of a small boat won't disturb him, because
he's used to the noise of motors from crabbers. We'll hope there is no
guard on the place. If there is, we'll be fishing. Better have the rods
ready. One of you can sit in back and troll from there."

The outboard runabout moved away from the pier and into the creek. Steve
knew his way perfectly, and he opened the throttle to half speed,
steering through the curve at the mouth of the creek, rounding the buoy,
and heading directly toward Swamp Creek.

It had taken the houseboat over twenty minutes to make the run. Steve
covered the distance in ten. As he throttled down and swung the runabout
into Swamp Creek, Rick's eye picked up a glimmer of light, then the
shape of something white cruising toward them.

For a moment he stared into the lessening gloom, then said, "It's Orvil
Harris. Anyway, it looks like his boat."

Steve said nothing for a moment, then he headed directly toward the
crabber. As the two boats closed, Harris paused in his crabbing and
watched the three in the runabout approach.

Steve matched the crab boat's speed and nudged the runabout alongside.
"Howdy," he called.

Orvil Harris reached out and caught the runabout's gunwale, then took
the line Rick passed to him. He made it fast around a cleat. "Up early,"
he greeted them. "Come to watch me crab?"

"Not exactly," Rick returned. "Mr. Harris, this is Mr. Ames."

The crabber reached out a muscular hand and Steve stretched to meet it.
"Mighty pretty place you have on Martins Creek," Harris said. "Admired
it many's the time."

"Thanks," Steve returned. "Be glad to have you drop in any time."

"I may do that. Thanks."

"The boys tell me your cousin was the one taken by a flying saucer."

Harris grinned. "He was taken. I'm not sayin' how until I know."

"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