ooded promontory and the next house came into view. Steve's!

Rick's eager eyes saw an attractive farmhouse, set well back from the
water in a frame of willows and white oaks. There was an acre of green
lawn in front of the house, the lawn running down to the water's edge. A
small dock jutted out into the creek. Tied to one side of it was a
sturdy runabout with an outboard motor.

"Pretty," Scotty approved.

Rick nodded. The farmhouse was half frame, half white brick, with a
slate roof. It was apparently only one story high. On impulse, Rick gave
a long blast on the boat horn.

The front door opened and a man looked out, then walked swiftly down to
the dock, waving. The boys waved back.

"Get the lines ready," Rick requested. "I'll back in."

He throttled down and let the houseboat move slowly past the dock while
he yelled a greeting to Steve Ames. There were no obstacles, and just
enough room for the boat. He reversed his motors and threw his helm hard
over, backing slowly into position. Scotty stood ready with a line,
which he heaved to Steve. Then Scotty ran lightly to the foredeck and
got the bowline ready. The houseboat nestled against the dock smoothly
and Rick killed the motors. Then the three old friends were shaking
hands and grinning from ear to ear.

"I've been watching since yesterday afternoon," Steve told them. "That
storm last night worried me some. I didn't know whether you could ride
it out or not."

"No trouble," Rick said. "We ran into Swamp Creek on the north side of
the river and spent the night there." He watched the agent's face
closely, but Steve didn't react.

"Come on in," Steve invited. "Coffee's on. Had your breakfast?"

"We ate before hauling anchor," Scotty said, grinning.

Steve Ames knew the boys well. "Something's up," he stated. "Rick is
watching me like a suspicious sand crab and your tone of voice is wrong,
Scotty. Coffee first, then talk. Come on."

Rick shook his head in admiration. It was impossible to catch Steve off
guard. The agent had a deceptive appearance, athletic and good looking,
with the forthright friendliness of a college undergraduate. But his
trained eyes and ears missed nothing.

Steve's living room was attractive and comfortable, with bookshelves
between the windows, a stone fireplace, a striped rug, and deep, restful
chairs. There were lamps in exactly the right positions for reading.

The agent brought in a tray of coffee cups, with a pot of coffee