The Flying Stingaree Part 13

Scotty adjusted the tripod, while Rick took the telescope out of its case with reverent hands. It was a beautiful and delicate piece of equipment, Steve's personal property, and he appreciated the trust the agent had placed in them by allowing its use. He fitted the instrument to the mounting screw on the tripod, then aimed it through the six-inch window. When he squinted through the eyepiece, he saw only willow branches, but, by keeping his eye in place and cranking the geared tripod head, he quickly aligned the telescope with the trio under the willow.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Scotty fitted the camera to the telescope_]

The telescope had a fixed focus, and was designed for looking at stars.

Consequently, the field of vision was extremely narrow at the short distance across the water, and Rick could only manage to get Merlin and his small, insignificant-looking companion into the frame. What's more, they were upside down, as is common in reflecting telescopes. The boy knew there was an erecting prism in the case, a device that would put the image upright, but it couldn't be used with the camera. Anyway, it wouldn't matter, since the print could be turned over.

He studied the faces in the upside-down position. The telescope gave him an even better close-up than at the restaurant. Again he groped for the ident.i.ty of the white-haired man, but it eluded him.

Scotty tapped him on the shoulder and motioned that the camera was ready. Rick moved aside and his pal quickly fitted the camera to the telescope and tightened the mounting rings. Rick nodded to indicate that the telescope was on target, and Scotty tripped the camera.

The advantage of the Polaroid camera is that the picture can be seen within seconds. Scotty quickly went through the simple routine, and within a quarter of a minute the boys were looking at the photo. It was an excellent close-up, but a trifle dark. Scotty opened the iris on the camera another stop and Rick rechecked the alignment. Scotty snapped the picture and processed it. This time it was perfect, only slightly hazy because of the rising heat waves across the hundred yards of distance.

Rick readjusted the telescope for a full view of the third man. His picture was added to the others. Scotty wiped both with fixative and put them on the floor to dry.

The antenna was next. Rick focused on it without difficulty, but the field of view was so narrow that he couldn't see all of it. They would have to photograph it in two sections, then fit the prints together.

Five minutes after their arrival at the duck blind, they were back in the swamp, the pictures protected in a plastic bread wrapper Rick had brought. They cut directly across the swamp and emerged, hot, sticky, and dirty, only a few yards from the boat. They stowed the equipment wordlessly, then poled backwards into the wider channel. It was too narrow to turn, so Rick started the motor and backed out with great caution.

Once in the clear, they headed at top speed for Steve's, tied up at the pier, and plunged into the water without even bothering to remove their clothes. Their only precaution was to empty their pockets.

Rick luxuriated in the coolness of clean water, then stripped to his undershorts and threw his sodden clothes onto the pier. Only when he was sure he had washed off the last of the clinging mud did he pull himself up to the houseboat c.o.c.kpit, Scotty following.

They toweled and put on clean clothes, then carried the equipment back to the farmhouse. Two bottles of c.o.ke apiece from the refrigerator had them feeling normal again. Over the last one, they studied the photos.

"I don't think we've ever known Merlin," Rick said thoughtfully. "We've seen him, but we don't know him."

Scotty scratched a mosquito bite. "Think he might be some kind of public figure?"

Rick looked up sharply. "I think you hit it! If that's true, we should be able to get him identified easily."

"Steve could do it through JANIG," Scotty suggested.

"It would take too long. He won't be home until tonight, and the picture wouldn't reach JANIG until tomorrow. Then it would take a day to check it out."

"Are we in a hurry?" Scotty asked.

Rick chuckled. "I am. But don't ask me why. Look, I'll bet Duke or Jerry could identify it by going through the newspaper morgue." Their newspaper friends were owner-editor and reporter for the Whiteside paper back home.

"They're on vacation," Scotty reminded him. Once each year, the paper was turned over to a friend of Duke's, a former newspaperman turned professor of journalism, who used the occasion to give some of his students practical experience.

That was true, Rick remembered. Neither Duke nor Jerry would be available. Who else did they know who could help? Suddenly he snapped his fingers. "I've got it! Ken Holt would help, if we could get the picture to him."

Ken Holt, the young newsman whose adventures were favorite reading for Rick and Scotty, had once asked Spindrift for help, and Rick had given him a set of pocket-size radio transceivers of the kind known as "The Megabuck Network."

"Sandy Allen is a photographer," Scotty pointed out. "He might know these people."

Rick took a chair next to the telephone and dialed the operator. "A person-to-person call," he stated, "to Mr. Ken Holt, at the _Brentwood Advance_, Brentwood, New Jersey." He put his hand over the mouthpiece.

"Let's hope he and Sandy aren't off on an a.s.signment somewhere."

Luck was on their side. Ken Holt was in, and he was delighted to be of help. "Put the picture in the mail," the young reporter suggested. "If you make it airmail, special delivery, we'll have it first thing in the morning. With luck, we might even get it tonight. We'll phone you as soon as we have an identification. Incidentally, the Megabuck units worked like a charm, as I told you when I wrote. Thanks a lot."

"Glad they were helpful," Rick replied. "We'll hurry to town and get the picture in the mail right away."

He hung up and nodded at Scotty. "We'll get the picture ready, and take it to town when we go to pick Steve up. If we're a little early, the letter probably will go out on the early evening plane to Was.h.i.+ngton."

Scotty nodded. "What time is it?"

Rick glanced at his watch. "Nearly three. We'll be ready to take off as soon as Steve calls, or doesn't."

"If he calls, that means he won't be back," Scotty reminded.

"No matter. We'll go to town anyway, and have an early dinner."

Rick had envelopes and letter paper on the houseboat. He wrote a brief note to Ken, addressed the envelope, and printed AIRMAIL SPECIAL DELIVERY on both sides, then enclosed the best picture of Merlin and sealed it. Scotty spent the time on a small repair job, taping up the neoprene gasoline hoses that carried fuel to the houseboat motors. By the time he was finished, it was nearly four. The boys went into the house to wait.

Steve called on the dot of four. "Rick? ... Steve. I'm sorry, fellow. I have a little more to do on this case, and I'll have to stay over.

Everything going all right?"

Rick briefed him quickly on the day's events and Steve replied, "It takes about half an hour for a letter to make the early evening plane.

Allow enough time."

"We will," Rick a.s.sured him. "Anything new on the sighting data?"

"Not yet. I sent the cards to the computing center, but they won't have time to run the data through until tomorrow or the next day. Make yourselves at home, and don't spend all your time on flying stingarees.

Get in some fis.h.i.+ng and swimming."

Rick a.s.sured him that they were enjoying the vacation and would try to get in some fis.h.i.+ng. He hung up and turned to Scotty.

"He'll be in tomorrow on the same plane. He wants us to get in some fis.h.i.+ng."

Scotty chuckled. "I thought he knew you better than that. Give you a mystery to chew on and there's no room for anything else in that thick Brantish skull."

"We'll solve this one," Rick said confidently. "Then we'll fish."

Scotty just grinned.

CHAPTER X

Ken Holt Comes Through

Somewhere in the oak trees across the creek a cardinal sang his lovely evening song. An osprey, etched in black against the dark blue of the sky, whirled in lazy circles watching the water below. A muskrat appeared briefly, his sleek head making a V of ripples in the calm water.

Rick and Scotty, sprawled comfortably in beach chairs on the lawn in front of Steve's house, sipped the last of their iced tea, and watched the movements and listened to the sounds in companionable silence. Both boys, admitting that, for the immediate present, they were slightly overdosed with rich food, had agreed to settle for a sandwich and iced tea. A brief stop at a store en route back from the post office had provided the necessities.

Rick was physically relaxed, but mentally active. It was characteristic of him that he never let go of a puzzle until he had found a solution, or had tried all possibilities and been forced to admit defeat. He was a long way from defeat at the moment. The case of the flying stingaree was just getting interesting.