Марк Брендел - The Mystery of the Kidnapped Whale

Constance had brought a bucket of fish to the cove with her that morning. Bob had the harness loose in a few seconds. He lifted it clear of Fluke’s head.

The metal box felt surprisingly light.

“Stay, Fluke,” Bob told him. “Stay and wait for me here. I’ll be right back with your dinner.”

He turned and waded toward the shore, holding the green metal case against his chest.

He had almost reached the dry sand when he saw the man standing there, halfway up the beach, watching him, waiting for him.

He was a tall man, wearing a Windbreaker, and the brim of his hat was tilted down over his eyes. But the thing Bob noticed first about him was the breadth of his shoulders, the thickness of his arms.

The second thing Bob noticed, as the man advanced down the beach, was that he didn’t have any face. None Bob could see anyway. It was hidden by a nylon stocking pulled down over it.

“All right,” the man said. “Give me that case.”

Although he had only heard it once before, over the phone at Headquarters, Bob recognized the voice at once. The man didn’t say “case.” He said “cay-us.”

The last time Bob had seen him he had been sprawling on the floor as Pete tackled him around the knees and the Three Investigators rambled and scrambled into the night.

“Give it to me.”

The man was advancing more quickly. He was only a couple of yards away now.

Bob didn’t say anything. There didn’t seem to be anything to say. Hugging the metal case against his chest, he backed into the ocean.

“Give me that cay-us.”

The man lurched toward him. Bob kept backing away until he was up to his knees in the water. He stepped back again as the man reached out to grab him.

Unfortunately Bob didn’t move fast enough. The man’s fingers had closed on the case. He was trying to tear it out of Bob’s hands.

Still clutching the metal box, Bob couldn’t fight back. Not that it would have been any use trying to fight anyway. Bob had never seen anyone with such a powerful chest and shoulders as this giant.

All Bob could do was keep his grip on the box and try to struggle farther out into the ocean. The water was already up to his waist. The man was grappling with him. Another moment and, Bob knew, the giant would topple him back into the sea, force him underwater. He would have to let go of the metal case.

Just as Bob felt himself losing his balance, the man suddenly reared up. Bob saw him rise straight up as though he had been lifted by a crane.

Up, up, up the man went. Then he was flying backward through the air. He fell with a great splash full length in the water. He struggled and spluttered there for a second.

Then Fluke’s head was beneath him again. With a flip of his powerful body the little whale tossed him up once more. Fluke was playing with him as easily as he would have played with a beach ball. He was tossing him farther and farther out to sea.

The man was shouting now, shouting for help. He was struggling on his back, sinking below the water.

Fluke was diving beneath him, ready to give him another toss. As the man cried out Fluke paused. He raised his head and looked at the struggling giant, then began to nudge him gently back toward the shore.

But the man was still sinking. Lying on his back, thrashing with his arms and legs, he was going down as though forced underwater by some great weight across his chest.

A moment ago Bob had thought this man was his worst enemy. But Bob couldn’t help himself now. He felt sorry for the man. He couldn’t stand there and watch him drown.

He hurried to the beach and hid the metal case behind a rock, then he ran back and waded out to the giant.

By the time Bob reached him, the man was almost submerged. Only his masked face was still clear of the water. Fluke was floating beside him. His friendly eyes looked puzzled.

“Under him, Fluke,” Bob said. “Don’t toss him around anymore. Just see if you can lift him and keep him from drowning.”

Whether Fluke understood the words or not, he knew what he had to do. He glided to the man, got his back under him, and gently began to raise him. In a moment the man’s head and huge chest were clear of the water.

He was still struggling, his hands tearing at his Windbreaker. He was trying to unzip it and get it off.

Bob found the metal tag of the zipper. He pulled it all the way down. The Windbreaker opened. Bob pushed it up over the man’s shoulders and pulled it free of his arms.

Bob stared at the man’s chest. He stared at the Windbreaker he was holding in his hands.

He could understand now why the man had looked as though he were being forced down by some great weight on his chest. The whole inside of the Windbreaker was stuffed with foam rubber! It had absorbed water like a sponge, swelling and gaining weight until the man was helpless.

Without his padded Windbreaker the man didn’t look like a giant. He looked thin and weak and a little pathetic. Between them Bob and Fluke helped him ashore. When they reached water that was too shallow for Fluke to swim in, Bob took over alone. He gripped the man by the ankles and dragged him up onto the dry sand.

The man lay there on his back. He was panting, exhausted, barely conscious. He had lost his hat in the sea. The nylon stocking was still pulled down over his face.

Bob lifted it off.

He saw the long thin nose, the slightly sunken cheeks. He saw the crease, like a scar, under the man’s right eye.

He was looking down at Paul Donner.

“There he is,” Slater shouted excitedly. “There’s that way-ul.”

He lowered his binoculars. “You were right, boy. He’s there in that cove.” He hurried down to the cockpit and took the wheel from Jupe.

Constance had seen Fluke too. As Slater steered the boat into the cove, she leaned over the rail.

“Fluke,” she called. “Fluke.”

He heard her at once. He raised his head and swam eagerly out to greet her.

“The box.” Slater half turned from the wheel. He was staring at Fluke’s head. “He’s lost the box,” he yelled.

Jupe had his eyes on the shore. He saw the man lying there on the sand with Bob standing beside him.

Bob waved, then lifted his circled thumb and forefinger in the okay signal.

“I think the sooner we get ashore the better, Pete,” Jupe said. “Before Slater figures out what happened.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Pete was still wearing his wet suit. He slipped over the side and swam quickly to the beach. Jupe peeled off the shirt he had borrowed from the ship’s locker and followed Pete as fast as he could.

“Paul Donner.” Jupe and Pete stood looking down at the drenched, gasping man stretched out on the beach. “What’s he doing here? What happened, Bob?” Jupe asked.

Bob hastily explained everything that had happened at the cove since he saw Fluke swim in. He told them how he had taken the metal case off Fluke’s head, how the giant had attacked him and Fluke had come to his rescue, then his discovery that the giant wasn’t a giant at all. He was only a tall, thin man wearing a padded Windbreaker. He was Paul Donner.

“He almost drowned,” Bob finished. “But I gave him artificial respiration and I think he’ll be okay now. He isn’t very strong, and he’s just exhausted.”

Jupe glanced quickly over his shoulder. Slater had brought the boat in and anchored it as close to the beach as he could. He was wading ashore toward them. His bald head was gleaming with determination. He looked angry and menacing.

“The metal case?” Jupe whispered to Bob. “What did you do with it?”

“I hid it —”

Bob broke off. Slater had reached the dry sand and was standing facing him.