hen there were no bulbs in the
rooms a flashlight Red produced provided illumination. Room by
tiresome room they worked their way to the attic.

From the attic they were run down the stairs again and out into the
grounds and forced to cover every inch of land. Then they were taken
to the garage-boathouse and made to work their way through what had
been the servants' quarters. Downstairs, they inspected the only car,
and Rick automatically made a mental note of the make and the New York
license number. Then they looked under the seats and into the rope
locker of a motor whaleboat that was the only craft in the boathouse,
and they were forced to crawl under the boathouse where it rested on
piles.

"Now," Brad Marbek said grimly, "let's take a look at the trawler."

"Do we have to?" Scotty said wearily. "We know you wouldn't make us
look if there was anything to be seen."

Brad's big hand landed in the middle of his back, smashing him toward
the dock. "March!" he commanded.

The tiresome routine started again. Through wheelhouse and cabin and
galley and enginehouse and rope and gear lockers they hunted, picking
up accumulated layers of dirt and grease on the way, until finally
only the huge fish holds were left.

Rick looked into the forward one and thought, "Oh, no!" He started to
protest, but Brad's open hand caught him on the side of the face.
"Dig!" the skipper commanded. "You asked for it. Dig!"

And dig they did, through tons of stinking menhaden and cold ice until
they choked and their mouths felt full of scales. Once or twice they
protested, but there was always big Brad Marbek ready to strike out
and Carrots and Red Kelso backing him up.

An eternity later they clawed their way up the pile of fish in the
last hold.

Rick took a deep breath of clean air. "Anything else?" he asked.

Carrots stepped forward. "You poor jokers got dirty," he said with
false concern. "You need a bath." He pointed to the end of the dock.
"Go on, jump in." His rifle lifted menacingly.

That, at least, was no hardship. Rick walked to the end of the dock
and dropped into the water, savoring is cool cleanliness. Scotty was
right beside him.

Overhead, the three waited, and Carrots' rifle was still on them.
"Back to the bank," he commanded.

Rick and Scotty swam, clambered up on shore, and stood waiting.

"Hike."

They were herded like two sheep to the front gate. Red Kelso produced
a key and the gate swung open.

"You h