Rick went under again and tapped Scotty. He headed for the pole, hands outstretched to intercept it. His left hand hit it and held. Scotty came alongside and they swam to the bottom. Both gripped the pole, put fins flat against the muddy bottom, and heaved. The pole came up without difficulty. While Scotty held it, Rick wrapped rope around it until the line was fully wound again. Orvil's motor was nearer now. Rick took one end of the pole while Scotty took the other. They operated entirely by touch; nothing was visible except the luminous dials of their compa.s.ses.

The motor sound was muted in the burbling exhaust of their bubbles.

It was almost possible to stand on flipper tips with head above water.

The boys thrust their heads out with care, and saw Orvil bearing down on them, peering forward anxiously. He waved when he saw the two helmeted heads. There was a slight gleam from the masks even in the darkness. As he came alongside, the boys held the pole overhead, water churning under their flippers. Orvil bent and took it, lifted it on board, and continued on his path.

The boys went under again, operating on a prearranged plan. This time they swam side by side, hands searching for the fish line. Since Rick knew the approximate position where he had tied it to the projecting stump, he led the way toward shallow water, hoping to intercept it.

The water shoaled rapidly as the boys approached the sh.o.r.e. Scotty's hand suddenly gripped Rick's, and Rick felt the line.

At the same instant, Rick was aware of bubbles in the water, a trail of faint phosph.o.r.escence shooting downward past his mask. Then something glanced from his tank and he heard a sharp clang like a brazen bell in his ears. The impact rolled him partly over, and as he turned, another line of phosph.o.r.escence streaked past his eyes.

The skin on his back crawled in the blazing moment of recognition. They were being shot at!

CHAPTER XIII

The Night Watchers

Scotty, who had realized they were being shot at, was pulling at Rick's arm in frantic jerks, trying to lead him back into deeper water. Rick needed no urging. His fins thrashed in the shallows as he drove desperately for the safety of the deepest part of the cove, his hands keeping contact with the bottom.

The increased pressure on his eardrums told him they had reached the sanctuary of deeper water where the velocity of bullets would be absorbed before they could strike. He was bewildered. What had happened?

Who was shooting? For a moment it crossed his mind that Orvil might be doing the shooting, but he dismissed it. He had no proof that the crabber hadn't suddenly turned on them; he just didn't believe it.

Yesterday Scotty had seen watchers on the sh.o.r.e, presumably from Calvert's Favor. Apparently the watchers were there now. The boys had gone into shallow water, and their tanks had shown above the surface, drawing fire. It was the only reasonable explanation. Probably the night watchers had seen the pole handed up to Orvil, or had seen the faint light reflecting from their masks.

What had happened to Orvil?

One thing was certain. They couldn't stay on the bottom indefinitely.

Rick consulted his wrist compa.s.s and closed his fingers on Scotty's shoulder. He led the way toward the mouth of the cove.

Somewhere on the sh.o.r.e, he thought, the night gunmen were watching the line of bubbles. The boys' only hope of escaping detection had been to avoid drawing attention to themselves. Rick knew that was impossible with watchers on the sh.o.r.e. Watchers at four in the morning was one thing he hadn't expected. What had drawn them?

Suddenly he knew. While he, Steve, and Scotty had examined the mansion through gla.s.ses from Orvil's boat, Merlin and company, or a single guard, had been watching them. They had drawn attention not only to Orvil, but to the time of day when the guards would need to be especially alert.

Bubbles would attract the guards' attention, not only because they foamed on the surface, but because they would leave a glow of phosph.o.r.escence. How far would bubbles and glow be visible? He had a mental image of the watchers following the sh.o.r.eline. They couldn't cross the creek or its mouth to where Steve's runabout was stowed, but they could shoot that far, if they could see the bubbles.

The only way for Scotty and him to escape was to eliminate the bubble track. That meant not breathing. Not breathing was possible for a short time. During the interval, they could swim into the marsh gra.s.s and use it for cover.

Rick's thoughts raced. He tried to recall the sh.o.r.eline. There must be some promontory, some outcropping of gra.s.s, behind which they could hide. Perhaps the best way was simply to swim directly out from the creek mouth until distance hid the bubbles and darkness shrouded two black-covered heads.

There was a problem, though. Scotty's air tank hadn't been used until now. Rick's had, during the initial search yesterday. He estimated quickly. Less air is used at shallow depths than at deeper depths. The water depth for most of the way was shallow enough so that tank time was essentially the same as swimming on the surface. He had had at least forty-five minutes of air to begin with, and it might be stretched to fifty minutes. He probably had used no more than forty minutes of air, total. But the remaining ten minutes would not take them out into really deep water in the river itself, and then back to sh.o.r.e. There was not enough air to take them to Steve's place.

He had to make up his mind. Scotty, undoubtedly, was doing some fast thinking along the same lines. Their thoughts usually followed the same track in such situations. Rick touched Scotty's side and forged ahead, heading straight out. He counted his kicks, estimating distance covered.

When he reached a count of three hundred he angled right, toward the north sh.o.r.e of the Little Choptank. They were well out of the creek now.

When the water shoaled, he found Scotty again and pressed him down; then, very gingerly, he put his head above water, half expecting to feel the shock of a bullet.

There was a fallen tree nearby. He submerged again, touched Scotty, and led the way to its shelter. A cautious survey told him they were some distance from the creek mouth, and certainly invisible behind the waterlogged trunk and its load of leaves and other debris.

He put his lips to Scotty's ear. "Wonder what happened to Orvil?"

"We've got to find out," Scotty whispered back.

"Yes, but how?"

"We go overland."

Of course! They were on the same side as the boat, and not far away.

There was the stretch of marsh between the channel and the creek. They could cross that, and overlook the creek. "Let's go," Rick whispered.

They inched their way along the fallen tree to the bank, then crawled slowly into the shelter of the marsh gra.s.s. The gra.s.s grew in a narrow swath at this point, with a tangle of scrub and trees deeper inland.

They kept going until the scrub concealed them, listening for sounds from the creek. There was the beat of a motor. It sounded like Orvil's boat, and Rick thought it probably was. But would Orvil continue crabbing? Again the doubt came. Had the crabber tried to kill them? He couldn't believe it.

The boys stopped and slipped off their fins. "Lead on," Rick said softly.

"Okay. When we get to the boat, we'll wade across the channel and continue right on through the marsh gra.s.s to the bank of the creek. We'd better be as quiet as possible."

"I'm with you."

Carrying their swim fins, the boys started through the dense growth, Scotty in the lead. It was hard going. Mosquitoes whined in a steady swarm around their heads, but with the neoprene suits and helmets, only their faces and hands were exposed. Each traveled with one hand outstretched to fend off branches, the other hand waving the fins to chase the insects from their faces. The outstretched hands were wiped frequently across the suits to get rid of the pests.

Rick was careful to step where Scotty stepped. When it came to silent tracking at night, the ex-Marine had few peers.

The two skirted the sh.o.r.e, keeping within the tree belt, until more marsh gra.s.s warned them that the water was near. The ground gave way to mud, and the mud to water. They stepped into the narrow channel up which they had gone to the blind. They now were less than two yards from the runabout. Scotty turned at once, and keeping to the water, moved upstream. Rick followed, careful not to splash. The darkness was less dense than under the trees, but he could not make out any details.

The channel ran roughly parallel to the creek, with a strip of land about thirty yards wide between the two. When Scotty estimated they were even with the cove, he left the channel and moved into the marsh gra.s.s again. Rick followed closely, careful to make no noise. In spite of their best efforts there was an occasional sucking sound as his foot or Scotty's pulled out of the muck, and there was a steady rustle of marsh gra.s.s. He hoped that the sounds were drowned out by the steady chugging of Orvil's motor.

Scotty slowed to a cautious pace and Rick knew they were approaching the creek bank. The marsh gra.s.s did not thin appreciably. Rick wondered if the night watchers could see the ta.s.sels of the gra.s.s waving as they approached, and decided that the small motion probably was invisible against the high bank of trees farther inland.

Rick stopped as Scotty turned. Soundlessly, Scotty lowered himself to the mud, then inched ahead, moving each strand of marsh gra.s.s with care.

Rick followed suit, and crawled in Scotty's track until he saw the glimmer of water. Then, moving with great caution, he drew alongside his pal. They looked out into the cove through a thin screen of gra.s.s stalks.

Orvil Harris was crabbing, as unconcerned as though nothing had happened. As Rick stared, disbelieving, the crabber's net swooped.

The crab boat moved on, exposing a glow on the opposite bank. Rick sucked in his breath. He could make out the forms of two men. One was smoking a cigarette. Both carried rifles.

CHAPTER XIV

Daybreak

Rick tugged at Scotty's suit, then crawfished backward through the marsh gra.s.s until he was sure the night watchers could not see him. He stood up, and Scotty joined him. Rick motioned toward their own boat.