in low tones. A few
looked at the boys with curiosity.

An old man with white hair and a strong, lined face was seated by the
door, whittling on an elm twig. Jerry spoke to him.

"Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me what's going on?"

Keen eyes took in the three boys. "I can. Any reason why I should?"
The old man's voice held the twang peculiar to that part of the New
Jersey coast.

"I'm a reporter," Jerry said. "Whiteside _Morning Record_."

The old man spat into the shrubbery. "Going to put in your paper that
Tom Tyler ran aground on Smugglers' Reef, hey? Well, you can put it
in, boy, because it's true. But don't make the mistake of calling Tom
Tyler a fool, a drunkard, or a poor seaman, because he ain't any of
those things."

"How did it happen?" Jerry asked.

"Reckon you better ask Tom Tyler."

"I will," Jerry said. "Where will I find him?"

"Inside. Surrounded by fools."

Jerry pushed through the door, Rick and Scotty following. Rick's quick
glance took in the people waiting in the corridor, then shifted to a
young woman and a little girl. The woman's face was strained and
white, and she stared straight ahead with unseeing eyes. The little
girl, a tiny blonde perhaps four years old, held tightly to her
mother's hand.

Rick had a hunch. He stopped as Jerry and Scotty hurried down the
corridor to where voices were loud through an open door. "Mrs. Tyler?"
he asked.

The woman's head lifted sharply. Her eyes went dark with fear. "I
can't tell you anything," she said in a rush. "I don't know anything."
She dropped her head again and her hand tightened convulsively on the
little girl's.

"Sorry," Rick said gently. He moved along the corridor, very
thoughtful, and saw that Jerry and Scotty were turning into the room
from which voices came. Mrs. Tyler might have been angry, upset,
tearful, despondent, or defiant over the loss of her husband's
trawler. Instead, she had been afraid in a situation that did not
appear to call for fear.

He turned into the room. There were about a dozen men in it. Two were
Coast Guardsmen, one a lieutenant and the other a chief petty officer.
Two others were state highway patrolmen. Another, in a blue uniform,
was evidently the local policeman. The rest were in civilian clothes.
All of them were watching a lean, youthful man who sat ramrod straight
in a chair.

A stocky man in a brown suit said impatiently, "There's more to it
than that, Tom. Man, you've spent thirty years of