Jerry turned down the cross street and looked around him doubtfully. "I don't know what a fancy hotel would be doing in this neighborhood, Rick."

"We don't know how fancy it is," Rick returned. "It just has a fancy name. But keep going. We should get to it soon. See any numbers?"

They had stopped and found the address in a telephone book as soon as they crossed the river into New York through the Holland Tunnel. As Jerry pointed out, it wasn't a likely neighborhood in which to find a hotel. It seemed to be mostly manufacturing plants engaged in making gloves and ladies clothes.

"Wonder how he happened to choose this location?" Scotty asked.

"Probably just came into the city and walked down this way and went into the first hotel he saw," Cap'n Mike speculated. "Man gets used to a fishing trawler, he's not going to ask for anything fancy by way of a hotel."

Jerry and Rick had been scanning the numbers along the street. "It's on your side," Rick said. "Watch for it."

Jerry applied the brakes and the car slowed. "That must be it," he said, pointing across the street.

It wasn't what Rick had expected. A tiny metal sign announced that this was the Garden View Hotel. It was set above a dingy doorway through which a flight of stairs could be seen.

"Where's the garden it's supposed to have a view of?" Scotty wanted to know.

Rick motioned in the general direction of uptown. "Probably Madison Square Garden. You could see it from here easily if there weren't about two thousand buildings in the way including the Empire State." He was wondering if they had the right place. "This calls for a small change in plans," he said.

On the way to New York they had decided it would be easiest to give a bellhop a generous tip and have him locate Captain Killian for them. Bellhops usually knew about every guest in a small hotel, and they suspected the Garden View would be small simply because none of them had ever heard of it.

"You're right," Scotty agreed. "A place like that wouldn't have a bellhop."

Rick searched for an idea. "You wouldn't know his signature on the register, would you. Cap'n?"

"Never seen him sign his name."

"Why couldn't one of us be a relative looking for him?" Jerry offered.

"Say, that's an idea!" Scotty exclaimed. "We could pretend he's a little cracked and describe him. The clerk would know who we meant, and he'd probably be glad to tell us, because hotels don't like having people who might be a little bit off."

"Cap'n Mike could do it," Rick said. "Cap'n, couldn't you pretend to be his brother?"

"Sure I could. Well, what are we waiting for? Do I go alone?"

"I'll go with you," Rick offered.

"Jerry and I had better wait, then," Scotty said. "It might look funny if four of us came trooping in like a chowder-and-marching club."

Jerry spoke up. "That's okay, except don't forget I'm to talk with him if he has anything to say. Have to get an interview for the paper."

"We'll bring him down," Rick promised confidently. "Let's go, Cap'n."

The stairs leading up into the hotel were creaky with age, and the accumulation of dust and dirt showed months without a broom. At the top of the stairs was what had once been quite a nice lobby. But now the rug was worn to strings and the wallpaper had acquired a glaze of dirt that made it look like ancient newspapers. Behind the scarred ruin of an oak counter stood a clerk so fat Rick wondered how the floor could support him. He was reading a comic book, and he didn't even look up as they came in.

Cap'n Mike addressed him politely. "Excuse me, sir. I wonder if you can help me?"

Tired eyes looked up from the comic book. "What can I do for you?" The words and tone were surprisingly courteous.

"I'm looking for my brother," Cap'n Mike said. "He's a man about my height, five years younger, still a lot of black in his hair. Red complexion, pretty well lined. Smokes a corncob pipe. His real name is Killian, but I don't think you'd know him by that." He touched his head significantly. "Mind is going. He thinks he's being persecuted."

"What makes you think he might be here?"

Cap'n Mike's expressive face assumed a look of infinite sadness. "Once, many years ago, he spent his honeymoon here. Lost his wife shortly after in an auto crash, but since his mind went he won't believe she's dead. Even though it was nigh onto twenty years ago. Poor soul. Keeps looking for her. We try to keep him home, so he sneaks off and takes an assumed name. Found him here once before."

"When?" the tone was suspicious. "I've been here five years myself, and I don't remember anything like that."

"Oh, it was longer ago than that," Cap'n Mike added hastily. "Must be over eight." He coughed apologetically. "We've had him in an old seaman's home for a few years, but he wasn't happy there."

Rick looked at Cap'n Mike with admiration. When it came to spinning a convincing yarn right off the cuff, so to speak, Cap'n Mike was a master. Rick hid a smile. What had the old man said about ham actors a little while back?

The clerk was nodding slowly. "Old seaman, is he? Well, that fits one of our guests." He looked at Cap'n Mike sharply. "Sure it's all right? Who is this boy?"

Cap'n Mike put his hand on Rick's shoulder. "This? Ah, sir, it's this boy's poor mother old Jim came here to find."

Rick bowed his head and looked as sad as possible. He had to bow it anyway, to conceal the grin that was forcing its way to the surface.

"What room is he in?" Cap'n Mike asked tenderly. "Poor old soul."

"I'll call him." The clerk went to the switchboard and plugged in a line, then pulled the toggle switch a couple of times. He picked up the phones and put them on. "Mr. Jameson? Your brother and son are down here to see you."

Rick held his breath.

The clerk unplugged the line and put the phone down. "He'll be downstairs in a minute." He went back to his comic book.

Rick and Cap'n Mike went over to a sofa and sat down. As they did so, a little cloud of dust rose.

The minutes ticked away. Rick fidgeted.

He leaned over close to Cap'n Mike. "What do you suppose is keeping him?"

"Don't know," Cap'n Mike whispered back. "We'd better see." He rose and walked to the desk again. "He's slow in coming, sir. I'm just wondering. Remember I said he thought we were persecuting him? He may ... well, sir, I wonder if we could go up?"

There was a trace of alarm in the clerk's face. "Maybe you better," he agreed. "Room 410. Three flights. Two floors up."

Rick and the Captain hurried for the stairs, went up them two at a time. To Rick's surprise the old man kept pace with him. On the fourth landing they paused and looked up and down the shabby corridor. One door was open. Rick ran to it and looked at the number. It was 410. He rushed into the room, a tiny box with only a bed, a washstand and a closet. It was empty. He flung the closet door open and saw a suitcase.

"He's gone," he called, and rushed back into the hall again. Cap'n Mike already was trying other doors. All of them were locked except the bath, and that was empty.

Rick ran the other way, to the end of the hall where a window stood open. Fire escape! He leaned far out the window and looked down into a maze of back alleys. Then his searching eyes saw a figure scurrying through them, heading east.

"Cap'n," he called. "Hurry downstairs! Tell Jerry to cut around the block. He's heading east, the same way the car is. I'll go after him!" He swung a leg through the window and jumped to the steel fire escape as Cap'n Mike rushed for the stairs.

Rick went down the open steel stairs as though he had wings. As he passed the second floor, he saw the clerk's mouth open to call. Rick didn't wait to see what he had to say. Perhaps he was trying to tell him Captain Killian had gone down, too. The clerk would have seen him. Rick shook his head. The captain must have waited on the fire escape until they started up the stairs in order to avoid being seen through the window.

The last flight was counterbalanced. He stepped on the stairs and they swung down with a faint groan. Then he was on the ground. He turned east and ran, leaping over fallen trash and barrels. He had a picture of the alleys in his mind, so he took all the right turns but one. That one brought him into a dead end. He backtracked quickly and found the right way out, and in a moment he came out on the avenue. He stopped on the curb and looked both ways, spying Jerry's car on the uptown side, cruising along slowly. He started to call, then realized Jerry wouldn't hear him. Better to wait. If the car hadn't reached the avenue before Captain Killian, it was a good bet that they had lost him. He scuffed his shoe on the curb disgustedly.

Jerry swung into the next cross street, apparently with the intention of going completely around the block. And Rick saw a figure step out of a doorway the moment the coast was clear! The man fitted the description Cap'n Mike had given. Rick turned his back hurriedly and walked leisurely in the opposite direction. Then he turned into an alley between two buildings and peered out. Captain Killian was walking briskly uptown. Rick saw him turn right at the next corner, in the direction opposite from that Jerry had taken.

Once Killian was out of sight, Rick turned and ran uptown, crossing the avenue. At the corner the seaman had turned, he slowed and looked around cautiously. It was a long block. The captain was about halfway down it. Rick debated. Jerry, if he had gone around the block, would appear on the avenue in a moment, probably one block farther up, since he wouldn't retrace the street in front of the hotel.

Rick decided to take the chance. This part of town was almost deserted, because it was late in the afternoon, and few offices were open on Saturdays, anyway. They could spot Killian easily enough now that he knew which direction he had taken. He ran to the next corner and had to wait only a few seconds before Jerry's car appeared across the street. He put fingers to his mouth and gave a piercing whistle. Jerry tooted the horn and shot across the avenue to him as the light turned green.

"Straight ahead," Rick said. "With luck, we'll meet him at the corner, unless he turned downtown."

The car roared through the narrow street to the next corner and stopped. Rick and Cap'n Mike piled out, and the Captain went to meet the man who had stopped short at their sudden appearance.

"Howdy, Jim," he said.

Captain Killian snorted. "So it's you. Thought I recognized you through the window. What d'you want? And how did you know where to find me?"

Cap'n Mike smiled. "As to the second, I got some excellent spies working for me now, Jim. As to the first, you know right well what I want."

"You ain't gonna get it, Mike O'Shannon. I didn't leave town for my health. I left for a good reason, and I'm going to stay lost. So get back in the car with them kids and get out of here. Otherwise, I reckon I'll have to yell for a cop."

"You won't do that," Cap'n Mike said shrewdly. "If you'd wanted a cop, you could have got one in Seaford. Come on, Jim, and stop acting like you were the only one knew anything. We know what you saw the night Tom was wrecked. And we know who did it."

That stopped Captain Killian. He gave Cap'n Mike a penetrating look, then said abruptly, "Where can we talk?"

"In the car."

Cap'n Mike introduced the boys to Killian. "Rick and Scotty," he explained, "figured out what must have happened to Tom Tyler. Tell him, Rick."

Rick outlined the theory quickly.

Captain Killian sat staring out of the window. "That's about it," he said finally. "It must be. Maybe Bill Lake thought he'd lost the light and current set him over, but I was closer. Not close enough to see anything but the light, you understand. But I saw it blink out, and I looked down at the binnacle and held the same compass heading until it came on again, and it was in a different place.

"If you'd said that at the hearing this morning, Tom Tyler might have been free right now," Cap'n Mike accused.

Captain Killian's back stiffened. "I don't know what you're thinking, Mike, but if it weren't for Tom, I wouldn't be here."

"We'd like to hear about that," Cap'n Mike said.

"May as well tell you. Soon as I saw what happened to the Sea Belle, I hurried to find Tom. While I was looking for him, I ran into Brad Marbek and I asked him about the light. I knew he'd been right behind Tom. Brad acted mighty queer, and when I did see Tom, he got all excited. He begged me to leave town, for my own sake and his. I told him he'd have a hard time without my testimony and Brad's, and he broke down and told me Brad was mixed up in some kind of deal with them Kelsos, and he said he wasn't worried about himself, but about Celia—that's his wife—and their little girl. He said he didn't dare try and clear himself, though he knew right well what had happened."

Captain Killian shrugged. "What could I do? Stay and put Celia and their little girl in danger? Not likely I'd do that! And I couldn't pretend not to know anything because I'd already talked to Brad."

The four nodded their understanding.

"So I packed up and got out. First I told Chick what to say, and told him to tell folks I'd been to the trawler next morning so they wouldn't connect my going with Tom's wreck."

"Was just the shifting of the light all you saw?" Rick asked.

"That's all. I will say that I knew the second light was the real one. I hadn't known the first one wasn't real, but when Smugglers' Light came on I could see there was a difference. I'd figured the light was sort of dull because of ground haze. There was some, you know."

"There's our evidence," Scotty said.

"Yep." Cap'n Mike leaned back in the seat. "Only trouble is, we can't use it without getting both Jim and Tom's family in danger. So I guess we're back where we started."

"But we can prove to the police the light was changed," Jerry began. "If Captain Killian tells his story ..." He stopped. "No good. Because we have no proof the Kelsos were mixed up in it, and they'd still be able to carry out their threats."

"That's exactly right," Captain Killian said. "Now how about telling me how you found me? Did Chick give me away?"

"Not on purpose," Cap'n Mike assured him. "Rick was trailing him when he telephoned you this morning, and he found out the number Chick had called. The rest was easy."

"I see. And what am I supposed to do now?"

"I don't see how you can stay in that hotel," Cap'n Mike said, a little distastefully.

Captain Killian smiled. "Pretty bad, all right. You know, last time I spent a night in New York I stayed there. It was right nice. There was a real pretty garden out in back."

"How long ago was that?" Rick queried.

The fisherman hesitated. "Oh, must be all of twenty-five years ago. I was some upset when I saw the place, but I'd already told Chick to call me there, so nothing for it but to stay. Wish I could stay somewhere else, but it wouldn't be safe to go back to Seaford."

"Whiteside would be all right," Rick said. "You could stay there."

"I'd rather. But are you sure it'd be safe?"

Jerry spoke up. "Captain, I'm on the Whiteside Morning Record. I'll make a deal with you. Give us your story exclusively, when the right time comes, and the paper will guarantee your safety."

"It sounds good," Captain Killian admitted. "But when is the right time going to come? Maybe never."

"Sooner than you think," Rick said quietly. "Look, gang. There's only one way to crack this case. We know now we can't get Captain Tyler cleared unless the whole outfit is rounded up. So we'll just have to get busy and find the evidence we need. We'll start over again, and this time we won't go wrong because we know what to look for, and where to look."

"Fighting talk," Cap'n Mike chuckled happily.

Scotty laughed. "Do we dare put our heads inside the Seaford city limits again after what we did to Carrots? He'll be waiting for us with a squad of thugs and that little popgun of his."

"The popgun maybe, but no thugs," Rick corrected. "What will you bet he never even tells his father what happened to him?"

"No bet there," Jerry said, grinning. "I'll bet the same thing." He put the car in gear. "We may as well head back to Whiteside. First, though, we'll have to collect Captain Killian's baggage."

The captain spoke his agreement. "I'll take your offer, son." He shook his head. "You know, I'm real surprised at Brad Marbek. I knew he wasn't above turning a dishonest dollar, but I thought he had more sense than to go into smuggling. No matter how foolproof you think your setup is, if you start smuggling you're bound to get caught. Sooner or later."

"In this case," Rick added hopefully, "we'll try to make it sooner."