meant.
Scotty and Zircon prepared to dive, shifting the regulators to fresh
tanks. While they checked equipment, Rick rummaged through the boat's
locker and found a length of heavy line. An empty water jug with a screw
cap was attached to it, and he handed the end of the line to Scotty to
take down with him.
"The fishing float and line isn't heavy enough. Let's add this, just in
case."
Scotty took it and went over the side. He carried his spear gun while
Zircon took the wrecking bar. Rick watched as they vanished from sight,
leaving only the continuing track of bubbles.
Ashore, a man came out of the fancy frogmen's house and walked down to
the beach. He shaded his eyes and stared at the _Water Witch_. Rick
pointed him out to Tony.
"This business stumps me," the archaeologist admitted. "Are you certain
about the identity of the man who was trailing Ames?"
"We're dead sure."
"Then is there any possible way he could have known about our presence
on the island?"
"Not unless he recognized the _Water Witch_."
"That must be it. The question is, what do we do about it?"
"Nothing, I guess. Except to be on our guard."
Twin sets of bubbles rose, some distance from the boat, showing that
both lungs were working well twenty fathoms down. Since the bubbles did
not ascend vertically, they did not show the location of the two on the
bottom. Rick studied them, working on an idea.
The chicken had dropped pretty close to them. But since their floats
were tied to the reef, and their bubbles were carried off a vertical
path by the light currents, neither could have been used to pinpoint
their whereabouts--_unless whoever dropped the chicken had an excellent
knowledge of the currents in this particular place_!
He carried the thought further. The shadow had gotten upset because he
and Scotty had gone swimming in an area where something was hidden. At
least, that was a reasonable assumption, based on the events at St.
Thomas. The fancy diving gear in the house, the attempt to warn them
off, and the presence of Steve's erstwhile shadow on Clipper Cay could
then be added up.
Right here, in this particular area, another mysterious something was
hidden! Something that the fancy frogmen dived often to see, use,
collect, or whatever they did with it. That would account for their
familiarity with the currents!
He started to tell Tony, then reconsidered. It was a pretty good
hypothesis, he thought, but not supported by ironclad evidence. If he
told the scientists, they might forbid any more diving in the area. And
he was determined to get that treasure--more for his sister Barby than
for himself. If he failed to get it there would be no living with Barby,
since she would always maintain _she_ could have found it if they had
only allowed her to go on their old expedition.
Zircon and Scotty broke water and Rick helped them aboard.
"It's a ship, and a sailing ship at that," Zircon boomed. "We identified
what was almost certainly a compass binnacle, probably brass, but there
wasn't time to get it free and bring it up. Scotty found what is
probably the muzzle of a cannon, buried in the sand."
"There's so much growth over everything that it's hard to tell what's
what," Scotty added. "But it certainly looked like a cannon muzzle."
"From what we saw, I suspect that the portion above the sand is the
stern, probably the stern super-structure. If the timbers haven't
completely rotted away, ripping off the top should expose the stern
cabins."
"That seems reasonable," Tony agreed. "At any rate, it's a good basis
for operation. Rick, if you'll look in my kit, you will find a larger
bar you can borrow. You'll both need tools if you're going to take the
ship apart."
"Anyway, that's enough diving for the morning," Zircon said. "Let's up
anchor and go."
While the others got the boat underway, Rick started the compressor in
the cockpit and connected up the tanks they had used. He almost wished
he and Scotty had been extravagant and had ordered triple tank blocks to
give them maximum time under water. Still, the singles were convenient,
and diving was a sport it wasn't wise to overdo. By the time they were
through with lunch and had rested awhile, the tanks would be fully
charged again.
As they tied up, Zircon said, "Tony and I will work at his midden this
afternoon. You two take the boat. We won't need it. I'll walk over and
take a look every once in a while, and if we see our friends from the
cottage near you, we'll come running."
The boys helped Tony prepare a simple lunch of soup and sandwiches, then
all hands retired to the front porch to eat.
Up the beach, there were signs of activity around the frogmen's boat. As
they ate and watched, the boat moved away from the pier and approached
the reef, where it anchored. Rick went to get the binoculars and focused
them on the scene.
Two frogmen, complete with suits, went over the side right where their
buoys floated!
"They're diving at the wreck!" he exclaimed.
Zircon took the glasses and watched, then handed them to Tony.
The archaeologist muttered, "Surely they can't be interested in the
treasure. It would be simply too much coincidence for them even to know
about it."
"Maybe they're just looking to see what interested us," Scotty offered,
and his explanation seemed the most plausible.
The group watched until the frogmen surfaced and the boat went back to
its pier.
"Scotty has it," Zircon agreed. "From what we've seen, I'd say they
simply followed our buoy lines down to see what we had been doing."
"If that's the extent of their interest, I don't see how we could
object," Tony said. "Or even if they tried for the treasure we'd have no
grounds for objecting. The ship is anyone's property after all these
years."
Rick said flatly, "We won't do any objecting, but we'll do plenty of
watching. We're going to get that treasure if it's there, whether the
fancy frogmen like it or not!"
CHAPTER X
The Wailing Octopus
As Rick steered the _Water Witch_ to its anchorage above the reef, he
told Scotty about the theory he had developed that morning.
He concluded, "Their going out to take a look where we were diving is
another piece of evidence. Unless they were afraid that we might be
interested in their stuff--whatever and wherever it is--why would they
be so concerned about what we're doing?"
"It makes a lot of sense," Scotty agreed soberly. He looked at Rick with
a sudden twinkle. "It might be a good idea to take a look around down
below--just so we'll know what to stay away from, of course."
Rick grinned.
By the time they dropped anchor, Scotty had the diving gear rigged and
it was only the work of minutes to get into the water. Each carried a
spear gun in one hand and a wrecking bar in the other. Ordinarily they
would not have bothered with the guns, but being armed seemed just
common sense.
On the bottom, Rick scouted around the wreck, looking for signs of its
former structure while Scotty attacked the stern with a crowbar. Under
Scotty's prying, a timber suddenly gave with an audible crack, and a
huge grouper that must have weighed nearly three hundred pounds rushed
past Rick, startling him half to death until he saw what it was.
Scotty hooted in derision as Rick back-pedaled, then he put his bar down
and swam to Rick's side. He scrawled on his belt slate, "Whre he cm
frm?"
Rick shrugged. It was a good question. They swam slowly around, looking
for the grouper's hiding place and failed to locate it. Rick knew the
big fish liked caves, rocky clefts, and the interiors of wrecks. This
one must have a hole somewhere.
He tried again, going right down to the bottom and crawling along with
stomach touching the sand. Even so, he might have missed the hole if
stirred-up dust from the fish's sudden departure hadn't indicated where
it was. The hole, big enough for him to crawl through, was _under_ the
wreck, hidden by rotted planks covered with marine growth. He hooted for
Scotty's attention and showed it to him.
He took his belt slate and wrote, "Way into shp?"
Scotty nodded and wrote in his turn, "Too drk. Need lites."
Rick nodded. For a moment he was tempted to try ripping off the planks
with his bar, but he decided against it. Any disturbance might very well
collapse the entire structure. He wondered whether the hole was just a
shallow opening, or whether it actually led into the ship. No matter.
They had watertight flashlights with their spare gear in the boat. They
could find out on the next dive.
For their remaining time underwater he joined Scotty in his assault on
the stern of the ship. They were rewarded by finding what was evidently
the interior of a cabin. Rick ripped off another plank, then jumped as
Scotty hooted four times for danger. The cabin was the home of a fairly
large moray eel! Both boys dropped their bars and grabbed for their
spear guns, but Scotty held up his hand in a sign to wait. Rick did so,
and saw the big eel emerge and swim rapidly toward the reef.
Scotty had shown wisdom. The moray is hard to kill, and this one would
have given them a battle that might have used up more air than they
could spare.
The water inside the cabin was murky. Rick looked at his watch. They had
only a few minutes left. He wrote on his slate, "Sty dwn til rsrve
wrning."
Scotty nodded agreement.
They watched as the water settled and the interior of the cabin grew
clearer. Evidently it had been a very small cabin. There was a rotted
frame that might once have been a single bunk, and a few broken, almost
disintegrated boards that might have been a table. Mattress and bedding
had long since vanished. Then Rick spotted a squarish shape under the
ruin of the bunk and motioned to Scotty. They went in after it.
The top crumbled under their touch and silt rose into the water around
them. But Rick persisted and felt fabric under his hands. He pulled it
out and recognized a seaman's jacket, brass buttons corroded and fabric
nearly rotted through. Apparently they had found a sea chest, but their
exploring hands discovered nothing but rotted fabrics.
Rick felt the warning constriction that told him he had only minutes
left. He pulled down the reserve lever of his tank and touched Scotty's
arm. He hooted twice for the ascent.
Back in the _Water Witch_, they connected their tanks to the compressor,
put the regulators on charged tanks, then tested their underwater
flashlights.
Rick said, "Do you realize I haven't taken a single picture?"
"Why not take some on the next dive?"
"Good idea." Rick went into the cabin and brought out his camera.
The camera was the same one he had adapted for night movies, during
their adventure known as _Smugglers' Reef_. He had built an underwater
case for it from stainless steel and Lucite. An intricate gear
arrangement allowed him to focus or change aperture underwater, and a
light meter in the rear of the case told him what setting to use. There
was an ordinary inner-tube valve projecting from one side by which the
case could be charged with compressed air to compensate for the pressure
of the water. The unit was battery-powered and had a bracket for
mounting the infrared light used for night photography.
He unscrewed the front of the case and took the camera from its mount.
He hesitated. "Suppose there's enough light down there for color film?"
"There might be," Scotty replied, "but you wouldn't gain much by using
color. Everything would photograph in shades of green. Might as well
have it in shades of gray."
"You've got a point." Rick loaded the camera with fast black-and-white
film and returned it to the case. Then he replaced the cover and
disconnected the compressor long enough to pump pressure into the camera
case. "Ready to go," he announced.
"Take it easy," Scotty said. "We'd better rest a half hour or so. If we
don't knock ourselves out, we can get in three more dives today."
Rick knew the wisdom of that. He adjusted the camera and took a series
of "establishing" shots, to establish that the movie had been taken on a
boat near an island. Then, when the time came to dive, he photographed
Scotty entering the water. At his direction, Scotty got out again, while
Rick got in, swam down a few feet, and took a shot of Scotty entering
from that angle. Then the camera followed as Scotty flippered smoothly
down into the deep water.
Rick followed, camera extended in front of him, sighting through the
gun-type sights mounted on top of the case. There was a handgrip on each
side, with the controls handy to his fingers. By watching the light
meter he could change his exposure as the shifting light required.
He moved ahead of Scotty, panned across the wreck, then reversed the
camera to photograph Scotty approaching. On a hunch, he stood well back
when Scotty approached the underwater entrance and got a picture that
was priceless! The grouper had returned to his home, and frightened by
the light that suddenly probed his hide-out, he flashed out and caught
Scotty by surprise. Scotty dropped his flashlight and back-pedaled
frantically. Grinning, Rick kept his camera grinding. Scotty turned and
saw that Rick was shooting, and held both hands to his face in mock
dismay. Rick cut and secured the camera to an outcropping with its
safety line.
Scotty picked up his light and crawled slowly into the opening. Rick
waited, watching anxiously to be sure his friend's hoses and regulator
cleared the entrance. Then Scotty vanished inside. In a moment he
reappeared, headfirst, and beckoned.
Rick followed him in, his own flashlight extended. It was a little murky
from the grouper's hurried departure, but he saw instantly that they
were in what had been for those days a large cabin. This must have been
the skipper's quarters. His light picked out the remains of furniture,
including one massive chair that was still in good condition.
Scotty gestured with his light and Rick saw an oaken door. He swam over
to it and inspected it closely. It was still firm, still in place. Where
did it lead?
There was only one way to find out. He took hold of the old-fashioned
handle and pulled. The door didn't budge. Rick tried again and failed.
He swung himself around and put both feet on the wall next to the door,
then applied leverage.
The handle came completely off. Rick sailed backward across the cabin
and his tank rang like a bell as it struck something metallic. Scotty
hurried to his side, and Rick gestured that he was all right. They
turned to inspect the object against which Rick had hurtled and found
that it was the still-sound strap for a beam, probably made of wrought
iron.
Rick took his belt slate and wrote, "Whre wld he hide it?"
Scotty read it with his light, then shrugged. They began a methodical
inspection of the cabin, surprised that it was so clear of marine life.
Rick surmised that the opening had developed only recently, perhaps from
the shifting of the ship. They found a closet and a heap of what had
once been clothes on its floor. Then Scotty made the big discovery of
the day. He reached into a shelf space above the bunk, hand exploring,
and touched something hard. He drew it out. It looked like a
green-covered bundle about a foot long and two inches thick. But before
he had a chance to inspect it further, his air gave out and both boys
hurried to the surface on their reserves.
Aboard the _Water Witch_ they shed their equipment and sat down to
inspect Scotty's find. The covering proved to be layer after layer of
oilcloth, wrapped around the object. The outer layers had deteriorated
somewhat, but the inner ones were intact.
Scotty finished unwrapping and found a second wrapping of still-dry
linen. He pulled the linen off, and both boys gasped. It was a jeweled
dagger, with a good-sized ruby winking in its hilt!
"Take it out of the sheath," Rick suggested.
Scotty did so, and disclosed a blade covered with some hard brown
substance. "That's not rust. Got a jackknife?"
Rick found one and handed it to him. Scotty scraped and was rewarded by
the gleam of bright metal.
"It must have been coated with heavy grease," Rick remarked. "During the
years, the grease hardened into a permanent rustproof coating. Wait
until the scientists see this!"
Scotty grinned his pleasure. "This is one treasure the log didn't
mention. Poor Captain Campion must have thought a lot of it to protect
it so thoroughly."
"He might have been taking it to the New World as a gift for some
influential friend," Rick ventured. "It looks like Spanish work."
Scotty looked at Rick speculatively. "Are you making a claim on this?"
Rick knitted his brows. What was Scotty driving at? "You found it," he
said. "Technically, we're supposed to share and share alike, the four of
us and Barby. But how do you split a dagger? And we wouldn't sell it,
anyway. It's too nice a souvenir."
"I'll ask Tony and Zircon," Scotty said, "but if none of you have any
objection, I would like to claim it, because I want to give it to Dad
for a birthday present next month."
Rick punched him on the arm. "You'll get no objection from me. Or from
Tony and Zircon either."
"I can buy presents for the family," Scotty said slowly. "I do, on
birthdays and Christmas. But I've always wanted to give Dad something
really special, something to tell him how I feel about being taken into
the family."
Rick nodded. He knew how Scotty felt, and he liked him all the better
for it. "Let's get ready for the next dive," he said abruptly.
They went through the necessary checks on their equipment, transferring
the regulators to the third set of tanks. Rick decided to leave the
camera on the boat this time. He was anxious to inspect the ship
thoroughly, and photography took time.
After a half hour of rest the boys went back into the water again,
carrying their wrecking bars and spear guns, flashlights on their belts.
An inch-by-inch inspection of the cabin disclosed no more treasures, but
Rick found a plate, still intact. He wondered if it were the plate from
which the captain had last dined before the pirate attack, and put it
outside the entrance to be carried to the surface.
Once satisfied that the cabin held no secrets, the boys attacked the
door. It was hard work, and they raised so much dust that their light
beams were almost useless. However, they struggled on until the door
finally gave, only to admit quantities of sand.
Rick guessed that the door had opened onto a deck that was now buried
far under the sand. They went outside to allow the murkiness to settle
in the cabin, and Rick consulted his watch. Their time was nearly up. He
hooted to Scotty and they surfaced.
The first tanks they had used were ready now. They shifted the
regulators and hooked up another pair to the compressor.
"I'm afraid Tony was right," Rick said. "We'll have to take the ship
apart piece by piece."
Scotty examined his foot where the fin was rubbing a little. "What would
be a logical hiding place? If I were the captain, I'd probably hide the
statue under false flooring or something. Anyway, I'd hide it aft, in
officer's country, and not near the forecastle where the crew lived."
"That's probably right. Anyway, we won't have time to do much wrecking
today. What say we hunt for loose boards in the cabin?"
Scotty grinned. "The treasure fever has got our boy Rick. Have you
forgotten we were going to see what those fancy frogmen were curious
about?"
Rick grinned back, a little sheepishly. "You're right. I had forgotten.
Well, we can spend half the time looking for the treasure and the other
half looking for the frogmen's cache."
The search for the treasure disclosed no loose boards, or anything
resembling a secret hiding place. At the end of ten minutes they turned
from the wreck and swam along the bottom toward the reef.
Since they had no idea what they were looking for, the search couldn't
be a very carefully planned one. Rick led the way, following the reef,
taking time to examine the coral formations. There were countless sea
urchins, and enough small fish to feed the entire population. Bigger
fish, however, were not plentiful. Once Rick saw a snook that would have
been worth taking, but the fish sped off into the watery gloom. Again,
Scotty called his attention to a deadly scorpion fish. This small,
rather weird-looking little creature had a dangerous defense mechanism
in the spines of his back. His poison bore a strong resemblance to cobra
venom. The boys gave him a wide berth.
Now and then a moray glared at them with unwinking eyes from a crevice,
but the boys paid no attention. The morays wouldn't attack unless
disturbed, and there was no reason for disturbing them. Rick wondered if
the big one they had ousted from the wreck had found a new home.
They passed a colony of sea worms, colorful even in the green light. The
worms were pretty, but their long hairs could give a painful sting.
Their time was growing short. Rick consulted his watch, then his depth
gauge. They were at eighty-five feet. Because of the shallower water
they would have a little more time, perhaps another five minutes before
constricted breathing told them only a few minutes of air remained.
Scotty found a puffer and waved at him, but the fish paid no attention.
Scotty motioned to Rick, then reached out and scratched the creature's
stomach. It began to gulp water until it resembled a balloon. They left
it to return to normal in its own time. On the surface, the puffer would
have gulped air in the same way. They had caught them on lines many
times.
They were past the _Water Witch_ now, Rick estimated. He hooted at
Scotty, then led the way up to a depth of about forty feet. There he
started back along the cliff.
Suddenly he wished he had brought a game bag attached to his belt. The
reef here was alive with shellfish. He identified cowries, whelks, and
some excellent specimens of Triton's horn. They would have to come back
again, to collect some to take home. The biggest problem was getting the
animals out of their shells, unless there were some anthills on the
island. Ants would do the job neatly in a few days.
Scotty hooted, and pointed. Directly ahead was a small shelf. Rick moved
to Scotty's side and saw the dark opening of a cave. Next to the opening
was a small octopus. As they approached he changed color, trying to
imitate the multicolored coral against which he rested.
Rick reached out a hand and the animal retreated, sliding into the mouth
of the cave. Apparently this was his home, because the ledge was
littered with shells from a number of meals.
Now Rick wished for his camera, then smiled inwardly. To satisfy all his
unexpected wishes he would need a sort of underwater trailer to tow his
gear.
Scotty moved close to the octopus and it retreated still further. Both
boys knew the creatures were harmless to divers, and some divers even
handled them. But there were reports of divers being bitten while
playing with octopuses, and they had learned long ago that unnecessary
risks were foolish.
Rick suddenly rocked back as his ears were smitten by sound. A wail
echoed in his head, so intense that it almost hurt. Scotty started, too,
and reached for the ledge in his astonishment.
The octopus peered out of the cave, and the wail came again, buzzing
uncomfortably in their heads. And in that moment, Rick's air gave out.
He pulled the reserve lever and planed to the surface, Scotty close on
his heels.
On the _Water Witch_ they stared at each other.
"Did you hear that?" Scotty demanded.
"I'll say I did!"
"That octopus wailed," Scotty insisted. "Twice!" He hesitated, then put
Rick's thoughts into words. "Only--octopuses don't wail. They don't make
noise of any kind."
"This one did," Rick said. "A wailing octopus! This is either a new
scientific find, or ..."
"Or we've found what the fancy frogmen didn't want us to find," Scotty
concluded.
CHAPTER XI
Lights on Clipper Reef
"This," Hobart Zircon boomed, "is a phenomenon that will rock the
science of zoology to its very depths! We will examine this creature and
determine his genus and species, and we will name him after you two.
_Octopus waili branti-scotti._ Or perhaps _Octopus screami_ would be
better."
"Of course we're not certain that it was a wail," Rick said soberly. "He
might have been singing. He might even have been telling us to go catch
him a fish."
Tony Briotti observed, "This may not be an isolated phenomenon. Who
knows? A search may disclose screaming squid, or simpering sharks, or
burbling barracuda."
"Seriously," Zircon asked, "have either of you a theory to account for
this? Or do you really believe that the octopus wailed?"
"We'd be in a better position to answer that if we'd had a chance to
explore the cave," Scotty replied. "How can we tell? Maybe the octopus
really did wail, and we were the lucky ones who heard the sound for the
first time." He grinned. "We should have wailed back and tried to strike
up a conversation."
Rick agreed. "I'm with Scotty. We just don't know. I agree that a
wailing octopus is a new kind of beast, but that's not entirely
impossible, is it?"
"Perhaps not." Tony stared at the sunset. "I'm trying to recall the
physiology of _Octopus vulgaris_, as the garden variety of octopus is
called, but my memory isn't working. It isn't beyond reason. After all,
some fish make sounds. I've caught croakers myself that were pretty
noisy. But I've never heard of octopus sounds until now."
Scotty chuckled. "Haven't I read that octopuses have some intelligence?
We might teach him to sing. He'd be a natural for television."
"You say that the sound was loud?" Tony asked.
"Very loud. My head hurt. Did yours, Scotty?"
"I'll say! For a minute I thought my brain cells were rubbing together."
Zircon sighed. "I am stumped. And not only by your Wailing Willie,
either. This whole affair baffles me, including the presence of Steve's
former tail on this island. Hasn't it occurred to you that those fancy
frogmen, as you call them, would have made some overt move by now if
they were really interested in us?"
"Dropping the chicken was an overt move," Rick pointed out.
"Yes and no. I'd prefer to call it a not-too-subtle warning. Yet they
haven't tried to interfere with your diving around the wreck."
"I've wondered about that," Scotty offered, "and it seems to me they've
satisfied themselves that our interest is just in the wreck, and not in
whatever they have hidden underwater. If they have anything hidden, I
mean. As long as we stick with the wreck, they have no reason for
causing trouble."
Tony agreed. "That makes sense to me. Perhaps you can answer this: Why
do they wear cold-water suits? It's appreciably cooler at twenty
fathoms, but it's certainly not cold enough for a suit."
"We only stay down fifteen minutes," Scotty said. "If we stayed down
longer we might get chilled. The water isn't warm by any means down by
the wreck."
Rick had a thought. "We're used to cold water, remember? Diving off
Spindrift would chill a polar bear, even in summer. Suppose these people
had done all their diving in tropic waters? This water would seem cold
to them, particularly down deep."
It was nearly dark now, only a glimmer of light in the west. The four
sat on the front porch of the cottage.
Zircon asked, "Did you monitor the radio tonight, Rick?"
"Yes, but there was no word from Steve."
"Don't you think he might like to know about the presence of his shadow
on Clipper Cay?" Tony inquired.
Rick pointed to the Sky Wagon resting on the beach. "Trouble is, that's
our only communication. I could contact the St. Thomas airport and
request that they pass a message, but that would be like broadcasting it
to the world. Steve might not like it."
Zircon's deep voice cut into his comment. "Look! Our friends are
apparently going to do some night work."
There were lights on the frogmen's boat, and it was putting out. As the
Spindrifters watched, it slowly approached the reef, then stopped.
Scotty got the glasses and examined the scene. "Something's up!" he
exclaimed. "I saw a diver go over the side!"
Hobart Zircon coughed self-consciously. "Do you know, I have taken a
certain amount of pride in the fact that I am by nature a conservative
individual with a highly developed capacity for minding my own
business."
Rick wondered what on earth the big scientist was getting at.
"The pursuit of truth has led me along many devious routes," Zircon
continued. "I have tried, with some success and many failures, to plumb
the mysteries of Nature. But while I have tried to make the business of
our natural universe my own, I have never thrust my not-inconsiderable
nose into the business of neighbors. However, this admirable reticence
has limits, since, as a scientist, I am also possessed of that inherent
trait of curiosity without which no person can succeed in science."
Rick exploded into laughter. "And what you're leading up to is, you want
to go see what those people are doing!"
"Precisely," Zircon admitted.
Tony and the boys roared with laughter.
"Hobart," Tony said with a chuckle, "you never fail to astonish me. And
how do you propose to stick your not-inconsiderable nose into the
business now going on over there?"
Zircon waved his hand. "The method was developed by our young Mr. Brant,
who sometimes shows slight sparks of intelligence. He has a device which
projects infrared light, and glasses that allow the wearer to see
whatever that light illuminates."
Rick stared. Zircon was proposing that they take his underwater camera
and use it for illumination. That must mean ... "You want to swim over
with the lungs?" he asked incredulously.
"And why not?"
"But we've never done any night diving!"
"You tested the camera at night, did you not?"
"Yes," Rick admitted, "but that was in water that we knew, off Pirate's
Field at home. And we only stayed in long enough to expose a few feet of
film."
"We know enough about these waters to know that there are no dangerous
obstructions beyond the reef, at least between here and the _Maiden
Hand_."
Scotty laughed. "This is a day I never thought would come. It's usually
the other way around, with Rick trying to sell some idea that everyone
else opposes. Why not swim at night, Rick?"
"No reason," Rick admitted. "It was just that it hadn't occurred to me.
There's one difficulty, though. I have only two pairs of glasses with
infrared-sensitive lenses. So only two of us could go."
"Only two could dive with the camera," Tony corrected. "But all of us
could go. Two would remain on the surface, with the floats, in case of
trouble."
"Who would dive and who would stay on the surface?" Scotty demanded.
Rick produced a quarter. "Let coins decide. Except for the professor. He
thought of it, so he dives."
"Fair enough," Scotty agreed. "All right with you, Tony?"
"Of course. The three of us, then. Odd man goes with Hobart."
Tony and Scotty produced coins. With Rick, they walked into the living
room and lighted a kerosene lamp.
"Now," Rick said, and tossed his coin, catching it in the palm of his
hand and slapping it onto his other wrist. Tony and Scotty followed
suit. Rick uncovered first. He had heads. Tony uncovered and displayed a
tail.
Scotty groaned. "Shucks! I lose. It's one of you."
Rick held his breath as Scotty uncovered--another tail! He turned to
Zircon. "We dive, while Scotty and Tony stay topside."
"Good. Well, what are we waiting for?"
They changed quickly into trunks, then assembled their diving gear. Rick
took the front plate from his camera and put the infrared searchlight on
its mounting bracket. He changed to a fresh battery, then replaced the
film in the camera with the special infrared-sensitive film.
Whatever the infrared illuminated could be seen through special glass.
Rick had ordered lenses ground from the glass and had placed them in
frames made to fit into a face mask. These frames could be purchased at
any diving-equipment supply house. They had been designed for divers who
had to wear their own corrective glasses, and they suited Rick's purpose
to perfection. He handed a pair to Hobart Zircon, then inserted the
other pair in his own mask.
Zircon, Tony, and Scotty decided to take spear guns. Zircon chose Rick's
rubber-powered gun, while Tony selected the light spring gun. Scotty
chose the highest-powered gun they had, a new jet-type powered with
carbon dioxide.
Rick and Zircon connected their regulators to two freshly filled tanks,
then tested the equipment. Zircon tied a rope to his belt.
The big scientist drew them together for a brief conference.
"We'll swim out and cross the reef," he directed. "Then we'll swim along
the reef, staying as close as possible to the breakers. They will help
conceal us. When we approach the boat, Tony and Scotty will stop and
hold position. Scotty, are the binoculars waterproof?"
"Yes, they are."
"Then take them. Rick and I will go directly to the bottom at the base
of the reef. We will then proceed along the reef until we spot our
friends yonder."
Rick had an unhappy thought. "Suppose they see us?"
"We will try to prevent them from seeing us. However, if they do, I
suggest a retreat in as good order as we can manage. If they should
catch up with us, we will bluster and bluff our way on the basis that we
were only diving to see if they were trying to search our wreck."
Scotty laughed. "Turn their own table on them. That's very good,
Professor."
"I'm glad I'm not a physicist," Tony said piously. "We archaeologists
aren't half so devious."
"I am acting in my capacity as a former consultant to JANIG, and not as
a physicist," Zircon retorted with dignity. "You will refrain from
casting aspersions on my profession, Doctor Briotti."
"My apologies," Tony said, grinning. "In other words, the man is
devious, but the scientist is not."
"Exactly. Well, shall we go?"
Rick was glad to get into the water. The camera in its underwater case
was heavy in air, but weighed only a few ounces in water. He swam with
face mask under, breathing through his snorkel and letting the camera
hang.
They crossed the reef without difficulty, then turned to swim along it.
The trough just seaward of the breaking point of the waves was the most
comfortable swimming position and they went in single file, Zircon
leading.
Every now and then Rick looked up. They were getting near the boat, he
thought. Perilously near. The boat was anchored just inside the reef,
and he could see activity on its deck. Apparently the frogmen had
returned from their first dive and were changing tanks.
Zircon stopped swimming and lay motionless in the water. Rick drew
abreast of the big scientist, and Tony and Scotty stopped behind them.
As they watched, suited figures with belt lights and back tanks climbed
down a ladder into the water. A third man, on deck, lowered something to
them. It was hard to see, but Rick thought it had a golden glisten and
that it was round, about the size of a basketball. The frogmen took it
and went under.
[Illustration: _A third man lowered something that glistened like gold_]
Zircon's big hand took Rick by the shoulder, then he turned and motioned
to the others that they were going under. Rick shifted from snorkel to
aqualung mouthpiece. He took the end of rope that Zircon held out and
snapped it to his weight belt. He and Zircon were now connected by a
ten-foot length of rope, necessary to keep them from becoming separated
in the darkness.
He submerged and dove straight down into the blackness. His thumb
compressed the button on the side of the case and the camera started,
the infrared light turning on. A narrow cone of water extending out
about twenty feet was illuminated, but the illumination was visible only
through the special glasses he and Zircon wore.
Rick held the button until they reached bottom, then suddenly realized
he would use all his film before they had even found the frogmen. He
groaned silently. Why hadn't he used his head? The light as well as the
camera motor were operated by the same button. If he had only thought,
it would have been a few seconds' work to change the circuit so the
light would be on continuously. Or he might even be able to rig a
waterproof switch that would operate just the light.
Well, it was too late now. He jerked on the rope for Zircon to stop,
then took his belt slate and wrote, "Cam on whn lite is. Wll use nw &
thn." He held it in the beam of infrared light for Zircon to read. The
scientist scribbled "OK" under the message, then gave him a gentle push
as a signal to go ahead.
Rick held his wrist in the beam and read ninety-two feet on his depth
gauge. He calculated quickly. They would have enough air for about
twenty-five minutes at this depth.
He held the camera switch long enough to see that there was only smooth
bottom ahead, then released it. Almost total blackness flooded in. For
all practical purposes it was completely dark, no glimmer of light to
mark their way.
For an instant Rick felt panic, but reason reasserted itself. It was
instinctive to feel fear under such circumstances, he thought. Not only
was he out of his own medium, air, but in a high-pressure realm
inhabited by potentially dangerous creatures. He grinned inwardly at the
thought. The most dangerous creatures in this vicinity were human.
A twinkle of light stopped him, but Zircon continued on and the
connecting line tightened. Rick identified the twinkle as
phosphorescence from some marine creature on the reef. There were many
such in the ocean. He flashed the infrared light, saw that they were
still heading properly, and cut it off again.
The rope at his belt tugged four times for danger! He stopped instantly,
letting go of the camera with one hand while he reached for his belt
knife. Then he saw what Zircon had seen, a glow in the water ahead and
above them. Rick estimated quickly the distance they had traveled. There
was no doubt of it. The frogmen were at the octopus cave!
He followed Zircon's lead, cutting the light off and on as necessary, as
the big scientist moved ahead. The glow grew in intensity, but they were
still too far away to see its exact position, or whether there were men
around it.
Rick's heart beat faster, and his breathing speeded up appreciably. In
spite of Zircon's plan to claim they were only checking on the frogmen's
interest in the wreck, Rick knew that being discovered would mean
serious trouble. He recalled Steve's warning that they were up against a
ruthless enemy.
The question was, how close could they get without being seen? He could
take pictures at ten feet, but at any greater distance the camera would
be useless.
Zircon moved ahead, going slowly now. Rick followed, not bothering with
the dark-light unit because the glow in the water was enough for a
beacon. Then the glow faded for a moment as a figure crossed in front of
it. Still Zircon moved ahead until Rick could see two additional,
smaller glows that he identified as the belt lights the frogmen had been
wearing.
Zircon continued on, still hugging the bottom, and Rick divined his
intention. The big scientist was going to take them directly under the
frogmen! It was logical, since the frogmen would not expect danger
below.
Rick followed, staying just behind Zircon's flippers, feeling the wash
of water from his wake. The light was nearly overhead now, and Rick saw
dark figures moving. It was unreal, like a Hollywood motion picture,
except that the tense music of a movie production was replaced only by
the soft sighing of their regulators.
And with the thought, Rick almost lost his mouthpiece. Their bubbles!
Their bubbles would rise right past the frogmen, a dead giveaway! It
might already be too late, because Zircon was almost directly under the
cave!
CHAPTER XII
Clouds Over Clipper Cay
Rick jerked frantically on the tie rope, four times for danger, then he
turned and swam rapidly back the way they had come. At first he felt
resistance on the line, then Zircon hurried to catch up. Not until they
were barely within seeing distance of the light did Rick stop, then he
took his belt slate, started the camera for light, and wrote "Bubbles go
by thm if we undr. They see."
Zircon held a hand to his head in a sign of chagrin that he had
forgotten, then he wrote, "Hw we gt clos?"
Rick pondered the problem. The bubbles had alarmed him in another way,
too. It was possible that the man on the boat could see four sets of
bubbles rising where only two were supposed to be. Yet, he couldn't
escape the feeling that it was important to get a look at what the
frogmen were doing. There was no way out of it. He just had to take a
chance.
He wrote, "I mak pass hldng brth so no bbls, tak pix. U sty out of rnge
& cvr me wth gn."
Rick had just one hope of getting away with it. He had to assume that
the frogmen would be busy with whatever they were doing in the cave. If
so, their backs would be to the open sea. At least the chance was worth
taking.
Zircon wrote, "OK bt be crfl."
Rick didn't need the warning. Together, they swam back until they were
close to the glow of the lights. He hoped that the darkness and breaking
surf above were concealing their bubbles. Finally Zircon halted. Rick
unsnapped the line that held him to the scientist, squeezed Zircon's
shoulder, and swam away from the reef toward the open water. He kept his
head turned so he could keep the light in his field of vision.
When he was out far enough he swam upward until he was on a level with
the light, and directly out to sea from it. He inhaled, filling his
lungs, then with camera outthrust, he drove directly toward the light.
It wasn't hard to hold his breath--not with his heart acting as a
stopper in his throat.
The light grew clearer. He started the camera and kept moving with
powerful strokes. Then he held his legs still and let inertia carry him
in a silent glide. He had to get close--close!
The light grew in intensity, and details grew clearer. He saw the
frogmen, and their backs were to him! Between them, he caught a glimpse
of something brassy and round, and he saw the octopus, clinging to the
reef to one side of the cave.
He held the camera button as long as he dared. Then when it seemed that
he would glide right into the frogmen, he twisted sideways and bent
backward like a circus acrobat, flippers moving in powerful thrusts. It
was an excellent underwater imitation of a wingover, the plane maneuver
that reversed direction by diving and turning. He planed downward until
he touched bottom, then thrust himself with frantic kicks away from the
vicinity of the cave.
His lungs were about to burst, he felt, when finally he drew a deep
breath. The gurgling sigh of his bubbles was sheer relief. He kept
moving until he bumped headlong into Hobart Zircon. The scientist
reached out and snapped his rope onto Rick's belt, then tugged twice.
Zircon led the way along the reef bottom until they reached the spot
where, they estimated, Tony and Scotty would be waiting. As they started
for the surface, Rick switched on the camera and looked at his watch.
They had been under only ten minutes! And he had been waiting for the
warning constriction of air running out!
Zircon broke water and instantly submerged again. He led the way a few
feet under the surface to where he had seen Tony and Scotty, then led
Rick to the top once more.
Tony and Scotty saw them emerge and without a word turned and started
back toward the cottage, pushing their floats. Instead of bothering with
the snorkel, Rick kept the aqualung mouthpiece in place and swam a few
feet under the surface, guiding himself by the wake of the others. He
was tired--and relieved.
The group crossed over the reef and swam to the beach in front of the
cottage. There they gathered at the water's edge and stripped off their
gear. For long moments no one spoke, then Zircon asked, "See anything,
Rick?"
"A little. Enough to get an answer, I think. We haven't discovered a new
breed of octopus, because they were installing something in the cave.
Something that makes a noise."
"Do you know that, or do you infer it?" Tony asked.
"I didn't hear the noise, if that's what you mean. But what else could
it be?"
"Too bad," Scotty said. "Now we won't have a new species named after us.
Come on, give us the word. How was it?"
Rick said, with complete truth, "I was scared to death."
"And so was I," Zircon admitted. "At first the sensation of complete
blackness caused an emotional reaction. Then I began to see that we had
done a rather foolish thing. And I almost got us into trouble by
forgetting that we send up a constant stream of bubbles." He told them
of his plan to get under the cave, and of Rick's warning.
"We thought of your bubbles," Scotty told them. "I talked it over with
Tony, and came within an ace of diving after you, although I doubt that
I could have reached bottom and found you. But we watched, and we
couldn't see any bubbles at all. It was too dark, and we were right
where the water was breaking."
"My question is, did you get a picture?" Zircon wanted to know.
"I'm sure I did. The camera was going, and it probably saw much more
than I did--since cameras don't get scared. But it won't do us much good
right now. We can't develop the film."
The boys picked up the equipment and carried it to the _Water Witch_.
Rick turned off the compressor. He was too tired to wait until all tanks
were full. Time enough for that in the morning.
When he and Scotty returned to the cottage, Tony greeted them with cups
of hot chocolate and they sat on the porch and enjoyed them.
"Let's sum up what we know," Zircon invited. "If anyone agrees that we
know anything worth summing."
"I think we do," Rick said, "and I think we ought to get it to Steve
Ames. We don't know what he's after, or what kind of gang he's fighting,
but we know one of them is here."
"Yes, and we also know that Steve's agency is primarily concerned with
protecting military secrets," Zircon added. "I agree with Rick. We must
get word of these mysterious frogmen to him."
"We discussed that earlier," Tony recalled. "In view of our discussion,
it would seem that either Rick or Scotty or both must fly to Charlotte
Amalie and tell him personally."
Scotty pointed at the sky. "Have any of you looked up there?"
All of them did. The moon was just rising, and there was enough light to
see heavy cirrus moving high overhead.
"There's a front of some kind moving down on us," Scotty said. "And did
you notice the swells tonight? Long ones. I'm no first-class weather
forecaster, but all the signs are there. We're in for a storm. The
question is, how soon will it arrive?"
"He's right," Zircon agreed. "I'm glad you're observant, Scotty.
Frankly, I hadn't even bothered looking at the weather. I suppose I
thought it would just continue to be perfect."
Rick stared at the gathering clouds for long moments, then put into
words the thing that had been bothering him.
"You know, there has been a cloud over this vacation almost from the
moment we landed at Charlotte Amalie. We didn't want to get involved in
anything but diving and exploring, but we got pulled by the ears into a
hot case. Steve warned us off that first day. The warning didn't help,
because we got dragged back into things when we went swimming, and again
at the hotel."
Three faces were turned toward him, listening. He was expressing what
all of them had been thinking, too.
"We thought we'd leave trouble behind when we came here," Rick
continued, "but it was waiting for us. We didn't look for it, until
tonight."
He drew a deep breath. "Well, from now on we have to become the hunters.
Steve Ames doesn't know there's anything strange going on here. We do,
and it's up to us to find out what. The goings-on in the octopus cave
have something to do with the case Steve is working on--and what Steve
is working on has something important to do with national security."
He smiled grimly. "I know none of you will disagree with this, because
it's the only thing we can do. Professor Zircon knew it tonight when he
tried to excuse our looking in on the frogmen as curiosity."
Zircon nodded silently.
"From now on," Rick concluded, "we have to operate as unofficial JANIG
agents, until we can get word to Steve Ames so he and his men can take
over."
CHAPTER XIII
Message in the Storm
The wind blew. It piled the surf high on the reef and blew the tops from
waves between the reef and the shore. Hour by hour the wind stiffened,
until the breakers on the shore were higher than those through which the
Spindrifters had swum on the reef.
The first hours of the morning were spent getting ready for a blow. The
_Water Witch_ was secured by springlines, and extra fenders were put
over her side. The four hauled the Sky Wagon high onto the beach by
sheer muscle power, then turned the plane into the wind. Rick and Scotty
salvaged the concrete-block foundation from the wreck of the cottage
where they had found the planks, and used the blocks for land anchors on
the plane.
The shutters were checked, and closed on the front of the cottage. The
shed where the tank had broken through was repaired as well as
improvised tools and materials allowed, and all loose gear was stowed
inside.
The rain came. It drove with the wind into the front of the cottage in a
continuous thunder. Its force carried it under the door, through cracks
beside the window frames. The Spindrifters were forced to shred rags to
stuff into cracks. In the kitchen the roof began to leak, and soon every
available pot and pan was being used to catch drippings.
Rick worked almost in silence, not joining in the bantering of his
friends. As was his way, he worried the problem of the frogmen and their
mysterious behavior the way his dog, Dismal, would worry a bone.
He discarded a dozen possible reasons for their actions, including
underwater communications, bombs, and an unusual way of fishing. He
pondered on the relations of the Spindrift group--or lack of them--with
the frogmen and re-examined their various theories.
First premise: The frogmen, specifically Steve's former shadow, hadn't
recognized them or the _Water Witch_.
Second premise: The frogmen considered them harmless tourists,
interested only in diving to the wreck, and therefore to be watched but
not considered dangerous.
He rather liked that one. It would mean that the chicken had been
dropped "mischievously," to use Zircon's word, to try to scare them out
of the immediate vicinity. But there were other possibilities.
First premise: The frogmen knew of their connection with Steve.
Second premise: The frogmen weren't worried about people with JANIG
connections.
This might be explained by superior weapons in the hands of the frogmen,
coupled with the assumption that the Spindrifters had no communication
with Steve. It might also be explained by knowledge of their real reason
for being on Clipper Cay.
Rick didn't care much for the last two premises. The first one seemed
more reasonable. After all, they were not sure that the former tail had
seen the _Water Witch_ in St. Thomas, or had known of their connection
with it. On the contrary, to get to Clipper Cay so soon after the
Spindrifters arrived, the frogman must have left about the same time the
scientists did. There was even a possibility that he had arrived ahead
of the Spindrift group and that the frogmen's boat had been out when
Rick and Scotty had first spotted the diving equipment in the house.
Anyway, there had been no sign of any tail but the Virgin Islander while
they were around the pier and on the _Water Witch_. Either he or Scotty
would almost certainly have spotted a second man--especially since they
had seen him before.
There was a major precaution, however, to be taken: he and Scotty must
not let Steve's former tail get a good look at them. They had to assume
he had recognized their clumsiness for what it was--a deliberate stall.
Scotty poked him, and Rick suddenly realized that he had been leaning
for quite a long while on the broom he was supposed to be using.
"Made up your mind about anything?" Scotty asked.
Rick knew his friend had been watching him. During their many adventures
each had developed a rather unusual understanding of how the other's
mind worked.
"Partly," Rick replied. He told Scotty his thoughts.
"You make sense," Scotty agreed, then added practically, "but I don't
see what difference it makes, whether they know about our connection
with Steve or not. The moment they catch us snooping they'll assume
we're enemies. Until then, they'll let us alone just as they've been
doing."
Zircon and Scotty joined forces to prepare lunch. The temperature had
dropped sharply, and hot soup and hamburger sandwiches were welcome.
After lunch, Rick braved the storm long enough to go to the _Water
Witch_ for his camera. He returned to the cottage soaked to the skin.
"We'll need diving equipment to go outside if this keeps up," he
announced.
He took the camera case apart and disconnected his circuits, then he
went outside again with tools in hand and got into the Sky Wagon. The
plane had a heater switch that would do. He removed it, leaving the
wires to dangle for the moment. If the heater was needed he could put
the wires together.
That done, he sat in the plane and racked his memory for a source of
sheet rubber. There was none, but he recalled a repair kit for the
plastic floats in their tool supply. He found it and took it back to the
house.
Using the awl blade on his scout knife, he bored a hole through the
plastic back of the case and installed the switch. Then he reconnected
his circuits so the new switch would turn on only the infrared light. He
waterproofed the switch as best he could, making gaskets from a rubber
jar ring he found in the kitchen.
He knew, however, that the switch wouldn't be waterproof under pressure.
He took a sheet of plastic repair material from the float repair kit and
shaped it carefully with his knife. After much trial and error he
succeeded in cementing it onto the case so that it would protect the
switch from the outside, but left enough slack for the switch to be
operated through the flexible patch. Satisfied, he put it aside to dry.
It was nearly time for dinner when he finished. He took a hand in
cooking ham and eggs with fried potatoes, while Tony prepared a salad
and made coffee.
As they ate, Zircon gestured toward the front of the house. "Getting
worse instead of letting up. This must be a hurricane, although I've
never heard of one quite this early in the season."
"If it gets much worse we'll have to anchor the cottage," Scotty
observed.
They finished just in time to tune in for the weather forecast from St.
Thomas. According to the announcer, the storm was now centered off the
island of St. Croix, moving in a northwesterly direction. That meant it
would pass St. Thomas, and perhaps come very close to them. The
announcer said, "While the storm has many of the characteristics of a
hurricane, including the general form and wind velocities, we hesitate
to designate it as one."
"In other words," Tony said, "it's a hurricane but we'll call it
something else because it's too early in the season for hurricanes."
"Whatever it is, we'll have more of it," Zircon stated.
Rick switched to the Navy command frequency in time to intercept a
conversation with a destroyer somewhere off the British Virgin Islands.
The destroyer had just lost one of its boats.
At four minutes after six the air went silent, then a new voice took
over the microphone. The voice said:
"_A message for the ones who hunted blue sheep._"
"That's us!" Rick gasped.
When Steve had dispatched Rick, Scotty, and Zircon to Tibet, it had been
with the cover story that they were going to hunt the blue sheep called
Bharals in the mountains of West China. Only Steve would know that. The
message was from him.
Static crackled, but the message was clear:
"_The one who started the hunt needs the biggest hunter. Only the
biggest hunter. He should be delivered as soon as possible. Call your
usual contact before arrival and say that the doctor is coming and to
notify the patient._"
The message was repeated, while the four strained to be certain they had
heard every word. When normal traffic resumed, Rick switched the set
off.
"It appears," Zircon said slowly, "that I'm wanted."
"Yep." Scotty grinned. "The demand is there, all right. But delivery is
a long way off."
The storm punctuated his words.
CHAPTER XIV
Below the Dark Coral
The sky was overcast, ceiling about two thousand feet, visibility about
two miles. The wind was moderate and steady. Rick examined the water in
front of the cottage and told his friends, "I can take off all right.
But I don't want to leave without a weather report or we might find
ourselves with no place to land."
"I'm going to swap this radio for a newspaper," Scotty grumbled. He had
been trying without success to get a weather report.
Tony Briotti looked at the Sky Wagon, brows furrowed, then asked, "Rick,
couldn't you turn on the radio in the plane and get a weather report
from the airport at Charlotte Amalie?"
Rick was climbing into the Sky Wagon before Tony finished. Of course he
could! He called, "I'm a chump!"
The set warmed and Rick called the airport, then held the phones to his
ears to hear the reply through heavy static. When the airport answered
he asked for a weather report for the area between St. Thomas and
Clipper Cay. He got it, and climbed out, his face thoughtful.
"The storm is having a pup," he told the others. "We're in a lull at the
moment. The main storm swung off to the north, but there's another one
right on its tail. We have just about time to get to Charlotte Amalie
and back before the second one closes us in."
The group went into action fast. All four pushed the plane into the
water. Zircon ran to pack a bag, and Tony went to get the film Rick had
taken for Zircon to carry to Steve. Scotty and Rick went through the
check list, inspecting the plane for possible storm damage. Then Rick
started the engine and warmed it up. By the time they were ready, Zircon
was climbing aboard.
Scotty yelled, "Tony and I will keep the home fires burning. Don't waste
any time, Rick!"
"I won't."
Zircon closed the cabin door and Rick taxied out. In a few moments he
was air-borne, swinging seaward over the north end of the island. He
looked down and saw two of the frogmen. They were in front of the house,
watching the plane.
"Be sure to tell Steve everything," Rick reminded the big scientist,
"and don't forget to give him the film. I won't have time to see him,
unless he meets the plane. But it doesn't matter, because you know
everything Scotty and I do."
"I'll be glad to get actively to work on this confounded business,"
Zircon stated. "I'm so curious about that brass ball the frogmen had in
the cave that I'm about to burst."
Rick set a compass course for St. Thomas, flying just under the clouds.
When they were a half hour out he contacted the airport again and asked
for the weather. The report hadn't changed. He told the airport
operator, "The doctor is coming. Please notify the patient." He could
almost see the operator jerk to attention as the headphones gave out a
crisp "Roger."
He sat down on a heavy chop at Charlotte Amalie, and the Sky Wagon gave
them a rough ride as he taxied to the pier. Lieutenant Jimmy Kelly was
waiting in a Navy sedan with an armed guard in attendance.
Rick supervised the refueling of his plane at the pier gasoline depot, a
task he would not delegate to anyone else. The presence of attendants
made it impossible to talk to the Navy lieutenant.
As Rick tightened the gas cap, Jimmy Kelly said, "Hop into your great
mechanical bird and shove off, birdman. You'll just about beat the
weather home as it is. Don't stop to fish on the way."
"I won't. Professor Zircon will tell you an interesting story. And we'll
be monitoring the command channel at six for any advice you can give
us."
"Okay. Don't get your feet wet."
Rick waved good-by to Jimmy and Zircon, then taxied out to the clear
area and took off. The ceiling was lower than on the trip in, and he
almost missed Clipper Cay because of strong winds and low visibility. He
spotted the southern tip of the island just in time to avoid going right
on by. He landed with beads of perspiration on his forehead. If he had
missed, with luck he might have hit Puerto Rico, but more likely he
would have had to make a landing in the open ocean.
Scotty and Tony came to greet him.
"We were worried," Tony said. "It's closing in fast."
"I got a little worried myself," Rick admitted. "Anything new here?"
Scotty gestured toward the northern end of the island. "Our pals have
been busy, diving. They got the brass ball, or whatever it is, and
stowed it aboard their boat. I kept an eye on 'em through the
binoculars. Also, I suspect they're going to do some more diving,
because they left their equipment on the boat."
Rick didn't particularly care at that moment. The flight back had been
something of a strain. "Let 'em go," he said. "We can't do anything
about it, anyway--not in broad daylight. Maybe tonight we can take a
look."
They spent the afternoon indoors, napping or reading, unable to swim or
fish because the second storm had arrived on schedule. Then, a few
minutes before six, Rick turned on the radio to the Navy command
channel.
At six on the nose, the radio emitted: "_A message for the blue-sheep
hunters. The blue sheep seen by the big hunter and the little hunter is
important. Obtain more information if possible. But remember that the
owners of the sheep are also mighty hunters. The snapshots of the sheep
were fine._"
The message was repeated. When they were sure there was no more, Rick
switched the set off. "Well, we're in it, and with Steve's blessing. Now
what?"
Scotty shrugged. "Now we steal the brass ball. Didn't Steve's message
say to get more information?"
"Apparently the pictures turned out well, if I understood that reference
to snapshots correctly," Tony said. "Be serious, Scotty. What can we do
next?"
"Keep an eye on the frogmen, I guess, and play it by ear. I can't see
anything else to be done. We probably could steal their brass ball, all
right, but they'd know at once who had done it because we're the only
other people on the island."
"Have you looked recently to see what they're doing?" Tony asked.
Neither boy had. Both went to the front porch, but the frogmen's cottage
was invisible through the driving rain. "We'll have to go see," Rick
said.
"After dark," Scotty added. "In about an hour. It will be pretty dark
then."
"Do you suppose the brass ball is still on the boat?" Rick inquired
thoughtfully. "We might be able to sneak aboard after dark and get a
picture of it from close up, and we could examine it and have something
definite to report to Steve."
"That's a possibility," Scotty admitted. "Anyway, we can get ready."
Rick rechecked the camera and infrared unit. He loaded the camera with a
fresh roll of film. Then the three sat in the living room over coffee
and listened to the storm batter at the front of the house until it was
nearly dark outside.
"What now?" Tony inquired. "Do we all go? Or just one of us?"
"No point in all of us getting soaked," Scotty said. "Have you had any
experience in this kind of spying, Tony?"
The archaeologist had not. He grinned. "Until I came to Spindrift, I led
a rather quiet, academic sort of life. Except for the war, of course."
"Then Scotty or I had better go," Rick said. "Or both of us."
Scotty shook his head. "No need for both. It's only a reconnaissance,
anyway. Toss you for it."
Rick produced a coin. "All right. Call it." He flipped it as Scotty
claimed heads. It was a tail.
"Best two out of three?" Scotty invited.
Rick grinned. "And after that, best three out of five?"
Scotty growled, "All right. I'll go." He got ready by taking off shoes
and socks. He could change his shirt and shorts when he returned. He
slipped through the back door and was gone.
Rick turned on the radio, tried for a weather report, and settled for a
Miami disk jockey who was playing some good records. The static was bad,
but the station came through clearly enough to make listening worth
while.
Scotty was back before a half dozen records had been played. He sat
down, ignoring the water that dripped from him. "Listen, our friends
just rounded the northern tip of the island in the boat and they're
heading south just inside the eastern reef. What do you make of that?"
Rick pictured the movements of the enemy boat from Scotty's description.
"They can't be putting out to sea, otherwise they'd be outside the reef.
And they're not interested in anything on the island or they'd have
walked. I'd say they're planning to do some night diving on the eastern
side of the island."
"In this kind of weather?" Tony asked incredulously.
"Sure. It's stormy on top, but once you're below the wave motion it's
quiet as ever. They could dive."
Scotty stood up. "If they can, so can we."
There was no denial to that. They made a trip to the _Water Witch_ and
collected their equipment, then planned what they would do.
"We'll all use lungs," Tony said. "We have three regulators and there
are plenty of full tanks, enough for two dives each. However, we have
only two pairs of glasses for the dark-light camera. I'll yield to
Scotty as the more experienced diver, so you and he use the glasses,
Rick. I'll stay on top, or near the top, with a single float, and a gun.
If I use the lung I can stay submerged most of the time and not have to
fight waves."
"Lash yourself to the float," Scotty cautioned.
"And we'll use a buddy line," Rick added. "The same one the professor
and I used. Scotty, you take a gun, and I'll take the camera."
"If I see any trouble in the making, I'll bang on my air tank," Tony
said. "You should be able to hear that for quite a distance."
There was nothing else to be planned in advance. They picked up their
equipment and went out the back door into the storm, crossing the island
through the palms. As they emerged onto the eastern shore, Scotty
called, "Look--about five hundred yards north."
The lights of the frogmen's boat, visible as bright halos through the
rain, were tossing violently just inside the eastern reef. Apparently
the boat was anchored. The rain was too thick for them to see any
movement aboard, or to see details of the boat itself.
"Move carefully," Rick cautioned. He had to raise his voice to be heard
above the storm. "We haven't explored this shore. It may be full of
coral heads."
"I doubt it," Scotty returned. "It would be too dangerous for the boat
in this kind of weather, even if they knew a channel."
"Rick's right about careful movement, nevertheless," Tony replied. "We
must move with care, especially near the reef." He indicated his float.
"I'll never be able to tow this through that water, so I'll leave it in
the palm grove. We can pick it up on the way back. We shouldn't need it
with lungs, anyway. Do you boys have rescue packs?"
The packs were plastic floats compressed into packages no larger than a
cigarette pack. They contained a carbon-dioxide cartridge and could be
inflated simply by squeezing them, which punctured the cartridge. The
boys had carried them on their weight belts for so long that they took
them for granted.
They donned their equipment, then walked down to the beach. The surf was
not heavy, since the wind was blowing from the opposite side of the
island. Nevertheless, there was enough water motion to lift a fine
screen of sand and dust.
"The camera will be useless until we get into deeper water," Rick
called. "Let's rope together and swim straight out."
They waded in, awkward in the fins, until they were deep enough for
swimming. Then all adjusted mouthpieces and started out. Rick tried the
infrared light intermittently, but not until they were in about twenty
feet of water did the roiled bottom allow its use. He led the way to the
reef, the others following in file.
The reef was closer to the surface than on the western side. Rick had to
swim along it until he found a place where they could cross without
being buffeted by breakers. Once across, he swam down the face of the
reef, knowing that the trip was hard on Tony, because the underwater
world was completely dark to one without light, or glasses with which to
see the infrared illumination.
Rick found a fairly level shelf at about thirty feet and swam along it,
keeping close to the reef wall, until he thought they were in the
vicinity of the frogmen. Then he pulled twice on the tie rope in a
signal to surface, knowing that Scotty would pass the signal along to
Tony.
He emerged in a rough sea, only yards from the point on the reef
opposite the anchored boat. He was in time to see two frogmen climb down
the boat's ladder. They got into the water and the third man, on deck,
lowered the brass object to them.
Rick had no fear that they would be seen from the boat. Their heads
would be hidden by the breaking waves, and their bubbles would merge
with the natural foam.
He saw at once what their tactics should be. He pulled Scotty and Tony
to him, then let his mouthpiece drop. Putting his lips close to their
ears, he said softly, "If it's like last time, they won't be down long.
Scotty and I will track them to find out where they go, and watch what
they're doing. Then, after they leave, we'll see if they left anything
behind."
Scotty and Tony nodded. Tony untied the line that had held him to
Scotty. Rick replaced his mouthpiece, cleared a little mist from his
face mask, and led the way down.
This time the infrared light operated continuously. Now and then Rick
worked the toggle switch through its loose plastic covering and shut the
unit off while he searched for visible light. He found it, far down the
face of the reef.
The camera made it easy, and his mind was at rest because this time
nature had made it impossible for their bubbles to give them away to
surface watchers.
There were heavy swells on the surface. He knew it because of the
pressure surges on his ears. But otherwise there was no sign of the
storm. He grinned because he suddenly realized that he felt dry. On the
surface, with the rain beating at him, he had felt like a drowned
kitten.
Moving with the confidence gained in his first experience, he led the
way seaward, then went to the level of the light. Soon they were close
enough to see the frogmen working over something on a coral ledge on the
reef face. They hovered motionless, watching, and as one of the frogmen
moved they saw that it was the brass ball.
Rick started his camera. He had an advantage, because the frogmen were
concentrating on what they were doing, their backs to him. He moved in
cautiously, camera grinding, then backed away again when he thought he
had enough long shots.
One frogman moved away a few feet, and Rick's breathing stopped as the
man's belt light flashed toward him. Had the frogman been looking, he
could have seen the boys, but he was too interested in the second
frogman's actions.
The second frogman crouched over the brass object, hand moving.
Rick recoiled as a wail lanced through his head with painful impact. He
felt the rope tighten as Scotty involuntarily drew away.
It was not the octopus, then! It was the brass ball that wailed. But
why? For what possible reason?
The frogmen were apparently satisfied. One of them picked up the
powerful light they had been using and turned it off. Then, with only
belt lights, they started back up the reef.
Rick waited until the lights were no longer visible. He glanced at his
depth gauge and wrist watch. They were at eighty feet, and they had
plenty of air left. He swam to the brass ball, camera grinding.
He had never seen anything quite like it. The brass sphere was mounted
on a box about twelve inches square and six inches high. From the
sphere, two rounded projections thrust out. He identified a waterproof
switch on the box, and two small knobs mounted on calibrated plates.
These were obviously controls, but he had no idea what they controlled.
Steve would want a few close-ups. Rick worked his camera focus and took
shots from every angle. When he had enough, he pulled twice on the rope
in a signal to surface. Scotty motioned to him to lead the way.
As Rick started up, four metallic clangs, irregularly spaced, rang
faintly in his ears.
Tony, banging his tank in the signal for trouble! Rick instantly changed
course and followed the bottom, watching the water overhead for any sign
of the frogmen. When he had reached a spot below the point on the reef
where Tony should be waiting, he turned toward the surface, moving
slowly, searching for any sign of activity. There was no sign of
whatever had alarmed Tony.
He paused a few inches under the surface, then carefully put his face
into the air. Scotty surfaced beside him.
There was no sign of Tony. Rick peered through his mask and saw that the
boat was still anchored in the same place. There were figures on its
deck. Four of them--Four! He ripped his mask off for a clearer look, and
his heart skipped a beat. The frogmen had Tony!
CHAPTER XV
How Sings the Gay Sardine?
Rick and Scotty held a hurried consultation, mouth to ear.
"We'll have to get him," Scotty whispered urgently. He held up his spear
gun. "I've only got one shot in this."
Rick's instinctive reaction was the same. They had to rescue Tony! But
they also had a job to do.
"Wait," he cautioned. "They probably don't know we're here. Tony
wouldn't give us away. If they find out, we'll lose the pictures, and we
may make it worse for Tony. Let's stay right here and watch."
Scotty subsided. They floated motionless, eyes on the boat, peering to
penetrate the mist. The rain had let up somewhat, but the air was far
from clear.
Rick would have given the treasure they sought to be able to hear what
was being said on the boat. The three frogmen were all facing Tony, and
the conversation seemed to be pretty animated. Then, as he watched, the
boat pulled up anchor. It moved north.
"They're taking him to their house," Scotty gasped.
The boys swam frantically for shore, recklessly crossing the reef
without regard to the danger of cutting themselves on the sharp coral.
They reached the beach and shed tanks and equipment under the palms,
then raced for the frogmen's house.
They could see the lights of the boat as it rounded the northern tip of
the island, and, lying among the palms, they watched it tie up at the
pier. Tony and the three frogmen got off and walked down the pier. Rick
strained to see, and could not find any sign that Tony was covered by a
gun. But that wouldn't be necessary, anyway, since he was outnumbered
three to one.
The four marched up to the front door of the frogmen's house and
stopped. The boys were prone under a palm less than twenty feet away.
One of the frogmen said, "Let me get a jacket. I'm getting chilled. Then
we'll walk you home."
There was something very odd here! Rick nudged Scotty and they backed
slowly away. When they were sure they could not be seen, they stood up
and ran on silent bare feet through the palm grove, circling to approach
their own cottage from the rear.
[Illustration: _Rick nudged Scotty to back away_]
At the back door they paused. "Now what?" Rick said helplessly. "They're
bringing him home. Why?"
"I wondered about that while we were running. I think they're bringing
him home to check up on us. He must have sold them some kind of yarn."
"Steve's tail will recognize us!"
"Not if we're in bed," Scotty answered quickly. "We'll pretend to be
asleep. Come on."
"Just a minute." Rick hurried to the shed and got two short hand spears.
He handed one to Scotty. "Here. Have a bedfellow."
A few minutes later they heard footsteps and voices on the front porch.
The door opened. A strange voice said, "Your friends don't seem to be
here." The voice hardened. "I thought you said they were?"
"They're probably in bed," Tony replied mildly. "We go to bed right
after dark because there's nothing to do."
"Except stick your nose in other people's business," a harsh voice
snapped.
Tony replied tartly, "I've already apologized for letting my curiosity
get the better of me."
"I'd like to see the bedrooms," a third voice said. Rick thought it
belonged to the man they had taken off Steve's tail.
He lay motionless as a form blocked out the lamp-light from the living
room. In a moment the voice said, "They're asleep, all right. They must
sleep soundly."
"Young men do." Tony sounded relieved.
Rick grinned to himself. The archaeologist couldn't have known they were
in bed, but his stall had worked.
"All right. We'll be going. But keep in mind that the most stupid thing
anyone can do is to dive alone, even by day. At night it's worse than
stupid. It's sheer insanity. Also, we'll thank you and your party to
keep away from us and not gum up our recordings with your flipper noises
and bubble sounds."
"We will," Tony said. "Good night."
The front door closed. Scotty rose, slid open the window, and went out.
Tony scraped a chair in the living room. Rick stayed where he was, in
case the frogmen had lingered outside. In a few moments he heard the
back door open and close, and he tensed, but it was Scotty's voice that
spoke.
"They're gone. I just wanted to make sure."
The three gathered in the living room, and Tony chuckled. "If I
associate with you two for much longer, I'll get to be the world's
champion dissembler."
"What happened?" Rick demanded.
"Simple and unlucky. The two frogmen surfaced practically under me. My
own fault, because I had moved much closer to the boat. I think one of
them almost fired a spear at me, but the other stopped him. They invited
me to go aboard, and I didn't think it wise to refuse the invitation."
"I imagine not," Rick commented grimly. "Then what?"
"Naturally, they demanded to know what I was doing. I admitted to
overpowering curiosity that got the better of my manners. They wanted to
know who I was and why I was on the island. I told them the truth, of
course, at least partly. I identified all of us. Then I'm afraid I told
a slight untruth. I said we had found reference to the _Maiden Hand_ in
an old manuscript, and were diving in hopes of finding cannon and other
old things which we planned to sell for museum pieces to pay for our
vacation. I believe they accepted my story."
"It's a good story," Scotty approved. "Just enough truth to make it ring
true."
"They've been watching us," Tony went on. "They asked why the plane had
gone, and why it had come back with only the pilot. I told them
Professor Zircon had cut himself and gotten a coral infection, and that
the doctor at Charlotte Amalie felt that he should stay there for
treatment."
"I guess they haven't recognized Scotty and me as the two who stopped
Steve's tail."
"Seems not," Tony agreed. "Well, I admitted that I was still curious
about their activities, since night diving is not common. So they told
me a story."
The boys waited breathlessly.
"These gentlemen thirst for scientific knowledge," Tony said with a
grin. "They claim an interest in ichthyology, but they know less about
fish than any cat does. Their story is that they have developed an
underwater recording device with which to make recordings of fish
noises. Since they have some evidence that certain fish make their
noises only at night, it is obviously necessary to make recordings at
night. So they dive, leave their equipment, and pick it up the next
morning. Our diving too close to their gadget creates false sounds,
especially our bubbles. Therefore we are requested politely but firmly
to stay away."
Scotty whistled.
Rick laughed. "Quite a story," he said.
"I pointed out the obvious," Tony went on, "that it was strange they
should choose a stormy night. Their answer was that storms upset fish,
and they thought it possible that some sounds might be obtained only
under storm conditions."
"Very interesting," Rick remarked. "It's a good story, and if we didn't
know Steve was after at least one of those men, we'd probably believe
it!"
"Fish noises!" Scotty exclaimed. "If they knew we'd been snooping around
before, they'd probably claim that the octopus really did wail, and that
they were only recording him. Your gag about screaming squid and
burbling barracuda would appeal to them, Tony."
The archaeologist chuckled. "Anyway, we got out of that one pretty well.
I had a little trouble banging my tank. Didn't want to do it overtly, of
course. Finally I managed to get in position while we were swimming to
the boat, and I banged my tank against one of theirs. But how did you
know what to do?"
Rick explained briefly, then he broke into a smile again. "These guys
are smart," he declared. "I like that fish-recording story."
"It's appealing," Tony admitted. "I'm almost tempted to pay them another
call tomorrow to ask if they have captured for posterity the hunting cry
of the wild sea trout, or the love song of the gay sardine."
"But you won't," Scotty said practically. "You certainly came out of
that mess with a whole skin, Tony."
Rick laughed. "He's adventure-prone. And lucky. How do you beat a
combination like that?"
CHAPTER XVI
The Deadly Spring Gun
The storm blew itself out by noon of the following day, leaving an
overcast sky and heavy swells. An inspection with the binoculars showed
that all was quiet at the frogmen's house. Their boat was tied to the
pier.
"They probably recovered the brass ball during the night," Rick
observed, "or perhaps early this morning."
"The question is," Scotty remarked, "did they take the gadget to the
octopus cave?"
Tony joined them on the porch in time to hear Scotty's query. "I can
shed some light on that. It happens that I woke up at dawn and looked
out to see how the weather was behaving. The frogmen were anchored off
the eastern reef in the same place. We can assume that they picked up
the brass ball and put it back in the cave near the wreck."
Rick rubbed his hand over his short hair in a gesture of bewilderment.
"But what's their game? What do they get from the brass ball?"
"I rather imagine Steve Ames would like to know the same thing. If you
boys have no objection, I think I'll spend the afternoon at my midden.
What are you planning?"
Rick looked at Scotty. "Dive at the wreck?"
"Sure. Frogmen or no frogmen, there's still a golden statue of St.
Francis somewhere down there."
After lunch the boys checked their equipment, being particularly careful
because they had not rinsed out the regulators with fresh water after
every dive. Their small supply of water, coupled with the odd hours at
which the equipment had been used, was the reason. They took a little
water from their supply and used it to clean the regulators. The rest of
the equipment would just have to wait.
Tony departed for his Indian midden, tools slung over his shoulder. The
boys started the compressor to fill the tanks used the previous night,
then untied the _Water Witch_ and headed for the diving area. Scotty
scanned the frogmen's house through the glasses, but saw nothing of
interest.
They anchored just outside the reef and looked for their buoy. It was
gone, probably torn away by the storm.
"We can find the wreck again," Rick said. "No trouble. I could find my
way around here in the dark." He grinned. "I have!"
"Shall we take a look in the octopus cave too?"
"A quick one. I doubt that we'd see more than we saw last night. Our job
now is finding out what kind of information the frogmen get. And I don't
know how we'll do that."
"Wait for a break," Scotty replied. "Come on. Let's get into the water."
It was cold. The storm had blown in colder water from the open sea. Rick
felt goose flesh and wished they had brought along midseason suits.
The water was murky, too, because of the sand and silt stirred up by the
storm. The murkiness started about twenty feet below the surface. Not
until they were over fifty feet down did the water clear again. The
light was reduced somewhat by the murk, but visibility was good. Rick
had brought his camera to take motion pictures around the wreck. There
would be enough light.
Scotty carried the big jet spear gun. It was powerful enough to spear
sharks or big barracuda, just in case the frogmen decided to be
"mischievous" again.
Rick led the way to the octopus cave, glancing up now and then to make
sure they were alone in the water. The little octopus was in his usual
position on the ledge.
Scotty, spear gun extended, swam right into the cave. Rick followed,
holding the camera tightly to his chest to keep it from scraping on the
coral. Scotty had his flashlight going, so Rick didn't bother with his
own.
The cave was just about large enough for both of them. It was a typical
coral formation, not much different from the reef outside, except that
the brass ball was in the center of the rough floor.
The boys examined the cave thoroughly and saw nothing of interest. Rick
pushed at Scotty's shoulder and swam out again. Scotty followed. The
octopus watched them go.
The wreck of the _Maiden Hand_ was just as they had left it, and the
grouper was back in his comfortable cabin. He departed at high speed as
the boys appeared. They had agreed to start work aft of the captain's
cabin, and the wrecking bars were carried under their tank harnesses for
the purpose. Both were convinced that there was nothing more to be found
in the cabin, although the possibility remained that false boards in the
floor or walls might conceal the statue.
Rick tied his camera to a projection, then took his wrecking bar and
looked for a place to start. Scotty pointed to a place where there were
boards aft of the cabin they had already uncovered, and they started to
work.
By the time they had pried off the first few boards it was time to
surface. They went topside and changed tanks, then rested for half an
hour. There was no sign of activity at the frogmen's house, nor could
they see Tony at work on his midden, since the location was hidden by
palms.
Rick said thoughtfully, "The brass ball might be some kind of signaling
device."
"What kind of signals?"
He didn't know the answer to that. "Anyway, since it's underwater, if it
sends out anything it must be sound impulses. Otherwise we wouldn't hear
it wail. And what good is sound if not for signals?" added Rick.
"Sonar," Scotty reminded.
The boys were familiar with sonar because of the Spindrift work on the
Submobile. Very high frequency sound impulses were sent out, and the
echoes were timed or used in other ways. It was the way in which bottom
tracings were made by surface craft, and the way in which Navy ships
detected submarines. It could be used for locating schools of fish.
"It could be sonar of some kind," Rick agreed. "But what good would it
do anyone to stick a sonar device on an island like this?"
And there speculation stopped again, the question still unanswered.
They dove to the wreck and continued the hard labor of taking the aft
end of the ship apart. When they finally got the new area cleared of
rotted boards and timbers it was only to find a cabin already filled
with sand.
Rick borrowed the spear from Scotty's gun and thrust it down into the
sand. It slid in easily, meeting no obstruction. He probed with it but
found nothing except more sand.
Discouraged, he wrote on his belt slate, "Mybe no bottm. Flr of cbn my
be gne."
Scotty nodded. He lifted his hands in a gesture of inquiry. Now what?
Rick thought about it for a moment. Tony had been right! They probably
would have to remove every board in sight, carrying the ship away piece
by piece. But then what? There was the distinct possibility that the
statue was somewhere under sand, and they had no way of removing the
sand to see.
It was apparent that most of the ship was under the sand--if the
remainder of the ship was still intact. But Rick couldn't escape the
feeling that Captain Campion would have kept the statue close to him.
And that meant in the aft part of the ship, the part that was exposed.
Scotty hooted twice, pointing at his watch. It was time to surface. The
next dive would be their last for the day.
On the surface, Rick sounded discouraged as he said, "The cabin we
uncovered might not even have a deck. There may be nothing but a mile of
sand under it. And there isn't much of the aft part of the ship left to
explore, either. I guess tomorrow we can plan to take the captain's
cabin apart board by board."
"We'll need Tony and Zircon for hard labor like that," Scotty answered.
"Notice how quickly you get tired down there? Also, we use air a lot
faster when we work."
"Let's just sort of make a survey this time," Rick suggested. "We can
probe for any cracks we might have missed, and I'll take some over-all
shots of the wreck. Then we'll call it a day."
They followed Rick's plan. He took pictures of Scotty, with wrecking
bar, prying at likely places in the exposed part of the ship. But Scotty
uncovered nothing of interest. In one place his prying disturbed another
moray, who demonstrated his anger at the intruders by trying to fasten
his needle teeth in the wrecking bar.
A metallic clang caused them to lose interest in the eel suddenly. They
looked at each other, then turned and swam toward the apparent direction
of the sound. At that moment a distant wail struck their ears.
The brass ball!
Rick wondered. He had heard no boat noise. The brass ball must be
operating automatically. He hooted for Scotty's attention, then pointed
toward the cave.
Scotty checked his spear gun and motioned for Rick to lead. Rick pushed
his camera in front of him and made his fins move rapidly. There might
be some outward sign when the ball sounded, something that would tell
them a little about its mechanism or purpose.
As the cave came in view he coasted, looking upward. The murky layer
prevented his seeing very far, but there was no one in sight. He let
inertia carry him toward the cave, then swung upright in the water as he
saw that the octopus had moved a little distance from the cave mouth.
Instinctively Rick knew that something was wrong, but it was too late to
get out of harm's way.
A frogman emerged from the cave, spring-type spear gun pointed directly
toward them. The frogman held the brass instrument in his free hand.
Even as Rick hooted a warning, the frogman fired!
His spear lanced through the water directly at Scotty!
CHAPTER XVII
Trapped in Twenty Fathoms
Scotty writhed to one side, and the fact that the frogman had fired from
too great a distance gave him time to dodge. The spear went by, and
Scotty lifted his own gun to return the shot.
Rick, senses suddenly acute, glanced upward again in time to see two
more figures descending through the murky layer. He hooted for danger!
Scotty glanced up, too. Then, instead of firing, he sped forward and
thrust the tip of his spear at the frogman's chest. The frogman lifted
his hands high. Scotty jerked the man's face plate loose, then turned
swiftly and motioned to Rick.
Rick followed, fins driving, as Scotty led the way into deeper water in
the direction of the wreck.
The frogman who had been in the cave was temporarily out of things. His
Scuba was the type that combined the breathing apparatus with the full
face plate. He could clear the face plate of the water Scotty had let
in, but it would take a little time.
Suddenly Scotty shot upward. Rick turned and looked over his shoulder as
he followed. The second two frogmen were in clear water now, and both
had spear guns!
Scotty led the way into the murky layer, then leveled off and swam
horizontally. Rick wondered what kind of evasive action his pal was
planning, but he followed without trying to communicate with the other
boy. In a situation like this, Scotty's instincts were dependable.
Rick stayed close to Scotty in the murky layer, swimming at his side and
a little behind. After a few yards Scotty dove again, into clear water.
Rick looked around but could see no sign of the enemy. Apparently the
frogmen had followed and were still in the murk.
Scotty shot downward, Rick at his side. The wreck was directly below
them. Scotty didn't hesitate. He let his momentum carry him right
through the grouper's front door into the cabin. Rick followed, half
expecting to see Scotty and the grouper meet head on, but the fish
hadn't returned.
Inside the cabin, Scotty switched on his flashlight, took his slate, and
wrote, "Thyl thnk we wnt bk to bot. We sty hr lng nuff thy fnd out we nt
thr & cm bck lkng fr us. Thn we go up to bot."
Rick nodded his understanding. It was good strategy, provided they timed
it right. The frogmen would assume the boys had returned to the _Water
Witch_ when they went up through the murky layer. They would examine the
boat, then dive down again. At that time, if he and Scotty could time it
right, the two groups would pass in the murky layer and the boys would
emerge while their enemies were still descending.
He looked at his watch. They had only a few minutes of air left. The
frogmen would have more air, not only because they had entered the water
after the boys were already on the bottom, but because they had not
descended so deeply.
He wrote, "Rlax. Brethe easy."
The less effort they made, the longer their air would last. For a moment
he debated suggesting that they share one tank by trading the mouthpiece
back and forth, but that would leave one of them practically without air
when they had to leave. He tried to imagine the movements of their
enemies. The frogmen would be on the surface now, approaching the boat
ladder with caution. They couldn't be sure the boys were not waiting in
ambush.
Both boys had switched off their lights and were resting motionless in
the darkness of the cabin. A little light filtered through the hole near
the roof, but not enough to see by.
Suddenly the light was blocked out!
Rick reached for his belt knife and Scotty thrust the spear gun forward,
then both relaxed a little. The grouper had returned.
The big fish turned at the opening and backed into his hole. He hovered
in the opening, holding position while he stared out into his watery
kingdom. Apparently the fish had no idea that the boys were in the
cabin. When it came time to leave and they touched him or hooted at him,
he would get the surprise of his life.
Even in their predicament, Rick could see the humor in the grouper's
reaction. He wondered if groupers were subject to heart failure from
shock.
Rick returned to trying to imagine the movements of the frogmen. Now
they would be cautiously boarding the _Water Witch_, one up the ladder,
the other climbing the anchor chain. They would be careful, still unsure
whether or not the quarry was aboard.
He thought he felt constriction in his lungs from the warning signal
that his air was running out, but finally decided it was only his
imagination.
Now the frogmen would be aboard the _Water Witch_, making a quick
search, spear guns ready to fire their lethal shafts. Now they would be
in the cabin and shouting their disappointment.
Now the frogmen would be hurrying back into the water, readjusting their
face masks, ready to dive.
The grouper shot out of the cabin with a flick of his powerful tail that
raised the silt around them.
Rick's heartbeat faltered. The grouper had been alarmed. They had
mistimed!
Right now, the frogmen were outside the _Maiden Hand_!
CHAPTER XVIII
The Fight on the "Maiden Hand"
They had only one hope now--that the frogmen would make a quick survey
of the wreck, then go away. The boys waited tensely, ears alert for any
sound that would tell them the whereabouts of their enemy.
There was only the sound of their bubbles.
Rick pressed close to the opening and peered out. The water that could
be seen from the entrance was clear. However, it was only a narrow
sector. For all he knew, the frogmen might be right overhead.
He backed down into the cabin and pushed his camera into a corner. He
could get it later. Right now he preferred to have both hands free. He
wished for a spear gun, to double their armament. But the other guns
were on the _Water Witch_. The wrecking bars were useless, too. It was
almost impossible to strike a blow against the resistance of the water.
Something scraped outside, and both boys froze. There was no doubt that
the frogmen were at the wreck. Why didn't they go away? They couldn't
know about the entrance to the cabin--or could they?
The moments dragged by. There couldn't be much air left in their tanks.
Rick risked holding his wrist close to the opening and saw that his
watch showed one minute of diving time before shortness of breath would
signal time to turn on their air reserve and surface.
Time was critical. If the frogmen didn't go away before their air ran
out, they would have to surface, if they were allowed to by the enemy.
With luck, Scotty could account for one. But that would leave two, both
armed. By this time the first frogman would have blown the water from
his mask and recovered his spear.
No, it would be dangerous for Scotty even to take time for a shot,
unless he could fire without pausing. Their best bet was to make a run
for it, depending on speed.
On land, he was sure he and Scotty could outrun the enemy, but in the
water, speed depended on skill with the fins, and the power of leg
strokes. He doubted that the frogmen were much faster than he and
Scotty, but there was an excellent chance that their speed in the water
was equal.
He conserved his air, spacing his breathing, taking only enough air to
keep comfortable.
There was another scraping sound, and he knew the frogmen were still
around. Were they actually searching the wreck? If so, they might find
the entrance.
And then Rick suddenly discovered a new danger!
Their air bubbles had been floating to the top of the cabin, forming a
pool under the ceiling. But they had stayed in the cabin so long that
enough water had been displaced to bring the pool of exhausted air close
to the entrance, which was only a few inches below roof level.
In a moment the air would spill out, and rising bubbles would warn the
frogmen!
He gripped Scotty's shoulder and pointed to the silvery mass of
exhausted air that curled perilously close to the entrance.
The other boy saw the danger at once. He wrote on his slate, "We go whn
air duz," and held it in the light for Rick to see.
Rick nodded. He drew his belt knife.
There couldn't be many breaths left before the air spilled out. Nor
could there be many before warning constriction forced them to turn on
the reserves. At this depth the reserve wasn't very great.
He saw Scotty reach for his reserve lever and pull it down. A moment
later he had to pull his own.
Something rang like a struck tank, almost directly overhead!
The lip of the bubble pool moved from the water motion caused by pulling
their reserves. Rick watched it, scarcely breathing.
The air pool trembled. A tiny bubble broke loose and sped upward.
Rick squeezed Scotty's arm, then with a powerful thrust of his flippers
he shot out into light, right into the stomach of a frogman!
He thrust with his knife, and a hand gripped his wrist and twisted.
Scotty shot from the hole in the wreck and turned, fins flailing. His
spear gun belched carbon dioxide, and the deadly spear ripped into the
leg of one frogman.
Rick flailed arms and legs, trying to break free of the grip that held
him. He saw the wounded frogman fire his spear at Scotty. The boy moved
just in time, and the shaft shot between his arm and side.
Scotty let go of his useless gun and grappled with the frogman, reaching
for his knife with one hand while he gripped the frogman's wrist with
the other.
Rick knew their air was running out fast. He felt a knife glance from
his tank and heard the ring of metal. He struggled for footing and
turned in time to thrust a flippered foot into the stomach of the
frogman behind him.
Next to him he caught a glimpse of Scotty and his opponent rolling in
the water, and he saw the shimmer of metal as a knife flashed.
Arms locked around his throat. He reached backward over his head and his
hands touched rubber. He gripped and pulled with all his strength and
felt the man's face plate come free.
The frogman who had lost his mask suddenly threw off tanks and weight
belt and sped for the surface.
The odds were even! Rick locked with his opponent and felt powerful arms
drag him close. The man had more strength than he! He fought to break
loose, and couldn't!
Then the mouthpiece was pulled away from Rick's lips in mid-breath, and
he choked on sea water.
Without air--twenty fathoms down!
Frantically he fought, locking his air passage so his last lungful
couldn't escape. He got a hand free and caught his opponent's hose where
it joined the tank. He pulled with all his strength and felt it give.
Bubbles rose in a cloud.
He would have sobbed if he could. It was the wrong hose! He had only
torn loose the exhaust. He groped and found the intake hose, then,
lifting his knee and thrusting for leverage, he pulled with all his
strength. The hose gave! The grip on him loosened.
Rick was now desperate for air! He pulled the quick release on his
weight belt and felt it drop away, then he kicked for the surface,
frantic with fear for Scotty. Had he gotten free? Had he? His last view
had been of his pal locked with the remaining frogman!
Bubbles streamed from his mouth as the compressed air in his lungs
expanded under the decreasing pressure. He let himself exhale as he
rose, fighting against panic and the impulse to lock the remaining air
in his lungs. That would be fatal, he knew, and he willed himself to act
properly. He kept his fins moving, knowing that, if he kept his head, he
would make the surface.
He passed through the murky layer and saw the surface like a wrinkled
silver sheet far overhead. Straining, he swam for it, letting out his
breath as the pressure on his lungs demanded.
There was another boat hull in the water, almost over him! He angled
away, to avoid coming up under it.
And suddenly there were forms around the boat. A cry tore from his lips
and was swallowed in the water.
More frogmen! More enemies, when they were already defeated!
CHAPTER XIX
JANIG Takes to the Water
A figure dove to meet Rick. He angled away, fighting the impulse to
breathe, keeping the compressed air moving out of his lungs. The figure
angled with him, then suddenly sheered off. Rick shot past and the
figure followed.
These new frogmen were diving in midseason suits. He was aware of nearly
a dozen of them. He didn't count them; with his terrible need for oxygen
he didn't care that much.
He knew he would make it. He had to! But where was Scotty?
Rick shot to the surface, went right through it, his impetus carrying
him into the blessed air. He gulped a great lungful before he fell back
with a splash, and as he hit water his fins were flailing, to carry him
toward the hastily glimpsed shore.
A masked figure surfaced beside him and called, "Take it easy!"
He only moved faster. The frogman caught him easily, because the power
was gone from his leg strokes now. But he had enough strength to fight.
He reached for the frogman's face plate, and a strong arm pushed him
back.
A voice penetrated his consciousness. "Stop it, Rick, or I'll have to
let you have one."
The frogman knew his name! He hesitated, fist pulled back to throw the
best punch he had left, and the new frogman back-pedaled.
"Hold it," the frogman called, and lifted his face mask.
Rick stopped moving, staring numbly.
Jimmy Kelly! Lieutenant Kelly!
"I'll tow you to the boat," the lieutenant called. "Relax."
Rick obeyed, head spinning. He was a little groggy, and he couldn't make
sense out of things. How had Kelly got here?
And Scotty! Where was Scotty? He started struggling again, calling his
friend's name.
"He's all right," Kelly said urgently. "Relax, Rick!"
Rick caught the words, and they penetrated. How did Kelly know Scotty
was all right? But the lieutenant had spoken with authority, so he
relaxed.
Kelly towed him to the landing stage of the ship Rick had seen, a
destroyer escort. Willing hands lifted him from the water. He slumped
down on the edge of the stage, shaking his head to clear it while Navy
frogmen stripped his aqualung harness from him and pulled the mask from
his face.
A voice said, "Drink this."
A mug of steaming black coffee was thrust into his hand and he sipped,
grateful for the spreading warmth it brought.
Suddenly he started again. "Scotty! Where is he?"
"Up here, Rick, with me."
He looked up, and his eyes focused again--on Tony and Zircon!
A motor whaleboat drew up to the landing stage, and two husky frogmen
handed up a suited figure. "Here's one, Lieutenant," a frogman called.
"All right, Danny. Where's the other?"
"Heading for the reef at top speed. Jonesy's after him."
"Go help Jonesy haul him in."
"Yes, Sir." The motor whaleboat veered off and sped toward shore.
A frogman surfaced almost at Rick's feet. He instinctively drew back,
and the frogman gripped the edge of the stage, spat out his mouthpiece,
and pulled up his mask with the other hand.
Rick found himself looking at Steve Ames! What was he doing here?
"Where's the brass ball?" Steve asked.
"I don't know."
With an effort Rick pulled his scattered wits together. His mind began
to work again. Obviously, through some miracle Steve and Zircon had
arrived on a Navy ship with Jimmy Kelly and a detachment of Navy
frogmen.
Scotty called from on deck. "It's at the octopus cave, Steve. I saw one
of the frogmen drop it there."
Steve hauled himself out to the landing stage. He grinned at Rick.
"Feeling better?"
"Much," Rick said. He was beginning to feel nearly human again.
"Let's go on deck. I want to find out about this octopus cave."
Rick stood up, and was surprised to find that he didn't wobble. He
followed Steve up the ladder to the deck and found Scotty seated on a
canvas stool, sipping coffee.
Zircon asked anxiously, "Are you all right, Rick?"
Tony said, "Here's the doctor for a look at you."
A young Navy officer joined them and motioned Rick to a canvas stool. He
applied a stethoscope and listened, then grunted his satisfaction. "He
seems all right. Pulse a little fast, but that's to be expected. You had
a slight dose of oxygen starvation. Feel better now?"
Rick nodded. He was beginning to feel wonderful. They were out of it,
and with whole skins.
Scotty grinned sheepishly. "I abandoned you. I had to, because I ran
completely out of air. I shoved my man away and headed for the surface.
I felt pretty guilty about leaving you with two of them."
Rick returned the grin. "I felt the same way. I thought I'd abandoned
you. But I see you got to the surface first."
Steve accepted a cup of coffee and squatted on the deck, facing them.
"Suppose we start from the beginning. What happened?"
Rick told him, starting from the moment when they had heard the brass
ball wail. He finished, "There were three of them. Did you get them
all?"
"Yes. Including one with a spear through his leg. The last one is just
being hauled aboard now. He tried to get to the island."
Jimmy Kelly and a group of frogmen joined them. Jimmy asked, "How about
the sounding gear, Steve?"
"We'll ask now. How about that octopus cave? Where is it?"
"We'll take you," Rick said. "Let us get tanks from our boat. There
should be a pair fully charged by now."
Steve shot a look at the doctor. The officer shrugged, then nodded.
"Okay, if it's a short dive. They've had plenty for today."
"Chief? Where are you?" Kelly called.
A frogman stepped from the rear of the group. "Here, Sir."
"Check their regulators, please. If they're okay, hook up fresh tanks.
If not, loan them complete outfits."
"Yes, Sir."
"Thanks, Chief. Then get set to come with us. Danny, Jonesy, Mike, and
Dick come along, too. Bring still and motion-picture cameras. When we
get down, split into two-man teams and search the area. You know what
we're looking for. It's just like the one we found off St. Croix."
Rick stared at the frogman officer. Another brass ball off St. Croix?
But there wasn't time for questions.
"Quick dive, please," Zircon requested. "These boys have had enough."
"They're through as soon as they show us the cave," Steve agreed. "Come
on, gang. Let's get to it."
Rick carefully checked his equipment, something that no diver can ever
take for granted or leave to someone else, while Scotty did the same.
Then they put the equipment on and adjusted face masks. Their knives,
Rick's camera, and Scotty's spear and gun were somewhere near the wreck.
They would have to get them another time.
The group entered the water. Rick looked around and oriented himself by
the position of the _Water Witch_, then led the way with Scotty, Steve,
and Jimmy swimming along with him while the Navy frogmen stayed closed
behind.
It was a thrill for Rick to be swimming with the famous UDT frogmen. He
looked to the side and saw that Steve was perfectly at home in the
water, and he marveled at the adaptability of the JANIG agent. Steve
hadn't been joking when he said he would be an expert by nightfall.
At the reef Rick turned northward and led the way toward the level of
the cave. A few moments later he hooted for attention and with pointed
finger showed it to Steve and Jimmy. The octopus was still there.
A frogman swam over and picked the little creature up. The octopus
spurted away, leaving a blob of ink behind. He came to rest above the
cave, poised for further flight.
Rick swam down to the sandy floor of the cave and began to search for
the brass ball. Scotty beckoned, and they swam together toward the spot
where Scotty had last seen it. The frogmen swam to the bottom with them,
then fanned out, searching.
A few moments later someone hooted, and a tanned, muscled frogman swam
over, holding the object triumphantly.
Steve Ames pointed to the surface and Jimmy hooted an order. The group
swam leisurely up through the murky layer, oriented themselves by the
sleek shape of the destroyer escort hull, and emerged at the landing.
The frogman who had found the ball handed it up to Hobart Zircon.
Steve Ames motioned to one of the frogmen. "Run these fellows over to
the beach, please, then wait and bring them back." He turned to the
boys. "Put on dry clothes. Then come on back. We need to talk."
An hour later the boys, the scientists, Steve, and Kelly were seated at
a table in the destroyer escort's tiny wardroom, noses twitching over
the savory steaks that were being served. The boys ate like starved men,
talking a steady stream between bites.
Rick sighed and let out his belt. "Well, that's our story. What's
yours?"
Steve stirred his coffee thoughtfully. "I can make it short. We don't
know the whole story yet, but we will by the time I get back to St.
Thomas. Have you two any idea what these brass-ball gadgets are?"
"We decided that they were probably sonar equipment of some type,"
Scotty said. "But we couldn't figure out what they were for."
"Easy," Steve said. "Although you couldn't know, of course. They were
for spotting submarines."
Rick stared. Submarines?
Steve saw his look of bewilderment. "It happens that our new
atomic-powered submarines are conducting manuevers in this area. Does
that help?"
It did! Light slowly dawned. "Then these were scanning our subs! But I
still don't see why it would be any problem to find them. The subs must
have equipment that will tell when sonar beams hit them."
"They do. And that's a big part of the story."
Steve sipped his coffee for a moment. "These sonar devices are a new
type, and very cleverly designed. They don't send out a continuous beam.
Instead, they operate in bursts, in a random pattern. They might send
out a beam twice in a minute, or wait an hour between bursts. The beam
is a powerful one. It's effective for an extraordinary distance."
"The wail, of course, was the beam operating," Zircon interjected. "You
didn't hear the beam itself, since that's ultrasonic. But you did hear
the mechanical vibration of the brass ball. It had a kind of
sub-harmonic effect that was audible."
"That's right," Steve agreed. "Anyway, there were several different
stations, in different locations. Some were on islands, some on fishing
boats. Since they operated only in short bursts in a random pattern, the
subs--and the special teams we sent out--were never able to get a
bearing that meant much."
"They must be self-recording," Rick said thoughtfully, "otherwise the
enemy couldn't get the information out of them."
"They are. Whatever echo they get makes a tracing inside the box they're
mounted on."
Scotty objected, "But what kind of information is it? How can anyone
tell anything about the subs from such recordings?"
"By putting all the recordings together and running a rather complex
analysis. The analysis will give speed, depth of operation,
maneuverability--if the spies are lucky to have beams operating at the
right time--and number of torpedoes fired, with the same information on
the torps. That's enough information to make it worth an enemy's while."
"I'll say!" Scotty turned to Zircon. "And what were you doing,
Professor?"
"I'm afraid I arrived on the scene too late to do much good," Zircon
boomed. "However, I believe we can be useful in preventing such
occurrences in the future. I have an idea for an improvement in our
scanners that will allow a fix to be made on such beams."
There was a pause when dessert arrived. The boys savored excellent apple
pie smothered in a generous helping of ship-made ice cream.
"We thought Zircon might help us work out a system of getting fixes on
the transmitters," Steve said. "As it happened, we got a lucky break.
The subs happened to have their devices pointed at St. Croix
simultaneously when a beam scanned them. They got a fix on it. We flew a
team of frogmen down in a Navy amphibian right in the middle of the
second storm. They found it, and got the men who were handling it. One
of them talked."
Jimmy Kelly picked up the story, "You arrived with Zircon at about the
same time the St. Croix team took off from our base, and headed right
into the storm. They didn't get back until late last night, and it was
nearly dawn before we got the story from the man who talked. Then we
loaded on this DE and headed here."
"I'm glad you didn't wait ten minutes longer," Rick said fervently.
"They foxed us. I kept listening for their boat, but they didn't use
it."
"They probably decided to swim out and sneak up on you," Zircon stated.
"After capturing Tony last night, their suspicions were probably aroused
somewhat. Even if they swallowed his story entirely, it would be only
good sense to check up."
Tony looked hurt. "I'm sorry you don't think my story was enough to
allay their suspicions entirely. But speaking of listening for their
boat, why didn't you hear this ship coming? And why didn't the fancy
frogmen?"
Rick thought that one over. "We wouldn't have heard the ship until it
was very close because of the noise our bubbles make. But we should have
heard it about the time it left the reef opening near our cottage. I
don't know why we didn't."
"And I don't know why we didn't see it," Scotty added. "It's big enough
to be spotted at horizon distance."
Jimmy grinned. "We pulled a fast one. We had enough steerageway to drift
over your position after a few turns of the screws down by the reef
passage. You see, we didn't know what was going on, so we took no
chances. Then, when we got into position, we got into the water without
waiting to anchor. We dropped anchor right after we got both of you out,
but you probably didn't notice."
"I couldn't have cared less, at that point," Rick said, and Scotty
echoed the sentiment.
"The reason why you didn't see us coming is that we came from the other
side of the island. It's safer for a ship that draws as much water as
this one. Tony spotted us as we approached the southern point."
Steve grinned. "Anyway, it's a good idea to move in on an objective as
quickly, silently, and invisibly as possible."
"Have you captured the rest of the stations yet?" Rick asked.
"No. But we have teams out, and they know where to go and what to look
for, thanks to the man who talked last night."
"Who are these people?" Scotty demanded.
Steve scratched his chin. "Well," he said finally, "you might put it
this way: they're people who have no business knowing what they're
trying to find out."
Rick hid a grin. He knew perfectly well they would get no more
information out of Steve. The essence of security is to give information
only to people who have a need to know it. The Spindrifters had no
reason for knowing the identity of the enemy, apart from their own
curiosity. One thing was certain, though, it was another nation that
wanted the information.
"You're probably tired of answering questions," Rick said, "but I've got
one more. How did you happen to arrive right in the nick of time?"
"Nothing very mysterious about it," Jimmy Kelly answered. "We steamed up
to the island and sent a boat ashore, with Professor Zircon. Dr. Briotti
had seen us approach, and he met the boat. He told us you were diving.
Zircon had assumed as much since we could see your boat anchored on the
reef."
"I told them about last night," Tony added.
"Yes, and we sent a party of men to the house up the beach to capture
these fancy frogmen of yours. The house was empty. Since their boat was
tied up, we made a quick assumption that they were out on the reef with
you. We did a fast run out ..."
"And got the fright of our lives," Steve finished. "We knew there were
three of the enemy and two of you down below, and we could see only
three sets of bubbles. We thought you were done for."
"It was remarkable the way Lieutenant Kelly and his men got ready to
dive," Zircon said. "I've never seen people move so fast. Steve, too.
Then, just as they were about to go over the side, we saw two more
bubble trails and knew at least that you were still alive. But in a
moment the entire pack of bubbles merged."
"We hit the water," Jimmy Kelly said, "and were about to dive when one
of the enemy skyrocketed up. He was blue in the face and scared witless.
We hauled him out and then started to dive again. And along came Scotty,
half dead and babbling about you. I started straight down to get you,
but you met me halfway." He grinned. "You weren't in very good shape,
either, for a few minutes."
"How about the men? Where are they?" Scotty asked.
"Down below. Locked up, with an armed guard at the door."
Steve Ames finished his coffee and sat back with a sigh of satisfaction.
"I'm happy," he announced.
The boys grinned. He looked it.
"Glad you wound this up so fast," Zircon boomed. "When will you return
to Charlotte Amalie?"
Steve looked at Jimmy Kelly. "You in a hurry?"
"Not particularly. Now that this case is over we go back to some pretty
dull routine. Why?"
"Oh, I thought your boys might like a little recreation."
Jimmy looked suspicious. "Any sailor likes recreation. The more the
better. The UDTs enjoy it more than most. What's on your mind?"
Steve's wave took in the four Spindrifters. "It wasn't their fault one
of the gang talked his head off last night. If he hadn't, their work
here would have given us a lead we couldn't have gotten in any other
way. Suppose we repay 'em."
Jimmy sighed. "Get to the point."
"Keep the ship here tomorrow. Turn your boys loose to help find the
treasure they're after. You've got equipment they need. Besides, I'm
sure your gang can find some nice souvenirs if they put their minds to
it. Old cutlasses, cannon, cannon balls--things like that."
"It's a deal." The UDT lieutenant chuckled. "I'll try a little souvenir
hunting myself. Of course, since it's unofficial, I'll have to ask for
volunteers."
"Think you'll get many?" Rick asked anxiously.
Steve and Jimmy laughed. The lieutenant said with a chuckle, "If one of
them doesn't volunteer I'll turn him over to the doctor, because I'll
know he's sick. The UDT's volunteer because they like to swim. It isn't
often they get a chance like this, to dive just for fun."
"If we don't find the treasure," Scotty said with satisfaction, "it'll
be because it isn't there!"
CHAPTER XX
The Buried Secret
At first, the captured frogmen were defiant. They insisted that the Navy
had nothing on them. The brass ball wasn't theirs. They were only sport
divers having some fun.
Then, faced with the unassailable fact that Rick had taken motion
pictures of their activities, they lapsed into sullen silence and
refused to talk.
Rick and Scotty watched Jimmy Kelly check the diving equipment of the
frogman teams lined up on the destroyer escort's deck. Beyond the teams
they could see the three enemy frogmen, taking the air under the
watchful eye of a shotgun-armed sailor.
"I wonder if we'll ever get the full story," Rick mused.
"We've got all we need," Scotty answered. "What pieces are missing?"
"Well, I'm curious about the chicken. I think we hit it when we decided
they wanted to scare us out of the octopus-cave area, but it would be
nice to know for sure. And why did they take the sonar equipment to the
eastern reef during the storm?"
"Probably to make a recording as a routine check. They couldn't assume
all sub activity was taking place to the west."
"But how can we be sure?"
"We can't. We can only try to figure out what happened, based on what
information we have. For instance, there must have been a sonar unit
near where we swam at St. Thomas. It's the only thing that could have
got the shadow so excited. But what difference does it really make? We
know most of the story, and we can guess the rest."
"Steve may be able to fill in some pieces later," Rick observed. He
liked to have a thing wrapped up neatly, with no loose ends hanging.
Still, that was almost impossible in a case like this.
Jimmy Kelly called, "You boys ready to go?"
"Whenever you are," Rick called back. He picked up his heavy three-tank
block from where it rested against the rail and handed it to Scotty.
While his friend held the rig, Rick got into it. Then he performed the
same service for Scotty. The tanks were heavy.
Tony and Zircon, similarly equipped, came out of the amidships cabin
with Steve Ames. Jimmy had loaned equipment from the frogmen's supplies,
to enable the group to work around the wreck longer.
The search party assembled on the landing stage. Jimmy had split his
teams into two groups. They would dive in relays.
"We'll look the situation over, then get to work," Jimmy instructed.
"How many have wrecking bars?"
Four of the UDT gang held them up.
"All right. Turn and turn about. Work for ten minutes then pass them to
your mates. Watch your hoses, especially when working inside. Okay.
Let's go."
They slipped into the water four at a time, Rick and Scotty in the first
four. Once in the water, the weight of the heavy tanks vanished. The
boys had removed weights from their belts to allow for the extra tanks
and for more than ten additional pounds of air on the descent.
A pair of frogmen payed out a heavy rope, taking the reel down with them
in order to provide a direct link from wreck to ship. On the way up the
divers would pause at knots in the rope to decompress, allowing time for
compressed nitrogen to get out of their blood streams.
With the boys and the scientists, Jimmy went over all visible portions
of the wreck. He summed up his attitude with an elaborate shrug and
spreading of his hands that said he didn't know where to begin. For his
frogmen, he made a sweeping gesture that told them to tackle the wreck
anywhere. The frogmen moved in, operating in pairs. The water clouded
rapidly with silt, particles of marine growth, and fish eggs.
The top of the captain's cabin came off. Rick swam in through the murk
and picked up the chair that had seemed to be in good condition. He
carried it to clear water and placed it on the sand. Now that it was out
in the open, it could be seen that teredos--shipworms--had feasted on it
and burrowed into it until it was nothing but a chair-shaped shell.
The same was true of the cabin interior. It collapsed soundlessly under
the prying bars of the frogmen. Under their enthusiastic attack the
water was soon so roiled that visibility at the wreck was reduced to
almost zero. Jimmy sounded the signal for ascent and the group surfaced
without decompressing. They had just about exhausted a single tank.
On the landing stage, the lieutenant said, "No use continuing until the
water settles. Any ideas, Chief?"
Sanders, the group's chief petty officer, replied, "I think we're going
to need a sand hose, Sir. Most of the wreck is buried."
Jonesy, a short, husky frogman with a bright-red crew cut, added, "Sir,
I think the cannon and stuff would be on the deck ahead of the cabin we
opened up, but the deck is under the sand. Could we rig a hose, Sir?"
"Good idea. Put a detail to work, Chief."
Sanders called out four names and issued instructions. Jimmy called a
ten-minute break for the rest.
During the break, Rick sought out Steve Ames. He commented, "You know,
this wasn't a very well-organized gang. I keep thinking about the two
who tried to get us at St. Thomas."
Steve disagreed. "You're wrong. It was a _very_ well-organized gang.
Their trouble was not enough trained agents. They had to hire extras,
and the extras were just ordinary mugs, and not very bright ones. It was
the mugs who made the mistakes, not the real agents."
Jimmy Kelly spoke up. "Did we tell you? We got reports from the other
UDT teams this morning. Our people have all the stations except one in
British territory. Maybe our British cousins can get the station team
for us. We've tipped them off."
The lieutenant finished a glass of orange juice and rose. "Time's up.
Let's get back to the wreck."
Hobart Zircon asked, "Don't you want to take your camera, Rick?"
"Good idea." He hurried to get it. One of the frogmen had picked it up,
along with the rest of the equipment they had left behind.
The water had settled enough for thorough inspection of the entire aft
portion of the wreck. Rick and Scotty helped the frogmen poke into every
possible place without finding more than a pair of rusted cutlasses.
Rick surveyed the scene with discouragement. The statue was somewhere
under the sand, which probably meant they would never find it. He had
another sudden realization, too. They had no proof that this ship was
the _Maiden Hand_, no proof that the whole business wasn't just a
wild-goose chase.
By the time the dive was over, the sand hose had been rigged. The first
group surfaced and Jimmy ordered the fresh group of frogmen to hose out
the aft cabins to find anything that might be left. Then the group was
to start work on the probable location of the foredeck.
During the rest period, Rick told Jimmy about the other wreck they had
found, the modern ship that he guessed was a war casualty.
"We'll take a look at it first thing in the morning before we shove off
for St. Thomas," Jimmy promised. "You never know what you'll find in a
wreck. We've found a lot of things worth salvaging."
The boys were operating under Navy rules now. They put on fresh tanks
and got their instructions from Chief Sanders. "Longer decompression
this time. Stick with me on the way up and move when I move. We don't
want you to get the bends."
The boys nodded their understanding, then took to the water.
The frogmen below were still hosing sand. Water forced at high pressure
through the hose that ran down from the ship sent the stuff swirling in
great clouds. The boys watched. They couldn't do much looking around
until the water settled.
Then they saw that the frogmen weren't waiting. They swam into the murk,
feeling around with their hands. Rick saw one emerge triumphantly
holding a round object that could only have been a cannon ball.
He and Scotty plunged in, too. Working with the frogmen they rapidly
assembled a treasure trove of cannon, more cannon balls, cutlasses still
in good condition, and useless ship's gear.
Fifteen minutes later a frantic hooting brought them in a rush to where
Jonesy was holding something. Zircon and Tony got there at the same
time, and soon all work had ceased while Jonesy's find was examined.
Tony took his belt knife and scraped. Then he looked around at the
watching group and nodded. He clasped his hands together and shook them
like a fighter mitting the crowd.
Rick and Scotty hooted their triumph. Jonesy had found the statue of St.
Francis!
The boys, the scientists, Steve, and Jimmy carried the treasure to the
surface. The rest of the frogmen continued hunting for souvenirs.
On the landing stage they put the statue down with loving care. Even
under the marine growth they could make out the cowled figure of the
sainted monk, head bent over the fawn he held in his arms.
Tony went to work. Soon there was a gleam of gold that brought a yell of
triumph from the boys. Then--amazingly--the gleam of dull silver.
"Hobart, look at this!" Tony exclaimed.
The big scientist knelt and examined the silvery streak. He borrowed
Tony's knife and probed, then his laugh boomed across the water.
"We are the victims of our own research!" he roared. "All this
trouble--over a statue of lead!"
"Lead!" Rick stared incredulously. This couldn't be true! "There's gold,
too," he pointed out.
"Apparently gold leaf over a lead base," Tony said with a sigh. "No,
Rick. Hobart is right. This is lead."
A call from the water made them look up. Chief Sanders and his diving
buddy had surfaced, and they were carrying a statue of St. Francis!
Behind them, another pair of frogmen, with still another statue!
Within a half hour there were no less than eight identical statues lined
up on deck. St. Francis, in lead, repeated eight times.
Scotty scratched his head. "Well," he said finally, "we certainly found
St. Francis! In fact, we overdid it a little."
Not until long afterward did they learn the answer. Tony Briotti, a
scientist of great persistence, did some research in England during a
European trip to attend a conference of archaeologists. He found that
the _Maiden Hand_ had carried several dozen St. Francis statues, for
sale to churches and individuals in the New World. Captain Campion had
considered only one special enough to mention, because it had been
blessed by the Cardinal of France and entrusted to his care for delivery
to the Governor of Barbados.
The Spindrifters took one statue as a gift for Barby. A cutlass was
Rick's share of the loot, while Tony took the bar shot they had found
near the wreck and Zircon selected a cannon ball. It was understood that
the knife Scotty had found was to be his, so that he could present it to
Hartson Brant.
A few quick dives the following morning disclosed nothing of interest
around the first wreck they had found, but Jimmy identified it as a
common type of small cargo vessel. Then the destroyer escort sailed for
St. Thomas.
Before it left, there was time for a few words with Steve Ames.
"I'm leaving St. Thomas by air tonight for Washington," he reported.
"Something new has come up and I'm needed. I may need you, too, before
this case is over. The report wasn't detailed, but it carried a few
implications that have me worried."
"We'll be ready if you need us," Rick assured him.
Steve's warm smile flashed. "I know," he said. "I'll see you soon."
The RICK BRANT SCIENCE-ADVENTURE Stories
BY JOHN BLAINE
SCIENCE-ADVENTURE STORIES
[Illustration: RICK BRANT]
Rick Brant is the boy who with his pal Scotty lives on an island called
Spindrift and takes part in so many thrilling adventures and baffling
mysteries involving science and electronics. You can share every one of
these adventures in the pages of Rick's books. They are available at
your 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
End of Project Gutenberg's The Wailing Octopus, by Harold Leland Goodwin
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WAILING OCTOPUS ***
***** This file should be named 31495.txt or 31495.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/4/9/31495/
Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.
Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.
*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
https://gutenberg.org/license).
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that
- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is
owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments
must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License. You must require such a user to return or
destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
Project Gutenberg-tm works.
- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
of receipt of the work.
- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
[email protected]. Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at https://pglaf.org
For additional contact information:
Dr. Gregory B. Newby
Chief Executive and Director
[email protected]
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit https://pglaf.org
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
https://www.gutenberg.org
This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
