Duke Barrows, editor of the Whiteside Morning Record, sipped slowly at his cup of coffee, nodding encouragement at Rick every once in a while. The editor, after a few words with Jerry, had taken Captain Killian to his own house for safekeeping. The captain could stay there, Duke said, until it was time for him to make a public appearance.

But the price Duke asked was to be told the complete story. At first Rick hesitated. With no proof of anything except for Captain Killian's testimony, which actually convicted no one, he was a little doubtful about making accusations. But when it came to keeping a tight lip, the editor was probably more experienced than any of them. Besides, Rick hoped that he might have a suggestion, so, finally, they put Cap'n Mike on the Seaford bus and the three boys and Duke retired to a secluded booth in the rear of a restaurant to talk it over.

Barrows traced circles on the plastic table top for long moments after Rick had finished. "You've been pretty thorough," he said finally. "What do you plan to try now?"

Rick shook his head. "I wish I knew. We could try to get to Creek House earlier next time the Albatross puts in there, but we know now they guard the place."

"How about spotting the Albatross from the air while she actually loads at sea?" Duke asked.

"Rick mentioned that," Scotty replied. "But how? We can't fly at night in the Cub because we don't have landing lights. And even if we did, we could only go out in moonlight because we don't have any night flying instruments."

Jerry looked at the editor. "Duke, you know the Coast Guard commanding officer in this area. How about getting him to send out one of his planes?"

"We could," Duke said slowly, "but I'd rather not. This is Rick and Scotty's case." He grinned. "Besides, I'm selfish. If the Coast Guard gets it, every news agency and paper in the country gets it from official sources. I'd rather have an exclusive we can copyright, then every paper in the country will have to quote us."

"It would put Whiteside on the map," Rick grinned in response. "Seriously, Duke, I'm afraid that's not very practical. Besides, how would we know when the Albatross was going to make contact with a supply ship? We know when he's going to Creek House, because Cap'n Mike can see him. But Brad has already made contact when that happens."

"Let's take one thing at a time." The editor drew pencil and paper from his pocket. "What would you need to fly at night?"

Rick ticked them off on his fingers. "Wing landing lights, navigation lights, cockpit instrument light. And if we were supposed to fly in anything but clear weather, we'd need a bank and turn indicator and an artificial horizon. But even then I'd be doubtful. I've never had instrument training. I wouldn't dare take the Cub out unless it was a clear, moonlit night, so I'd have a good horizon."

Scotty approved. "That makes sense. And if we stuck to clear moonlight, the only things we'd need would be landing lights and navigation lights."

Duke made notes. "All right. I don't think you need to worry much about having moonlight, because the weather is pretty consistent at this time of year. Barring a ground haze or a local thunderstorm, you'll have clear weather, and the moon will be full by the early part of next week. Now suppose we get Gus to install landing lights and navigation lights on a rental basis? The paper would pay for that in exchange for an exclusive story."

"All we'd need would be good weather," Rick said. He had never flown the Cub at night. In fact, he had flown only once at night, and then it was in a much better plane and with an experienced instructor. But with good moonlight and a clear sky, it shouldn't be much different from day flying.

Duke continued. "Now the next point. How can we know when the Albatross is going to make contact?"

"I think we can find out if Cap'n Mike will help," Scotty answered. "We know it takes time to transfer the smuggled goods, whatever they are. That means Brad Marbek has to leave port earlier in the morning than usual, unless he wants to call attention to what he's doing. As I see it, he probably leaves pretty early, makes contact with his supply ship and gets his load, then he hurries to the fishing grounds and gets his nets over the side and is fishing when daylight comes and the others see him. If Cap'n Mike kept watch, he would let us know when Brad left real early."

"That's good figuring," Rick complimented his pal. "The Albatross would have to leave between half past two and three in the morning. Otherwise, he wouldn't have time to load before daybreak."

"It wouldn't take long," Scotty pointed out. "They have to do their unloading by hand at Creek House, but the ship would have cargo booms. Two cargo nets swung to his deck would do it. It wouldn't take any time at all."

Jerry consulted his watch. "We could go to Seaford tonight and make arrangements."

Rick shook his head. "It's Saturday. The fleet doesn't go out on Sunday. Monday will be soon enough."

"I have another idea," Duke Barrows said. "Suppose we take the State Police into our confidence?"

"But we haven't any evidence to give them," Jerry objected.

"No need. Captain Ed Douglas is a good friend of mine. I can put it to him as a friend, and not officially."

Rick rather liked the idea of having the State Police on their side. He had a great deal of respect for the young officers, and he knew that they operated with military efficiency, plus FBI criminology training. What's more, Captain Douglas was a good friend of Hartson Brant's, and Rick knew he would treat their story with confidence.

"I'm for it," he said finally. "Besides, if the State Police sort of co-operated unofficially, they could have their highway patrols watch out for the truck that is getting the stuff from Creek House. The patrol car wouldn't even have to go into Seaford. They could just keep an eye on Salt Creek Bridge, because that must be the loading point. Cap'n Mike hasn't seen any trucks on Million Dollar Row."

"Fine." Duke Barrows rose. "It's still early. We'll get busy right away. First stop Whiteside Airport to talk with Gus about putting lights on your plane. Then we'll drop in on Captain Douglas."

Rick felt better. The pattern was clear now, even though there were a lot of "ifs." If Cap'n Mike notified them, he and Scotty could fly over the Albatross. If they saw it make contact with some offshore ship and load contraband, they could return to Spindrift and notify Captain Douglas. Then the State Police could be on hand at Creek House to catch the Kelsos and Marbek in the act of unloading. And that would settle the smugglers' hash once and for all! The prospect of flying at night made him a little nervous, but he was sure it would be all right. The only thing was, although he could take off from Spindrift at night he couldn't land there, because the tiny strip gave no room for errors in judgment. He would have to land at Whiteside.

"This is on the Morning Record," Duke said as he paid the check. "And while we're working on this, I think I'll try to dig into Kelso's record a little, too. Never know what might turn up."

Sunday was quiet at Spindrift. Rick and Scotty swam in the light surf below Pirate's Field, sun-bathed for a while, and then walked back to the house. Hartson Brant was loafing for the day, too, and Rick had an opportunity to talk with him for the first time in several days.

Hartson Brant listened to Rick's story and plans, and agreed that any night flying must be done in absolutely clear, bright weather. Rick knew the fact that Captain Douglas was co-operating had swung his father's decision, and he knew that although his mother would be inclined to object, she would accept his father's judgment.

It gave Rick a comfortable feeling to know that the State Police captain was interested. Captain Douglas had agreed to go along with their plans during a long conference the night before. And Gus had promised to get the necessary lights for the Cub from Newark early Monday morning, and to have them installed by Monday evening.

Rick and Scotty helped with the installation on Monday afternoon. The hardest part was feeding the wires through the wings and fuselage. The wires had to be passed from one inspection port to the next, which required a great deal of fishing. But by five in the afternoon, the job was done. The Cub now carried a pair of landing lights, like auto headlights, one under each wing, and red and green navigation lights on the wings. There was a tiny white light on the tail, too, which would blink in unison with the colored wing lights.

As they landed at Spindrift, Rick grinned at Scotty. "Your head set firmly on your neck? It might get jarred off first time I try a night landing."

"I should have stayed in the Marine Corps and lived a quiet, safe life," Scotty grumbled. "When do we try these things out?"

"Want to go down and shine the lights on Creek House?" Rick joked.

"Nope. Wouldn't be safe. Didn't that phone call warn you not to fly over Seaford?"

The phrase hit home. Rick yelled, "That's it! Scotty, I knew there was something funny. It was in the back of my head and I couldn't dig it out. But that's it! Listen, why would the Kelsos object to our flying over Seaford during the day? All their dirty work goes on under cover of darkness. They must have some reason for warning us!"

"Gosh, yes!" Scotty started at a run through the orchard. "Let's go take another look at those photographs!"

They ran through the house and up the stairs to Rick's room, and spread out on a table the enlargements Scotty had made. "Let's see," Rick said. "There must be something they don't want us to see. But where? We know there's nothing on the grounds, and we couldn't see anything in the house or garage from the air."

"The marsh," Scotty suggested. "Try the marsh, especially up the creek from the hotel."

Their heads bent over the best photo of the area and two pairs of eyes scanned the marsh grass. Rick pointed to an area on the Creek House side of the marsh, a short distance below the bridge. "There's something there, but I can't make it out."

Scotty straightened up. "Got a magnifying glass?"

"There's one in the library." Rick ran to get it, stopped to explain to his father that they might have an important clue, and ran back upstairs again. It was a powerful glass. He held it over the questionable area and details leaped to meet him. Wordlessly he handed the glass to Scotty.

The boy bent and studied the photo, then he turned to Rick with a wide grin on his face. "So that's it! Rick, this is their cache. They must park the stuff there until the truck comes!"

The marsh grass had been bent cunningly over the area in an effort at camouflage, but the magnifying glass clearly showed some sort of barge piled with wooden boxes!

"Let's go take a look," Scotty said enthusiastically. "Maybe it's still there."

Rick started to agree, then a thought struck him. "We'd better not. They'd see us, and they might notice the lights on the plane. We don't want to tip our hand." Then he brightened. "But they don't know Gus's plane!" He hurried out into the hall and called Whiteside Airport. Gus answered.

"This is Rick," he told the airport manager. "Gus, how's your plane?"

"Running like a watch. Just like my car. Why?"

"How's to borrow it for a quick trip south?"

"Now he wants to imitate birds," Gus groaned. "Don't you know it's too early to fly south?"

"Don't want to go that far south," Rick said.

"Come and get it."

Rick had no hesitation in asking the obliging Gus for the loan of equipment because he was always ready to oblige in turn. Several times, when Gus's plane was out of commission or not available, either because of engine overhaul or because some flier had rented it, Rick had taken the Cub to Whiteside for Gus to use in instructing his pupils. Furthermore, the island boats were always at Gus's disposal and he frequently borrowed one to go on a Sunday fishing excursion.

The short hop to Whiteside took only a few minutes. Rick taxied to the hangar and he and Scotty climbed out. Gus's plane, a light private job of a different make than Rick's and painted red, was standing on the apron. It had the name of the airport painted on the side in large letters.

Gus came out of the office and walked to meet them. He was a short, stocky young man only a few years older than Rick, and his slightly sour look hid a keen sense of humor. "I called my lawyer," he announced. "He'll be right here."

"Lawyer?" Rick sometimes had a hard time knowing when Gus was pulling his leg. "What for?"

Gus shrugged. "You're borrowing my plane when your own is in perfect flying condition. It must be for something illegal. You want my plane to be seen instead of yours. You want people to think I did it. So I asked my lawyer to come. I'll have a witness to prove I wasn't in the plane when the dastardly deed was done."

"What deed?" Scotty asked seriously.

Gus looked wise. "You don't trap me like that," he said. "If I admitted what I know, that would make me an accessory before the fact. Nope, I'm keeping quiet about this." He leered. "But I know!"

"Accessory!" Rick hooted. "You know what that means? Something extra and usually unnecessary."

Gus looked hurt. "I'll remember that next time you come in for an engine check and I'll put emery in your crankcase. Go on. Get in and I'll whirl the fan for you."

Rick and Scotty climbed into Gus's plane, grinning. Rick checked the controls rapidly, then called, "Ignition off."

"Off," Gus repeated, and pulled the propeller through to prime the engine.

"Contact," Rick called, and Gus pulled the prop. The engine caught at once. Rick warmed it, watching his gauges, then waved to Gus and taxied to the end of the runway. As they were airborne, Scotty took the speed graphic he had brought and checked to see that a film pack was in place. Rick banked around and headed for Seaford.

There was no buzzing of Creek House this time. Rick flew in a straight line, just far enough seaward so that Scotty could get a good picture. As they passed the cache area, Scotty leaned far out and snapped the shutter. Then he turned to Rick, grinning. "Still there. About ten cases. It looks as if we've got the goods on them."

Rick flew straight ahead until he was out of sight of Seaford, then he swung a few miles inland and returned to Whiteside. Fifteen minutes later they were landing the Cub at Spindrift, just in time for dinner. But first Rick made a phone call to the Morning Record, reported their findings to Duke and arranged with Jerry to pick them up at the Whiteside dock later for a trip to Seaford. They had to see Cap'n Mike to make arrangements and Rick wanted another look at the Albatross. He had to memorize every detail of its silhouette, otherwise he might find himself following the wrong ship when the time came if another fisherman decided to get an early start.

It was dusk when Jerry met them. "Got a message from Duke," he said as they climbed into the car. "He phoned Captain Douglas to tell him about the wooden cases you saw. The captain is going to keep an eye on the stuff, but he says it isn't enough evidence. The Kelsos could always claim they knew nothing about it and we couldn't prove they did. The stuff isn't on their land."

"Proof," Scotty said sourly. "Golly, do we have to get pictures of them peddling the stuff to customers?"

"Just about," Rick commented.

Cap'n Mike wasn't at home when the boys arrived. They parked in front of his shack and talked and listened to the car radio for over an hour before he finally appeared, then he greeted them tartly.

"Why weren't you at Spindrift when I phoned?"

"What for?" Rick asked. "What happened?"

"Brad Marbek's at Creek House again. That's what happened. I called to tell you, and your mother said you had left. What's the matter? Not letting what happened the other night scare you off, are you?"

"We sure are," Scotty replied.

Rick laughed at the old seaman's astonished expression. "Don't let him fool you, Cap'n. We've got another plan."

Quickly he outlined Duke's proposal and explained how they had outfitted the Cub.

Cap'n Mike smacked his thigh. "Now we're getting down to cases. You just bet I'll keep watch on the pier so I can phone when Brad leaves."

"There's one more thing, Cap'n Mike," Rick said. "I have to get another look at the Albatross tonight. Is there any place from which we can see her without being seen?"

Cap'n Mike thought it over. "Yep," he said at last. "There is. There's a dredger tied up at the pier just south of the fish wharf, and Brad always berths in the same place, south side. I know the skipper of the dredger. We can sort of drop in on him and take a look from there. That suit?"

"That will be fine," Rick replied. "But we may have a long wait if Brad's at Creek House."

"Wouldn't be surprised," Cap'n Mike nodded. "Likely two hours. What say you come into my shack? Might be able to scare up a sandwich or two to pass away the time."

Rick looked at Jerry doubtfully. "There's a paper tomorrow morning. Don't you have to get back and help get it out?"

"Not tonight." Jerry grinned his pleasure. "Duke said to stick with you two and forget everything else. First time I've had an assignment like this. I have to admit I sort of like it."

"Good," Cap'n Mike grunted. "Then let's go see what we can find to eat. I got so interested in watching for Brad Marbek that I plumb forgot about food."

It was after eleven when the four left the shack and climbed into Jerry's car for the short ride to the pier. At Scotty's suggestion, they parked the car on the edge of town and walked to the dock where the dredger was tied up. They stayed in the shadows, hopeful that they would not be seen, and Rick thought they reached the dredge without attracting attention.

The dredge was deserted, but Cap'n Mike made himself at home. He led the boys into the wheelhouse, a small shack on the aft end, and they took places at the windows. They had arrived too early, as it developed. It was a full half-hour before the Albatross rounded the fish pier and steamed into her berth. The pier workers were gathered at the berth, obviously waiting impatiently. They had finished unloading the last of the other trawlers a full fifteen minutes before.

Rick studied the rigging of the ship as it approached and memorized the position of her running lights. The Albatross had only one distinctive feature; her crow's-nest, from which a lookout was kept for schools of fish, was basket-shaped instead of being perfectly round. The other trawlers, he had noted, had crow's-nests that looked like barrels. He knew he wouldn't forget the way the nest narrowed toward the bottom.

The Albatross was low in the water. As she slid into position and threw out her lines, he saw clearly the Plimsoll mark on her bow. The Plimsoll mark was a series of measurements in feet, running from the maximum depth at which the ship should lie in the water down toward the keel. By looking at it, the skipper could tell at once how much load he had aboard. Now, the top figure was barely showing.

Rick studied it, and his forehead creased. "That's funny," he said. He pointed it out to the others. "She's full up. You'd think she would be lighter after dropping off a load at Creek House."

"You would for a fact," Cap'n Mike muttered. "What do you suppose they're smuggling? Must be feathers. 'Cause if you added a few more pounds to the load she's carrying now, she'd be awash."

Rick felt a pang of doubt. Were they away off the beam on their guesses about the Kelsos and the Albatross? The ship certainly would be higher in the water had they unloaded cargo.

"Maybe they didn't unload tonight," Scotty ventured. "It would be smart of Marbek to just visit Creek House for nothing once in a while, to throw off any watchers. That way, he could make his story about visiting his relatives seem a little more plausible."

Cap'n Mike had told them that was the story Brad was handing out to those who dared question him about his visits to Creek House.

Rick's face cleared. "That must be it," he agreed. "But look, if he visited the Kelsos tonight, it doesn't look as though he would make contact with his supply ship for a couple of days."

"Suits me," Scotty stated. "I'm not overly anxious to go tooting off into the wild black yonder in the Cub, if you come right down to it. I'd rather Brad took his time, to let me get used to the idea."

He had stated so neatly what Rick was feeling that he had to grin. He had been wishing he had more confidence in his ability to land safely at night.

"Amen," he said fervently.