Марк Брендел - The Mystery of the Kidnapped Whale

“All right, boy.” Slater had hardly glanced at Paul Donner. He didn’t seem in the least surprised to see him there. He didn’t seem interested. His whole threatening attention was focused on Bob.

“All right, boy,” Slater repeated. “Give me that box.”

“What box?” Bob nudged Pete. What was needed right now, he thought, was one of the Second Investigator’s flying tackles. A flying tackle and a ramble and scramble to grab the metal case and take off on their bicycles.

“Cut that out.”

It was as though Slater had read his thoughts.

“No tricks now, boy.”

Slater was wet up to his waist, but the short denim jacket he was wearing was quite dry. He reached inside it with his right hand. When he brought it out again he was holding a small snub-nosed pistol.

He pointed it at Bob.

“The metal cay-us,” he said. “The one that whale brought in to you. I want that cay-us.”

Bob glanced helplessly at Jupe. Jupe was looking at the pistol in Slater’s hand. Although he had never fired one himself, the First Investigator knew a lot about guns. In theory. The one Slater was holding had a very short barrel. Its accurate range couldn’t be more than ten yards, Jupe decided. But Slater was holding it less than a foot from Bob’s chest.

“Okay, Bob,” Jupe said. “You’d better give it to him.”

Bob nodded. He couldn’t help agreeing with him wholeheartedly.

He walked up the beach to the rock where he had hidden the case. Slater followed close behind. Bob pulled out the box. Slater reached for it.

“N-o-o-o!”

For a moment Bob couldn’t understand where the anguished scream had come from. Then he saw that Paul Donner had managed to struggle to his feet and was lurching up the beach toward them.

Slater half turned. The scream had startled him too. As he spun around to face Donner he had his back to Bob. Jupe was only a few yards away. The First Investigator nodded, stretching out his hands. Bob threw him the box. Jupe caught it.

“You cheat.” Paul Donner had reached Slater. “You traitor!” he screamed. “You liar. You blackmailer.”

He was clawing at the bald man’s chest, straining to get his hands around his throat. Slater lowered his gun and tried to push him away. Paul Donner fell backward, pulling Slater on top of him.

Jupe was still holding the box. Pete was standing ten yards away down the beach. A little way out at sea Constance, who had been busy with Fluke, had heard the scream too. She was swimming rapidly in toward the shore with Fluke beside her.

Jupe threw the box to Pete.

Slater rose slowly to his feet, leaving Donner lying on the sand. All the fight had gone out of the tall, thin man. He climbed weakly to his knees.

Pete had caught the box.

He saw Constance swimming to shore. He saw Slater look at Bob and then at Jupe, searching for the precious case. Pete didn’t wait for Slater to look in his direction. Hugging the box against his chest, he raced for the ocean.

Slater ran after him.

Pete reached the sea’s edge. He waded out until the water was up to his waist. Slater wasn’t far behind him now.

“Stop!” Slater shouted.

Pete couldn’t see him. But he could feel that gun pointing straight at his back. It was one of the most unpleasant feelings he had ever had in his life.

He stopped.

“Here.” Constance lifted her arms out of the water. “Pete, here.”

Pete hesitated. He could feel that gun so clearly it might have been pressing against his skin. He could feel the light metal case in his hands. He could see Constance’s raised arms.

Pete had played a lot of basketball. He was pretty good at it. For an instant he reacted as he would have done in a close game. For an instant he forgot Slater. He almost forgot Slater’s gun. He was holding the ball. Constance was shouting at him to throw it.

He bent his knees, lowered his elbows, then, quickly straightening his whole body and shooting up his arms, he threw the box in a long high curve out to sea.

Constance caught it.

Pete ducked underwater.

He stayed there as long as he could, holding his breath. When he couldn’t hold it any longer, he slowly, cautiously raised his head. Constance was twenty yards out. She was treading water, watching the shore. Fluke was floating beside her, holding the flat metal box in his jaws.

Keeping his head low, Pete turned and looked toward the beach. Slater had put his gun away. He was standing at the water’s edge with his bald head lowered in a way that reminded Pete of a snorting bull. A bull that had lost its momentum for the present and was gathering its strength, waiting to see what would happen next.

Jupe and Bob were standing in front of him. Jupe seemed to be doing all the talking. Pete waded ashore and joined them.

“We’re not trying to rob you, Mr. Slater,” Jupe was saying. “We agree that half of anything in that box belongs to you. All we’re trying to do is to protect Constance and her father. All we want is to see that she gets her fair share.”

Slater didn’t say anything for quite a long time. He was breathing hard through his nose.

“What are you suggesting, boy?” he asked.

“I’m suggesting we take that box into town. I think we ought to take it to Chief Reynolds. He’s the head of the Rocky Beach police. He’s a very fairminded man. And there’s no question of anyone having broken any laws. You just tell him your story. And Constance can explain her father’s side of it. Then Chief Reynolds can decide how much of the contents of that box belongs to you. And how much of it belongs to Constance.”

There was another long silence. Slater looked out to sea, where Constance and Fluke were floating side by side. There was no way he could ever get that box away from Fluke. Not without Constance’s permission.

“Okay.” Slater nodded sullenly. “We’ll all get back on the boat and sail around to the marina in Rocky Beach. Then we can go and see this Chief Reynolds you’re talking about. That suit you, boy?”

Jupe shook his head. Slater had put his gun away, but it wouldn’t take him long to pull it out of his pocket again. Back on his own boat he would just wait for the right moment, his chance to get his hands on that box and make off with it.

“There’s no need to go all that long way around by the coast,” Jupe suggested politely. “We can just call Chief Reynolds from here. He’ll send a squad car for us.”

“Call him? How?” Slater was beginning to snort again. “You think there’s a phone at this cove? Boy, the nearest call box —”

“The nearest call box is less than a mile down the coast road,” Jupe said. “At the Clifftop Cafe. Bob can bike down there in a couple of minutes and call Chief Reynolds.”

“Can do,” Bob agreed.

“Now, if you wouldn’t mind leaving your gun on your boat, Mr. Slater,” Jupe continued pleasantly, “Constance will tell Fluke to bring in the box and then we’ll all go up to the road to wait for the police car. Don’t you think that’s a good idea, Mr. Slater?”

Slater obviously didn’t think it was a good idea at all. He looked as though he thought it was a terrible idea. But he nodded anyway. There was nothing else he could do.

Bob went ahead to phone Chief Reynolds. Constance fed Fluke while Jupe and Pete made sure Slater put his gun back in the boat locker. Then Constance said goodbye to Fluke. She told him she would be back in a little while to see that he was all right. Fluke seemed to hate to see her leave. He came in close to the beach to watch her go.

It wasn’t until all four of them were walking up toward the road, with Constance carrying the metal case, that Jupe suddenly remembered Paul Donner.

He had disappeared.