CHAPTER XX
Read All About It!
Jerry Webster came out of the pressroom with a bundle of papers underhis arm, the roar of the presses providing a background for his chant."Extra! Read All About It! Spindrifters Smear Smugglers! Seaman ShowsShootin' Savvy! Simple Sap Scampers, Saves Skin! Read All About It!"
Rick snatched one of the papers. "Thanks, I will. Hey, gang, listen tothis!" He read the headline aloud. "'Seaford Gunrunners Caught.'"
Scotty took a paper, too, and read the subhead. "'New Night MovieCamera Supplies Evidence for Surprise Raid.'" He grinned at Jerry andDuke Barrows. "Very restrained. Not a purple adjective in the lot."
Captain Douglas let out a bellow. "Hey! You don't mention the StatePolice until the second line of the story. Call a cop someone, I wantthese guys pinched."
"Charge 'em with serving poison coffee," Cap'n Mike suggested. "Neverdrank such a brew in my life."
Duke grinned. "That isn't coffee, skipper. It's printer's ink withcream and sugar. Go on, Rick, or someone. Read the rest of it."
"Byline," Rick said, "by Jerry Webster, and under that it sayscopyrighted by the _Morning Record_. How did you copyright it soquickly, Duke?"
"Sent a copy air mail to the copyright office and enclosed a dollar.The letter will go out tonight. It's standard procedure. Go on, read.I edited Jerry's story so fast I didn't have a chance to enjoy it."
Rick read on. "'A Seaford trawler captain, four members of his crew,and two New Yorkers were arrested tonight on gunrunning charges aftera surprise raid by State Police officers culminated a series of eventsthat included the wrecking of the trawler _Sea Belle_, the use of anew invention by the two youngest members of the Spindrift IslandFoundation to photograph the transfer of arms under cover of darknesson the high seas, the kidnapping and maltreatment of a _MorningRecord_ reporter, and a fight in the attic of the Creek House hotelthat was ended by the timely intervention of a retired sea captain.'"Rick got the last words out with his last bit of breath.
Scotty looked at Jerry with admiration. "He's not only a distancerunner, he's a distance writer. That was a hundred-yard sentence."
"I cannot tell a lie," Jerry said modestly. "I did it with my littledictionary. Written by an ancestor who was also famous. Noah Webster."
"'One of the most surprising disclosures,'" Rick read on, "'was thereason for the stubborn silence of Captain Thomas Tyler, master of thetrawler _Sea Belle_, which was wrecked on Smugglers' Reef a week ago.As reported in previous editions, Captain Tyler maintained anobstinate silence as to the real reason for the wreck of the trawlerin the face of pleas from friends and officials. He had maintainedthat he was solely responsible and that his error in judgment had beencaused by liquor. After the arrest of the smugglers, Captain Tylerwillingly told this reporter that he had discovered the smugglingactivities of Captain Bradford Marbek and Roger and James Kelso twoweeks before.'"
"That was a good guess we made," Cap'n Mike said soberly. "Poor Tom.He was in some spot. He knew about the smuggling, but he was like wewere. Couldn't prove a thing. He could have told the police and askedfor protection, but they wouldn't have had grounds for holding Bradand the Kelsos. They would have been free to carry out their threatsagainst his family inside of twenty-four hours."
"That's right," Scotty said. "But he didn't know any more than we didwhat they were smuggling."
The axes of police officers had disclosed rifles, submachine guns, andammunition in the cases innocently labeled as sewing machines, and noone had been more surprised than the boys.
"Thousands of guns and ammunition must have gone out before we caughton," Rick said. "What happens to the people that received them?"
"That's not our affair," Captain Douglas told him. "Since they went toships and nationals of a foreign country, it's up to the Department ofState to take action, if there's going to be any."
"We filed the story with Universal Press Service," Jerry explained."It's all over the country by this time. Copyright by the Whiteside_Morning Record_." He grinned. "We're modest, Duke and I."
"You are, anyway," Rick scoffed. "'Kidnapping and maltreatment of a_Morning Record_ reporter.' Why didn't you give the reporter's name?"
Jerry turned a little red, but he said loftily, "We heroes prefer toremain anonymous."
"Heroes is right," Duke said dryly. "You came within an inch of havinga bronze plaque erected to your memory as one who fell in line ofduty."
"What? Only bronze?" Jerry looked hurt.
Rick gave him a comradely wink. Jerry's act had brought him close tothe ranks of heroes at that, if quick thinking and nerve combined withbad luck were any qualification. He glanced through the story quickly,and found what the young reporter had said about his own part.
"'While attempting to gather evidence, the _Morning Record_ reporterwho figured in the case was caught by the truckmen who delivered thearms to Creek House. After being beaten, bound, and gagged, he wastaken to the hotel. His questioning was interrupted by the arrival ofBrant and Scott.'"
And that really was modesty. Jerry had been returning from the boatlanding when he passed a big trailer truck that carried the name of alarge manufacturer of industrial castings. He thought quickly,surprised at seeing such a vehicle in Whiteside. Such trucks alwaysused the shorter main route. To his positive knowledge, there was nota single manufacturing plant on the entire shore road on whichWhiteside and Seaford were located. There was a definite chance, hedecided, that the truck might be carrying a load for Creek House. Heknew the smugglers had made fast changes in their plans, as witnessthe moving up of the ship sailing. There was a strong possibility theyhad been forced to ask for immediate shipment of contraband, too.
Jerry passed the truck and stopped at the newspaper long enough toscrawl a note to Duke, explaining what had happened, then he passedthe truck again and drove furiously toward Seaford. He went by SaltCreek Bridge and parked his car in a pasture, then ran back to thebridge, made his way into the marsh and waited.
The trailer truck arrived, stopped, and put out flares, and three mengot out. They jacked up the rear wheels of the trailer, then startedto unload. By so doing, they had a perfect reason for being there. Ifa police car came along, they had only to explain that they had brokenan axle and were replacing it, and that they had taken out part oftheir cargo to lighten the load until repairs were completed.
The stage was no sooner set than up the river came the flatboat fromCreek House. It pushed its way into the marsh, toward Jerry. Not untilthe actual loading started did he discover his bad luck. He had takena fairly well-defined path into the marsh. The path was artificial,made by the Kelsos. They had carried rocks to make both the path andthe stone jetty to which the flatboat had come. The deception hadworked, because the path and jetty surfaces, strong enough to carrythe weight of men with heavy cases, were under an inch of mud andwater!
Jerry had described the end simply. "They fell over me. I tried to getaway, but there were too many of them."
But he had gotten in one good blow. His hand closed over one of therocks of the path and he swung it effectively. The State Police,hearing his story, made a routine check of doctors and hospitals alongthe route the truck probably had taken; they assumed it would not turnaround on the narrow shore road. The trucker Jerry had felled was in asmall clinic two towns below Seaford, and an interstate alarm had goneout for the others, giving license numbers and descriptions suppliedby the reporter. They wouldn't get far.
Jerry's luck had been bad, but Captain Douglas' luck had been good.The accumulated evidence probably would have been enough, but one ofBrad's seamen had talked, hoping for a lighter sentence.
Rick was most pleased to find that his theory about Smugglers' Lighthad been close to the truth. The marks on the old tower had been madeby a powerful light supplied by Brad Marbek. The light, once used fornight purse seine fishing, was powered by a carbon arc. A cable,connected into the same junction box that supplied Smugglers' ReefLight, had furnished the power. The police offi
cers had found signs oftampering in the junction box, but they had called the authoritiesresponsible for the light to make a definite check. The light itselfhad been stowed in Brad Marbek's home. One quarter of the cylinder hadbeen blacked out with paint. Red cellophane was pasted on to anotherquarter.
There were still no answers to who had phoned the warning to Rick, orwhy Carrots had trailed them into Whiteside, but those things weren'timportant, anyway. Probably their original guesses had been right.
The others had fallen silent, engrossed in reading Jerry's story. Rickwent through it again, more carefully. The young reporter had donewell. It was an exciting yarn. Then he looked at the "side pieces,"other stories dealing with the case, written by both Duke and Jerry inthe feverish rush to make the morning paper. There was a simplestatement by Captain Killian, who long since was asleep in his own bedat Seaford. There was a photo of Rick and Scotty with the infraredcamera and a story by Duke of its use in the collecting of evidence.The staff photographer had taken that one after they all returned toWhiteside, accompanying the police and the prisoners to jail. Theentire back page was devoted to pictures, some reproductions fromRick's movie and some taken at the jail by the staff photographer.There was one of Cap'n Mike holding Carrots' rifle, and the captionexplained how he had rescued the boys.
"How much per column inch did you say?" Rick asked Duke slyly.
"Too much. This will bankrupt me."
Scotty folded his paper. "We'd better get back to Spindrift, Rick."
"That's right." Rick knew his folks would be waiting to see the paper,too. He had phoned them as soon as they reached the jail.
"I'll take you to the landing," Jerry offered, "then I'll run Cap'nMike down to Seaford."
"Never mind," Captain Douglas said. "I have a patrol car going downthat way in fifteen minutes. It can drop him off."
Cap'n Mike shook hands with both of the boys. "I'll see you tomorrow,I reckon."
"In the afternoon," Rick said. "We'll sleep in the morning." After thefight at Creek House, Cap'n Mike had rowed them to the Spindriftspeedboat in his dory. They had gotten their clothes, but left theboat at the hotel. It would be safe; police officers would keep an eyeon it while guarding the load of arms.
Captain Douglas shook hands, too. "I should make a speech," he toldthem with a smile. "You know, about your both being good citizens,aiding the police at risk of life and limb and so on...."
Rick grinned sheepishly. "I'm afraid we weren't thinking about thecitizen part of it, Captain. We just...."
"I was about to add that." Captain Douglas laughed. "But thanks,anyway."
Duke Barrows said, "I don't suppose you would accept the coffee weserved you as part payment?"
Scotty snorted. "Aren't you the one said it wasn't coffee?"
"All right." Duke's shoulders slumped. "Drive me into debt paying youoff. Go ahead."
"We will," Rick retorted, "and don't take the price of these papersyou gave us off the amount, either."
The editor laughed. "Okay. Take them home, Jerry. They'll have to waituntil the first of the month for their money, just like the rest ofour creditors. So long, kids, and thanks a million for a swell story."
As they drove to the landing, Rick glanced quizzically at Jerry."Well, you asked for it. Remember?"
Jerry was puzzled.
"The night we went to get a story on the wreck," Scotty explained."Didn't you say you wished you would get in on an adventure with us?"
"I certainly did. I didn't know what I was asking for, believe me."Jerry's grin widened. He touched his head tenderly, patting thebruises he had collected. Then he laughed. "I was scared silly, butyou know, I kind of enjoyed it!"
Rick and Scotty broke into laughter, too.
* * * * *
Rick was figuring out some changes in the infrared camera attachmenton the following Monday when Scotty came into the room.
"Just got back from Whiteside with the paper and the mail," heannounced. "And look at this!" He indicated an item on the front page.
It was a Universal News Service dispatch. Authorities of a republic inthe Caribbean had arrested the country's former dictator on a chargeof planning a revolution, pointing to a large cache of arms andammunition found on his estate as evidence. Arrested for complicitywas the president of the Compania Maritima Caribe y Atlantica.Warrants were being issued for a number of others.
"That settles that," Rick said. "Looks like we stopped a revolution!"
"We're the kids what did it," Scotty boasted. He dropped a letter infront of Rick. "Got this, too. Look who it's from."
The postmark was Bombay. It was from Chahda, the first letter sincethe Hindu boy had left them in New Caledonia to return to India.
"He's fine," Scotty said. "I read it at the post office. His brothersand sisters didn't believe some of his stories, but he's convincingthem. Also, he's going to work. He can't tell us yet what his job willbe, because it's a sort of secret."
"Then he won't come back to America for a while," Rick said,disappointed. "We won't see him." He grinned, remembering the firsttime they had met Chahda. "He's probably at Crawford Market right now,bargaining at the top of his lungs for something." He picked up theletter and started to read, picturing Chahda, in his native dress oncemore, at home in Bombay.
* * * * *
Rick's mental image was far from the truth. As he read the letter,Chahda was writing to Rick and Scotty again, but this time he wascomposing an urgent cable, laboriously working over the cipher thatwould conceal its content from his strange enemy.
The Hindu boy was in the hiding place he had chosen deep in the Indianquarter of Singapore, but he knew it was only a temporary refuge. Oncehe emerged, the shadow would find him again. But if he could succeedin getting to the cable office first, Rick and Scotty would get hismessage, and they would come. Once the three of them were unitedagain, let the shadow do as it would!
Chahda finished his composition, folded it and tucked it securely intohis turban, then he slipped through a door into the darkness of theSingapore night. In his ciphered message was the key to an adventurethat would plunge his American friends into both darkness and dangerin the fabled, terrifying Caves of Korse Lenken, a story to be relatedin the next volume,
THE CAVERNS OF FEAR.
* * * * *