He stepped inside. The room was the sitting room of a suite, furnished with a pearl-gray sofa, two armchairs, and a coffee table. At the far end was a window with flamingo drapes. The door into the bedroom was on the left. There was soft light from the lamps at either end of the sofa. The thing that caught his eye, however, was the chart spread out on the coffee table. He stepped nearer, and saw it was the Coast & Geodetic Survey No. 1002, a general chart of the Florida Straits, Cuba, and the Bahamas. A highball gla.s.s stood in the center of it, in a spreading ring of moisture. He winced.

"Sit down," she said, with a careless gesture toward the armchair in front of the coffee table. She seated herself opposite it on the sofa and crossed her legs, the knit skirt hiking up over her knees and molding itself against the long and rather heavy thighs. He wondered if he was supposed to look appreciative. Then he decided he was being unfair; it was just that highball gla.s.s on the chart. She picked up the gla.s.s, rattled the ice in it, and took a drink, not bothering to offer him one. If this was the new look in yachting, he was caring less and less for it. You are in a nasty mood, he thought.

"You are are a captain, aren't you?" she asked. "That's what they called you." a captain, aren't you?" she asked. "That's what they called you."

"I don't have a boat now," he said. "As you may have heard. But who called me?"

"Some people I talked to about you. Lieutenant Wilson of the Coast Guard, and a yacht broker named Leon Collins. They said it was stupid. You never stole anything in your life."

"Thanks," he said laconically.

She shrugged. "I'm just repeating what they said. But anyway, I'm willing to take their word for it. You didn't know that man Hollister , did you?"

"No," he said.

"Would you tell me what he looked like?"

He repeated the description he'd given the police. She listened intently, but with no change of expression. "I see."

"What did you want to see me about?" he asked.

"I want you to help me find the Dragoon." Dragoon."

He frowned. "Why me?"

"For several reasons. I'll get to that in a minute. But will you?"

"Believe me, there's nothing I'd like better than to find the Dragoon Dragoon. And Hollister," he added grimly. "But if the police can't locate her-"

"She's at sea. Outside police jurisdiction."

"How do you know?"

"Oh, I forgot-you still don't know where the dinghy was picked up."

"No," he said.

"It was right here." She leaned over the chart and indicated a pencil mark with one red-lacquered fingernail. It was in the open sea, far out over the western edge of the Great Bahama Bank along the Santaren Channel, probably a hundred and fifty miles south-southeast of Miami. At five-thirty yesterday afternoon."

"The time doesn't mean much," he said. "There's no telling how long ago they lost it, or where. They could be five hundred miles from there by now."

She shook her head. "Didn't they tell you about the clothes, and the watch?"

"Yes. But what about them?"

"The watch was still running."

"Oh," he said. Then the dinghy must have been adrift for less than twenty-four hours. "Are you sure of that?"

"Yes. I went down and talked to the captain of the Dorado Dorado myself. And the Coast Guard doesn't think the myself. And the Coast Guard doesn't think the Dragoon Dragoon was under way when they lost it." was under way when they lost it."

"No, of course not, if they lost it out there. They wouldn't have been towing it. But, look-the men in the Dorado Dorado didn't see anything of the schooner at all?" didn't see anything of the schooner at all?"

"No. They watched with binoculars until it got dark, but they didn't really search the area. She might have been in over the Bank somewhere. Maybe anch.o.r.ed."

"Not for long, unless they were gluttons for punishment," he said. "Except in a dead calm, it'd be like riding a roller-coaster. With fifty to seventy-five miles of open water to windward-"

"But it's all real shallow-or is shoal the word you use? Less than four fathoms, according to the chart."

"It can still kick up a nasty chop, in any breeze at all. Not to mention the surge running in from the Santaren Channel. It's more likely they were in trouble of some kind."

"Then she might be still there. Will you help me find her?"

"How?" he asked.

"How would I know?" she asked, rattling the ice in the gla.s.s. "That's why I'm asking you. Maybe we could charter a boat?"

He shook his head. "You'd just be wasting money."

"Why?"

"I don't think you realize what you're up against. In the first place, that position you've got marked is where they think they were when they picked up the dinghy. Big-game fishing guides aren't the world's greatest navigators, as a rule. That far at sea, on dead reckoning, they could have been as much as twenty miles out. Add another thirty for the possible drift of the dinghy in the currents and tides along the edge of the Bank, and you're in real trouble. You have any idea of the area of a circle with a radius of fifty miles?"

"G.o.d no, you figure it out."

"Around eight thousand square miles. That's not somebody's front yard."

"But-"

"Furthermore, that Bank is nothing to fool with-especially at night or in poor light conditions. It's several thousand square miles of shoals, reefs, coral heads, and sand bars, and it's poorly charted, especially down there where you want to go. But disregarding all that for the moment, what good would it do if you did get lucky and find her? a.s.suming, I mean, that the people who stole her are still aboard? There's no way you can regain possession or have 'em arrested until she goes into port somewhere; out on the open sea's a poor place to try to call a cop."

"Well, you're sure not much help, are you?" she asked. "Or maybe you just don't want the job? Can't you use the money?"

He stifled the slow burn of anger. "I'm trying to keep you from throwing yours away. I'm just as interested in finding the Dragoon Dragoon as you are, but you'll never do it that way." as you are, but you'll never do it that way."

"Well, what about a plane?"

"You'd have a better chance of finding her, if she's still in that area. But you couldn't get aboard, if you did."

"At least I'd know where she is-and whether she's in trouble. What kind of plane would it take?"

"An expensive one."

"That doesn't matter. Where can we get one?"

"Why do you keep saying we?" he asked. "If you charter a plane, what do you need me for?"

"As I said, for several reasons. You're an experienced yachtsman. You've been sailing boats all your life. So you'd be able to tell if she was in trouble of some kind. But the main reason is I'm not sure I'd recognize the Dragoon Dragoon if I saw her. They must have repainted her and changed the name." if I saw her. They must have repainted her and changed the name."

He remembered then what Schmidt had said about her not being very familiar with the schooner. It also occurred to him that he knew nothing about her whatever except that presumably she was a widow; the ad in Yachting Yachting had listed the schooner under her own name. Alarm bells began to go off in his head. He glanced at her left hand. She wore engagement and wedding rings, but that didn't prove much. had listed the schooner under her own name. Alarm bells began to go off in his head. He glanced at her left hand. She wore engagement and wedding rings, but that didn't prove much.

"Why don't you think you'd recognize her?" he asked.

"I've been aboard her only once."

"How's that?"

"My husband took her in on some property he sold about a year ago, just before he died. Since the estate was settled, I've been trying to sell her. But to get back to the subject, you'd recognize her, wouldn't you?"

"I think so," he said.

"Good. Now, about the plane?"

"Not so fast. Maybe Hollister made me a little gun-shy, but this time I'd like some proof. How do I know you're Mrs. Osborne?"

"Well!" He thought for a moment she was going to tell him that anybody anybody knew who Mrs. C. R. Osborne was, but she fooled him. "You're pretty hard-boiled, aren't you?" knew who Mrs. C. R. Osborne was, but she fooled him. "You're pretty hard-boiled, aren't you?"

"Not particularly," he said. "It's just that I've made my quota of bonehead plays for this week. But you don't have to bother digging up identification. Just tell me what I said in that letter."

She repeated it almost exactly as he had written it. "Are you satisfied now?"

"Yes." Then it occurred to him that his manners were almost as bad as hers. "And, incidentally, I want to thank you for going to all that trouble to call back to Houston to verify it."

She shrugged. "No trouble. Now what about the plane?"

"You're sure you want to go to all that expense, just to see if she's out there? She's insured, isn't she?"

She nodded. "Against marine risk, as I get the picture. But I don't think the policy covers theft, and if something happens to her out there and I've got no witnesses or actual proof of loss, it might be years before I could collect."

That was possible, he thought. But the feeling persisted that she wasn't telling the truth-or at least not all of it. Well, it was none of his business. He bent over the chart, studying the position she had marked and estimating the distances. "I think Na.s.sau would be the best bet. It's a little nearer, and McAllister Air Service used to have some big twin-engine amphibians that should be able to do it. Want me to call them now?"

"Sure."

He reached for the telephone on one of the small end-tables. While the operator put through the call he sat frowning thoughtfully at the chart. What could they have been doing out there? He was connected then with the office at Windsor Field in Na.s.sau. McAllister had left for the night, but one of the pilots was still around, a man named Avery. He said they were still flying the amphibians.

"What's their range?" he asked.

"It depends on the load. What do you want to carry?"

"Just a couple of pa.s.sengers. Here's the deal. . . ." He explained briefly, and asked, "Do you have a chart handy, any general chart that takes in the area west of Andros?"

"Yes, sir. There's one right in front of me."

"Good. Take a look at the outer edge of the Bank, opposite Cay Sal. Got it? They picked up the dinghy at about 23.30 north, just off the hundred-fathom curve in the Santaren Channel. If we wanted to fly a search pattern around that point, how much of the area could we cover and still not have to walk home?"

"Hmmm . . . Just a minute . . . We could stay down there close to two hours and still get back all right."

"What's the rate?"

"A hundred and twenty-five dollars an hour."

"Just a minute." He placed a hand over the transmitter and relayed the figure to Mrs. Osborne.

She nodded. "Tell him we'll be there as soon as we can."

He spoke into the instrument. "Okay. I think there's a Pan American flight out of here early in the morning-"

"Yes. Flight 401. Arrives Na.s.sau at nine a.m."

"Check. And if we can't get s.p.a.ce on it, I'll cable you what flight we will be on. That okay?"

"Yes, sir. So unless we hear from you, we'll have her fueled and ready for nine a.m."

He broke the connection, got the hotel operator again, and asked for Pan American Airways. They were in luck; s.p.a.ce was available on flight 401. He made the reservations and hung up.

"It's all set," he said. "Ill meet you at the Pan Am counter at the airport about three-quarters of an hour before flight time."

"Good. Now about your pay-"

"There's no charge," he said.

She frowned. "What?"

"I helped them steal the boat, didn't I? The least I can do is help you find it."

"You can't be serious."

He stood up to leave. "Whether or not I did it with intent, as the police call it, doesn't change the facts. I'm at least partly responsible for their getting away with it."

"Well, you're an odd one, I must say." She regarded him for the first time with something approaching interest. "How old are you?"

"Forty-three."

"You don't look it."

"Thanks," he said. She didn't bother to rise. He walked to the door, fighting the stiffness in his leg, but paused with his hand on the k.n.o.b. "That dinghy-when they found it, were there any oars in it?"

"No," she said. "Just the motor."

"Was there any gasoline in it? Or did they look?"

She stared down at the gla.s.s in her hand. "They looked," she said. "It was empty."

He nodded. The silence lengthened. "See you in the morning," he said, and went out.