The Flying Stingaree Part 11

"What do you know about Calvert's Favor?"

Harris rubbed his chin, and made a slight correction in the crab boat's course. "Present owner is a man named Merlin. No one knows anythin'

about him, and no one asks. Has a big thug with him all the time, and takes exception to people gettin' nosy. Most folks got snubbed and drew back, so to speak. Jim Hardin--he's a fisherman hereabouts--took exception and got beaten up. Hardin's not easy to lick. After that, folks stopped speakin' to Merlin and company."

"How big's the company?" Steve asked.

"Merlin, bodyguard, a little squirt with no chin, and three others.

Cooks and bottle washers, likely. Would it be polite to ask why you're interested?"

Steve had been studying Harris since the two boats joined up, Rick knew, so he wasn't surprised when Steve gave a direct reply.

"You'll keep this to yourself, please. The boys have been doing a little research, and it's clear these unidentified flying objects people have been seeing come from Swamp Creek. That points to the old mansion, especially since Mr. Merlin is so secretive about himself. We decided to get up before the people at the mansion were likely to be about, and look the place over. If it looks promising, we'll try keeping an eye on it."

Harris nodded. "I'll keep it to myself, you can be sure. If the mystery of those flyin' stingarees gets solved, we may find out what happened to Cousin Link. I'll help if I can."

"You know these waters pretty well," Steve returned. "Is there any way of getting to Calvert's Favor, or within watching distance, without going up this creek?"

The crabber reached over and turned a switch, cutting his engine. "There is, for that boat you're in. About thirty yards downstream from the entrance to this creek, there is a break in the line of swamp gra.s.s along the sh.o.r.e. It's a little lead, a channel maybe six feet wide and from two to three feet deep. It runs into the swamp. Right at the place where the water gets too narrow for the boat, a man who didn't care if he got muddy or wet could go through the brush to an old duck blind right across from the mansion. A pair of good gla.s.ses would give him a right good view of the whole thing."

"We couldn't see the mansion from the boat?" Rick asked.

"The brush is too thick. Tell you what, if you got ground tackle aboard, drop a hook and come over with me. I'll run you up the creek and you can take a good look. If anyone's out watchin', they'll only see a crab boat lookin' for a place to set lines."

"Scotty," Steve directed, "there's a grapnel on a line up on the bow, under that small hatch. Toss it in, please."

Scotty stood up on the seat, stepped to the bow, and found the small, four-p.r.o.nged anchor. He dropped it into the water, let out line, and tied the line fast to the bow cleat. "Okay, Steve."

The three got aboard the crab boat as Harris started his engine. "Make yourselves comfortable," the crabber invited. "There's a pair of gla.s.ses on the engine box."

With the binoculars Rick and Steve had brought, that made three pairs each. The crabber swung the boat around expertly and headed upstream.

The sky was light now, and far overhead a wisp of cirrus was glowing pink, a warning of coming sunrise.

Rick sat on the gunwale and looked ahead. The creek narrowed for a few hundred yards, then widened again. The left bank, going upstream, was lined with scrub and swamp gra.s.s. The right bank began to change, the swampy area giving way to good ground that rose slightly from the water's edge. Soon the right bank was nearly three feet above the water, and the scrub had given way to an occasional tree, and some gra.s.sland that hadn't been mowed this year.

Then Calvert's Favor came into view and Rick caught his breath. It was a stunning plantation house. The tall columns made Rick think of pictures of the Old South, but as the boat turned slightly and more of the house came into view, he saw that it had a strictly Maryland character.

Attached to the largest portion of the house, the one with the columns, was a slightly smaller section, with a still smaller section completing the picture. It was a "telescope house"--the kind that the Eastern Sh.o.r.e natives referred to as "big house, little house, and one in the middle."

A broad sweep of lawn, broken only by flagstone walks and trees, extended from the creek's edge to the house. The trees were ancient dogwoods, with a single huge willow for extra shade. There was a small pier extending into the creek, and from the rotted pilings next to it, Rick saw that the original pier had been much larger.

A white barn stood at a short distance from the house. A barn of that size, Rick thought, meant a pretty substantial farm. He searched for signs of life and saw none. There was a boat, he noticed, an outboard skiff perhaps fifteen feet long, pulled up on the bank under an oak tree at the edge where the lawn met uncut field. A lawn table and chairs under the big willow looked inviting, and he speculated that Merlin and friends must spend considerable time there. Some of the chairs were of the padded variety, covered with plastic wet from the morning dew.

Scotty pointed to the roof of the mansion. "Must be a ham radio operator there. Look at that hay rake."

Both Rick and Steve had the same thoughts as they stared at the tall antenna, with its cl.u.s.ter of small rods joining a single main bar at right angles on top of the pole. The antenna might be needed for fringe-area television--or, on the other hand, it might be a communications antenna, as Scotty had said.

"Looks interesting," Steve said.

The creek flowed only a little distance past the mansion before it became so narrow that Orvil Harris had to turn for the trip downstream.

As the crab boat came abreast of the mansion again, Rick looked to the other side of the creek and saw the duck blind. It wasn't exactly opposite the house, being designed so that gunners in the blind would shoot diagonally across the creek and downstream, rather than near the house itself.

The blind was on stilts, made of board, with a big "picture window"

without gla.s.s through which duck hunters could fire freely. It was designed for entry by boat, and there was a line of poles sticking up from the water that marked the boat's docking place. In season, the entire blind including the poles would be covered with a screen of fresh foliage, so that hunters, blind, and boat would seem like a natural object to any duck that flew by.

Rick saw that the entrance, at the point where the boat would nose in, was downstream from the mansion, at the back corner of the blind. Anyone approaching from the swamp behind the blind could enter unseen from Calvert's Favor.

Not until they were back at the cove did any of them speak.

"That antenna was odd," Steve said. "Did you ever see anything like it, Rick?"

"Not exactly," Rick admitted. "It could be for TV, although it's an unusual design, or it could be some kind of ham rig, as Scotty said."

"Or it could be something else," Steve concluded.

"No sign of a flyin'-saucer launcher," Orvil Harris said. He was stoking his battered brier.

Rick grinned. "I wouldn't know one if I saw it."

"Well, that wraps it up," Steve said. "Let's get aboard the runabout and head home. I've got to make a plane." He shook hands with Orvil Harris.

"Glad to have met you after waving at you for so long."

"Likewise. Now, you let me in on this if you can. I'm Link's only kin hereabouts, so I feel responsible, so to speak. Call me up. I'm in the phone book. I'll keep crabbin' in this creek until further notice, so you can find me here until midmornin' any day."

"We'll let you know if anything comes up," Rick agreed.

Scotty borrowed a boat hook and pulled the runabout closer, then he stepped to the forward deck while Steve and Rick got into the seat.

Scotty pulled up the grapnel while Steve started the motor. In a moment they were waving to Harris as the runabout headed for home.

It was full daylight now, and the rim of the sun was just above the trees on the horizon.

"Two items from the morning's work," Scotty summed up. "We know how the mansion can be watched, and we have an odd kind of antenna. Anything else?"

"We have an ally," Rick reminded. "Orvil Harris."

"We bought him on pure faith," Steve pointed out. "It isn't often I stake the game on a man's face, but if Orvil Harris isn't a sound individual, I'll lose my faith in human nature."

Back at the farmhouse, Steve made fresh coffee and toast. While the boys relaxed sleepily, he went to a closet and brought out a case and a leather gadget bag.

The boys sat up and watched while he opened the case. Rick gasped. It was a telescope, a marvelously compact reflector type, precision made and very expensive. Rick had often studied the ads of this particular model, and he looked at it with some envy. He could hardly keep from picking it up.

Steve opened the gadget bag and brought out a Polaroid camera and set of rings. Then he returned to the closet and brought back a st.u.r.dy tripod with a geared head.

"Here's the equipment," he said. He took the telescope from its padded case, and screwed its base to the tripod, then he adjusted the tripod until it was standing securely.

"Watch this," he commanded. "You'll have to do it, because you can't carry the whole thing a.s.sembled."

Using the rings, which were adapters, he fitted the camera to the eyepiece of the telescope. "That's all there is to it. You focus the 'scope eyepiece by turning this knurled k.n.o.b. Then you set the camera to infinity, adjust the iris for the proper light, and put the camera in place. Any questions?"

"What aperture?" Rick asked. "Normal exposure?"