Let's take a ride. You'll want to see the wreck, and I do, too. We
can talk on the way."

The boys accepted with alacrity. Rick and Scotty sat in the back seat;
the captain rode up front with Jerry. At the old man's direction,
Jerry drove to the water front and then turned left.

"I'll start at the beginning," Cap'n Mike said. "I've had experience
with reporters in my day. Best to tell 'em everything, otherwise they
start leaping at conclusions and get everything backwards. Can't
credit a reporter with too many brains."

"You're right there," Jerry said amiably.

Rick grinned. He had seen Jerry in operation before. The young
reporter didn't mind any kind of insult if there were a story in the
offing. Rick guessed the newspaper trade wasn't a place for thin
skins.

"Well, here're the facts," the captain continued. "Tom Tyler, master
and owner of the _Sea Belle_, was coming back from a day's run. He'd
had a good day. The trawler was practically awash with a load of
menhaden. In case you don't know, menhaden are fish. Not eating fish,
but commercial. They get oil and chicken and cattle feed from 'em, and
the trawlers out of this port collect 'em by the millions of tons
every year."

"We know," Jerry said.

"Uhuh. As I said, the trawler was full up with menhaden. Tom was at
the wheel himself. The rest of the crew, five of them, was making
snug. There was a little weather making up, but not much, and not
enough to interfere with Tom seeing the light at the tip of Smugglers'
Reef. He saw it clear. Admits it. Now! All you need do is give the
light a few fathoms clearance to starboard. But Tom Tyler didn't. And
what happened?"

"He ran smack onto the reef," Scotty put in.

"He surely did. The crew, all of 'em being aft, didn't see a thing.
First they knew they were flying through the air like a bunch of
hooked mackerel and banging into the net gear. One broken arm and a
lot of cuts and bruises among 'em. The trawler tore her bottom out and
rested high and dry, scattering fish like a fertilizer spreader. Tom
Tyler said he took one drink and it went to his head."

The old man snorted. "Bilge! Sheer bilge! He said hitting the reef
sobered him up."

"Maybe it did," Jerry ventured.

"Hogwash. There wasn't a mite of drink on his breath. And what did he
drink? There ain't nothing could make an old hand like Tom forget
where a light was supposed to be. No, the whole thing is fishy as a
bin of herring."

The boys were