brig!'
'Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage-when you've got a friend on the outside,' Whit quipped.
'What was that you were saying before, about the timing being all wrong, Greg?' Barbara asked.
'Well, first I had the notion that Younger himself was the thief. He couldn't have been, though, because the guard didn't leave the admiral's office until after the fight had started. Buck was right in the thick of it the whole time. You know,' he ruminated, 'in some ways Port Dixon is a little like Alcatraz was. It's almost impossible to get in or out without a written pass. And when you do enter or leave, you're subjected to a search.'
'So how did this mastermind get the blueprints past the gate?' Whit asked.
Greg casually exploded a bombshell. 'He didn't. At least, I don't think so.'
'They're still on the base?' Barbara gasped.
'Nope. I don't know where they are now,' Greg admitted, 'but I have a hunch that at one time they were right here on the Albatross.'
'Right here on the Albatross?' Whit echoed.
'You're not serious!' Barbara exclaimed.
But Greg was grimly earnest.
'Sure. It hit me a few minutes ago when Shelby mentioned that he had brought his houseboat down to Port Dixon. You know the setup there, Whit. A pass could be faked; an unauthorized person might get onto the base-and off again-but not with those blueprints. The guards at the gate use an X-ray type machine which would show up bulky papers, as well as any metal object. And if anyone had tried going over that twelve-foot electric fence, or taking off in a plane or chopper, he'd have been spotted within seconds.'
'Which leaves the water,' Whit said, beginning to understand.
'That's the only way those papers could have been smuggled out.' Greg paced a few yards down the deck, a faraway look in his eyes. 'Shelby requested permission to bring his houseboat into the harbor while doing that interview. Because he is such a well-known person, authorization was granted almost immediately. Between then and the time he actually made the trip, any number of people might have learned of his plan. Shelby made no secret of the fact that he is an avid fisherman. He probably went around bragging that he was going to get the interview and a good catch of fish in the bargain.'
'I guess he bragged to one person too many,' Barbara said with a little shiver.
'As I see it, the thief learned of Shelby's plans in advance, which gave him a chance to work out a timetable with Buck Younger. When the riot started and the guard ran out to help break it up, the thief slipped into the office and broke open the cabinet. Then he barreled down to where the Albatross was berthed, hid the plans aboard, and hurried back to rejoin his group. The whole operation shouldn't have taken more than half an hour.'
'And with the blueprints safely concealed, he had no further need for haste.' Whit took up with the sordid tale. 'He left when everyone else did, passed the gate search like any innocent citizen, and settled down in Santa Teresa to wait for Lance Shelby to return from his fishing trip. As soon as Shelby came ashore, the thief retrieved the cache.' Whit brought his fist smashing down on the rail. 'It was so simple it had to be foolproof. He couldn't miss!'
'Don't you think,' Barbara interrupted quietly, 'that 'thief' is the wrong word to use? Wouldn't 'spy' be more appropriate?'
'Well, let's just say that ordinary second-story men are more interested in diamond necklaces than in the blueprints for a nuclear sub,' Greg admitted.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the Albatross as each of them was lost in his own thoughts. Barbara retraced the steps of Greg's reasoning and could find no flaw in it. The only trouble, she decided morosely, was that they hadn't figured out the ruse in time. The spy had neatly outfoxed them.
'Even that creepy Mr. Smith caught on before we did,' she murmured to herself. 'I wonder where he got the notion that the blueprints were still aboard the houseboat? Maybe he suspected that the spy hadn't been able to smuggle them out of the country yet, and figured this was as safe a temporary hiding place as any.'
'I'll bet Buck Younger started worrying that he wasn't going to get his cut of the profits,' Whit said, showing that his thoughts were running parallel to hers. 'He took an awful risk coming out of hiding.'
Greg nodded gloomily. He seemed to be blaming himself for not unraveling the plot sooner.
'What are you going to do now?' Barbara asked. 'Notify the military authorities or the FBI?'
'Guess we'd better. Though, as you so aptly put it, starting an investigation now is like locking the sub door after the plans have been stolen.' Greg kicked absently at a splinter jutting up from the deck. 'I want to think about it a little longer. I've got a feeling that somewhere along the way I overlooked an important point.'
When Barbara left the houseboat a short time later, Whit and Greg had still not decided upon a definite course of action. Short-cutting along the woodland trail, she decided that the grandeur of the sunset in the western sky was out of place. A damp, murky fog would have made a more appropriate setting for her depressed frame of mind.
Her spirits sank even lower when she found the house empty and recalled the birthday party which the Prescott family was attending. It would be hours before Regina and her parents would return.
Even now, Barbara could scarcely credit the fantastic tale which Greg had unfolded. Espionage in this peaceful little town!
The sharp jangle of the telephone bell sliced through her disturbed thoughts. Her eyes widened in surprise as Lance Shelby's breezy voice came bouncing over the wire.
'Hungry?' he asked without preamble.
'I had forgotten all about dinner,' Barbara confessed.
'Then you're in luck. Slip into something black and slinky, and I'll buy you a lobster at Pietro's. Half an hour.'
An uncompromising click severed the connection before Barbara could accept or reject the invitation. 'Of all the nerve!' she fumed. 'And telling me what to wear. It's a wonder he didn't specify the shade of lipstick-'
Suddenly she was overcome by a fit of giggles. It would do the conceited Mr. Shelby no end of good to be left waiting on the porch while she slipped out the back door. On the other hand, her stomach impatiently reminded her, she had eaten nothing since breakfast, and Pietro's was the best restaurant in town.
'Might as well attend the command performance,' she told herself, still smiling as she hurried upstairs. Anything was preferable to sitting alone in an empty house and worrying about spies!
Barbara ignored his clothing instructions and chose a becoming knit suit in a soft shade of coral.
This mutinous gesture did nothing to diminish Lance's enthusiasm, however.
'My, my! You should be decorating the Society pages, instead of helping write them,' he commented gallantly, holding the car door open for her.
Pietro's was hushed and dimly candlelit. A bowing major domo whisked them to their table, where self- effacing waiters competed for the privilege of drawing out their chairs.
Goodness, thought Barbara, impressed by the service which Lance's very presence seemed to command. He certainly has the world handed to him on a platter. I'll bet he was born wearing twenty-four carat gold diaper pins!
'I have a craving for seafood,' Lance confided when the waiter had placed rosy goblets of shrimp cocktail before them. 'That ole brain food legend was thrown at me when I was a kid. I had an urge to become the smartest fellow on the block, so fish was on the menu as often as I could persuade my folks to put it there. Guess I never outgrew the habit.'
Barbara tasted the tiny crescents of shrimp nestling in a tangy sauce. 'Um, this is wonderful,' she exclaimed. 'I can understand now why you're such a fishing fan.'
'It's a wonderful hobby. I've had lots of relaxing vacations aboard the old houseboat. By the way,' he asked, 'what do your friends intend to do with the Albatross, now that they've bought her?'
'It's Whit's boat, really. Greg is just staying there with him for a few weeks. Whit plans to turn it into a restaurant.'
Lance approved wholeheartedly. 'Fine idea. It's a wonder no one thought of doing something like that sooner. I was rather surprised when the other young man-Greg-remembered me,' he confided after a slight pause. 'There were a great many visitors at Port Dixon the day I went down.'
'Greg has a marvelous memory.' Barbara smiled. 'I think he must have had a brain food diet, too.'
