The voice was an older man's. Maybe it was his father, but I didn't hear enough of his voice to recognize it."

"Why should anyone worry about us looking into things?"

"Respect," Rick said, wincing as the car bounced across Salt Creek Bridge. "Respect for the genius of Spindrift's two leading detectives.

Can't think of any other reason."

"Unless whatever is going on would be so obvious to anyone who took the trouble to investigate that the party concerned doesn't even want two simple-minded souls like us poking around."

"Such modesty," Rick clucked.

"Okay, Hawkshaw," Scotty said resignedly. "On to Seaford. We'll probably find the answer just as the villain lowers the boom on us."

Rick swung into the Seaford turnoff and slowed for the main street. He went straight ahead to the water front and then turned right. In a few moments the car drew up in front of Cap'n Mike's shack.

The captain opened the door and peered out. "Be with you in a minute."

In much less than a minute he was out again, clad in a jacket and officer's cap.

"Howdy," he greeted them. "See much from your airplane?"

"How did you know it was our airplane?" Rick asked curiously.

"Pshaw! You don't give people credit for knowing much, do you? I'll bet everyone in Seaford knows about your airplane. Everyone who reads the Whiteside _Morning Record_, anyway."

"But all Cubs look alike," Rick protested, "and most of them are painted yellow."

Cap'n Mike snorted. "What of it? No other yellow planes in this area, and you been seen on the ground in Seaford twice already. What would anyone think? Especially when you're on a direct bearing for Spindrift when you leave?"

"He's got something there," Scotty said. "It's a logical conclusion."

Rick had to agree. "Well, you're the guide, Cap'n. Where to?"

"The pier." Cap'n Mike looked at the fast-fading light in the west.

"It's time for the trawlers to be coming in. Reckon we'll talk to a couple of folks and get a look at the _Albatross_ and her crew."

Rick turned the car around and headed for town. "Why don't you tell us all you know about the _Albatross_ visiting Creek House?"

"I intended to. First off, the _Albatross_ has been there three times that I know of. And each time she has put in on her way back from the fishing grounds. Now, that's mighty strange. First thing a captain thinks of is getting his fish into port. But not Brad Marbek. Instead, he lays at the Creek House pier until nigh onto midnight. Then he puts into the wharf and unloads his fish. What do you make out of that?"

Rick could make nothing out of it. The _Albatross_ certainly wouldn't be calling at Creek House just to be sociable. "Were these calls made at regular intervals?" he asked.

"Nope. One was two weeks ago, one was four nights ago, and the last time was night before last."

"Wasn't four nights ago the night you saw Tom Tyler at Creek House?"

Scotty recalled.

"It was. That's one reason why I'm sure the _Albatross_ is tied up with the wreck of the _Sea Belle_."

Rick searched for possible reasons why the trawler should tie up at Creek House and rejected all but one. He had the beginnings of an idea, but he needed to think about it a little more before he broached it.

"Cap'n, you've been keeping an eye on the Kelsos for quite a while, sounds like," Rick said. "Do they ever have any visitors?"

"Haven't seen any."

"No trucks?" Rick asked.

"Haven't seen any."

They were approaching the big, shedlike fish pier. It was brilliantly lighted. At Cap'n Mike's direction, Rick pulled off the street and parked.

"What happens to the menhaden after they're unloaded?" Scotty wanted to know.

"Ever notice that one-story building next to the pier? Well, they go into that on conveyer belts. Then the oil is cooked out of them and what's left is turned into feed or fertilizer. You'd know if you'd ever been here while the plant was processing and the wind was insh.o.r.e. Dangdest smell you ever smelled. Like to ruin your nose."

Rick sniffed the fishy air. "I believe it," he said.

Cap'n Mike had been leading the way toward the big pier. Now he turned onto the pier itself. Some trawlers already were tied up and were being unloaded by bucket cranes. The reek of fish was strong enough to make Rick wish for a gas mask. He saw Scotty's nose wrinkle and knew his pal wasn't enjoying it, either.

The captain stopped at the first trawler and hailed the bridge. A big man in an officer's cap answered the hail.

"Let's go aboard," Cap'n Mike said. "This here is the _Jennie Lake_.

We'll talk with Bill Lake for a minute."

Bill Lake was the skipper, and the man they had seen directing the unloading from the bridge. He greeted Cap'n Mike cordially. The captain introduced the two boys and Lake shook hands without taking his eyes from the unloading operation. Rick saw a scoop drop into the hold and come up with a slippery half-ton of menhaden. Then it sped along a beam track into the big shed, paused over a wide conveyer belt, lowered to within a few feet of the belt and dumped its load. A clerk just inside the door marked the load on a board. Rick looked for the winch operator and found him opposite the clerk.

The scoop came back rapidly, sped out the track extension above the hold, and paused. Bill Lake signaled and the big bucket dropped slowly. At a further signal, it opened its jaws and plunged into the ma.s.s of fish, then slowly crunched closed and lifted again. There was certainly no waste motion here, Rick thought.

Cap'n Mike asked, too casually, "What'd you think of Tom Tyler running on Smugglers' Reef, Bill?"

Bill's cordiality seemed to freeze up. "None of my business," he said shortly. "Can't pa.s.s judgment on a fellow skipper."

Cap'n Mike nodded. "Reckon that's right. Bill, how did you find visibility last night?"

"None too good. There was a heavy current running, too."

"That's interesting. How'd you know that?"

"Patch of mist drifted in. Anyway, I lost the light for a bit. When the mist cleared, the current had set us two points off course."

Captain Lake's forehead wrinkled as he watched the scoop return for another load. "Mighty funny, too. Usually there's no current to speak of off Brendan's Marsh. But I've said for quite a while that the currents hereabouts are changing and it looks like this proves it."

"Was Captain Tyler directly ahead of you, sir?" Rick asked.

"Not directly. He was three ahead, the way I figure. Brad Marbek was right behind him, then came Jim Killian."

"How far apart were you?" Rick inquired.

"Quite a ways. Jim was pretty close in front of me, but Brad was almost out of my sight. Don't know how close he followed Tom."

Cap'n Mike spat over the side. "Sad business, anyway," he said. "Well, Bill, I'm taking these lads on a little tour of the pier. Reckon we'll be pushing along. Looks like you'll be busy unloading for an hour or so."