“A method used by the slickest smugglers to fool the coast-guard. I heard of it first in China.” Dawson leaned forward to add emphasis. “Today the Chinks don’t take any chances in running opium into the U.S. When they have a cargo to land they bring it off the coast at a specified time—preferably a very dark night. The opium is packed in milk bottles and sealed—but each bottle also contains a tiny electric flashlight. A fast contact boat signals when the way is clear—and with ship and contact boat both on the move, the bottles are thrown overboard. The tiny light in each shows up a long ways off at night. It’s an easy job for the contact boat to pick them up.”
“Dope! Well I’ll be damned. It looks like the Feds may get in on this yet.” Stan got up and put the milk bottle back in the bag. “Of course you may be mistaken, Commander. That bottle might have been used for an innocent purpose. I’ll take it down to headquarters anyhow and see what Fred Fawcett can find. Was there anything else?”
Dawson took an envelope from his pocket and dumped the contents out on the table. “I picked these out of the ashes in front of the shack. That’s why I thought the bottle might be important.”
On the table lay the charred remains of five playing cards. Stan only needed a glance to know that the criss-cross design on the backs matched the eleven of diamonds found on the pack in the Sunset.
“Can you find that key again?”
“I can go there in the dark,” said Dawson.
“If I get a boat are you game to try it tonight?”
“I commanded a sub chaser during the war.” There was a glint of adventure in his gray-green eyes. “I’d hate like hell to think I was too old now to navigate a cruiser. But I don’t think you’re going to find much more than I have.”
“I’m funny that way,” said Stan. “Sometimes I see a lot more on the water than I do on land. Since Saturday all I’ve been able to unearth in Miami is gobs of trouble. Maybe I’ll do better on Old Rhodes Key.”
Late that afternoon he had a report from Fred Fawcett that the milk bottle showed up latent finger prints of Toby Munroe.
Chapter XXIII
“I’d be glad to have you use the Swampfire,” Bruce Farraday said earnestly, “but I have no crew this week. Captain Richards has gone to Jacksonville, and I told the men they could take time off.”
Stan walked to the window of Farraday’s room and stared down at the cruiser moored to the Royal Palm docks. The murkiness of the day failed to hide the sleek sheen of the Swampfire’s mahogany and chromium plate. “How many does it take to man her?”
“She has a set of one man controls aft. I had her built as a combination for cruising and deep sea fishing. Of course I wouldn’t want to take her out with less than three on board. Ordinarily I want the engineer and Captain, minimum. The pilot room forward has a telegraph to the engine room. When I handle her myself, though, I always use the aft controls.”
“Would you chance her with yourself, Commander Dawson, and me? Dawson and I are both licensed for boats over sixty feet, and I’m considered better than most with engines.”
Farraday came and stood beside him at the window. “What about the weather?”
“I got a report on it before I came here. It’ll be cloudy and dark tonight but the wind’s dropping. Outside of a heavy swell we should have easy going—”
“What do you hope to find?” Farraday asked the question without looking at Stan.
“Maybe nothing. Maybe enough to straighten out everything. It’s because of the uncertainty that I’m so anxious to go without delay.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Hardly.” There was an amused quirk to Stan’s lips. “I think on the Swampfire I’ll feel safe for the first time in several days. I’m going to ask Captain LeRoy to go along.”
“I’ll do it.” Farraday was decisive. “I’ll have to take Tolliver along. He knows the engines better than anyone else.” He hesitated, glancing sideways at Stan. “I’d feel better to have Eve and Mrs. Staunton with me too.”
“Why not? We’re merely going to run down the coast and take a look at a desolate key. Just ask them not to mention the trip to anyone.”
Farraday nodded. “I’ll have the boat ready to leave about eleven.”
“You’ll keep it as quiet as possible?”
“Nobody will hear a word of it—except those who are going.”
It was not until after lunch that Stan succeeded in finding LeRoy at headquarters. The Captain was talking with Sergeant Taft, the ballistics expert. He dismissed the Sergeant when Stan came in and took a chair. On the Captain’s desk lay a Browning Automatic, equipped with a silencer, a leather key-case containing a dozen slim keys, a blackjack, and several sheets of perforated notebook paper held together with a light rubber band.
“There’s the gun that nearly finished your joy-ride last night.” LeRoy slid the Browning toward Stan.
Stan left it on the desk “I resent the implication—but how do you know?”
“While you were sleeping off your drunken stupor with that woman this morning, Detective Hogue brought your Buick here. Sergeant Hart says the hole in the rear glass jibes with the gun.”
“Smart stuff. Did the rest of the collection come out of Fowler’s car too?”
“How did you know we’d found Fowler’s car?”
“I know your perseverance, Vince. When you have anything obvious to go on. It’s the reward of staunch soberness and a firm moral virtue. Where was it?”
“I shouldn’t tell you—but we found it abandoned in an alley off Red Road near the S.A.L. railroad yards. I’d like to know where the hell it’s been. We’ve turned this town upside down”
“I think I know where it’s been.”
“Where?” LeRoy shot at him.
“I said: ‘Think.’ It’s probably only a drunken hallucination. I’m certainly not going to put
