them. Barbara sighed thankfully, glimpsing a familiar gray slouch hat in the back seat. Somewhere in the disordered darkroom there might lie a clue. If so, Mr. Quinn would find it.
'Did you tell him about the photographer?' she asked. She had gone for her coat while Whit telephoned the Federal officer.
With a pained expression, Whit massaged his ear. 'Yes, and you should have heard him. A Geiger counter being introduced to an atom bomb couldn't have made such a racket. He's positive that Buck Younger is in this up to his neck.'
'I suppose that negative is burnt to a cinder by this time,' Barbara said gloomily. 'The spy couldn't risk being seen consorting with a known fugitive. He must have nearly died of apoplexy when that picture appeared in the paper.'
'He's a daring bird,' Whit muttered. 'He must have found out earlier in the day where the darkroom was situated. As soon as the staff left for the night, he barged right in.'
'And struck so fast and ruthlessly that poor Don didn't even have a chance to turn around.' Thoughtfully, Barbara considered the assailant's audacity. Like an old nemesis, the point which had troubled her from the beginning of this strange affair returned to plague her anew. They were driving down a quiet side street; on an impulse, she asked Whit to pull in to the curb.
'Regina and her folks will be home by now. I'd just as soon not discuss this in front of them,' she explained.
'Okay by me. Got any new ideas?' Whit asked hopefully. 'All of mine have ruts worn in them.'
'Not new, exactly,' she answered with a frown. 'But for the first time, I've started thinking of the spy as a real person, not just a-a sort of mechanical bogeyman. You said he was daring, and I certainly agree. Almost everything he's done has a distinct flavor of derring-do about it, a rashness that defies common sense. He's bold and fearless, and a genius at carrying out his decisions on a split-second timetable. Look at how he stole the blueprints! And tonight, the way he went after that negative.'
'So he's a decisive fellow.' Whit shrugged. 'What's so perplexing about that?'
'Nothing, except that I can't understand why he stepped out of character at one crucial point. Why did he dilly-dally around for weeks while the blueprints mildewed on the Albatross?'
'I thought you must be leading up to something.' Whit eyed her with dawning admiration. 'You do put those little gray cells to work, don't you? Hmmmm. My guess would be that he needed time to set up a deal with a prospective buyer.'
'Ye-es,' Barbara said dubiously. 'I suppose it wasn't really such a great risk, leaving the blueprints where they were. After all, Lance Shelby didn't use the houseboat very often. Most of the time the Albatross stayed in port where the spy could keep a sharp eye on her. And it was less hazardous than if he'd hidden them in his own house- if he were suspected, there would be no evidence to convict him. But I keep picturing him as a man who enjoys flirting with danger. This one act is completely inconsistent.'
'Maybe he planned to go back for that new radar device,' Whit blurted, and then looked as if he could have bitten his tongue out.
Barbara spun around, her eyes wide and incredulous. 'What!'
'I ought to be muzzled,' Whit said weakly.
'Not so fast, Mr. Whitney Egan. What was that about a new radar device?'
'Shhh! Barbara, it's just scuttle-butt gossip. I don't even know for sure that there is such a thing.'
These protestations did not deceive her for a minute. It would have been almost impossible to keep some hint of a tremendous new defensive weapon from leaking out on a base as large as Port Dixon. While the 'scuttlebutt' might not be wholly accurate, it was undoubtedly rooted in fact. And if the spy had been alert enough to ferret out the location of the submarine blueprints, a few adroitly placed questions could have revealed to him the existence of this even more valuable invention.
'Oh, Whit!' she breathed. 'Think of what a foreign power would pay if he got that, as well as the blueprints. The spy could retire for life!'
'Come off it, Barbara! He wouldn't be foolhardy enough to go back a second time. That wouldn't be boldness- it would be hari-kari!'
'Not necessarily. In the first place, nobody knows who the spy is. He could be anyone! And how many people are supposed to know about the-the new thing? I'll bet you're not. The authorities would never suspect that he found out about it, let alone dream that he'd be audacious enough to try to steal it. The odds against such a maneuver could work in his favor.'
Whit wavered, his thoughts trapped on a pendulum which swung between his own conviction that the feat would be impossible and Barbara's convincing arguments to the contrary.
'Boy, am I confused!' he muttered. 'Here I thought civilian life would be nice and uncomplicated. I couldn't go back to a quiet little ranch in Montana, oh, no. I had to buy a houseboat and settle in a hotbed of international intrigue like Santa Teresa!'
Barbara changed her tactics. 'I'm sorry,' she said contritely. 'You're probably right. I don't imagine the spy ever wants to go within a hundred miles of Port Dixon again.'
Unexpectedly, Whit grinned. 'You're going to back down and let me take the initiative, now that you have me nicely riled up about this notion, is that it? Women!'
A look of mischief danced across Barbara's face. 'You'll call Mr. Quinn?'
'Of course I'll call Mr. Quinn.' Still shaking his head, Whit reached for the ignition key. 'There's about one chance in a million that your idea is on the nose, but it's a chance I don't want to be responsible for. The FBI might want to have the-the thing shipped back to Washington until our shifty adversary is behind bars.'
'And if you're wrong,' he concluded, 'I think I'll throttle you!'
Barbara didn't know what to say. She wanted to take Whit home with her, but she didn't want to be too forward. But as she looked at him and figured out how he was feeling, she decided the best thing she could do would be to tell Whit just exactly what was on her mind.
'I don't know how to say this,' she said, sliding her hand across his thigh. 'But I wish you could, well, you know.'
Whit seemed to catch on quickly. He started up the car and then moved out into traffic.
'Let's go to the houseboat,' he said. 'We can be alone there.'
While Whit drove, Barbara moved closer to him on the front seat. She slid her hand down into his crotch and began massaging his penis.
'Just be patient, honey,' Whit said shakily. 'I'm driving as fast as I can.'
'Well,' said Barbara, rubbing harder against his hardening prick, 'you're going to have to drive faster.'
After what seemed an eternity to Barbara, Whit pulled up at the docks. They leaped out of his car and ran merrily down to the boat, arm in arm. Once inside, Whit tossed Barbara onto one of the bunks.
'I've been thinking about this for a long time,' he said, taking off his clothes.
'Me, too, Whit,' Barbara replied. 'I've wanted you so bad.'
When Whit was naked, he climbed into the bunk with Barbara. Quickly, he began undressing her.
'Take it easy,' Barbara gasped. 'You might tear something.'
But Whit appeared not to hear her. He tore at her clothes savagely. Barbara had never seen him like this before. He was so impassioned that for an instant she forgot it was Whit who was ripping off her bra and panties. She couldn't, however, say that she didn't like it, because his frenzied activity was turning her on tremendously.
'Oh, I've been dreaming about these,' Whit gasped as he began fondling her breasts. 'I've wanted to suck them so bad.'
Whit buried his face between her tits and began flapping his tongue all around. It seemed as if he couldn't get enough. When he began slurping on her nipples, Barbara thought he was never going to stop. Not that she wanted him to. She wanted him to do whatever he wished for as long as he wished. She was thoroughly enjoying the way he was attacking her. If he could please her this way all the time, well, she could see no reason to look for any other man.
Slowly, Whit moved his face down her belly until he was staring at her vagina. Licking his lips, he paused to admire her beauty.
'Don't just sit there,' Barbara said. 'Do something!'
