The Missing Fisherman
Captain Jim Killian, the fisherman who had been closest to Brad Marbek
and Tom Tyler, and who might have been able to say finally whether
Rick's theory was true or not, was missing!
"Cap'n, are you sure?" Rick asked.
Cap'n Mike nodded soberly. "Sure as I can be. That's why I had to talk
to you boys."
"When did you discover he had disappeared?" Scotty queried. "You said
he had been visiting his mother."
"That's just it. Took me all this time to remember." Cap'n Mike shook
his white head. "Reckon I'm getting old. His mate said he'd gone to
visit his mother, so I thought no more about it. Until this morning.
Then I remembered. Jim Killian never knew his mother. He was brought
up by an uncle and aunt, both of them dead ten years now. Struck me
all of a sudden. It had sort of been nagging at the back of my head
that something was fishy about that mate's story anyway, so this
morning I went to his house and I collared him."
"Did you get anything out of him?" Rick asked eagerly.
"Not much. Jim Killian showed up at his trawler the morning after Tom
Tyler wrecked the _Sea Belle_. He just told the mate to shove off
without him, and said if anyone asked, he was visiting his mother, who
was sick. And I'm sure that's all the mate knows, except that he knew
Jim Killian didn't have a mother."
Rick pursed his lips thoughtfully. "He showed up himself? Then he must
have left of his own free will. At least he wasn't kidnapped. But why
would he run away?"
His eyes met Scotty's and he knew his pal was thinking the same thing.
"He was threatened," Scotty said.
"Looks like it. Suppose he had let a word drop that night about
something being a little off the beam about Smugglers' Light?" It
sounded reasonable to Rick. "The Kelsos would have paid him a visit
for sure."
Cap'n Mike wagged his head sadly. "I sure pinned a lot of hope on Jim
Killian. After you explained what might have happened to Tom, I was
sure Jim might have something real useful to add. But it looks mighty
bad now."
"Mighty bad," Rick agreed. Their effort to catch the Kelsos red-handed
had boomeranged on them and now what might be proof of their theory
had vanished.
"We'd better find him," Scotty said.
"How?" Cap'n Mike asked hopelessly. "We can't go to the police, 'cause
Jim went off of his own will, which he has a perfect right to do."
For a moment Rick was about to suggest that they could have the
police hunt him as a material witness, then he rejected the idea.
Witness to what? Tom Tyler had admitted running the _Sea Belle_ on the
reef purposely, or next thing to it. No, the only solution was to find
Captain Killian. But where to begin?
"Put yourself in his place," he suggested to Cap'n Mike. "You've known
him a long time. If you were hiding out, where would you go?"
"I've thought about it," the old seaman said. "Don't do no good. This
is the first time Jim Killian has left town in twenty years, except to
go into Newark or New York for a day's shopping."
"Where did he live?" Scotty asked.
"Little Cape Cod cottage over near Tom Tyler. Lived by himself."
"We might start there," Rick said.
"Good a place as any," Cap'n Mike agreed. "Let's get going."
Rick shook his head. "We have to wait for Jerry. Let's sit in the car.
I don't think the hearing will last very long. Tom Tyler is pleading
guilty."
They walked to Jerry's car and settled down to wait. Through the
windshield Rick watched the townfolk clustered around the courthouse
steps and noted that they weren't talking much. He guessed everyone in
town knew there was something extraordinary about the wreck of the
_Sea Belle_ and he wondered if anyone suspected smuggling activities
at Creek House.
He said aloud, "If the Kelsos and Brad Marbek took the stuff up to
Salt Creek Bridge before we got there, what boat did they use? The
boat we saw in the boathouse was dry, and the boats on the _Albatross_
were hanging on the davits. Maybe we're all wet on that, too."
"Maybe," Scotty agreed glumly. "I've never seen a deal with so many
dead ends."
Cap'n Mike sounded alarmed. "You're not giving up, are you, boys?"
"Not a chance. We'll get to the bottom of this sooner or later."
Scotty spoke for both of them.
Cap'n Mike pointed. "The crowd's coming out."
Evidently the hearing was over, because those who had waited inside
the building and those lucky enough to get seats were coming out.
Presently Jerry Webster came out, too, tucking his notes into his
jacket pocket. He joined them in the car and greeted Cap'n Mike.
"You look like three mourners," he told them. "What's the matter?"
Rick explained briefly, then asked, "Got any bright ideas?"
"Afraid not," Jerry replied. "Finding someone is a tough job even for
the police with all their facilities. I don't know how you'd even
start."
"We thought of looking his house over," Rick said.
"I wouldn't do that," Jerry replied quickly.
"Why not?"
"You said he left of his own accord, didn't you? You can bet he locked
his house up tight. If you try to get in, you'll be guilty of breaking
and entering. And even if he left a door open, you've no right to go
in. You can bet the neighbors will be on the phone to the constable's
office if they see anyone fooling around the house."
"You're right," Rick agreed gloomily.
"There goes his mate now," Cap'n Mike said. "Must have been at the
hearing." He pointed to a slender man in a cap and lumberjack's shirt
who was crossing the street in front of town hall.
"Think he told you all he knows?" Rick asked.
Cap'n Mike rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Don't know. Maybe he did,
and again maybe not. Chick's a quiet one. Never says much and there's
no way of telling what goes on inside his head."
"Let's follow him," Scotty suggested.
Jerry looked at him. "What for?"
"For lack of anything else to do," Scotty said. "Can't tell. We've
nothing to lose, anyway."
Rick watched the mate reach the opposite sidewalk, then stand
uncertainly for a moment, looking back across the street. Then,
evidently satisfied, he started off at a brisk walk. It was almost as
though he had looked to see if anyone were coming after him, Rick
thought.
"Scotty's right," he said quickly. "Let's go after him."
Jerry started the car and pulled away from the curb. He grinned at
Rick. "Good thing it's Saturday. No paper until Monday morning, so
I've plenty of time. But tell me what to do. I'm green at this
business."
"Go slow," Rick said. "Watch him."
The mate reached a corner, looked behind him, then turned down the
side street.
"Go after him," Rick directed. "Go right on by him and don't anyone
look at him. Cap'n, better crouch down. He knows you, but he doesn't
know the rest of us."
Jerry swung into the side street and picked up speed. From the corner
of his eye Rick saw the mate walking rapidly. He told Jerry to turn
right at the next corner and to slow down. The blocks were short; the
mate would pass the corner in a moment.
"Do you know where he lives?" Rick asked the captain.
"Not on this side of town. He lives out in the district toward the
main road."
"Any guesses about where he might be heading?"
"Maybe Jake's Grill. It's this way and I've seen him there."
Rick directed Jerry to go on to the next corner and wait. Then he
turned and watched the corner they had just passed. If the mate kept
straight on the side street, they would go around the block. If he
turned down the street they had taken, they would simply round the
corner again.
The mate turned and came after them.
"Around the corner," Rick directed. "Cap'n, where is this Jake's
Grill?"
"If you'd turned left instead of right just then," Cap'n Mike replied
as Jerry finished the turn, "you'd have been about at it. It's halfway
down the block."
Rick made a quick decision. "Okay, here's where we split up. I'll get
out and go to Jake's. The rest of you keep trailing him. If he goes
into Jake's, turn around and park at the next corner where you can see
the entrance. If he doesn't, follow him and pick me up later."
As they nodded assent, he got out of the car and waved Jerry on, then
he walked swiftly in the opposite direction. He crossed the street
from which they had just turned, and caught a glimpse of the mate from
the corner of his eye. The man was still walking rapidly. Rick paid
no attention to him. He walked at a moderate pace down the street,
pausing once to look in a shop-window. A side glance showed him the
mate, still coming. Rick resumed walking and came to Jake's Grill, a
shabby sort of place with only a half dozen customers. He walked in
without hesitation and took a seat at the counter.
The counterman came up and wiped the counter clean in front of him
with a rag that might have been white once upon a time. "What'll it
be?"
"Coffee," Rick said. He was in a good position, because the back of
the counter was lined with a flyspecked mirror through which he could
see the whole restaurant.
The mate pushed the door open and paused at the entrance. He reached
in his pocket and brought out a crumpled handful of bills and some
change. He counted the change, then searched the pocket for more.
There was none. He started for the counter.
He must need more change. For what? Rick's quick survey of the place
showed him a phone booth in one corner. Quickly, as the mate
approached, he fished out a dollar and thrust it at the counterman.
"Got any change? I have to make a phone call."
The counterman took the bill and walked to the cash register. The mate
cast a quick glance at Rick, then called, "Sam, I need some change,
too. Give me some nickles and dimes for this half-buck." He tossed a
fifty-cent piece on the counter.
Rick relaxed. Perhaps some of the townfolk had seen his and Scotty's
pictures in the paper, but evidently the mate wasn't one of them.
There had been no recognition in the man's eyes.
The counterman handed Rick a dollar in change and gave the mate some
smaller change. He winked. "Gotta call yer girl, Chick?"
"Sure have," the mate answered. He had an odd voice, as though his
nasal passages were completely blocked with a bad cold. He looked at
Rick. "Go ahead, kid, make your call."
"After you, sir," Rick said politely. "I'm in no hurry."
"Thanks." The mate walked to the booth and shut himself in.
Rick got up and wandered casually in that direction, his ears cocked
for the mate's words. Unfortunately, the booth was tight. He could
hear only a faint murmur. He went back to the counter and started
sipping his coffee, keeping his eyes on the booth. He heard the dim
tone of bells and his pulse quickened. Those were coins dropping into
the slots. The mate was making an out-of-town call! If only he could
hear!
The hot coffee was almost scalding, but he scarcely noticed. His mind
was racing, searching for some way to overhear that conversation.
There just wasn't any way. If he walked over and put his ear to the
booth, the men sitting at the tables and farther up the counter would
see. No, he was sunk this time.
Within four minutes the mate was out of the booth. He came over and
took a seat at the counter a few stools up and nodded at Rick.
"Thanks, boy."
"That's all right," Rick said. He had to make a pretense of phoning
now. Well, he could call Spindrift and tell his mother they would be
home for lunch. He hadn't been sure how long the hearing would take
when they left.
He went into the booth and closed the door. The phone had no dial.
Evidently Seaford, like Whiteside, had no dial system. He started to
pick up the receiver and inspiration struck him. If he could imitate
the mate . . .
He tried to imitate Chick's nasal tone and thought he did pretty well.
He tried again, and it sounded a little better. Anyway, he thought,
there was nothing to lose by trying. If Seaford had more than one
operator on the town switchboard, which was unlikely because of the
size of the town, it wouldn't work, anyway. Or, if there were two and
he got the wrong one it wouldn't work.
His hand shook slightly as he lifted the receiver and dropped in his
nickel.
"Number, please?" the operator said sweetly.
Rick struggled to imitate the mate's voice. "Say, I have to talk to
that number again. Something I forgot to say."
"What number was that, sir?" the operator asked.
Rick took a chance, based on the number of bells he had heard.
"That New York number," he said. "Forget now what it is. Ain't you got
it written down there?"
"I'll have to have the number, sir," the operator said with firm
sweetness.
Rick grew desperate. "Shucks, lady," he whined nasally. "You ain't
goin' t'make me go through that business with that information gal
again, are you?"
There was a subdued tinkle of laughter. "All right. I'll find it."
There was a brief pause. "That number is Cornish 9-3834. Better write
it down this time."
"I sure will," Rick said. He almost forgot and lapsed back into his
own voice. But he didn't have to write it down. He wasn't forgetting
it.
"What is your number, please?"
He gave it, then waited anxiously. In a moment a voice said, "Garden
View Hotel."
The operator spoke. "One moment, please. Please deposit thirty cents."
Rick did so, and the bells clanged in his ear. When the ringing
stopped, he said briskly, "Mr. James Killian, please."
"Just a minute." Then, "No one registered here by that name."
"Isn't this the Garden Arms Apartments?" Rick asked.
"No. This is the Garden View Hotel. You have the wrong number."
"Oops, sorry," Rick said jubilantly, and hung up.
He walked to the counter and gulped his coffee, put a dime on the
counter and then hurried to the door. The mate was eating a piece of
pie.
On the street, Rick looked for Jerry's car and spotted it at a corner
two blocks away. He walked rapidly toward it, waving as he did so. The
car pulled away from the curb and sped toward him, and he motioned to
Jerry to turn the next corner. He hurried and got there just as the
car did.
"Any luck?" Scotty asked.
"Luck? Touch me, somebody. Listen to this: Captain Killian is at the
Garden View Hotel in New York, registered under a phony name!" He told
them quickly what had happened in the grill and finished, "I'll bet
the mate had orders to phone right after the hearing and let Killian
know what had happened to Tyler."
"He was handed over to the constable after the insurance company
issued a complaint," Jerry said. "Forgot to tell you that. Well, we
know where this missing captain is. Now what?"
"Now what! What do you think?" Rick asked indignantly. "Let's go to
New York!"