Cap’n Mike tested his line, then gave a sharp tug. He hauled rapidly and lifted a three-pound blackfish into the boat.

“Practically a minnow,” he said.

“Did we come out here to fish or to talk?” Rick asked. They were anchored a few hundred yards off the reef tip and had been for almost an hour. In that time Cap’n Mike had made a good haul of four blacks, one flounder and a porgy. Rick and Scotty had caught two blacks apiece.

There was a definite twinkle in Cap’n Mike’s eyes. “Came to talk,” he said. “But the fish are biting too good. Better fish while the fishing’s good. Time enough to talk later.”

“Time enough for fishing later, you mean,” Rick retorted. “Hauling in blackfish isn’t going to find out why the Sea Belle was wrecked.”

“Got the answer to that already,” Cap’n Mike said.

Rick and Scotty stared. “You have?” Rick asked incredulously.

“Stands to reason. Didn’t you tell me you knew Mrs. Tyler was scared?”

“Yes, but what....”

“Well, Tom is scared, too. He wasn’t, until the Sea Belle was wrecked, but he sure is now. That’s why he’s sticking to that story of his instead of telling the truth.”

“What is the truth?” Scotty demanded.

“Don’t know that. Yet. Reckon I’ll find out, though. Only I’ll need some help.”

Keen eyes surveyed the two boys.

Rick worked his hand line absently. “You mean you want us to help?”

“Seems I’ve read about you boys solving a mystery or two, haven’t I?”

“We’ve had a couple of lucky breaks,” Scotty said. “We’re not real detectives.”

Cap’n Mike tried his line and muttered, “Feels like a cunner is stealing my bait. Well, boys, I wouldn’t be surprised none if a little luck like yours is what we need. Can’t pretend, though, that you might not be walking right into something you wouldn’t like. Anything that scares Tom Tyler is something anyone with sense would be afraid of.”

Rick hauled in his line and saw that his bait was gone. He rebaited, his mind on what he already knew of the case. “I’ve been wanting to ask you,” he said. “That answer you gave to Jerry when he asked where Tom Tyler was. You said ‘Inside. Surrounded by fools.’ What did you mean?”

Cap’n Mike sniffed. “Just what I said. If the constable and the rest hadn’t been fools they would have known that Tom Tyler was afraid to talk. Just like plenty of others are afraid.”

Rick picked up his ears. “Others? Cap’n, I think you know a few things you haven’t told us.”

The old seaman hauled in his line and grunted when he saw that his bait had been stolen. “Reckon we got too many bait stealers down below now. Either of you boys hungry?”

“I am,” Scotty said promptly.

“I could eat,” Rick admitted. He looked at his watch. It was almost noon.

“Then let’s haul anchor and get out of here.”

In a moment the hand lines were wound on driers and the anchor stowed. At Cap’n Mike’s direction, Rick pointed the launch to the south, toward the town. The old man took out his pocketknife, whetted it briefly on the sole of his shoe, and commenced to clean and fillet the fish they had caught. Scotty slipped into the seat beside Rick.

“What do you think about trying to solve this one?”

Rick shrugged. There was nothing he enjoyed as much as a mystery, but he wanted more information from Captain Michael O’Shannon before he agreed to anything. He had suspected that the old seaman knew more than he was saying. “We’ll wait and see what develops,” he said. “Okay with you?”

“Suits me,” Scotty agreed.

The launch sped past Million Dollar Row, leaving behind a string of fishy waste as Cap’n Mike went on with his cleaning. By the time they were even with the town he had a handsome stack of white boneless fillets all ready for the pan. He brought them forward and took a seat next to Scotty. “Guess these’ll taste mighty good. Got a little fresh bread and plenty of butter to go with ’em.”

Rick pointed to a large barnlike structure on the biggest pier in front of the town. “What’s that?”

“Fish market. That’s where most of the trawlers load and unload. It’s quiet now, because the fleet is out, but after dark when they come in, and early in the morning before they leave that’s the busiest place in these parts. I’ll take you down there one of these times. Might be we’ll find a couple of answers there.”

He pointed to an old windmill on the shore just below the town. “Steer for that.”

“Do you live there?” Scotty asked.

“I live in a shack behind it. But there’s a place to tie up. You’ll see it in a minute.”

As the captain had said, there was a small dock in front of the windmill. Rick headed the launch for it and in a short time they were tied up. Behind the mill, which was an old ruin that had been used a half century before for grinding meal, was the road leading south from Seaford. Across the road was a weather-beaten fisherman’s shack.

Cap’n Mike pushed the door open. “It ain’t no palace,” he said, “but it’s home and I’m proud to welcome you. Come on in.”

Inside, Rick stared around him with appreciative surprise. The little shanty was as neat and efficient as a ship’s cabin. On one side was a tiny galley with everything neatly stowed. On the other was a built-in bunk. The walls had been papered with old charts, and he saw that most of them were of the New York-New Jersey area. A ship’s lantern, wired for electricity, hung so low that it almost brushed Scotty’s head. Ship models lined the mantel.

Cap’n Mike was already at work in the galley. With no waste motion he produced a coffeepot, filled it with water, dumped in a handful of coffee and put it on the stove. He whisked a match across the seat of his pants and lit the kerosene. Then he produced a paper bag, shook in flour, salt and pepper, dumped in the fish and closed the bag, shaking it violently a few times with one hand while he produced a frying pan with the other. In a moment the pan was full of frying fish. A breadbox yielded a loaf of homemade bread.

Before Rick and Scotty quite realized that lunch was ready, he had them seated at a table that folded down from the wall, with a smoking platter of fillets in front of them.

“Eat,” he commanded.

Rick was no fish fancier, but he had to admit that this was delicious. And the coffee, in spite of the apparent carelessness with which it had been made, was the best ever.

When the last drop had been consumed, Cap’n Mike pushed back his chair. “Let’s get down to brass tacks,” he said. “Do you go along with me or not?”

Rick dropped into the idiom of the sea. “I like to know the course before I haul anchor.”

Cap’n Mike chuckled. “Didn’t expect caution or wisdom from you.”

Scotty grinned. “Don’t worry. He’s neither cautious nor wise. He can’t wait to get started and neither can I. But Rick’s right. We have to know the whole story.”

“Right. Well, there isn’t much. Something’s been going on in Seaford. Don’t ask me what, because I don’t know. I think Tom Tyler does, and I think his finding out is what led to the wreck of the Sea Belle.” He held up his hand as Rick’s lips framed a question. “You’re going to ask me how I know that. Well, I don’t know it. I just suspect it. I was a mite too positive when I said I knew. All I know is Tom Tyler told me one day that he had an idea that something strange was going on at the Creek House, and that he intended to find out what it was. Now! He must have had a good idea that whatever was going on was crooked, because Tom isn’t the kind of man to pry into folks’ business without a good purpose.”

“Do you think he found out?” Rick asked.

“I do. I think he found out four nights ago. I was sitting in my dory jigging for eels a little distance down from the Creek House fence right at the mouth of Salt Creek. I saw Tom. He didn’t know I saw him. He came around the corner of the fence and for a minute he was silhouetted against a light. I didn’t see his face, but I’m sure. Known him since he was a shaver. Next morning I bumped into him at the pier, getting ready to go out on the Sea Belle. He said to see him at his house that night, because he had something to talk to me about. Well, I saw him that night, but not at his house. He was sitting at a corner table in Sam’s Lobster House, and can you guess who was with him?”

“Red Kelso?”

Cap’n Mike nodded at Rick. “It was Kelso. He was doing the talking, too, and from the expression on Tom’s face, he wasn’t saying anything Tom liked a whole lot. After a while he left, and I went over to Tom. I asked casual-like what it was he wanted to talk with me about and he froze up like a clam. He was scared, at first. Then he seemed to get sort of mad, too, because he said, ’I’m going to call his bluff. Wait and see.’”

“Meaning Kelso,” Scotty said.

“I reckon, but Tom wouldn’t talk. He said it was better that I didn’t know what he was talking about. He got up and left and I didn’t see him again until last night at City Hall after he wrecked the Sea Belle.”

Rick thought it over. The logical deduction was that Tom Tyler had somehow gotten suspicious of the Kelsos and what they were doing at Creek House and had gone spying. Kelso had found out Tyler had spied on him and had warned him, although Rick couldn’t imagine what club he had held over Tyler’s head. Tyler had ignored the warning and somehow Kelso had contrived to wreck the trawler. But how?

“Was the regular crew aboard the Sea Belle?” he asked.

“Yes. Just the regulars. All good men who’ve sailed with Tom Tyler for more’n ten years.”

“You said Mrs. Tyler was afraid, too,” Scotty remembered.

Cap’n Mike shrugged. “Probably Tom talked the whole thing over with her.”

There had been an air of tension at the wreck last night, Rick thought. Maybe other fishermen were in it, too. He put the question to Cap’n Mike.

“I don’t think so,” the old man said. “The whole town knows something’s up. They know Tom Tyler doesn’t wince at shadows. If he’s afraid, and they know he is, he’s got reasons. That makes ’em all uneasy. But there is one gang that I’m sure is mixed up in this, and that’s the bunch on the Albatross. She’s a fishing craft just like Tom’s, only her skipper isn’t much like Tom. Name’s Brad Marbek.”

Rick stretched his legs. “Why do you think he and his crew are mixed up in it?”

“Eel fishing is a good business for them as wants information,” Cap’n Mike said.

Rick hid a smile. The old seaman was bursting with curiosity about the Creek House and its new inhabitants. He had a picture of him sitting patiently at the mouth of Salt Creek, ostensibly fishing but actually watching to see what he could find out.

“I’ve seen the Albatross tied up at Salt Creek pier three times,” the captain went on. “Now! Why would a trawler, loaded to the gunwales with menhaden, stop at the hotel before coming in to the fish wharves to unload?”

“Not for social purposes, that’s certain,” Rick said.

“Find out why and we’re a lot closer to the solution,” Cap’n Mike stated.

Rick had the germ of an idea. “How far out do the trawlers go?”

“Few miles. Fishing grounds start a couple of miles out. Why?”

“Just an idea.”

Scotty’s eyes met Rick’s. “Thinking about going to take a look?”

“Could be. What time do they leave here, and what time do they get back?”

“They leave about four in the morning at this time of year. Mostly they don’t get back until around nine. They like to get to the grounds by daylight and fish until dark. If they get a full load before dark, of course they come in earlier.”

Rick grinned at Scotty. “Ever wanted to be a reporter?”

“Nope. My spelling isn’t that good.”

“Well, you’re going to be one. Let’s get home. I want to make a call to the Whiteside Morning Record.”

Cap’n Mike’s eyes brightened. “So you’ll work along with me, hey? Knew you would. What happens now?”

“First thing is to interview Captain Tyler and his crew,” Rick said.

Cap’n Mike shook his head. “You’d be wasting time. I’ve already tried. Tom’s not saying a word, even to his old friends, and the crew has orders from him not to talk. They’re loyal. You’ll get nothing out of ’em.”

“All right,” Rick said, disappointed. If the fishermen wouldn’t talk to Cap’n Mike they certainly wouldn’t talk to him and Scotty. “Then we’ll go back to Spindrift and do a couple of chores. We’ll come back to Seaford tonight. I’d like to get a look at the Albatross, if you can fix it.”

“Easy.” Cap’n Mike rubbed his hands together gleefully. “I’m betting we can get Tom Tyler out of this.”

Rick scratched his head thoughtfully. “Don’t get your hopes too high, Cap’n Mike. We’re only a couple of amateurs, remember.”

“Some amateurs are better than some professionals, no matter what the business. I’m not worried any more.”

Cap’n Mike walked down to the boat landing in front of the old windmill with them. “How will you come down tonight?”

“I’ll try to borrow a car,” Rick said. “Think Jerry will lend us his, Scotty?”

“If he isn’t using it. If he is, maybe we can borrow Gus’s.”

Scotty walked to the stern of the launch and untied the line that held it to the pier. Rick loosed the bow line, then jumped into the pilot’s seat. As he did so, he sat on a sheet of paper. He had left no paper on the seat. He rescued it and turned it over. There was a message on the back, printed in pencil in huge block letters. Its content sent a sudden shiver through him. He beckoned to Scotty and handed it to him. “Looks like someone can read enough to get our home port off the stern of the launch.”

Scotty scanned it rapidly, then whistled softly. For Cap’n Mike’s benefit, he read it aloud.

KEEP OUT OF THIS. KEEP OUT OF SEAFORD AND STAY AWAY FROM SHANNON. STAY AT SPINDRIFT WHERE YOU BELONG. YOU’LL GET HURT IF YOU DON’T.

Scotty’s face took on an injured expression. “To read that,” he complained, “you’d think we weren’t wanted here!”