THE NOTEBOOK
“Do you really think they’ll be where we left them, Bill?”
“Why sure! You’re not worrying, are you?”
The two were hurrying along the beach toward the spot where Dorothy had
dropped to the sand and fallen asleep.
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, it’s Uncle Sam’s loot, not ours. And I reckon he cares more about
knowing how the smuggling was done than the contraband itself, anyway.”
“I know. But that’s only half of it. The gang has got to be rounded up.
We don’t know where they have their headquarters or who is in back of
this business. So I’d hate to have to admit I’d lost the diamonds, after
all.” Then, as Bill began to reply, she went on: “And don’t forget that
Terry Walters is still missing—or was, when I flew over from New Canaan
yesterday!”
“You’re right, pal. I just didn’t want you to take it too soberly. But
that bearded aviator has got to be checked up. No easy matter, either,
after what happened last night.” He broke off sharply. “There are the
old boxes—just where I dropped them—so you see you’ve had your worry
for nothing.”
“Just the same, we’ve been terribly careless!”
“Don’t rub it in,” said Bill, looping the line and its dangling load
over his shoulder. “These things go to a bank for safe keeping just as
soon as I can get rid of them.”
Dorothy caught his arm. “Let’s pry open one of the boxes, and make sure
there really are diamonds inside.”
“Nothing doing,” Bill answered decisively. “They’re going to be turned
over to the authorities—as is!”
“Well, you needn’t be so snooty about it. But I am crazy to see the
sparklers—especially after all we’ve been through to rescue them!”
“Of course,—I’m sorry,” apologized Bill with a grin, “I’m kind of jumpy
this morning, I guess. Me for bed as soon as I can find one. But you
know, we really can’t open those things up, because we’d then be held
responsible for contents—or no contents—as the case may be. See?”
“I didn’t think about that, Bill. But let’s forget the old boxes. I’m
all in myself. Any idea what time it is? My watch has stopped.”
Bill glanced at his wrist. “Just seven o’clock. Seems like noon to me.
This nice warm sun is a wonderful help—I was chilled to the bone.”
“Me too,” said Dorothy. “Well, here we are at the motor sailor. Nothing
to keep us longer on this island. I vote we shove off.”
“Second the motion. Hop aboard and go aft. Your weight in the stern will
help to raise her bow so I can push her out without breaking my back.”
“How’s that?” called Dorothy a minute later.
“Fine! Stand by for a shove!”
A heave of his shoulder against the bow loosened the boat’s keel from
the sand and Bill sprang aboard as she glided into deep water.
“Don’t suppose there’s a chart of the lower bay stowed in one of those
lockers?” he remarked as he started the engine. “The shallows are going
to be the limit to navigate without running aground. Do you mind seeing
what you can find, Dorothy?”
“Not at all—seeing I’ve already found one,” she laughed. “Came across
it when I was looking for food.”
“Good.” Bill took over the wheel. “Let me see it, will you?”
Dorothy passed over the map. Bill studied it with a hand on the wheel.
“Thank goodness the deeper channels are marked,” he ruminated, “that’s a
help, anyway.”
Dorothy peered over his shoulder.
“That island must be one of those in Jones Inlet. I had no idea we’d
gone so far west.”
“All of fifteen miles as a plane flies to Babylon. No chance of making
any time until we get into South Oyster Bay which is really the western
end of Great South Bay. If we make Babylon by noon, we’ll be lucky.”
“No reason why we should both try to keep awake,” observed Dorothy.
“I’ll skipper this craft for a spell. Make yourself comfortable
somewhere and go to sleep. You’ll be called at ten o’clock.”
“But you need rest more than I do,” began Bill.
“Oh, I had a snooze on the Mary Jane,” she interrupted, “and got another
on the sand this morning. Pipe down, sailor! This is your master’s voice
what’s speaking. Excuse the ungarnished truth, but you look like
something the cat brought in and didn’t want!”
Bill’s laugh ended in a yawn.
“Aye, aye, skipper. Call me at four bells. Night!”
He went forward and lay flat on the flooring, his head pillowed on his
arms. He was asleep almost immediately.
For the next couple of hours Dorothy steered a winding course among low
sandy islands and mudbanks. It was impossible to make any speed in these
shallow, tortuous waters and she was taking no chances on running
aground. It was monotonous work at best. She was deadly tired. There was
little or no breeze and the sun, unshaded by the faintest wisp of cloud,
fairly blistered the boat’s paint with its fierce heat.
At ten she roused Bill, and as soon as he was sufficiently alert to take
over she went to sleep on the flooring in the shadow of a thwart.
It seemed as though she had but closed her eyes when Bill’s voice called
her back to wakefulness.
“We’re almost in,” he reminded her. “Better run forward or I’m likely to
ram the dock.”
Dorothy jumped to her feet and ran her fingers through her rumpled hair.
She was astonished to see that the motor sailor was closing in on the
dock of Yancy’s Motor Boat garage.
“We must have made wonderful time—” she yawned, stumbling toward the
bow.
“Only fair,” Bill said. “It’s almost noon. Snap into it, kid, and fend
her off with the boathook.”
Presently they were tied up to the dock and Dorothy was making a sketchy
toilet with the aid of her compact.
“How about it, old sport?” she looked up from her mirror, busy with damp
powder and lipstick. “What’s on the program now? Thank goodness Wispy is
still at her mooring over there. I s’pose after we settle with Yancy for
the Mary Jane, we’d better take the plane and fly home.”
“Eventually, yes,” decided Bill. “I’ll go up to the office and fix
things with Yancy. I’ve got to do some long distance telephoning,
anyway, and park these boxes in a bank. It will save a lot of time if
you’ll go over this boat with a fine tooth comb while I’m gone. I don’t
expect you’ll find anything much, but there’s no telling.”
“All right,” she nodded. “And while you’re about it, get hold of that
letter I wrote Mr. Walters and phone Lizzy we will be home for a late
lunch. The sooner we can get back to New Canaan and Little Dorothy can
crawl between clean sheets, the better she’ll be pleased!”
“Yep. I’ll work as fast as I can.”
Bill clambered on to the dock and made off in the direction of the boat
yard.
For the next hour Dorothy worked manfully, overhauling the motor sailor.
Fierce rays of the noonday sun beat down on the open boat. She was worn
out and dizzy, but stuck pluckily to her job, turning out the contents
of lockers and investigating every nook and cranny of the smugglers’
craft. Except for an old coat and those odds and ends which accumulate
aboard any boat as large as the motor sailor, she found absolutely
nothing. Tired and hot and crazy for sleep, she decided to call off this
unprofitable search, when Bill’s voice hailed her.
“Hello, there, pardner,” he sang out, stepping aboard. “How are things
going?”
Dorothy straightened her back and wiped the perspiration from her
forehead with a sodden handkerchief. She noted the deep circles below
Bill’s eyes and the tired droop of his shoulders. He looked on the verge
of collapse, but his voice still held its hearty ring.
“Not so good, old timer. There isn’t a blessed thing worth while aboard
this scow. Finish your business?”
“Reckon so. Got Washington on the phone and the big chief is tickled
silly with all we’ve done. Tell you more about it later. Yancy will be
recompensed for the Mary Jane and will look after this motor sailor
until the government men take her over. I got Lizzie on the wire. She
expects your father home tonight.”
“Thanks. Did you get my letter, too?”
“It’s in my pocket. I put the diamonds in a safe deposit box at a bank
uptown. And I guess that’s pretty much everything.”
“You look done up, Bill.”
“I’ve felt sprucer. But you look pretty rocky yourself.”
“Feel like a wet smack, thank you. The heat is terrible.”
“Wait till I collect my duds and yours,” he suggested, “and we’ll beat
it for New Canaan and Home Sweet Home!”
“They’re rolled up in a sea bag,” she told him. “Here it is.”
She started toward him with the bag in her arms, stumbled and would have
fallen had not Bill’s steadying hand prevented.
“Kind o’ wobbly, eh?”
“Not as bad as all that, Bill. Caught my toe in that floorboard. It’s
loose.”
“Have you had them up?”
“Why, no, I never thought of that.”
Bill took the sea bag from her and tossed it on to the dock.
“Hop on a thwart,” he prompted. “I don’t suppose there’s anything but
bilgewater under the boards but we might as well have a look.”
“Need a hand?” asked Dorothy, looking down at him.
“No, I guess not. These sections aren’t heavy—” He broke off with a
sudden exclamation and fished up something from the wet.
“What is it?”
“Seems to be a notebook. Probably dropped out of either Donovan’s or
Charlie’s pockets and got kicked under that loose flooring in the gale
last night. But it’s soaking wet and its pages are stuck together.
Wonder if we’ll be able to get anything out of it?”
Dorothy held out her hand.
“Give it to me. I’ll dry it out on the dock while you look some more.”
For the next few minutes Bill continued his search while Dorothy after
placing the notebook on the decking of the dock watched it carefully,
lest the light breeze blow it into the water.
At last he joined her and lifted the sea bag over his shoulder.
“How’s it coming?”
“Not so good. It’s going to take a long time to dry the book all the way
through even in this sun.”
“Then let’s take it along to New Canaan. I’ll get Dad to put it in our
oven as soon as we get home. That’ll do the trick. Get aboard that
dinghy and I’ll row you over to the plane.”
Dorothy picked up the notebook and slipped it into her pocket.
“That’s the best thing you’ve said today,” she beamed, “I’ll be home and
asleep in twenty minutes! Come along.”