by John Blaine
“Got it,” Scotty answered, and hurried off while Rick kept an eye on the cake in the induction cooker.
The cake was done when Scotty returned, carrying a bowl of thick white frosting and a cake plate. “I convinced her,” he reported. “She thinks you’re a secondEdison , being able to cool a cake in an induction heater.”
Rick took the cake out of the heater and transferred it from the cake tin to the plate. Then he turned on a fan and left it to cool. “There’s plenty of frosting,” he said. “We’ll frost the cake later.”
“It smells good,” Scotty said yearningly.
Rick took the bowl of frosting and carefully coated the balloon until the last trace of red rubber had vanished under a tempting coat of white. The balloon in the tin made a slightly higher mound than a real cake, but otherwise there was no outward difference. The frosting was already hardening.
“Let’s go,” Rick said. “We’ll leave the real one up here and come back for it later. Did they go out to the porch?”
“Yes,” Scotty said, grinning.
They hurried down the stairs and carried the frosted balloon out to the porch.
“A beauty,” Rick remarked, holding it out.“A real masterpiece. And light as a feather.Lighter, maybe.”
Scotty stifled a betraying chuckle.
Barby’s eyes opened wide. “Did you cool it that fast? Rick! You didn’t take it out of the tin!”
Rick looked properly surprised. “Gosh, am I a dope! Well, never mind. Well serve it from the tin. Do we get milk with it?”
Barby looked at the cake doubtfully, but didn’t say anything further. She hurried to the kitchen.
Mrs. Brant looked at her son suspiciously. “You have something up your sleeves, both of you. You look much too smug.”
“I didn’t know you could reverse an induction heater,” Tom said thoughtfully.
“Oh, sure,” Rick said hurriedly. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
Barby reappeared with a tray containing a pitcher of milk, glasses, and plates for the cake.
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“I think Tom should cut the cake,” Scotty said. “He rates the honor as the only visitor present.”
“Of course,” Rick said. He picked up the cake tin and set it before Tom on a coffee table. He had to be careful not to let anyone else handle it because of its giveaway lightness. He presented the cake knife to Tom.
“Cut,” he invited.
Barby watched anxiously.
Tom took the knife, and with a smile at Barby, started to cut. Rick almost laughed outright at the strange look that came over his face, but he choked it back.
“Harder,” he urged. “It must be sponge cake.”
The knife penetrated the hard outer coating of white frosting but wouldn’t cut.
“Sponge cake,” Scotty agreed, and started coughing.
Rick poked him and he regained his self-control.
Tom gave the boys a worried look. The cake just wouldn’t cut.
“Jab it,” Rick suggested. He stole a look at Barby’s horrified, scarlet face.
Tom had been gently trying to cut into the cake, but now he took the blunt cake knife and poked.
Nothing happened, except that the knife pushed right back at him. Tom looked like a man who had just had a sandwich bite him back.
Rick felt as though he would burst from the effort of controlling his mirth, but he felt in his pocket and came out with the scout knife he always carried. He opened the long blade and handed it to Tom.
“Try this,” Rick suggested.
Mrs. Brant was holding a handkerchief to her lips, but a soft giggle escaped. She looked accusingly at Rick.
Barby and Scotty were both crimson, but for different reasons.
Tom took the knife with anembarrassed smile, and poked. Air whooshed out at him and he almost jumped out of his seat.
Rick waited for the cake to collapse, as a punctured balloon should. But it didn’t!
“What on earth . . .” Mrs. Brant started.
Scotty fell into a chair and roared.
Rick stared at the cake tin. He had seen instantly what had happened. The balloon had collapsed as the air rushed out through the hole Tom had made, but the hardened frosting had remained intact. He looked at it and a picture flashed into his mind, a picture from a newsreel. Men were pouring cement over a Page 38
domelike rubber bag . . .
“The pressure domes,” he said, his voice hushed. “They could be rebuilt like that!”
“What?” Tom asked in bewilderment.
“Rick, what did you do to my cake?” Barby demanded, almost tearfully.
“They build houses,” Rick said. “I saw it in the news-reel! They pour concrete over a rubber mold, let it harden, and then deflate the mold!”
Tom was on his feet now. “Yes! Gosh, yes! I’ve seen pictures of it in the magazines! If we could get one of those firms to re-pour the domes just as they would a house . . .”
Suddenly Tom was off the porch, running in the direction Doug and Hartson Brant had gone, and he was yelling Doug’s name at the top of his voice.
“That’s what I like about this place,” Barby said unhappily. “Even the guests are crazy.” She was staring at the cake.
Rick and Scotty shook hands soberly.
“That’s using the old bean,” Scotty said. “They can save plenty of money, and have the domes re-poured in a single day!”
Mrs. Brant stood beside them. “You’ll get around to explaining, I’m sure.But, meanwhile, what about Barby’s cake?”
Rick was instantly contrite. “We’ll have it right now.” As Scotty went to get the real cake, he explained:
“It was supposed to be a joke, sis. But it turned out to be the luckiest thing ever.” He explained about the pressure domes and how houses were made by using the rubber forms.
Barby was mollified by the explanation. Then suddenly she laughed. “It would have been a howl if the cake had collapsed.” She poked the crust of frosting with her finger and it cracked and fell into the tin.
Then they were all laughing.
CHAPTER VII
Gunner Has a Visitor
Wednesday passed rapidly after the four returned fromSpindriftIsland . Tom departed at once, with several errands to perform. First, he had to contract for the rebuilding of the domes by a house construction firm, if he could. Then he intended calling on a lawyer friend inNew Haven , to discuss instituting a search for Jenkins, with an eye to a possible damage suit. His third job was to see if the employment agency he had visited the day before had succeeded in making arrangements for workmen.
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Rick, as soon as he returned the Fairchild and staked down the Cub on the beach, went to work on the frac-tionator control panel, a highly complex arrangement of switches and relays that operated an even more complex rack of electronic controls. Familiar as Rick was with such items, some of the circuits were beyond him.
But he did as he was told and tried not to bother Doug with too many questions, and the work proceeded rapidly.
Tony and Scotty spent the day cleaning chrome-alloy sediment tanks, a job that meant plenty of work with rag and brush and solvent.
Tom returned as they were cleaning up. He was jubilant with news of a successful day. The employment agency had promised them forty men, to start on Monday morning. His lawyer friend had taken over the Jenkins case. And a firm that poured concrete houses had promised him an answer before tomorrownoon .
He had one more bit of news.
“We’re taking no more chances, Doug. I’ve hired some special guards from a private agency atNew Haven . They’ll patrol the place from five in the evening until we open in the morning, taking turns. And they’ll be armed. It’ll cost money, but I think it’s better to take no risks.”
“You’re right, Tom,” Doug assented. “When do they start?”
“Friday night.”
“We’ll take turns standing guard tonight,” Rick offered.
Doug gave them a warm smile. “Thanks a lot, kids. But with Tom and me sleeping here, I don’t think we’ll have any trouble. The time when we’ll really need the guards is when we tear the fence down.”
That was news to Rick and Scotty. They looked at the partners blankly.
“Economy,” Tom explained. “We talked it over last night. We’ll need lumber for the tank shacks and chemical platforms and we just can’t afford to buy any. So we’ll have to use the fence.”
Rick and Scotty discussed it as they hiked into town.
“I guess when Tom said bankrupt, he wasn’t kidding,” Scotty mused.
“It must be hard on them,” Rick said.
“Tough,” Scotty agreed.
“I wish we could help more.”
Scotty shrugged. “So doI . But what can we do? Except keep our eyes open.”
An idea was turning over in the back of Rick’s head, but he didn’t say anything. They walked up the steps and into the hotellobby, and Rick hesitated at the sight of Fred Lewis reading a newspaper in one Page 40
of the uncomfortable chairs. Was it imagination or did the man lift the paper higher, as though afraid they might get a good look at him?
The boys cleaned up, then went downstairs to the restaurant for supper. Over omelettes and French fried potatoes, Rick told Scotty what had been on his mind.
“I’m wondering about Gunner Stoles. Do you suppose he’s spreading rumors just out of meanness, as Cap’n Gait says, or is he doing it for a purpose?”
“Search me,” Scotty said.
”I wish we could find out.”
“Maybe we can.”
“You read my mind.” Rick grinned. “Were you thinking maybe we could keep an eye on him?”
“Why not?We haven’t any other plans for the evening.”
“It’s a date,” Rick said. He wasn’t sure it would do any good, but if there were a sure-enough plot against the sea mine, it was time they did something about it.
After supper they went back to their room to wait until it was dark out of doors. While Scotty read a magazine, sprawled out on his bed in solid comfort, Rick wrote a letter to Chahda, bringing the Hindu boy up to date on recent happenings.
“Listen, did you bring sneakers with you?” Rick asked when he had finished. It was dark now.
Sure.
“You’d better wear them.”
Scotty put the magazine down. “You’re not a scientist,chum, you’re a frustrated Dick Tracy. You get more kick out of trailing some innocent character than you do out of a nice clean experiment like the moon rocket.”
“You don’t, of course.”
“I do it for the exercise,” Scotty said. He swung off the bed and went to the closet. He found sneakers and put them on. Rick followed suit.
“It’s dark enough,” Rick said.
“I guess so. Let’s go down the back way. No point in advertising things to the whole hotel.”
It was a sensible suggestion. The back stairs led down into a dark courtyard where restaurant supplies and similar items were delivered. The boys had discovered them the first night when Scotty made a wrong turn and almost fell down them.
In a moment they were out of doors and making their way toward the water front through the back alleys. If they found Gunner, it probably would be down at Zukky’s restaurant.
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“What do we do when we locate him?” Rick asked.
“Just stick with him until he hits the hay, I guess,” Scotty said. “It wouldn’t do much good to sandbag him.”
They fell silent again, and in a few moments came out on the boardwalk at the water front. It was almost entirely dark in this part of town. The fishermen had secured for the night: their draggers were tied up along the fingerlike piers. Only the spotty light from Zukky’s broke the darkness.
Rick made his way along the boardwalk until he reached a spot where he could look in through the dingy windows. His heart gave a leap when he saw Gunner seated at the counter, a glass in front of him.
“There’s our boy,” he whispered.
“I see him. Not many people in there.”
“Stay back and duck into the shadows if you hear anyone coming.”
“Don’t worry, I will.”
The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. Rick watched Gunner until his eyes ached. Now and then the pudgy fisherman glanced at his wrist watch.
“He’s waiting for someone,” Rick guessed.
“Looks like it,” Scotty agreed.
They were silent again. Rick shifted his weight from one foot to the other and began to feel foolish. After all, what could they hope to accomplish?
Suddenly Scotty gripped Rick’s arm. Gunner Stoles had glanced at his wrist watch and pushed his glass away. With a word to the counterman, he started toward the door. The boys melted into the shadows and moved around a corner of the building.
Gunner came out to the boardwalk, stood for a moment in front of the restaurant, and consulted his watch again. Then he turned and walked right past where the boys were hiding. Rick automatically ducked his head so that the fisherman couldn’t see the white blur of his face.
Their quarry walked a few yards down the boardwalk, then turned onto one of the long piers. Rick and Scotty waited until the echo of his footsteps had died away, then they slipped silently after him.
They passed boats that made a darker bulk against the blackness of the water, and they heard the tide lapping at the piles under their feet.
Up ahead, a dim light, like a kerosene lamp, flickered, then settled down to a steady glow. The boys crept cautiously toward it and saw that it came from the cabin of a ramshackle dragger. Evidently this was Gunner’s boat.
Hugging the far side of the pier, they neared it, came opposite, and saw Gunner seated in the cabin, lighting his pipe. Rick took Scotty’s arm and led him on past, out to the very end of the pier.
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He put his lips to Scotty’s ear and whispered, “Does he live there or is he waiting for someone?”
“Must be waiting.Otherwise he wouldn’t’ve looked at his watch.”
“That’s how I figure it. Let’s get comfortable.”
There was a pile of lobster pots at the end of the pier. They sat down and began the wait. The water was close under them and the air had the scent peculiar to water fronts, a not unpleasing mixture of salt mud flats, tarred rope, engine fuel, and a faint but definite fishiness.
Rick’s eyes were accustomed to the darkness now, and he could make out Scotty’s features. If he could see, he reasoned, so could anyone else.
“If he gets a visitor, duck behind the lobster pots,” he whispered.
“Check,” Scotty nodded.
Somewhere out in the bay a fish broke water, but aside from the constant murmur of the water that was the only sound. Inland, the town made a glow in the sky, and to their left Rick could see lights that might have been from the plant.
Scotty tensed,then Rick heard it, too, the measured tread of someone coming down the boardwalk. The footsteps hesitated at their pier,then came toward them. Instantly they were behind the pile of lobster pots, scarcely breathing.
The footsteps reached the spot where Gunner’s boat was tied. Rick peered out from behind his shield and dimly made out a dark figure. Then it moved into the light from Gunner’s window and he sucked in his breath sharply.
Gunner’s visitor was Fred Lewis I
Rick’s fingers sank into Scotty’s arm.
“I see him,” Scotty breathed.
Lewis went aboard and the cabin door slammed. On the echo, Rick was moving, Scotty right with him.
Crouching low they moved down the pier, treading carefully for fear of loose boards.
There was a murmur of voices from inside and in a moment they could make out words.
“. . .don’t want to risk being seen with you . . . only stay a minute . . .”
Rick edged closer. Lewis had a voice that was oddly familiar. I
t was the voice of one used to giving orders..“You have to do better, Stoles. It isn’t enough for the men to refuse to work. They must be stirred up to the point of violence.”
Gunner’s voice was a low growl with a whining note in it.
“It ain’t as easy as that. They know the law about dumpin ’ poison. It ain’tno cinch to convince ‘em.”
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“Keep working on it. We’ll see that they’re convinced. Now get this straight, Stoles . . .”
This was the evidence they had needed! Lewis had lowered his voice, and Rick crept nearer. He had to hear every bit of that conversation. He was perilously close to the cabin, but he was careful not to make a sound, not even to breathe hard. He felt Scotty close to him.
Lewis’s voice was so low-pitched he couldn’t make out the words. He moved closer, bent forward, straining to hear, and his toe caught on the edge of the pier!
Rick went over headfirst and landed sprawling on the deck of the boat. His arm, outflung to break his fall, struck an empty gasoline can that crashed against the cabin with an appalling racket that brought the hair on his head up straight. He struggled to his feet and promptly fell flat again, his legs tangled in a coil of loose rope. Scotty’s hand pulled at his collar and he tried to get upright. For an awful moment he felt as though pythons had him in a death grip.
Not more than two seconds had passed, but there was bedlam inside the cabin, and the door flew open.
Light streamed out onto the deck. Rick fought the coils of rope and saw Scotty rush by him, saw Gunner step on deck, saw Scotty hurtle into him like a blocking fullback. Gunner went back into the cabin with a crash, carrying Lewis with him.
Scotty’s strong arm pulled Rick to his feet. He shook off the coil of rope.
Footsteps were pounding down the boardwalk. The noise was bringing someone from the restaurant!
There was only one way of escape. Already Gunner was coming out of the cabin again, but with more caution this time.
“Get going,” Scotty whispered urgently.
Rick sucked in his breath and dove. The water enveloped him. He stayed under, swimming toward the next pier. When he came up, he heard yells from the pier they had just left. Scotty’s head bobbed to the surface next to him.