Steve Ames and Scotty came in and greeted him with wide smiles. "The nurse says you're hungry," Steve said. "Sounds like the old Rick."

Scotty asked, "How about crab cakes for breakfast?"

"Bring 'em on, followed by a dozen steamed clams and an order of fritters," Rick replied. "How's the bodyguard?"

"Well enough so his disposition is pretty nasty," Steve reported. "He'll be here for at least a week before the jail cell opens wide. Seriously, Rick, are you all right? Apparently there was no concussion."

"I'm fine," Rick a.s.sured him. "But I'll bet this bandage makes me look like a survivor of Custer's Last Stand."

Steve and Scotty drew chairs up to the bed. "One last look by the doctor and we'll take you home," Steve told him. "If you feel up to it."

"What'll I do for clothes?" Rick asked.

"They're in your closet," Scotty replied. "We brought them with us. Last night we took your gear home after the hospital folks peeled you out of it."

"Good." Rick looked at his two friends. "Now suppose you tell me what happened last night? I must have been out like a light while the excitement was running high."

Scotty nodded. "I'll start. I was behind one of the pier piles when the bodyguard cut the balloon loose. I jumped out for a clear shot, but by then you had put your spear through the thing. I was going to add mine for good luck when I saw the bodyguard reach for the old equalizer and draw a bead on you, so I shifted targets. I looked back at you just in time to see you dangling from the stingaree like an extra tail. And right then you went boom into the piling. But would Brant ever let go of evidence? Not you, ol' buddy. There you dangled, limp as a wilted banana while the balloon drifted along with you. I started toward you as fast as I could go, which wasn't very fast with water up to my waist."

"Wish I could have seen it," Rick said with a grin.

"So do I," Scotty a.s.sured him. "Camillion and his friends were also somewhat interested in you. They started down the lawn, and I was sure they'd get to you before I could. Only then Joe and Chuck stepped out of the bushes not ten yards from where I'd been hiding, and yelled to the lads to hold fast and get their hands high. Steve stepped around the corner of the barn with a .45 in his mitt and emphasized the point.

Lefty and company got the idea and skidded to a stop with all brakes locked. I put on more speed, and Steve joined the chase."

"I didn't see you hit the piling." Steve picked up the story. "But I heard it. When I saw that the boys had things under control with their shotguns, I stepped on it and got to you a few seconds after Scotty had grabbed you by the waist. When I saw your face, I had a few bad moments until I could take a closer look. You were a b.l.o.o.d.y mess, to put it mildly, with more than a few splinters adding color. But I could see your manly beauty wasn't gone forever. We pried you loose from the rocket and stretched you out on the lawn. Your pulse was pretty good and you were breathing steadily, so we gave you a few whiffs of oxygen from Scotty's tank for good luck."

Rick could appreciate how worried his friends must have been in spite of their half-humorous report.

"Lefty spoke up," Steve continued. "It was the only time he spoke. He's said nothing since. He said, 'There's a first-aid kit in the kitchen.'

We got it, and went to work on you. Of course we put in a call to the police, and asked for an ambulance. Joe Vitalli kept a watch on the crowd and Chuck went into the barn while we pulled splinters out of you.

He found Orvil, and he also found Lincoln Harris."

"I remember meeting him," Rick nodded. "I was too groggy to be surprised."

"He was okay. They hadn't mistreated him. Link said he had gone up the creek just in time to see them launch a balloon with a rocket on it, and they got the drop on him with rifles, then grabbed him. His curiosity got the better of him. He'd heard about the people at Calvert's Favor and decided to take a look, the waterways being free to all navigators.

Orvil had a b.u.mp on his head, but otherwise was all right. Lefty hasn't talked, but I suspect he had plans for their release, once he was safely out of the country."

"Where is Lefty?" Rick asked.

"He and his friends are in the local jail. You know, Lefty is a chump.

But he's also an excellent example of what happens to people when they start operating in unfamiliar fields."

"Why is he a chump?" Rick demanded.

"Because every bit of data he went to so much trouble to collect was his for the asking, if he'd only waited until it was processed."

The light dawned. Rick knew at once what Steve meant. "That's what was trying to get to the surface in this addled brain of mine last night. Of course! Wallops Island is an uncla.s.sified launch site. Everything about the launchings is reported in scientific publications! But, Steve, the Soviet Emba.s.sy was interested in buying the stuff!"

Steve chuckled. "Sure, but not for a very high price, I suspect. The Reds are so suspicious they can't believe that a country like the United States can afford to give away data. They'd buy the tapes just to make sure we weren't holding back information they could use."

"Even a casual investigation would have told Lefty the data from Wallops firings is published by scientific publications," Scotty pointed out.

"How could he have been so stupid?"

"He fell into a natural trap," Steve answered. "Most people think there is military secrecy connected with rocket firings. They don't make a distinction between the civilian s.p.a.ce agency and the military services.

But the law does. It says the National Aeronautics and s.p.a.ce Administration is required to report on its scientific findings."

"And it does," Rick concluded. "Dad has already written a report on the instruments for measuring solar X rays. The scientists who actually use the instruments will also write a report on the data they obtained."

"That's it," Steve agreed. "What's a little more puzzling is why the electronics expert didn't know. I suspect he has been concerned only with the design of telemetry equipment and not with any actual launchings or s.p.a.ce experiments."

"Maybe he did know," Scotty offered. "He might have kept quiet just to get money from Lefty for doing the work on intercepting the data. You know we had the clues, but it never occurred to us there might be a connection between Wallops Island and the stingarees, because who could imagine going to all that trouble to intercept open, uncla.s.sified data you can get by asking for it?"

Rick had to laugh. "Whether he knew or not, it's still a joke on Lefty, and on us for not suspecting the connection. And poor Lefty won't have a nest egg to take back to Europe with him."

"He won't need a nest egg," Steve corrected. "Lefty violated the law by kidnaping Link and Orvil. I don't know whether we can make a federal espionage rap stick or not, since the data he was collecting was uncla.s.sified. But we'll try. Anyway, he won't be going back to Europe.

He'll end up in a Maryland prison, or a Federal one. Either way, it'll be some years before he has to worry about money."

"Lucky Lefty," Rick said. "A cell of his own, plenty of food, and no worries about money. We did him a favor."

Steve grinned. "Just don't expect any grat.i.tude for a favor like that!"

CHAPTER XX

Hunt the Wide Waters

The cruising houseboat _Spindrift_ moved sedately across Eastern Bay, off the main Chesapeake Bay, toward the town of Claiborne. It was a lovely day with a blue sky dotted with occasional fair-weather clouds.

The temperature was in the low eighties, the wind gentle, and the water warm.

Rick Brant sat on the bow of the houseboat, with his feet dangling over.

Next to him sat Jan Miller. His sister Barby, with their mother and father, were relaxing in deck chairs on the sun deck, while Scotty piloted the boat.

Now and then the bow dipped, and the spray splashed up in a cooling shower. Rick enjoyed the feeling of the cool spray, and the taste of salt on his tongue. Jan did, too. Rick thought she made quite a picture with her white bathing suit and golden tan contrasting with her dark hair. His one regret was that he couldn't swim with Jan, Scotty, and the family. Both Jan and Barby were expert Scuba divers, and he had looked forward to spearfishing with them in the bay. The girls had brought their own Scuba equipment in the luggage compartment of Hartson Brant's car.

Rick's bandages had been reduced to a single jumbo-size gauze patch, but his folks would not allow him to go swimming until his face was entirely healed. He knew they were right, though he chafed under the restriction.

Even so, swimming was really only a small part of the fun of houseboating, and the ban on swimming wouldn't last long.

Jan had put on a fresh bandage for him after breakfast that morning, and remarked in her soft voice, "It will be completely healed in another day or two, Rick. You can go swimming then."

Meanwhile, he had found an acceptable subst.i.tute. Steve Ames was a subscriber to _Bowhunting Magazine_, and in a back issue Rick had found an article on fishing for sting rays with bow and arrow. Steve had loaned a bow, and Rick had invested in fishing arrows and a reel for the bow. So far, he had found only one sting ray, and in his excitement he had failed to take into account the refraction of the water. He aimed where the ray seemed to be--but wasn't.

Rick's pretty, blond sister called down to him. "Rick! There's a sand bar at the tip of that point."

He looked to where Barby was pointing and saw a good-sized sand bar extending out under the water. "I see it, Sis. Thanks. It will be a while before we get there."