whatever it
is--dropped in the water here. Or could they?"

"I don't know. Anyway, they're suspicious. Did you find anything?"

"Just as you signaled. How did you signal, by the way?"

"With the mop pail. Four taps with the bottom on the water surface. Then
I filled the pail and began swabbing down."

Rick nodded. "I don't know what I found. A cylinder, maybe two inches in
diameter, maybe less. Smooth. I got the fish line around it and carried
the line to the shore. We'll have to come back later."

"We certainly will." Scotty's eyes sparkled. "But for now, let's up
anchor and get out of here."

"How about the stake with the rope on it?"

"The tide's still coming in. It will be completely under the water at
high tide. We'll have to avoid it, and warn Harris if we don't get back
tonight."

An idea was beginning to form in Rick's mind. "Okay," he said. "Let's
get going."

Within minutes the houseboat was on its way out of the cove, the two
boys acting normally, as though no one was observing their departure.
Rick saw no one on shore, and not until they were sunward from the cove
entrance did he see the sparkle of sunlight on binocular lenses. Scotty
had been right, as usual.

CHAPTER XII

Night Recovery

On the way back from the airport, Steve Ames listened intently to the
report of the day's activities, but delayed comment until supplies had
been purchased, and a dozen eggs turned into an omelet that a French
chef might have praised.

Rick was eager to discuss the whole affair with Steve, but the young
agent was adroit at fending off questions without being rude, and
finally the boy gave up.

Over after-dinner coffee, Steve smiled at both of them. "End of today's
lesson in patience, which is one virtue neither of you has developed
sufficiently. Okay, where are those two pictures?"

Scotty whipped them from the breast pocket of his shirt and handed them
over without comment. Steve studied them for long minutes, then went to
a table and took a magnifying glass from the table drawer. He placed the
pictures directly under a lamp and studied them with the aid of the
magnifier.

"It _is_ Thomas Camillion," he said finally. "Your friend Sandy Allen
has a sharp eye. I wouldn't have known him, either."

That surprised Rick. Steve had never met the owner of Calvert's Favor,
but because of Camillion's notorious reputation, Rick had been certain
that Steve would recognize him on sight.

Steve saw the