The Case of the Turning Tide

Chapter 6

Nita Moline parked her car at the, waterfront. The incoming tide had narrowed the sand between wall and ocean until there was no longer any strip of hard beach on which a person could walk comfortably. A cement walk skirting the edge of the sand connected with the float at the yacht club. Ted and Miss Moline walked rapidly along this cement ribbon.

A rope had been stretched across the entrance to the yacht club, and an officer, standing guard, promptly challenged Shale. “Member of the club?”

Shale said, “We’re visiting a friend on one of the yachts. She’s a member.”

“What’s the yacht?”

“The Albatross.”

The officer pulled a typewritten list from his pocket, consulted it, and asked, “What’s the name of your friend?”

“Miss Harpler.” Nita Moline interposed. “Joan Harpler. She’s expecting us.”

The officer checked the name of the owner of the yacht on his list, said, “Okay, go ahead,” and untied one end of the rope. Ted stood to one side, and Miss Moline preceded him through the opening.

They walked out on the landing float. A faint breeze was blowing from the sea now, and the ends of Miss Moline’s hair blew about her neck as they stood waiting.

Nita Moline said confidently, “Her dinghy’s tied up to the stern of the Albatross. She’ll catch our signal in a minute.” Taking a white handkerchief from her purse, Miss Moline waved it up and down. After a few moments, a figure detached itself from the cabin of the Albatross, and waved. She unfastened the painter of the dinghy, brought it up on the lee side, jumped in, and rowed over to the float.

Nita Moline said easily, “Ted Shale’s going to stand watch for me. Okay by you?”

For a moment, Ted thought she hesitated perceptibly, then she said, quite easily and naturally, “Of course, I’ll be glad to have him aboard — if it will help.”

“How about letting me run the ferry?” Ted asked.

She surrendered the oars. “After the way you handled that skiff this morning, I’m much inclined to say yes.”

Ted rowed the dinghy out to the yacht, gave a quick pull on his left oar at just the right moment, and then snapped it inboard through the oarlock so that it was out of the way as the dinghy swung broadside and came to rest a scant three inches from the side of the Albatross.

Joan Harpler jumped aboard with a lithe leap, her rubber-soled shoes padding on the deck as gently as the paws of a leaping cat. Nita Moline tossed her the painter, and Ted grabbed the rail of the yacht to fend off the dinghy. When the girls were both aboard, he relieved Joan Harpler of the rope, hauled the dinghy astern, and made it fast.

Miss Harpler led the way to the cabin. Up at the front was a raised platform where the person navigating the yacht could stand with his hands on the wheel, a semi-circle of wide windows giving full visibility. A shelf built in just below these windows furnished a place for charts and reference books. Ted noticed a pair of binoculars lying on the shelf. The objective lenses were particularly large. A leather strap was fastened to the glasses so that they could be suspended from the neck and held in a position of instant readiness.

Miss Harpler was completely free from self-consciousness. She had that easy informality of manner which so frequently characterizes persons who have spent much time in the close confines of a yacht.

“Well,” she said, “make yourselves at home,” and to Ted, “Hope you didn’t get too chilled getting back to the hotel.”

“Oh, I’m tough,” Shale said.

“I certainly felt sorry for you when I saw you walking down the beach with your wet clothes clinging to you. I wished I’d had something aboard that would have fitted you, but there wasn’t a thing.”

Ted said, “I did feel rather conspicuous, but the real pay-off was when the clerk in the hotel saw me come in.”

“What’s doing over on the Gypsy Queen?” Miss Moline asked.

“Oh, lots of comings and goings, but all of them apparently are official. Men with cameras, men with bags — and just men. — I understood you didn’t want descriptions of men who came aboard while the officers were there. Is that right?”

“That’s right. When the officers leave, they’ll lock up. I want to know everyone who goes aboard after that. Haven’t been putting you to too much trouble, have I?”

“Not a bit. I’ve rather enjoyed it. It’s probably what I’d have been doing anyway.”

Miss Moline said, “We’ll spell you now. Would you mind taking over, Mr. Shale?”

Ted nodded, ensconced himself in the chair behind the steering wheel. He picked up the binoculars and examined them curiously.

Miss Moline’s voice underwent a subtle change. She was now very definitely in the position of an employer giving instructions. “Just keep an eye on things,” she said crisply. “Don’t pay too much attention to what is happening until you see them lock up and leave... Who’s aboard now, Miss Harpler?”

“The sheriff is still there. The district attorney left shortly after we did, and hasn’t been back. A man in police uniform has been out two or three times. I guess, altogether, there are half a dozen people aboard.”

Miss Moline said to Ted, “Just sit back and take it easy. Keep an eye on things.” She made an almost imperceptible gesture to Joan Harpler, and the two young women opened the door in the rear of the cabin, descended to the open cockpit, then down another companionway to a lower cabin.

Left to himself, Ted adjusted the binoculars to sharp focus, swinging them around casually, getting familiar with their balance and feel.

He realized they would be an excellent night glass. The lenses penetrated into dark shadows, furnishing sufficient illumination to show details which were entirely invisible to the naked eye. Turning them on the Gypsy Queen, he found he could see through the windows of the upper cabin, and occasionally even get a glimpse of motion through the portholes of the lower cabin. Watching closely, he saw a man moving about with a brush and a can of powder, in search of fingerprints. As Ted watched, the man evidently found one, for he disappeared from view and a moment later returned with a camera which he held up against the section of wall he had just dusted with powder.

For perhaps half an hour, Ted sat there keeping watch, then he heard the sound of steps on the companionway, and a moment later, the two young women joined him.

“Well?” Miss Moline asked.

“Nothing new,” Ted said. “They’re looking for fingerprints.”

She said, “There’s really nothing much to do now. I’ll take over, and you can go below.”

“Your stateroom’s forward on the port side,” Miss Harpler said. “You’ll find it rather comfortable in there, just stretch out and see if you can get a little sleep. I’ll call you later on. Make yourself at home, and if you want anything, simply shout.”

“This is very comfortable,” Ted said. “I don’t feel particularly sleepy...”

“You will before you’ve finished. You’re going to have a long watch tonight,” Miss Moline interposed. “See if you can get at least a few winks.”

Ted, curious about the yacht, surrendered the binoculars, and went below. He found much more room than he had expected. There was a galley, a main cabin, a lavatory, and where the lines of the yacht pinched forward toward the bow, was a narrow passageway. On each side of this passageway was a door. Ted tentatively tried the door on the starboard side. It was locked. The one on the port side opened to disclose a small but comfortable stateroom, containing a built-in dresser and a wide bunk. On this bunk was a neatly folded blanket and a pillow.

Before settling himself in this stateroom, Ted moved around in the yacht, giving it a casual survey. Astern, under the cock-pit, was housed the engine, a high-speed affair which took up but little room. The galley was neatly arranged. Seats in the main cabin could be turned into bunks, and a swinging table was so placed that it could be lowered from the wall.

Ted didn’t feel that it would be possible for him to sleep, but he knew that the night would be a long, weary vigil. He entered the stateroom, took off shoes and coat, stretched himself on the bunk and pulled up the blanket. He closed his eyes and lay there, listening to the lazy lap of the little wind wavelets against the side of the hull. It was, he reflected, rather a large yacht for a young woman to be handling alone. She seemed so perfectly poised, so thoroughly at ease that one took her capability for granted, but even so — and that Moline girl was playing some sort of a game. She must have some suspicions which she hadn’t communicated to the authorities. It had, of course, been quite a jolt to her. She wasn’t the sort to give way to tears in public, but Ted felt certain she’d done some crying. There had been a swollen appearance around her eyelids, and her nose had been red, despite the powder. She hadn’t attempted to make any explanation to him as to her relationship to the persons aboard the Gypsy Queen... Certainly was restful aboard these yachts! The little splashing wavelets sounding against the hull made a man feel drowsy... The yacht probably represented a bunch of money. Well, it was nice that some people had it... Last night he’d hardly thought he’d be stretched out in a stateroom of a trim yacht... Last night seemed far away — far away — last night—

Ted Shale wakened suddenly, realizing be had been asleep for some time. He knew that it was late afternoon by the angle at which the sun streamed through the small portholes above him, and made vivid golden splotches against the polished woodwork on the other side of the stateroom.

Something seemed to be wrong, but for the moment, Ted Shale’s sleep-drugged senses couldn’t appreciate just what it was. At length he associated it in his mind with the presence of some strange sound. There was no longer any lazy slapping of wavelets against the sides of the boat. Instead there was a hissing noise, also a peculiar vibration which he couldn’t understand.

Trying to analyze his impressions and eliminate the confusion in his mind, Ted lay for a moment motionless on the bunk. Then, for the first time, he noticed the peculiar motion of the round patches of sunlight which came through the port-holes. They marched up the wall with slow deliberation, then, pausing to hang suspended for a moment, started creeping slowly downward.

Ted Shale shook his head to clear his senses, and abruptly the drugged stupor which was the aftermath of his unaccustomed and heavy sleep in the middle of the afternoon left his senses.

He realized that the yacht was under way, that he was listening to the rapid purr of a powerful high-speed motor, that the hissing noise was made by the calm water of a tranquil sea sliding past the bow. A light swell was making the splotches of sunlight move sedately up and down the woodwork on the opposite side of the stateroom.

Ted jumped from the bunk, and wrenched at the knob of the stateroom door.

The door was locked.