evening I thought I saw Buck Younger cruise past the wharf? Seems I was right, after all. The city police had set up a roadblock that night trying to nab a bank robber, and one of the cars they admitted through was driven by Buck. The patrolman checked his license as a matter of routine, but he didn't realize until later that Younger was the man the Navy had a warrant out on.'
This confirmed Barbara's theory regarding the telephone caller with the Southern accent. Deciding to save this news until later, she asked, 'What are the Shore Patrolmen doing here?'
'They're running a check on all Naval personnel and recent discharges in the area. They're hoping that someone who knew Buck personally might be able to give them a lead as to his present whereabouts.'
Whit took her arm and drew her into the group. Lance tagged behind. Barbara, masking a smile, reflected that the lucky newspaperman had stumbled onto the makings of another 'scoop.' Talk about fortune's favorites!
'We have no idea what he could be doing in this locality,' one of the Shore Patrolmen was saying to Greg. 'Unless he has made contact with the person who helped him crash out of the brig.'
'You mean the escape wasn't his own doing?' Greg asked, startled.
'Definitely not. The guard was attacked from behind and his keys stolen. Younger was the only prisoner in custody at the time, so we have no witnesses who saw the breakout.' The Naval policeman fingered his belt. 'Funny thing. Younger got into a lot of scrapes during his years with the Navy, but in each case, he operated as a lone wolf. Always by himself. Seems odd that anyone would be willing to take such a risk for him now.'
'Yes, it does,' Whit agreed, escorting the patrolmen to the gangplank. 'If we see or hear anything, we'll let you know right away.'
The launch roared out of the inlet, heading back toward the public docks of Santa Teresa.
Barbara was struck by the thoughtful expression that had settled over Greg's face at the mention of Younger's accomplice. He made no mention of the AWOL Texan, however, but extended his hand to Lance Shelby.
'Nice to see you again, sir,' he said politely. 'We enjoyed reading your piece on Admiral Billingsly.'
'Had a ball doing it,' Lance replied. 'The fishing is good down around Port Dixon. I just tossed the anchor over the side and set my lines while banging out the article. Had a half-dozen bass by the time I finished typing up the interview.'
'They ought to change the 'Life of Riley' saying to read 'Life of Shelby,' ' Whit observed. 'I, uh, I feel a bit guilty having bought the Albatross out from under you. Of course I had no idea-'
'Of course not,' Lance interjected smoothly. 'Even my editor was prepared to write me off with a floral RIP.' His casual glance traveled the length of the houseboat. 'You haven't run across any of my tackle, have you? I haven't been down to check it out at Dodson's yet, but it was scattered all over the boat. He might have missed packing a rod or a few lures.'
'Haven't seen so much as a fishhook, but you're welcome to look for yourself,' Whit offered. Like a proper host, he opened a cabin door and escorted the reporter inside. Within a few minutes, they emerged, empty- handed.
'Stay for a Coke?' Whit invited, but Lance declined.
'I'd better run back into town and play spook for a few people who haven't yet heard of my resurrection. Maybe I can scare Bruce MacFarland into giving me a raise. So long!'
CHAPTER FIVE
Greg, who had remained slouched in one of the canvas chairs while Whit accompanied Lance through the cabins, got to his feet and walked over to the railing. He remained there, lost in thought, until the reporter had vanished around the bend of the road.
'I wonder what's on his mind?' Barbara asked herself. 'He has been acting awfully peculiar for the last half hour.'
With a start, Greg aroused himself from the brown study into which he had sunk. 'How long was Buck Younger in the brig before he crashed out?' he asked abruptly.
'Oh, two or three days, I suppose,' Whit said, frowning. 'Why?'
'Well, I was thinking-' Greg seemed to be having a mental debate with himself. 'No, it couldn't be,' he muttered. 'Timing's all wrong.'
Whit snapped his fingers in front of Greg's face, like a magician bringing his subject out of a trance. 'It's me, remember, your old buddy, Greg. What are you stewing about?'
'My bomb of an idea turned out to be a dud.' Greg stared glumly down at the frothing water. Suddenly, the glum look changed to one of startled comprehension. 'Wait a minute!' he exclaimed. 'I had it all backwards. The other guy wasn't the accomplice-Buck was!'
He wheeled around, and the cogs clicking in his brain were almost audible. 'You're the one who put the notion into my head. You know-last night, when we were talking about the riot Buck started. You asked if it wasn't the very next day they discovered that the plans for that new atomic sub had been stolen-'
'No, pal,' Whit said emphatically. 'That's what I started to say. You shot me a dagger look and I shut up.'
'Like a clam. You said, 'Sorry, Miss T., Military Secret,' ' Barbara verified. 'But it isn't, really. It was in all the papers. About the plans having disappeared, I mean.' And that, she remembered triumphantly, was exactly what she had been trying to recall. She had even clipped the item from the papers while comparing the different styles of the Courier and the Herald!
Greg grimaced. 'With friends like our newspapers, this country doesn't need enemies,' he growled. 'That information shouldn't have been released.'
'Have to keep the American public informed,' Whit shrugged. 'At least by releasing the news themselves, the authorities could play down its importance. Suppose a sharp news hound like Shelby had sniffed it out? He'd have blared it in three-inch headlines and had every Congressman in the country forming investigating committees to plague the Navy.'
'Quit locking the sub door after the plans have been stolen and tell us your idea,' Barbara said impatiently. 'What about Buck Younger and his accomplice?'
The anger faded from Greg's face. 'Usually visitors to Port Dixon are kept to a minimum and allowed in only on special passes. But two weeks ago when Shelby came to interview Admiral Billingsly, a crew of news-reel photographers sat in on the session, and half a dozen consulting engineers who had helped blueprint the new sub were there, too, surveying the harbor facilities. The base was bulging with visitors.'
'I remember. All we needed was a drum and bugle corps to make it look like convention time at Madison Square Garden,' Whit agreed. 'Well, go on-get to the point.'
'The point,' said Greg earnestly, 'is that any one of those people, or even someone who slipped in with them during all the confusion, could have stolen the plans. But he couldn't just stroll in and pick them off the admiral's desk. They were in a locked steel cabinet, and a guard was posted in that office day and night. That's where I think Buck Younger came in.'
'That big bruiser is too clumsy to be a safe-cracker,' Whit protested. 'The only thing he really knows how to do is fight.'
'Exactly! As I said, the thief couldn't just walk into the admiral's office. He needed a diversion to pull the guard out of there first. My guess is that he hired Younger to start such a lulu of a brawl that every Shore Patrolman on the base would come running to squelch it. The Navy couldn't afford to let that mob of newsmen and photographers get wind of a riot-not with the Senate already bickering over military appropriations. So, while everyone else was pitching in to stop the battle, the thief jimmied the cabinet and did a Houdini act with the blueprints.'
Whit was awed by his friend's deductive abilities. 'Good lord, Greg, I think you've hit it!'
'It could easily have happened that way. And listen!' Barbara cried excitedly. 'Buck Younger was the only one who could point out the thief. He couldn't be allowed to come up before a court martial-he might have confessed the whole scheme! So the thief slipped back onto the base a couple of nights later and sprung him out of the
