The Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK™: 15 Classic Crime & Mystery Stories

Houseboat

Originally published (originally appeared in The Man from U.N.C.L.E. Magazine, April 1966.

Mike Faraday sensed something wrong about the two men shortly after they came aboard the houseboat. They were too well dressed for vacationing fishermen, a little too suave and their English too precise. They simply didn’t behave as New England businessmen. They impressed him as Europeans who had learned English somewhere, such as Harvard or Yale.

Mike Faraday didn’t look like a professor of theoretical mathematics. He was only thirty-two years old, wore a crew cut which made him look about twenty-five, and had the build of an Olympic swimmer. He had spent most of his life on the Mississippi, and was at home in the water as he was on land.

His wife Ellen, five years younger, had a swimmer’s body too, though hers was less muscular and more softly curved. She too had grown up on the river and knew it as well as he did.

They met the two strangers on the river bank near Vicksburg, where they had anchored the houseboat overnight in a small cove. The men were standing on the bank, casting with bass plugs, when Faraday came on deck shortly after sunup.

He wondered what in the devil they expected to catch in the Mississippi with plugs, especially so close to shore. There wouldn’t be anything but mudcat here, and they didn’t hit plugs.

Both men were dressed in well-pressed slacks, shined shoes, light cotton jackets over white sport shirts and Panama hats. Their fiberglass rods looked brand new and there were identical, shiny new tackle boxes at the feet of each.

Faraday threw them a friendly greeting and both men raised their hands in polite acknowledgment.

After breakfast Faraday planned to replenish their drinking water supply at a yacht club they had spotted the evening before about a hundred yards back up the river. He pushed the board they used as a gangplank over the river bank, which was only about six feet away. The two men reeled in their plugs, picked up their tackle boxes and came over nearer to examine the houseboat.

The taller of the two, a lean six-footer of about forty with a thin, sharp-nosed face, said, “That is an interesting boat. Where are you going?”

“New Orleans,” Faraday said. “We started from St. Louis.”

The other man, a bulky, wide-shouldered fellow of about thirty-five with a square, expressionless face, looked at the outboard motor on the stern. “That engine hardly looks powerful enough to push a boat that size.”

“Oh, we only use it for steering,” Faraday said. “We just drift with the current until we’re ready to anchor at night. The current’s only four miles an hour, so we only make about fifty miles a day, but we’re in no hurry. It’s just a leisurely fishing trip.”

“How are you going to get it back upstream?” the thin-faced man asked.

“That’s not our problem,” Faraday said with a grin. “It’s rented. The outfit that owns it will have it towed back to St. Louis at the end of the voyage.”

The two men looked at each other. The taller said, “Now there is what we should have done, Martin. Would not something like this make a wonderful vacation?”

The bulky man nodded. “What is the name of the company which rents these boats?”

“Callaway Houseboat Rentals in St. Louis. You can rent them for as short or long a trip as you wish. They charge fifty cents a mile, which works out to four hundred dollars in our case. That isn’t bad when you consider that it costs that much to rent a beach cottage for a couple of weeks.”

Both men looked the boat over with growing interest. Finally the taller said, “Mind if we come aboard to see it?”

“Sure, come ahead,” Faraday said cordially.

The two men mounted the narrow gangplank and stepped on deck. Ellen stuck her golden blonde head from the galley at that moment.

“Breakfast,” she called, then saw the strangers. “Oh, we have visitors.”

She came the rest of the way out on deck, with typical femininity looking a little self-conscious about her worn denim jeans, white cotton sweatshirt and bare feet. She needn’t have been self-conscious, Faraday thought with pride. Even in fishing clothes she was beautiful.

He said to the visitors, “My name is Mike Faraday and this is my wife Ellen.”

Both men set down their fishing gear, removed their hats and offered Ellen formal bows, which gave Faraday the first inkling that there was something strange about them. He had already noted their precise, unaccented voices, but had merely assumed they were probably graduates of some Ivy League school. Now it struck him that Americans don’t normally bow to women when introduced.

He wondered why a pair of obviously cultured Europeans would be fishing with the wrong gear from a muddy bank of the Mississippi.

Both men offered their hands to Faraday. The taller man said his name was Albert Johnson, the bulky man introduced himself as Martin Smith.

“Your name is Michael Faraday?” Smith said. “The same as the famous English scientist?”

“I was named after him,” Faraday said. “I’m supposed to be descended from him.”

Ellen said with wifely pride, “Mike is a greater scientist than his ancestor. He’s a professor of theoretical math at Washington University in St. Louis, and is internationally known for his work in that field.”

The thin-nosed Albert Johnson said, “I have read of you in the science sections of various news magazines. Have you not just developed a revolutionary new rocket fuel?”

“Not quite,” Faraday said. “Merely a new mathematical theorem which may lead to the development of a new type of fuel, among other things. I’m a theoretical scientist. I work with computers instead of test tubes.”

“We have something in common,” Johnson said with a smile. “Mr. Smith and I are partners in an electronics firm in Massachusetts.”

“Oh?” Faraday said, wondering if perhaps their accents were merely New England after all. “I’m afraid practical science is beyond me. Aside from computers, about the only scientific equipment I use is a pencil.”

“He’s just being modest,” Ellen said with a grin. “What he means is that he’s beyond the practical scientists. Only a half dozen men in his own field understand him. Have you gentlemen had breakfast?”

The bulky Martin Smith said, “We ate before dawn, but I would appreciate a cup of coffee.”

“I could use one too,” the tall man agreed.

The visitors had coffee with them in the galley while Faraday and Ellen breakfasted on bacon and eggs. Afterward Faraday showed them around the houseboat.

The men seemed impressed by the comfortable amount of room and the modern facilities. In addition to the galley, which was really a full-sized kitchen and doubled as a dining room and general lounge, there was a bathroom with a shower, two bunk rooms with four bunks each and a storage room. The kitchen was equipped with a butane stove and a butane refrigerator. There were Coleman gasoline lanterns to furnish light.

“There’s a pump with a filter which removes most of the mud from river water for the storage tank on the roof,” Faraday explained. “We can’t drink it, of course, but it’s adequate for washing. We carry bottled water for drinking. I plan to replenish our supply here; then we won’t have to stop for any sort of supplies until we reach New Orleans. Except for drinking water the boat is pretty self-sufficient.”

When they returned to the galley, where Ellen was washing the breakfast dishes, Albert Johnson said reflectively, “At fifty miles a day, it would be about sixteen days from St. Louis to New Orleans. Since you’re five hundred miles on your way, I assume you’ve been sailing about ten days.”

“That’s right,” Faraday said. “We left July tenth.”

“Then you should arrive in New Orleans in six more days?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Mr. Smith and I have only a week of our vacation left, so we hardly have time to go clear up to St. Louis and rent a houseboat,” Johnson said. “You have more than enough bunk space here, Mr. Faraday. Would you be interested in a couple of paying guests for the rest of the voyage?”

Faraday was framing a polite refusal when Ellen, who was something of a penny-pincher, said quickly, “How paying?”

The thin-nosed man threw her a pleasant smile. “We would be willing to assume the full cost of the boat rental if you threw in our food.”

“You mean all four hundred dollars?” Ellen asked, wide-eyed.

Albert Johnson shrugged. “We can write it off as a business expense. As I say, we don’t have time to run up to St. Louis and arrange our own voyage. It would be worth it to us. We have been fishing from the bank for a week without catching anything.”

A warning bell sounded in Faraday’s mind. Neither looked as though he had been fishing from a river bank for a full week. Besides, it was peculiar that fishermen would travel all the way from Massachusetts to fish the Mississippi River. New England was too full of better fishing spots. It just didn’t make sense.

If they could afford four hundred dollars for passage on the houseboat, why hadn’t they rented a boat for fishing? Remembering the buss plugs they had been using, he suddenly decided they were complete frauds.

“This is a sort of second honeymoon for us,” he said. “Your offer is very generous, but we prefer to be alone.”

“But, honey,” Ellen protested. “Four hundred dollars!”

“I have a reasonably good income,” Faraday said a trifle testily. “Let’s not change plans in midstream, Ellen.”

“We are not yet in midstream,” Johnson said with an indulgent chuckle. “We are still tied up to the bank. Mrs. Faraday obviously would like at least to discuss it. It would take us only a few minutes to run back to the hotel and get our luggage. We have a car parked at the top of the bank.”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Faraday said firmly. “I’m not interested in your offer.”

Ellen could tell by his tone that there was no use arguing. With an apologetic smile at the two would-be passengers, she began putting dishes away.

The wide-shouldered Martin Smith went over to the galley window facing the bank and looked out.

“Picnic party gathering on the beach,” he said tonelessly.

Albert Johnson went over to look too. Then he turned with a smile.

“I guess we will run along, Mr. and Mrs. Faraday. Thank you for the coffee and the tour of the boat. If you change your minds about taking on a couple of paying passengers, we are staying at the Vicksburg Inn.”

“We won’t,” Faraday assured him. “It was nice talking to you both.”

“The same to you,” the thin-nosed man said. “Come along, Martin.”

The two men moved out into the passageway between the galley and the bunk rooms, and then out on deck. Faraday and Ellen followed.

A group of about a dozen teenagers in swim suits had gathered on a small stretch of sand at the river’s edge only a few yards downstream and were laying out blankets and picnic baskets.

The visitors picked up their fishing gear, nodded final good-bys and made their ways down the gangplank. Apparently they were through fishing, because they climbed a steep path up the bank and disappeared over its top.

Ellen said, “Why were you so set against our having a free vacation? We’re not that rich.”

Faraday was still gazing at the top of the bank. In a slow voice he said, “I have a peculiar feeling that if those kids over there hadn’t appeared, it wouldn’t have been so easy to turn them down.”

Ellen gave him a quick glance. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe I’m over imaginative, but I got the impression the big-shouldered man looked out the window to see if any witnesses were around. I know this sounds melodramatic, but if that picnic group hadn’t been there, I suspect they were planning to take over the boat.”

Ellen’s eyes grew enormous. “You’re kidding! Why would they do a thing like that? You think they’re criminals running from the law?”

“Criminals on the lam wouldn’t pick a conveyance that only travels four miles an hour,” Faraday said drily. “I don’t think they were just looking for any old boat. I think they came down here with their brand new fishing togs this morning as a deliberate excuse to meet us and get aboard this particular boat.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” she said. “How would they know we’d be here? We didn’t know ourselves we were going to anchor here until we pulled in last night.”

“Our trip was no secret, Ellen. Anyone who wanted to take the trouble could easily have found out about it. And at fifty miles a day, they could just as easily keep track of our progress from shore.”

“But why?” Ellen asked. “What on earth would be the percentage of going to all that trouble to hijack an old tub like this? They couldn’t get away with it anyway. It won’t go anywhere but downstream.”

“Did you get the impression they might be foreigners?” he asked.

“Foreigners? Of course not. They’re from Massachusetts.”

“I could say I was from the moon, but that wouldn’t make it so. Just for the sake of argument, let’s assume they’re a couple of foreign agents. Begin to make sense?”

She stared at him. “Your formula,” she breathed.

“Theorem, not formula,” he said patiently. “I don’t know what good it would do a spy, even if he got me to explain it, because they can read the theorem in any scientific journal in about a month. If they’re looking for the formula for the new rocket fuel the news magazines have been playing up, they’re chasing the wrong guy. I couldn’t tell anybody how to build a rocket fuel.”

“There’s no reason spies would know that, after all your publicity as the man who will send us beyond the stars. I think we should get in touch with the FBI.”

“My work isn’t top secret,” Faraday said reasonably. “Or at least it shouldn’t be, and probably won’t be when Max Abbott and Earl Laing get through pounding some sense into those pinheads in Washington. Besides, what would we tell the FBI? That a couple of men claiming to be electronic engineers from Massachusetts offered to buy passage on our boat?”

“It was you who suggested they were spies.”

“I’ve been reading too much Ian Fleming,” Faraday said. “But I still think there was something shady about them. I think we’ll get out of here and pick up water farther downstream.”

He went over to the gangplank, drew it aboard and started the motor. As soon as it turned over, he pulled in the anchor, engaged the prop and steered the boat out into the channel. Then he cut the motor and let the houseboat drift.

Ten miles downstream they spotted a boat livery. Faraday restarted the motor and pulled over to the dock to take on drinking water. They didn’t discuss their strange visitors any more all day, but when it began to grow dark and Faraday showed no sign of looking for a mooring, Ellen didn’t ask any questions. He knew by her silence that the two men were still as much on her mind as on his.

“I thought we’d go on a few miles after dark,” he said laconically. “I’ll set out the running lights.”

He lit four Coleman lanterns and set them fore and aft, to port and starboard, then started the outboard motor.

“We may as well make a little time,” he said. “I don’t want to run in the dark too long.”

The outboard motor was twenty-five horsepower, which would have pushed the twelve-to-fifteen-foot boat it was designed for along at a clip of from thirty to thirty-five miles an hour. But was barely enough to give the heavy houseboat headway. Against the current the boat would have stood still. With the current helping, it moved along at about eight miles an hour.

About two hours after dusk the lights of Natchez appeared ahead.

“We’ve made nearly seventy miles,” Faraday said. “Guess we’ll call it a day.”

Every night up until now he had moored on the west side of the river, because the main channel tended to hug that bank. Tonight he steered over to the Louisiana side, well out of the channel.

Without comment Ellen went to the bow and began taking soundings with a leaded line as they neared the far bank. As the flat-bottomed boat drew only three feet, there wasn’t much danger of running aground, and there wouldn’t be a serious problem even if they did, but Faraday liked to know what kind of water he was getting into.

They edged over a sandbar which showed a depth of only four feet before the water began to deepen again and they found themselves in a small, currentless cove. The Coleman lanterns threw enough light for Faraday to see the river bank. It was low and marshy and there was no sign of habitation along it. A dozen feet away from the bank he cut the motor and threw out the anchor.

Ellen came back from the bow, glanced toward the Mississippi shore and said casually, “Think they can see our lights from over there?”

“There won’t be any to see, except through our windows, in a couple of minutes,” he said. “From that distance nobody will be able to tell if the windows are in a houseboat, or just in a cottage near the bank.”

He shut the valves of all the Coleman lanterns except one, and carried that into the galley. They had a cup of coffee, then he carried the lantern into the bunk room they were using so that they could see to undress for bed.

“You think maybe we should have contacted the FBI just in case?” Ellen asked as he kissed her goodnight.

“They probably weren’t foreign agents,” he said. “They couldn’t find us here anyway. They’d be looking fifteen to twenty miles back on the other side of the river. Stop worrying and go to sleep.”

The next morning he wished he had called the FBI.

Ellen was still dressing when he entered the galley. He came to an abrupt halt in the doorway when he saw the two men seated side-by-side on the opposite side of the table, facing the door. They were dressed the same as the day before, except that their hats lay on top of the refrigerator. Two small overnight bags stood on the floor in one corner.

“How the devil did you get here?” Faraday demanded.

“We borrowed a rowboat,” the thin-nosed man said. “Since we lacked the owner’s permission, we thought it would be unwise to keep it. We set it adrift.”

The bulky man said, “Your lights made it just as easy to keep track of your boat as in the daytime. We appreciate your lighting them.”

Faraday heard a gasp of surprise and turned to find Ellen behind him. He moved on into the galley.

“Since you have no boat, I guess you’ll have to swim,” he said ominously. “Want to dive in yourselves, or be tossed overboard?”

The tall man raised his hand from his lap. There was a thirty-eight revolver in it. Ellen emitted another little gasp.

“Sit down, both of you,” the man with the gun suggested.

After staring at the gun for a moment, Faraday quietly pulled out a chair for Ellen. When she sank into it, he sat next to her, so that they faced the two men on the other side of the table.

“We don’t want any trouble,” the tall man said. “If you cooperate, we will let you enjoy the rest of the voyage. If you insist on being difficult, we will have to tie Mrs. Faraday to her bunk.”

“Why just my wife?” Faraday growled. “Why not me too?”

“We’re not very familiar with boats of this type, Mr. Faraday. We might run it aground. We need you to navigate. You will bear it in mind that unpleasant things may happen to your wife if your navigation isn’t efficient.”

After digesting this, Faraday said, “What do you want?”

“Your formula, Mr. Faraday.”

Ellen whispered, “They are spies, Mike. We should have called the FBI when we stopped for water.”

The bulky man turned his expressionless face to her. “So you actually suspected us,” he said with mild surprise. “I thought our pose was excellent. Thank you for the information that you did not phone anyone when you made your stop.” Ellen looked abashed.

Faraday said, “You men are on the wrong track. I have no formula. All I developed was a mathematical theorem, and it can no more be suppressed from the world than Einstein’s theory of relativity could have been.

“At this moment my two immediate assistants at the university, Professors Max Abbott and Earl Laing, are in Washington explaining the facts of life to a group of thick-headed bureaucrats. I’m quite certain they’ll succeed in convincing them that a mathematical theorem cannot be classified top secret. By the time we get back to St. Louis, I expect to have permission to publish my computations in detail. If you’ll wait about a month, you can read it in any scientific journal.”

The thin-nosed man gave him a smile of polite disbelief.

“You’re as thick-headed as those jerks in Washington,” Faraday said dourly. “Can’t you get it through your head that I know absolutely nothing of military value?”

“Our superiors believe you do, Mr. Faraday. It is not our function to decide the value of what you can tell them. We were merely instructed to deliver you.”

“Deliver me where?”

“To a submarine we will rendezvous with some miles out in the gulf.”

Faraday looked at him with his mouth open.

“You mean you plan to take this ark out into the gulf?”

“I think your little outboard motor will push it far enough for our purpose. It will not be required to push it back again.”

Ellen said in a high voice, “Where will the submarine take us?”

The bulky man said, “You will learn that when you arrive at your destination, Mrs. Faraday. Now, if you please, will you begin to prepare breakfast while your husband gets the boat underway?”

Rising to his feet, he drew a blue-steel automatic from beneath his arm. “All right, Faraday. Start the motor and pull up anchor. I think I had better warn you that your wife will remain here in the galley with my partner all day, while you and I will stay on deck. At the slightest sign that you are not fully cooperating with us, my partner will put a bullet through her pretty head. For example, if any boats hail us and you try to give an alarm, your wife will immediately die. Understand?”

“I understand,” Faraday growled.

The man lifted his hat from the top of the refrigerator and dropped it over his gun, completely concealing the gun. Even from close by the occupants of any passing boats would think he was merely carrying the hat in his hand, Faraday realized.

He preceded the pseudo Martin Smith out on deck, started the engine and pulled in the anchor.

Faraday had no opportunity to confer with Ellen privately all that day, but he had a lot of opportunity to think. He made and discarded a dozen plans before he finally hit on one he decided just might possibly work. It would require Ellen’s cooperation, though, and he could see no way to get instructions to her.

At noon the thin-nosed man had Ellen bring sandwiches out to the men on deck, following behind her with his hat also draped over his gun. Faraday decided to test to see if either of their captors had any nautical knowledge at all.

“If either of you are interested in fishing, you might pick up some jack salmon along here by trolling from the rear of the boat,” he said. “I believe the channel in this part of the river is charted at six fathoms.”

Ellen gave him a peculiar look. The river current shifted the silt on the bottom so often that accurate depth charts were impossible, and they had no charts anyway.

The man who called himself Albert Johnson asked without much interest, “How deep is that in feet?”

“Forty-eight. A fathom is eight feet.”

He held his breath for some reaction, but neither man commented, indicating that neither knew a fathom was actually six feet. He was conscious of Ellen’s gaze on him and knew she realized he had some plan. He was sure she would be wise enough to go along when the proper time came.

Neither of their captors showed any desire to fish. When the sandwich plates were empty, the thin-nosed man ordered Ellen back to the galley and followed after her.

Several times during the day the houseboat was hailed by other boats. Each time the bulky man called a cheery reply. Faraday, afraid that any sound at all from him might endanger Ellen, merely waved to the hailers.

About an hour before dusk Faraday spotted the sort of place he was looking for. By now they had left Mississippi and the banks on both sides of the river were in Louisiana. Up ahead, close to the east bank, was a low, reed-covered island. The reeds grew about waist high and, as there were no trees on the island, even from a distance it could be seen that it was uninhabited.

It seemed to be about a mile long and no more than fifty yards wide. The channel between it and the east bank was only about seventy-five feet wide. The river bank was also covered with waist-high reeds and there were no cottages along the bank.

The place was ideal for what Faraday had in mind. He was sure that, so far from the main channel, there would be no current the other side of the island. And the area was isolated enough to satisfy their captors as a safe place to moor overnight.

“It’ll be dark in another hour,” he said to the bulky man. “We need calm water to moor overnight, and I doubt that we’ll find another place as suitable as the channel behind that island ahead. Want to pull in there?”

The man who called himself Martin Smith scanned the island and the shoreline beyond it, and was obviously pleased to see no buildings of any sort.

“You are the navigator,” he said. “Are you sure the water is deep enough there?”

“We only draw three feet. I’ll need my wife to give me soundings.”

“Soundings?”

Faraday was surprised at the man’s abysmal ignorance of everything about river navigation.

“She has to stand at the bow and test the water depth with a leaded line,” he explained. “There may be sandbars near the island which would run us aground. Then we’d be in real trouble.”

The bulky man glanced around to make sure no other boats were in sight.

“Albert!” he called. “Bring Mrs. Faraday out.”

Ellen came out on deck, followed by the fake Albert Johnson, again holding his hat over his gun.

“We’re pulling into that channel up ahead,” Faraday said to his wife, pointing. “Give me soundings in fathoms.”

Ellen gave him a quick glance. They didn’t ordinarily bother with nautical terms, Ellen always calling out soundings in feet. She made no comment, however.

Faraday went aft to start the motor, trailed by the bulky man, while Ellen went forward accompanied by the other man.

Ellen made her first sounding a hundred feet from the entrance to the channel. “Mark three,” she called.

As they slipped into the channel entrance, Faraday could tell by the feel of the boat that there was no current here.

“Mark twain,” Ellen called.

“What’s that mean?” the bulky man asked.

“Sixteen feet,” Faraday said. “Two fathoms. We’re safe even at a half a fathom.”

He maneuvered the boat in to within about twenty feet of the island.

“Mark one,” Ellen called.

They were now a good hundred feet down the channel. The water between the island and the river-bank still stretched a good seventy-five feet across, but Faraday let the boat drift to within twelve feet of the island.

Ellen called, “One half fathom.”

“That’s our limit of tolerance,” Faraday said. “I’d better pull out a little.”

But as he turned the motor, there was a dull, grinding noise and the houseboat came to a dead stop.

“Nuts,” Faraday said, cutting the motor. “We’ve run aground.” He went forward, trailed by the bulky man. The thin-nosed man looked at him ominously.

“Was that on purpose?” he asked his partner.

“I don’t think so,” the bulky man said. “The boat only draws three feet, and we were in four feet of water. He was trying to move the boat farther out when we grounded.”

Taking the leaded line from Ellen, Faraday cast it out in several directions.

“No problem,” he announced cheerily. “We’re just on a narrow sandbar. It’ll save us throwing out the anchor, and we’ll easily be able to push it off tomorrow.”

“You had better be able to,” the tall man said coldly. “If you fail, we will proceed by other means and leave your wife here.”

His tone suggested that Ellen would be left behind dead. Faraday began to wonder if his idea had been so brilliant after all.

The bulky man said, “Well, let’s have dinner and sleep on it.”

To prevent any attempt at escape during the night, their captors hogtied Faraday and Ellen to their bunks.

They did such an excellent job that both quickly abandoned any idea of struggling loose.

In the darkness Ellen whispered, “I know you grounded us on purpose, but what did it accomplish? We won’t have any trouble getting afloat.”

“We may if we can delay things until the sun is well up,” Faraday said. “Take as much time as you can preparing breakfast.”

“All right,” she agreed. “But what do you have in mind?”

“What kind of fish do you find in the Mississippi in an isolated spot such as this where there is no current?” he asked.

After a moment of silence, she said, “Mostly gar, I suppose. Why?”

“And what happens when the sun hits the water?”

“The ugly things rise to sun themselves.”

“Uh-huh. These characters know nothing about the Mississippi. I’ll bet they never even heard of an alligator gar. Here’s what I have in mind.”

He explained his plan in detail.

In the morning their captors untied them at dawn. They took their time washing and dressing, and afterward Ellen took so long cooking breakfast that the two men began to get impatient. By the time they had all eaten and they got out on deck, the sun was well up.

The still, muddy water of the channel between the island and the shore was dotted with the long, narrow snouts of alligator gar, some of the heads as long as two feet.

“What are those things?” their two kidnapers asked simultaneously.

At the sound of the voices, the nearby heads popped out of sight beneath the surface. The gars farther away placidly continued to enjoy the sun, however.

With their sharp-toothed jaws they were ferocious looking monsters. Nothing but their heads showed in the muddy water, and since their heads constituted a full third of their total length, it was easy for anyone who had never seen a gar to imagine an enormous body extending beneath the surface behind the head.

Actually they seldom grew to an overall length of more than six feet, head and all, and possessed narrow, eel-like bodies no bigger around than a man’s wrist. They were totally inedible, but completely harmless to man.

“They’re alligators,” Faraday said. “This creates a problem. Somebody has to get into the water to get us off this sandbar. Any volunteers?”

The kidnapers were staring at the numerous-beads still on the surface some distance away. It was obvious that neither questioned Faraday’s identification of them as alligators, which wasn’t surprising, since the alligator gar gets its name from the close resemblance of its head to that of an alligator.

“The place is alive with them,” the bulky man said with a shudder. “What are we going to do?”

The tall man looked at Faraday. “What was your planned procedure to get us off this bar?”

“I planned to get out alongside the boat, between the boat and the island, and pry us free with that four-by-four,” Faraday said, pointing to where the twelve-foot beam lay on deck. “But I’ve changed my mind.”

The tall man gave Ellen a contemplative look.

“She isn’t strong enough to handle the beam,” Faraday said quickly. “Besides, she can’t swim.”

“How likely are those things to attack a person?” the tall man asked.

Faraday shrugged. “Depends on how hungry they are. I doubt that you’d have a chance swimming the channel to the mainland, but right alongside the boat you might get the boat pried free before one of the brutes grabbed your leg. Want to risk it?”

The tall man looked at his partner.

“Absolutely not,” the bulky man said definitely. “You are as expendable as I am.”

The tall man mused for a moment, then came to a decision. “I guess you are elected, Mr. Faraday.”

“We cannot risk him,” his partner objected. “Suppose they gobble him up?”

“It’s a risk we have to take,” the tall man said. “The alternative is to stay here surrounded by these monsters until we either starve to death or are rescued by someone. Do you have any better suggestions?”

The bulky man looked at Ellen, then at the twelve-foot four-by-four and dismissed her as a possibility. “I suppose we’ll have to risk it,” he said reluctantly.

The tall man turned to Faraday. In a cold voice he said, “We will give you fifteen minutes to get us afloat. If we are not off the bar by then, we will toss your wife to these monsters.”

Faraday glanced at Ellen. She was pale, but he knew she wasn’t frightened by the thought of the gars, for she was as familiar with them as he was.

He said with an air of resignation, “All right. I’ll have to change to swim trunks: Will you both stand by the rail with your guns to drive off any alligators who try to attack me?”

“We want you alive,” the tall man assured him. “We will cover you.”

The bulky man accompanied him to the bunk room while he changed into trunks. When they came back out on deck, Faraday lifted one end of the four-by-four and heaved it onto the rail. He pushed it over to let it slide into the currentless water, where it floated next to the boat. There was about twelve feet of water between the boat and the island.

Faraday took a deep breath, said, “Keep your guns ready,” and lowered himself over the side.

His feet sank a foot into silt and the water came to just above his waist. The two men on deck stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their eyes peering at the opaque water and their guns leveled at it.

The heavy beam was easy to handle in the water. Directing one end of it against the side of the boat, Faraday pushed on the other end. The prying end slid along the curve of the boat’s bottom until it was lodged in the mud beneath it. Faraday heaved upward on the other end and felt the boat shift outward slightly. He pushed the prying end of the beam back beneath it and heaved again.

This time the boat floated free.

Letting the sunken end of the beam rise to the surface, Faraday pushed it toward the rail. The bulky man bent down, lifted the end onto the rail and pulled the beam aboard.

“Now pull me aboard before one of those things gets me,” Faraday said, wading toward the boat.

Then he screamed, “My leg!” And began to thrash in the water.

He caught a quick glimpse of all three faces above him just before he let himself sink beneath the surface. The tall man was horrified. The bulky man for once had lost his expressionlessness and was looking startled. Ellen, who knew there was nothing in the water to attack him, merely looked wary.

Faraday gave a powerful thrust with his legs and shot underwater beneath the curved bow of the boat. He surfaced on the other side and pulled himself aboard all in the same motion. He stood dripping muddy water and getting his breath back, blocked from the view of those on the other side of the boat by the cabin.

He slipped into the door of the passageway between the galley and the bunk rooms and came out the other side. Not more than fifteen seconds had elapsed since he submerged, and all three people were still staring down into the water, the two men in stunned shock, Ellen because she was following instructions.

His bare feet making no sound on the deck, Faraday glided forward. One arm went about the tall man’s shoulders, the other about the bulky man’s, and he hurtled overboard, carrying both with him.

As they went beneath the surface, his legs scissored about the bulky man from behind and his hands probed for the other’s right hand. Finding it empty, he pushed the man away, wrapped his left arm about the man’s neck and groped for his gun with his right.

The man still gripped it, but in his terror at being in what he thought was alligator infested water, he offered no resistance when it was jerked from his grip. It slipped from Faraday’s hand and sank.

Faraday released his scissors grip, put a foot into the middle of the man’s back and pushed. Surfacing, he took three powerful strokes and pulled himself aboard the houseboat.

By now the boat had drifted out about twenty feet into the channel. The two men, in water to their waists, were floundering in panic for the island. They clambered ashore and stood with clothes dripping, staring at the boat.

“We’ll send the FBI to rescue you,” Faraday called. “Unless you don’t want to wait. You can probably get halfway to shore before the alligators get you.”

He went aft to start the engine. As they chugged along the channel southward, the two men were still standing gazing after them.

If they remained quiet long enough, Faraday knew, the channel would again soon be dotted with the narrow, snaggle-toothed heads of gars sunning themselves.

He doubted that the men would be gone when the FBI arrived.