Search for a Clue
As Rick fell to the floor, he twisted sideways and managed to bring up
one arm to protect his head. In an instant he was buried in a great,
heavy, slippery mass of fish. His nostrils filled with the oily
stench, and when he opened his mouth to breathe, he closed it again on
a fish tail. He spat it out, and then, furious, he struggled against
the slimy weight, got his hands and feet under him and heaved. Fish
cascaded from his arched back and he broke clear just as Scotty
reached for him.
"You all right?" Scotty gasped.
"Yes."
Cap'n Mike, hurled clear by Scotty's rush, was getting to his feet.
Scotty departed on a dead run.
Rick collected his thoughts and yelled, "Hey! Wait! Where're you
going?"
"After Kelso," Scotty called back over his shoulder.
Rick didn't know what had happened, but evidently Scotty did and was
doing something about it. He ran after his friend, brushing off dirt
from his clothes as he did so. He heard Cap'n Mike call, "Wait for
me!" but he didn't pause.
At the entrance to the pier, Rick caught up with Scotty who was
looking up and down the street, his face flushed with anger.
"He's gone. No use looking for him because he could hide anywhere
around here. But we'll catch up with him one of these days, and when
we do ..."
"What's it all about?" Rick demanded.
"Carrots tripped that scoop on us. I don't know how, but I know he did
it."
Cap'n Mike came up behind them in time to hear Scotty. "He's the one,
all right. There's an emergency trip on those scoops, set in the wall.
It's in case the operator loses control. Then the scoop can be dumped
without having all that weight smash against the end of the track and
break things. Young Kelso must have punched the trip."
"He sure did." Rick sniffed angrily. "And I smell like ten days in a
bait pail. Scotty, we've got to get home and get out of these clothes.
I can't stand myself."
"Check," Scotty replied. "Well, I guess that wraps up the
investigation for the night, Cap'n."
Cap'n Mike nodded. "I want to be around when you boys meet up with
young Kelso. That was as fishy a trick as I ever saw pulled."
Rick looked at the old sea captain suspiciously. Cap'n Mike was having
a hard time to keep from laughing. Then Rick had to grin himself.
"Don't laugh too loud," he reminded. "If Scotty hadn't pushed you,
you'd be smelling like a week-old herring yourself."
"I know," Cap'n Mike said. "Thanks." He threw back his head and
roared.
Rick laughed, too, but when Cap'n Mike doubled up with mirth, he began
to grow a little irritated. "It isn't that funny," he said, a little
tartly.
Scotty chuckled. "Maybe this is what amuses him." He reached over and
plucked a small menhaden from the breast pocket of Rick's jacket.
"Dangdest place to carry fresh fish I ever saw," Cap'n Mike said, and
went off into gales of laughter again.
Rick took out his handkerchief and mopped his face. "Well," he said,
grinning, "I'm sure glad those menhaden weren't whales."
They drove home to Whiteside with all windows wide open and newspapers
on the seat to protect the car, but even so, the stench of oily fish
made Rick feel a little queasy.
"We can't go to Spindrift like this," he complained. "Tell you what,
I'll take the wood road that goes down by the tidal flats. Then one of
us can cross over, get clean clothes for both of us and some soap and
towels. We can go to Walton's Pond, take a swim, scrub off the fish,
and change."
"Good idea," Scotty agreed. "But these coats and pants will have to be
dry cleaned."
"That's easy. There's a night service door at the cleaners where we
can just push them through."
Scotty chuckled. "You won't get any thanks for that. The whole dry
cleaning place will smell like a fish market before morning."
"We'll wrap them up good in plenty of newspapers."
"Where do we get the papers?"
"From the _Morning Record_. I want to go there, anyway."
Scotty gave him a sideways glance. "Got an idea?"
"Just a glimmer." Rick's lips tightened. "And I'll tell you something
else. Until now, this case was just sort of interesting for itself,
but now I have a personal interest. I think the Kelsos are at the
bottom of it."
"And we owe them a debt," Scotty finished. "Carrots, anyway. What do
you suppose he dumped the scoop on us for?"
Rick shrugged. "Sheer poison meanness. And weren't we warned not to go
to Seaford?"
An hour later, when they had cleaned up, the boys returned the car to
Gus, apologized for the faint but definite aroma of dead menhaden, and
walked to the _Morning Record_ office.
Duke Barrows, a veteran newspaperman but young in years, greeted them
cordially. "Hello, Rick, Scotty. Here are those cards you asked for."
He swiveled his chair around and regarded them with interested eyes.
"Getting anywhere on that Seaford yarn?"
"We're still feeling around," Rick replied. "But there's a good story
in it if we can find the lead."
"Keep working then," Duke said. "I'll pay you space rates if it hits
page one."
"How much is that?" Scotty wanted to know.
"Twenty-five cents a column inch on this sheet. You didn't expect to
get rich, did you?"
Rick returned Duke's grin. "If this story is as good as I think it is,
we'll just about get rich. You'll want to cover the whole front page
with it."
"Can't be that good," Duke returned.
Rick looked around the office. "Where's Jerry?"
"In the composing room. He'll be back in a minute. Got anything on
your mind?"
"Just an idea. Do you keep a file of New York papers?"
"Over there. On the shelf. Help yourself."
Rick nodded his thanks. "Let's go give my idea a try, Scotty."
Scotty tucked his press card into his wallet. "I could probably help
if I knew what the idea was."
Rick explained briefly. He wanted to check the shipping sections for
the dates when the _Albatross_ had been seen at Creek House. He
particularly wanted to know what ships had arrived at New York at noon
or before on those dates. He was interested in ships arriving from
southern ports in the Caribbean, or from southern Europe. That, he
figured, would give them only the ships that might have been standing
off Seaford in the early hours before dawn on the critical dates. He
had a vague idea that he might find some sort of similarity in the
ships that had been off Seaford on the critical dates. The registry
might be the same, or the ownership.
But when the compilation was complete, there were no similarities at
all. In fact, so far as he could determine, no ship had been off
Seaford during the time he had chosen as having the best
possibilities.
As they walked toward the Whiteside boat landing after saying good
night to Duke and Jerry, Rick rapidly reviewed all they knew about the
wreck of Tom Tyler's trawler and the events at Seaford.
"I sure thought I had the connecting link," he said. "I still think
so, even if there wasn't any evidence in the papers. It's the only
answer that makes any sense."
Scotty nodded. "Keep talking."
"Okay. The Kelsos suddenly arrive at Seaford and move into Creek
House. Then the _Albatross_ starts making visits at a time when no
fisherman in his right mind would pay calls. So Brad Marbek must be
going to Creek House on his way back from the fishing grounds for a
good business reason. Right?"
"It figures. Go ahead."
"Tom Tyler spied on Creek House, and he found out something. Red Kelso
warned him, and Tyler refused to take the warning. Result: his ship
was wrecked. We don't know how yet, but we'll find out. Another thing:
Mrs. Tyler was frightened, and Tom Tyler is afraid to talk. What's
your guess on that?"
Scotty kicked a pebble out of the path. "Kelso again. When Tyler
didn't take the first warning, his trawler was wrecked and he was told
that next time something would happen to his family. That's the only
threat they could make stick with a man like Tyler. If they threatened
him, he'd laugh at them. But if they threatened his wife and little
girl ..."
"That's the way I see it, too. Now, what kind of business requires a
boat, a house on a secluded part of the beach, and a guard with a
rifle?"
"Smuggling," Scotty said flatly.
Smuggling. It was the answer that fitted. Rick didn't know yet what
kind of smuggling, but he intended to find out. "If you were the
Kelsos, and if you were bringing contraband into Creek House, how
would you get it out of Seaford?" he asked.
Scotty thought it over. "Not trucks," he said. "Cap'n Mike said he
hadn't seen any trucks calling at Creek House. How about taking it
somewhere in a small boat?"
In his mind's eye Rick saw the countryside surrounding Creek House as
he had seen it from the air. "Right up Salt Creek," he said excitedly.
"How about that? If they unloaded at the pier when the _Albatross_
came in and then reloaded into a motor dory or some other kind of
small boat, they could take it right up Salt Creek to the bridge. Then
all they would need would be a truck waiting there. And if they did it
late at night, there wouldn't be any traffic to worry about."
"That must be it!" Scotty exclaimed. Then he sobered. "But how are we
going to find out if that's the answer?"
There was only one way. "I guess we're just going to have to see for
ourselves," Rick said. As they passed the dry cleaning establishment,
he took the bundle of newspaper-wrapped clothes he had been carrying
and dropped them into the night-service opening. A whiff of departed
menhaden smote his nose forcefully and he added grimly, "Believe me,
it'll be a pleasure!"