'Now hold everything! I hadn't the foggiest notion until early this morning that my name was listed among the missing. Believe me, it was a greater shock to me than it was to you!'
Lance slung a leg over the corner of Melinda's desk, treating the girls to one of his famous, off-center smiles.
'Through no fault of my own, I was detained in Hong Kong. The plane on which I held reservations took off without me. Apparently, nobody bothered to cross my name off the passenger manifest, since everybody seems to have taken it for granted that I was aboard.' He shrugged. 'When I'm busy chasing down a lead, I don't go browsing through every news sheet published in the Crown Colony. I knew nothing of the exaggerated reports of my demise until I landed in Honolulu this morning. Dashed off a cable right away then, of course, but-'
'Oh, what does it matter now?' Melinda cried happily. 'You're safe; that's all that matters!'
'My opinion exactly.' Lance flicked his hat to the back of his head. 'Guess our esteemed editor will be glad to see me back, too. Don't know what he'd use for copy if I weren't around.'
Barbara gasped. What overbearing egotism! Granted, Lance Shelby had plenty to be conceited about. He was talented-and handsome-and charming. But she could not help feeling that all of these attributes could be enhanced by at least a semblance of modesty.
His personality flaws were none of her business, though, Barbara told herself. She opened her purse and fished for the notebook she had used the night before.
'See you in the morning,' she said, dropping it into her desk drawer. 'I really just stopped by to leave my notes on the Nicholson dance.'
Melinda smiled absent-mindedly. Before Barbara could reach the hall, however, Lance Shelby's voice arrested her.
'Sure that was your only reason for paying a Sunday call on the Courier? Somehow I got the impression that you were digging for information about me.' He tilted a sardonic eyebrow. 'Research for my obituary?'
Barbara had been hoping to escape before the subject of her unfinished query recurred to him. Certainly she had no desire to break the news that the mistaken announcement of his death had prompted sightseers to route a series of excursions through his belongings.
'I'm afraid the only obituaries I write concern parties that die on the vine,' she hedged.
'Then why ask what story I had been, working on?' he persisted reasonably.
There seemed no way to avoid replying. Barbara took a deep breath. 'If you must know, the man who bought the houseboat you used to rent is a friend of mine. I thought that if you had been investigating the activities of gangsters or racketeers, it might account for some of the strange things that have been happening aboard the Albatross.'
'Bought the houseboat!' Lance Shelby roared, leaping to his feet.
'Like everyone else, Mr. Dodson thought you were on the plane that crashed,' Barbara explained. 'Since you only rented the boat by the month, he put the Albatross up for sale.'
'Goodness, Lance, it's not that important,' Melinda declared. 'I never could understand why you kept that creaky old boat, anyway.'
'I happen,' he said, 'to be very fond of fishing.'
'All your gear is in a storage room at Dodson's,' Barbara put in helpfully.
This statement seemed to relieve his mind. 'Just so long as he didn't include my tackle in the sale, I guess it's all right,' he conceded. 'Uh-you mentioned that strange things have been happening?'
Lance Shelby's attitude had undergone a quick change. Now he was all news-scenting reporter.
'Yes,' Barbara said, deciding that her snap judgment of him might have been faulty. 'Several people were interested in the Albatross, but my friend succeeded in buying it first. Both he and Mr. Dodson were offered bribes to cancel the sale, and when they refused, an attempt was made last night to rob the boat.'
'Is your friend wealthy?' asked Melinda.
Barbara smiled. 'No, quite the contrary. Nothing of his was taken. So we assumed that since Whit had nothing of value there, the thief must have been hunting for something belonging to the houseboat's former owner. Did you keep anything expensive aboard the Albatross, Mr. Shelby?'
'My fishing tackle wasn't cheap,' he admitted. 'By the way, everyone calls me Lance. Now, what was that about my investigating racketeers and gangsters?'
'A number of your articles have concerned notorious criminals. As there seemed to be no other explanation for the houseboat's popularity, I thought you might have come across some incriminating evidence concerning underworld life.'
'And cached the evidence aboard my floating oyster palace?' Lance grinned. 'Quite an idea. Wish I had thought of it myself.'
'Then you don't know of anything concealed on the Albatross?' Barbara bit her lip, chagrined. So much for elaborate theories!
'Nothing except your friend-Whit, is it?' Lance slid off the desk where he had been perched. 'I wonder if he'd mind my taking a quick look around the old tub just to make sure the Dodson's didn't overlook any of my gear. Some of those lures would be hard to replace.'
'Of course he wouldn't mind. I had intended to drop by there this afternoon, if you'd care to come along.'
'Hey, what about me?' Melinda cried.
Lance gave her a friendly but definitely nonromantic pat on the shoulder. 'Honey, I'm a working reporter, remember? And I've got a hunch there's a hot story lurking around here somewhere!'
His sleek Italian sports car was parked at the curb in open defiance of the 'towaway zone' sign posted above it. Ducking low to enter the car, Barbara shook her head in wonderment. Lance Shelby, she mused, seemed to be one of fortune's favorites. Beautiful girls like Melinda Foster idolized him, fabulous trips to the Orient were a routine part of his life, and traffic cops handed out their citations on the next street down. No wonder the Courier's star reporter was a wee bit conceited!
She gave directions as he skillfully guided the car around corners and downgrades. Presently she found herself responding to questions about herself and her friends. Lance's manner was so friendly that, without hesitation, she detailed Whit's experiences in purchasing the houseboat, and mentioned his difficulties with the recalcitrant 'Mr. Smith.'
'You think he was using an alias?' Lance probed. 'Could be I've run across this 'Mr. Smith.' Give me his description.'
Barbara had no trouble in complying; the man had left an indelible impression on her mind. 'A stocky man in his mid-forties, about five feet nine, with black eyes and haystack eyebrows,' she told Shelby. 'He needed a haircut and his suit was rumpled.'
A thoughtful expression crossed Lance's face, but 'dunno for sure' was the only reply she managed to drag from him when she asked if he could identify the man.
Pulling off the rutted road at approximately the same spot where Whit had parked the evening before, Lance shaded his eyes and peered toward the inlet. 'Looks as if your friend has company already.' He gestured to the motor launch that nuzzled the bow of the Albatross.
Barbara was forced to take rapid strides in order to keep up with the reporter. As they drew closer to the little bay, she perceived the reason for haste. The visiting craft bore the Coast Guard insignia, and Lance, already intrigued by her accounts of the mystery surrounding the Albatross, intended to discover the purpose behind this official call.
Ascending the gangplank, Barbara found Whit and Greg deeply absorbed in conversation with a pair of Naval policemen. Each of the men wore S.P. armbands, and around the waists of their white uniforms were buckled businesslike service revolvers.
'Has something else happened?' she asked Whit, who broke away from the group and came to greet her.
'Not to us. To Buck Younger, if and when they catch him.' He looked quizzically at Lance Shelby, and Barbara introduced him.
'Lance Shelby!' Whit exclaimed. 'But aren't you-?'
'Still among the living.' Lance smiled, and briefly explained.
'Sorry. That was thoughtless of me,' Whit apologized. He swung back to Barbara. 'Remember the other
