CHAPTER XII
The Missing Fisherman
Captain Jim Killian, the fisherman who had been closest to Brad Marbekand Tom Tyler, and who might have been able to say finally whetherRick'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 talkto you boys."
"When did you discover he had disappeared?" Scotty queried. "You saidhe had been visiting his mother."
"That's just it. Took me all this time to remember." Cap'n Mike shookhis white head. "Reckon I'm getting old. His mate said he'd gone tovisit his mother, so I thought no more about it. Until this morning.Then I remembered. Jim Killian never knew his mother. He was broughtup by an uncle and aunt, both of them dead ten years now. Struck meall of a sudden. It had sort of been nagging at the back of my headthat something was fishy about that mate's story anyway, so thismorning 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 TomTyler wrecked the _Sea Belle_. He just told the mate to shove offwithout him, and said if anyone asked, he was visiting his mother, whowas sick. And I'm sure that's all the mate knows, except that he knewJim Killian didn't have a mother."
Rick pursed his lips thoughtfully. "He showed up himself? Then he musthave left of his own free will. At least he wasn't kidnapped. But whywould 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 aboutsomething being a little off the beam about Smugglers' Light?" Itsounded reasonable to Rick. "The Kelsos would have paid him a visitfor sure."
Cap'n Mike wagged his head sadly. "I sure pinned a lot of hope on JimKillian. After you explained what might have happened to Tom, I wassure Jim might have something real useful to add. But it looks mightybad now."
"Mighty bad," Rick agreed. Their effort to catch the Kelsos red-handedhad boomeranged on them and now what might be proof of their theoryhad vanished.
"We'd better find him," Scotty said.
"How?" Cap'n Mike asked hopelessly. "We can't go to the police, 'causeJim 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 thepolice hunt him as a material witness, then he rejected the idea.Witness to what? Tom Tyler had admitted running the _Sea Belle_ on thereef purposely, or next thing to it. No, the only solution was to findCaptain Killian. But where to begin?
"Put yourself in his place," he suggested to Cap'n Mike. "You've knownhim 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. Thisis the first time Jim Killian has left town in twenty years, except togo 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 pleadingguilty."
They walked to Jerry's car and settled down to wait. Through thewindshield Rick watched the townfolk clustered around the courthousesteps and noted that they weren't talking much. He guessed everyone intown knew there was something extraordinary about the wreck of the_Sea Belle_ and he wondered if anyone suspected smuggling activitiesat Creek House.
He said aloud, "If the Kelsos and Brad Marbek took the stuff up toSalt Creek Bridge before we got there, what boat did they use? Theboat 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 manydead 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 insidethe building and those lucky enough to get seats were coming out.Presently Jerry Webster came out, too, tucking his notes into hisjacket 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 forthe police with all their facilities. I don't know how you'd evenstart."
"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 lockedhis house up tight. If you try to get in, you'll be guilty of breakingand entering. And even if he left a door open, you've no right to goin. You can bet the neighbors will be on the phone to the constable'soffice 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 thehearing." He pointed to a slender man in a cap and lumberjack's shirtwho 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'sno 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'venothing to lose, anyway."
Rick watched the mate reach the opposite sidewalk, then standuncertainly for a moment, looking back across the street. Then,evidently satisfied, he started off at a brisk walk. It was almost asthough he had looked to see if anyone were coming after him, Rickthought.
"Scotty's right," he said quickly. "Let's go after him."
Jerry started the car and pulled away from the curb. He grinned atRick. "Good thing it's Saturday. No paper until Monday morning, soI've plenty of time. But tell me what to do. I'm green at thisbusiness."
"Go slow," Rick said. "Watch him."
The mate reached a corner, looked behind him, then turned down theside street.
"Go after him," Rick directed. "Go right on by him and don't anyonelook at him. Cap'n, better crouch down. He knows you, but he doesn'tknow the rest of us."
Jerry swung into the side street and picked up speed. From the cornerof his eye Rick saw the mate walking rapidly. He told Jerry to turnright at the next corner and to slow down. The blocks were short; themate 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 themain 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 heturned and watched the corner they had just passed. If the mate keptstraight on the side street, they would go around the block. If heturned down the street they had taken, they would simply round thecorner again.
The mate turned and came after them.
"Around the corner," Rick directed. "Cap'n, where is this Jake'sGrill?"
"If you'd turned left instead of right just then," Cap'n Mike repliedas Jerry finished the turn, "you'd have been about at it. It's halfwaydown the block."
Rick made a quick decision. "Okay, here's where we split up. I'll getout and go to Jake's. The rest of you keep trailing him. If he goesinto Jake's, turn around and park at the next corner where you can se
ethe 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, thenhe walked swiftly in the opposite direction. He crossed the streetfrom which they had just turned, and caught a glimpse of the mate fromthe corner of his eye. The man was still walking rapidly. Rick paidno 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 themate, still coming. Rick resumed walking and came to Jake's Grill, ashabby sort of place with only a half dozen customers. He walked inwithout hesitation and took a seat at the counter.
The counterman came up and wiped the counter clean in front of himwith a rag that might have been white once upon a time. "What'll itbe?"
"Coffee," Rick said. He was in a good position, because the back ofthe counter was lined with a flyspecked mirror through which he couldsee the whole restaurant.
The mate pushed the door open and paused at the entrance. He reachedin his pocket and brought out a crumpled handful of bills and somechange. 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 placeshowed him a phone booth in one corner. Quickly, as the mateapproached, 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 matecast 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 afifty-cent piece on the counter.
Rick relaxed. Perhaps some of the townfolk had seen his and Scotty'spictures 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 somesmaller change. He winked. "Gotta call yer girl, Chick?"
"Sure have," the mate answered. He had an odd voice, as though hisnasal passages were completely blocked with a bad cold. He looked atRick. "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 cockedfor the mate's words. Unfortunately, the booth was tight. He couldhear only a faint murmur. He went back to the counter and startedsipping his coffee, keeping his eyes on the booth. He heard the dimtone of bells and his pulse quickened. Those were coins dropping intothe slots. The mate was making an out-of-town call! If only he couldhear!
The hot coffee was almost scalding, but he scarcely noticed. His mindwas racing, searching for some way to overhear that conversation.There just wasn't any way. If he walked over and put his ear to thebooth, the men sitting at the tables and farther up the counter wouldsee. No, he was sunk this time.
Within four minutes the mate was out of the booth. He came over andtook 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 phoningnow. Well, he could call Spindrift and tell his mother they would behome for lunch. He hadn't been sure how long the hearing would takewhen 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 topick up the receiver and inspiration struck him. If he could imitatethe 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 oneoperator on the town switchboard, which was unlikely because of thesize of the town, it wouldn't work, anyway. Or, if there were two andhe got the wrong one it wouldn't work.
His hand shook slightly as he lifted the receiver and dropped in hisnickel.
"Number, please?" the operator said sweetly.
Rick struggled to imitate the mate's voice. "Say, I have to talk tothat 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 gotit written down there?"
"I'll have to have the number, sir," the operator said with firmsweetness.
Rick grew desperate. "Shucks, lady," he whined nasally. "You ain'tgoin' t'make me go through that business with that information galagain, 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 writeit down this time."
"I sure will," Rick said. He almost forgot and lapsed back into hisown voice. But he didn't have to write it down. He wasn't forgettingit.
"What is your number, please?"
He gave it, then waited anxiously. In a moment a voice said, "GardenView Hotel."
The operator spoke. "One moment, please. Please deposit thirty cents."
Rick did so, and the bells clanged in his ear. When the ringingstopped, 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 thecounter and then hurried to the door. The mate was eating a piece ofpie.
On the street, Rick looked for Jerry's car and spotted it at a cornertwo blocks away. He walked rapidly toward it, waving as he did so. Thecar pulled away from the curb and sped toward him, and he motioned toJerry to turn the next corner. He hurried and got there just as thecar did.
"Any luck?" Scotty asked.
"Luck? Touch me, somebody. Listen to this: Captain Killian is at theGarden View Hotel in New York, registered under a phony name!" He toldthem quickly what had happened in the grill and finished, "I'll betthe mate had orders to phone right after the hearing and let Killianknow what had happened to Tyler."
"He was handed over to the constable after the insurance companyissued a complaint," Jerry said. "Forgot to tell you that. Well, weknow where this missing captain is. Now what?"
"Now what! What do you think?" Rick asked indignantly. "Let's go toNew York!"