The Old Tower
Rick tightened the last screw that held the searchlight-telescope unit
to his camera and looked at it with satisfaction. "I _should_ get a
picture," he murmured. There were still quite a few unknown factors.
He knew the theoretical power of the infrared searchlight, but only an
actual test would tell whether it gave enough light for the rather
slow infrared film emulsion. He was sure that it wouldn't give enough
light at its extreme range of eight hundred yards. In all probability,
he would not get an image on the film at a distance greater than two
hundred.
It was a little strange to think in terms of light. True, infrared was
light. But it was not visible to the human eye. The searchlight would
cast no beam that could be seen, although anyone close to it would be
able to see dimly the hot filament of the bulb.
Another unknown was the ability of the film emulsion to register the
reflected infrared rays of his particular searchlight. The emulsion
had been designed originally for infrared flash bulbs. The
motion-picture film had been made at his special order. It was not a
stock item. He wished Professor Gordon were at Spindrift. Gordon could
have measured the wave length of the searchlight on the lab equipment.
Rick wasn't skilled enough to use the delicate spectroscopic wave
analyzer as yet and Hartson Brant was busy with a problem in the
library and couldn't be disturbed. He hoped he would have a chance to
ask his father before he tested the camera.
He rechecked the data that had come with the film and started to do
some figuring.
Scotty came in just as the phone rang downstairs. Both boys waited
expectantly, and in a moment Mrs. Brant called. "It's an out-of-town
call, for either one of you."
"We'll take it up here, Mom," Rick called back. He and Scotty raced
for the landing.
Scotty reached the phone first. "Hello?" He nodded at Rick. "It's
Cap'n Mike."
Something had told Rick that the call would have to do with the
Seaford case. He glanced at his watch. It was almost noon.
Scotty held his hand over the mouthpiece. "He wants to know if we're
coming down today. Says he has something to talk over with us."
Rick said quickly, "We'll be down by boat right after lunch."
Scotty relayed the information and hung up. "He didn't say what it
was, but he sounded worried. Wanted to know why we didn't come down
this morning."
"Afraid of getting smacked with a fresh tuna." Rick grinned. "By the
way, did you call Jerry while I was working on the camera?"
"I sure did. He got all excited. I had to calm him down a little
before he went and looked up the answer."
Scotty had phoned at Rick's suggestion to find out from Jerry's
newspaper sources what action to take in case they found evidence of
smuggling at Seaford.
"He said to report it to the nearest Federal authorities, either the
Coast Guard or FBI in this area. But he said to be sure we had
something more than suspicion to go on."
"A good idea," Rick agreed. "It wouldn't do to get the government all
steamed up over nothing. Besides, unless we could prove it, we'd be
laying ourselves open to a charge of slander. Well, let's go see if
Mom can scrape up a sandwich, and then get going for Seaford."
It was not yet two o'clock when Cap'n Mike greeted the boys as they
tied up at the old windmill pier. "Mighty glad you're here. Boys,
we've got to really buckle down to business."
"What happened?" Rick asked. He and Scotty fell in step with the old
captain and walked toward his shack.
"Tom Tyler's hearing has been set for Saturday morning."
Scotty frowned. "Today is Wednesday. That doesn't give us much time."
"I know it don't. But unless we find some answers right fast, Tom will
lose his license sure as shooting. And that's not all. He'll find
himself charged by the insurance company with deliberately running the
_Sea Belle_ on the reef."
Rick found a comfortable seat in the captain's shack and stretched out
his legs. "Let's hold a council of war. If we're going to do
anything, we'd better have a plan of action." He told Cap'n Mike of
their suspicion that the Kelsos and Brad Marbek might be engaged in
smuggling and waited for the old man's reaction.
Cap'n Mike rubbed his chin reflectively. "Now! It could be that you
boys have something there. It could just be!"
"But what would they be smuggling?" Scotty demanded.
"Shucks. I could make you a list a mile long. Most people think it's
only worth while to smuggle things like drugs or aliens, but I tell
you many a tidy sum has been made by smuggling things just to escape
paying duty on them."
"Suppose they _are_ smuggling," Rick pointed out. "How do we prove
it?"
"Catch 'em red-handed," Scotty said. "Red-handed instead of
redheaded."
Rick and Cap'n Mike groaned in unison.
It was the decision they had reached the night before, and Rick had
given some thought to it before going to sleep. "There are a couple of
ways we might do that," he said. "First of all, we know they have to
get rid of the stuff somehow. We could keep watch on Creek House until
it's moved. The only trouble is, they may be letting it pile up in the
hotel. That would mean sticking on the job all day and all night."
"Not practical," Scotty objected. "Mom would object to our staying out
all night for maybe a week. Besides, we want to find the answer before
the hearing Saturday morning."
"Then how about this," Rick continued. "We move in on them when the
_Albatross_ pulls up at Creek House to unload."
Scotty stretched out on Cap'n Mike's bed. "That's fine. But how do we
know when the _Albatross_ is going to visit the Kelsos?"
"Cap'n Mike tells us. Cap'n, according to what you said when we were
here before, the _Albatross_ sometimes stays at Creek House until
almost midnight. That means that it takes them awhile to unload
whatever they're smuggling."
Scotty had an objection. "If they were doing any unloading, wouldn't
you have seen them, Cap'n Mike?"
The old seaman shook his head. "Nope. I didn't dare get close enough
to see what was going on. Besides, my eyes ain't what they were at
night. I just sat off the end of Salt Creek, letting the reeds hide
me, and saw what I could, which wasn't much. If I'd gone up the creek
any distance, they'd have spotted me against the sea."
Rick finished, "So you see, if Cap'n Mike could keep an eye on the
creek, he'd know when the _Albatross_ arrived. If he phoned us right
away, we could be here within an hour, or even a half-hour, if we took
the fast boat."
"Sounds sensible," Scotty admitted. "Any other plans?"
"Just one, which isn't very practical. We could get someone to fly out
over the fleet during the most likely hours and wait for the
_Albatross_ to make contact with the supply ship. I wish we could fly
at night, but we can't. The contact has to be during the darkness, and
I think before dawn is the best time. If Brad Marbek made contact
after he got through fishing, some of the other trawlers might see
the ship coming. Then they might get curious and hang around to see
why Brad was hanging back. Maybe that's what Tom Tyler did."
"But if he left and made contact before dawn, the others might think
nothing of it. I don't suppose they all leave at once, do they?"
Scotty asked the captain.
"Nope. They don't all leave at once, but they usually come back at the
same time. And Brad has been coming back as far as Salt Creek with the
rest. So I guess Rick guessed right."
Cap'n Mike did some figuring. "Tell you what. I can sit on the beach
at the edge of town with a pair of night glasses. I'll borrow some. I
can tell if a ship turns up Salt Creek by its running lights.
Afterwards, I'll have to go a block and use the phone at Fetty's Drug
Store. We'll start tonight."
Scotty got up and yawned. "That's settled. Now I'd like to look into
something. We can't overlook any possible lead. Rick, remember the
tower?"
"Yes." Rick got to his feet, too. "And I remember something else. That
business about the shifting current and the light. Cap'n, have you
talked to Captain Killian?"
"Not yet, but I surely will today. That may be worth something." He
walked with them toward the pier. "But what's this tower business?"
Rick explained briefly. "We'll stop there on the way back to
Spindrift."
"Phone us if Captain Killian has anything interesting to say," Scotty
requested.
"I will. Now you boys be careful. Keep a weather eye out, and don't
forget those warnings."
"We're not likely to," Rick assured him.
As they sped past the Seaford water front toward Smugglers' Reef, Rick
plotted a plan of action. First, if they were to spy on Creek House,
they needed to know a little more about the area. He assumed that they
would hurry from Spindrift by boat, since it would take too long to go
to Whiteside and try to get a car. The Cub was out; there was no place
to land at Seaford.
The best way of finding a good hide-out from which to watch the Kelsos
would be to take a photograph from the air. He could do that this very
afternoon and develop it at home. An enlargement, which the photo lab
at Spindrift was equipped to make, would be better than a map.
He felt better now that they had an objective. But! "Suppose the
_Albatross_ doesn't do any smuggling before Saturday?" he asked
Scotty.
"Tough luck. Captain Tyler will just have to suffer a while longer.
Besides, this is only a hearing. If he's tried, it won't be until
later."
"Guess that's right," Rick agreed. He swung the launch around the tip
of Smugglers' Reef, past the light and the wreck of the _Sea Belle_.
For the first time since the fatal night, there was no one at the
trawler or on the reef. He put the launch close in shore at the sandy
strip near the Creek House fence, and Scotty jumped to the beach with
the anchor as before.
Rick joined him on the sand. "Now for a look at the tower. Where did
you see the marks?"
Scotty pointed to the rusted structure. There were four upright
girders slanting inward from the base to where the top platform had
been. Horizontal girders held the structure together one-third and
two-thirds of the way up. "The marks are on the first row of
cross-pieces," he said. "On this side."
The steel climbing ladder was on the Seaford, or opposite side, of the
tower halfway between the uprights. Rick looked at it dubiously. "It's
pretty rusty. Think it will bear our weight?"
"Maybe only one of us had better go," Scotty conceded. "I'll try it."
Rick looked at his friend's solid frame and shook his head. "I'm the
lightest. I'd better do it."
"You're not that much lighter," Scotty objected. "Tell you what, let's
flip for it."
"Okay." Rick produced a coin, tossed it in the air, and called,
"Tails."
It was. Scotty picked up the coin and turned it over, as though making
sure it wasn't tails on both sides, then handed it to Rick with a
grin. "Can you always call your shots like that?"
"Only on Wednesdays." He gestured toward the high board fence that cut
them off from Creek House. "Look, just to be on the safe side, you
keep an eye open for the Kelsos. If you see them coming, give me a
yell. I don't think they'd dare try anything in broad daylight, but
you can never tell."
"All right. I'll stick near the boat."
As Scotty walked back to the launch, Rick went to the base of the
tower and looked up. The frame seemed secure enough in spite of the
rust. He jumped for the first rung of the ladder and hauled himself
up. In a moment he was on the horizontal girder. The scratches Scotty
had seen from the air were clearly visible. To reach them, he had to
work around the girders to the opposite side. He stood up and found
his balance, then walked easily to the corner girder, rounded it and
crossed to the other side. The marks were only a few feet away.
The upper stories of Creek House were on and above his level now. He
could look right into the windows of the second floor--except that the
windows were so dirty that he couldn't see much. Suddenly he froze.
One of the second-floor windows was being raised. He saw a vague
figure behind it, but it was dark in the room and he couldn't see
clearly. There was no reason to be disturbed about it, yet he felt a
quick wave of apprehension. He had better look over the scratches and
get out.
Holding on to the corner girder, he crouched and leaned outward toward
the marks. There were two bright scratches about a foot apart. Between
them the entire rust surface had been disturbed. Something had rested
there, or, more likely, it had been clamped. He swung back a little to
look at the inner side of the girder and saw continuations of the
scratches that terminated in round spots. When he leaned forward to
look at the outer side, the marks were there, but so slight that they
wouldn't be noticeable unless one were looking for them.
His brows creased. He couldn't think of anything that would make marks
just like those. He wished he had brought a camera. A photo would have
given them something to study later.
Then, as he turned and started back, something whistled over his head
and slapped sharply into the upright girder. His first thought was
that Scotty had thrown a pebble or something to attract his attention,
but when he looked, Scotty was facing the other way.
The whistle and slap came again. This time he looked up, and the
strength drained from his knees. A few inches over his head were
silvery splashes against the rusty surface, and they were the silvery
marks of splattered lead!
He was being shot at!
Rick reacted like a suddenly released spring. He dropped to his knees,
his hands reaching for a hold on the girder. They hooked over the
inner edge and he rolled free on the opposite side. For an instant he
dangled in space, then he dropped, his knees flexing to take the shock
of landing. It wasn't much of a drop, a little over fourteen feet. And
as he dropped he yelled Scotty's name.
Scotty started for him on a dead run, but Rick's yell stopped him.
"Start the boat and cast off!"
Then Rick's legs flew as he ran for the launch. For the moment, both
of them were cut off from Creek House by the high board fence. But to
get clear they would have to come out of the fence shelter and into
the view of the second-floor sniper once more. He planned as he ran,
and as he jumped across the water to the launch, he gasped, "Stay
close to the reef and pick up speed. Get going."
The launch was already in motion. Rick dropped into the seat next to
Scotty and his pal pushed the gas pedal all the way. The nose lifted
and the stern dug in.
Rick turned to watch, and as the second floor of Creek House came
into view, he said, "Give it all you've got. Cut sharply across Salt
Creek and the rushes will cover us."
"Hang on!" Scotty snapped. He threw the wheel hard over and the launch
rocked up like a banking plane, then he leveled off and the boat shot
across the creek's mouth to safety. Only then did he turn to Rick.
"What happened?"
"Someone took two shots at me," Rick replied shakily. "And dollars to
dill pickles it was our pal Carrots, because I didn't hear the shots."
"That air rifle," Scotty said. His mouth tightened. "I can't wait to
get my hands on that little playmate. Did he miss you by much?"
"About six inches. Both shots hit the same place, within an inch of
each other."
Scotty frowned thoughtfully. "Then my guess is that he wasn't trying
to hit you. If he's good enough to place two shots like that, he
wouldn't have any trouble picking you off. Did you see him?"
"No. I saw a window open just before I got down to look at the marks."
"Anything to them?"
"I don't know," Rick said. He was still a little shaken. "Listen, what
about reporting this to the police?"
Scotty shook his head. "No proof. No witnesses. It would be your word
against his, because he could claim he was just target practicing and
that you weren't on the tower when he fired. He could even claim he
didn't fire the shots, because the slugs would be so spattered that
the police couldn't make anything of them."
"I can see him laughing his head off," Rick said bitterly. "First,
because of dumping the fish scoop, and now because he sent us
hightailing out of there like a couple of frightened jack rabbits."
"It would have been stupid to stay and get shot at," Scotty pointed
out. "Even if he is a good shot, he might accidentally clip you."
Rick had to admit the truth of that. "Just the same," he said, "we're
going back and build a fire under Mister Carrots. Wait and see!"