The Wailing Octopus Page 12

  He had never seen anything quite like it. The brass sphere was mounted on a box about

  twelve inches square and six inches high. From the sphere, two rounded projections thrust out. He identified a waterproof switch on the box, and two small knobs mounted on calibrated plates. These were obviously controls, but he had no idea what they controlled.

  Steve would want a few close-ups. Rick worked his camera focus and took shots from every angle. When he had enough, he pulled twice on the rope in a signal to surface.

  Scotty motioned to him to lead the way.

  As Rick started up, four metallic clangs, irregularly spaced, rang faintly in his ears.

  Tony, banging his tank in the signal for trouble! Rick instantly changed course and followed the bottom, watching the water overhead for any sign of the frogmen. When he had reached a spot below the point on the reef where Tony should be waiting, he turned toward the surface, moving slowly, searching for any sign of activity. There was no sign of whatever had alarmed Tony.

  He paused a few inches under the surface,then carefully put his face into the air. Scotty surfaced beside him.

  There was no sign of Tony. Rick peered through his mask and saw that the boat was still anchored in the same place. There were figures on its deck. Four of them- Four! He ripped his mask off for a clearer look, and his heart skipped a beat. The frogmen had Tony!

  CHAPTER XV

  How Sings the Gay Sardine?

  Rick and Scotty held a hurried consultation, mouth to ear.

  “We’ll have to get him,” Scotty whispered urgently. He held up his spear gun. “I’ve only got one shot in this.”

  Rick’s instinctive reaction was the same. They had to rescue Tony! But they also had a job to do.

  “Wait,” he cautioned. “They probably don’t know we’re here. Tony wouldn’t give us away. If they find out, we’ll lose the pictures, and we may make it worse for Tony. Let’s stay right here and watch.”

  Scotty subsided. They floated motionless, eyes on the boat, peering to penetrate the mist. The rain had let up somewhat, but the air was far from clear.

  Rick would have given the treasure they sought to be able to hear what was being said on the boat. The three frogmen were all facing Tony, and the conversation seemed to be pretty animated. Then, as he watched, the boat pulled up anchor. It moved north.

  “They’re taking him to their house,” Scotty gasped.

  The boys swam frantically for shore, recklessly crossing the reef without regard to the danger of cutting themselves on the sharp coral. They reached the beach and shed tanks and equipment under the palms,then raced for the frogmen’s house.

  They could see the lights of the boat as it rounded the northern tip of the island, and, lying among thepalms, they watched it tie up at the pier. Tony and the three frogmen got off and walked down the pier. Rick strained to see, and could not find any sign that Tony was covered by a gun. But that wouldn’t be necessary, anyway, since he was

  outnumbered three to one.

  The four marched up to the front door of the frogmen’s house and stopped. The boys were prone under a palm less than twenty feet away. One of the frogmen said, “Let me get a jacket. I’m getting chilled. Then we’ll walk you home.”

  There was something very odd here! Rick nudged Scotty and they backed slowly away.

  When they were sure they could not be seen, they stood up and ran on silent bare feet through the palm grove, circling to approach their own cottage from the rear.

  At the back door they paused.“Now what?” Rick said helplessly. “They’re bringing him home. Why?”

  “I wondered about that while we were running. I think they’re bringing him home to check up on us. He must have sold them some kind of yarn.”

  Rick nudged Scotty to back away

  “Steve’s tail will recognize us!”

  “Not if we’re in bed,” Scotty answered quickly. “We’ll pretend to be asleep. Come on.”

  “Just a minute.”Rick hurried to the shed and got two short hand spears. He handed one to Scotty. “Here. Have a bedfellow.”

  A few minutes later they heard footsteps and voices on the front porch. The door opened. A strange voice said, “Your friends don’t seem to be here.” The voice hardened.

  “I thought you said they were?”

  “They’re probably in bed,” Tony replied mildly. “We go to bed right after dark because there’s nothing to do.”

  “Except stick your nose in other people’s business,” a harsh voice snapped.

  Tony replied tartly, “I’ve already apologized for letting my curiosity get the better of me.”

  “I’d like to see the bedrooms,” a third voice said. Rick thought it belonged to the man they had taken off Steve’s tail.

  He lay motionless as a form blocked out the lamplight from the living room. In a moment the voice said, “They’re asleep, all right. They must sleep soundly.”

  “Young men do.” Tony sounded relieved.

  Rick grinned to himself. The archaeologist couldn’t have known they were in bed, but his stall had worked.

  “All right.We’ll be going. But keep in mind that the most stupid thing anyone can do is to dive alone, even by day. At night it’s worse than stupid. It’s sheer insanity. Also, we’ll thank you and your party to keep away from us and not gum up our recordings with your flipper noises and bubble sounds.”

  “We will,” Tony said. “Good night.”

  The front door closed. Scotty rose, slid open the window, and went out. Tony scraped a chair in the living room. Rick stayed where he was, in case the frogmen had lingered outside. In a few moments he heard the back door open and close, and he tensed, but it was Scotty’s voice that spoke.

  “They’re gone. I just wanted to make sure.”

  The three gathered in the living room, and Tony chuckled. “If I associate with you two for much longer, I’ll get to be the world’s champion dissembler.”

  “What happened?” Rick demanded.

  “Simple and unlucky.The two frogmen surfaced practically under me.My own fault, because I had moved much closer to the boat. I think one of them almost fired a spear at me, but the other stopped him. They invited me to go aboard, and I didn’t think it wise to refuse the invitation.”

  “I imagine not,” Rick commented grimly.“Then what?”

  “Naturally, they demanded to know what I was doing. I admitted to overpowering curiosity that got the better of my manners. They wanted to know who I was and why I was on the island. I told them the truth, of course, at least partly. I identified all of us.

  Then I’m afraid I told a slight untruth. I said we had found reference to the Maiden Hand in an old manuscript, and were diving in hopes of finding cannon and other old things which we planned to sell for museum pieces to pay for our vacation. I believe they accepted my story.”

  “It’s a good story,” Scotty approved.“Just enough truth to make it ring true.”

  “They’ve been watching us,” Tony went on. “They asked why the plane had gone, and why it had come back with only the pilot. I told them Professor Zircon had cut himself and gotten a coral infection, and that the doctor atCharlotte Amalie felt that he should stay there for treatment.”

  “I guess they haven’t recognized Scotty and me as the two who stopped Steve’s tail.”

  “Seems not,” Tony agreed. “Well, I admitted that I was still curious about their activities, since night diving is not common. So they told me a story.”

  The boys waited breathlessly.

  “These gentlemen thirst for scientific knowledge,” Tony said with a grin. “They claim an interest in ichthyology, but they know less about fish than any cat does. Their story is that they have developed an underwater recording device with which to make recordings of fish noises. Since they have some evidence that certain fish make their noises only at night, it is obviously necessary to make recordings at night. So they dive, leave their equipment, and pick it up the next morning. Our
diving too close to their gadget creates false sounds, especially our bubbles. Therefore we are requested politely but firmly to stay away.”

  Scotty whistled.

  Rick laughed. “Quite a story,” he said.

  “I pointed out the obvious,” Tony went on, “that it was strange they should choose a stormy night. Their answer was that storms upset fish, and they thought it possible that some sounds might be obtained only under storm conditions.”

  “Very interesting,” Rick remarked. “It’s a good story, and if we didn’t know Steve was after at least one of those men, we’d probably believe it!”

  “Fish noises!”Scotty exclaimed. “If they knew we’d been snooping around before, they’d probably claim that the octopus really did wail, and that they were only recording him. Your gag about screaming squid and burbling barracuda would appeal to them, Tony.”

  The archaeologist chuckled. “Anyway, we got out of that one pretty well. I had a little trouble banging my tank.Didn’t want to do it overtly, of course. Finally I managed to get in position while we were swimming to the boat, and I banged my tank against one of theirs. But how did you know what to do?”

  Rick explained briefly,then he broke into a smile again. “These guys are smart,” he declared. “I like that fish-recording story.”

  “It’s appealing,” Tony admitted. “I’m almost tempted to pay them another call tomorrow to ask if they have captured for posterity the hunting cry of the wild sea trout, or the love song of the gay sardine.”

  “But you won’t,” Scotty said practically. “You certainly came out of that mess with a whole skin, Tony.”

  Rick laughed. “He’s adventure-prone.And lucky. How do you beat a combination like that?”

  CHAPTER XVI

  The Deadly Spring Gun

  The storm blew itself out bynoon of the following day, leaving an overcast sky and heavy swells. An inspection with the binoculars showed that all was quiet at the frogmen’s house. Their boat was tied to the pier.

  “They probably recovered the brass ball during the night,” Rick observed, “or perhaps

  early this morning”

  “The question is,” Scotty remarked, “did they take the gadget to the octopus cave?”

  Tony joined them on the porch in time to hear Scotty’s query. “I can shed some light on that. It happens that I woke up at dawn and looked out to see how the weather was behaving. The frogmen were anchored off the eastern reef in the same place. We can assume that they picked up the brass ball and put it back in the cave near the wreck.”

  Rick rubbed his hand over his short hair in a gesture of bewilderment. “But what’s their game? What do they get from the brass ball?”

  “I rather imagine Steve Ames would like to know the same thing. If you boys have no objection, I think I’ll spend the afternoon at my midden. What are you planning?”

  Rick looked at Scotty. “Dive at the wreck?”

  “Sure. Frogmen or no frogmen, there’s still a golden statue of St. Francis somewhere down there.”

  After lunch the boys checked their equipment, being particularly careful because they had not rinsed out the regulators with fresh water after every dive. Their small supply of water, coupled with the odd hours at which the equipment had been used, was the reason. They took a little water from their supply and used it to clean the regulators. The rest of the equipment would just have to wait.

  Tony departed for his Indian midden, tools slung over his shoulder. The boys started the compressor to fill the tanks used the previous night, then untied the Water Witch and headed for the diving area. Scotty scanned the frogmen’s house through the glasses, but saw nothing of interest.

  They anchored just outside the reef and looked for their buoy. It was gone, probably torn away by the storm.

  “We can find the wreck again,” Rick said. “No trouble. I could find my way around here in the dark.” He grinned. “I have!”

  “Shall we take a look in the octopus cave too?”

  “A quick one.I doubt that we’d see more than we saw last night. Our job now is finding out what kind of information the frogmen get. And I don’t know how we’ll do that.”

  “Wait for a break,” Scotty replied. “Come on. Let’s get into the water.”

  It was cold. The storm had blown in colder water from the open sea. Rick felt goose flesh and wished they had brought along midseason suits.

  The water was murky, too, because of the sand and silt stirred up by the storm. The murkiness started about twenty feet below the surface. Not until they were over fifty feet down did the water clear again. The light was reduced somewhat by the murk, but visibility was good. Rick had brought his camera to take motion pictures around the wreck. There would be enough light.

  Scotty carried the big jet spear gun. It was powerful enough to spear sharks or big barracuda, just in case the frogmen decided to be “mischievous” again.

  Rick led the way to the octopus cave, glancing up now and then to make sure they were alone in the water. The little octopus was in his usual position on the ledge.

  Scotty, spear gun extended, swam right into the cave. Rick followed, holding the camera tightly to his chest to keep it from scraping on the coral. Scotty had his flashlight going, so Rick didn’t bother with his own.

  The cave was just about large enough for both of them. It was a typical coral formation, not much different from the reef outside, except that the brass ball was in the center of the rough floor.

  The boys examined the cave thoroughly and saw nothing of interest. Rick pushed at Scotty’s shoulder and swam out again. Scotty followed. The octopus watched them go.

  The wreck of the Maiden Hand was just as they had left it, and the grouper was back in his comfortable cabin. He departed at high speed as the boys appeared. They had agreed to start work aft of the captain’s cabin, and the wrecking bars were carried under their tank harnesses for the purpose. Both were convinced that there was nothing more to be found in the cabin, although the possibility remained that false boards in the floor or walls might conceal the statue.

  Rick tied his camera to a projection, then took his wrecking bar and looked for a place to start. Scotty pointed to a place where there were boards aft of the cabin they had already uncovered, and they started to work.

  By the time they had pried off the first few boards it was time to surface. They went topside and changed tanks, then rested for half an hour. There was no sign of activity at the frogmen’s house, nor could they see Tony at work on his midden, since the location

  was hidden by palms.

  Rick said thoughtfully, “The brass ball might be some kind of signaling device.”

  “What kind of signals?”

  He didn’t know the answer to that. “Anyway, since it’s underwater, if it sends out anything it must be sound impulses. Otherwise we wouldn’t hear it wail. And what good is sound if not for signals?” added Rick.

  “Sonar,” Scotty reminded.

  The boys were familiar with sonar because of the Spindrift work on the Submobile.

  Very high frequency sound impulses were sent out, and the echoes were timed or used in other ways. It was the way in which bottom tracings were made by surface craft, and the way in which Navy ships detected submarines. It could be used for locating schools of fish.

  “It could be sonar of some kind,” Rick agreed. “But what good would it do anyone to stick a sonar device on an island like this?”

  And there speculation stopped again, the question still unanswered.

  They dove to the wreck and continued the hard labor of taking the aft end of the ship apart. When they finally got the new area cleared of rotted boards and timbers it was only to find a cabin already filled with sand.

  Rick borrowed the spear from Scotty’s gun and thrust it down into the sand. It slid in easily, meeting no obstruction. He probed with it but found nothing except more sand.

  Discouraged, he wrote on his belt slate, “Mybenobottm .Fir ofcbnmybegne
.”

  Scotty nodded. He lifted his hands in a gesture of inquiry. Now what?

  Rick thought about it for a moment. Tony had been right! They probably would have to remove every board in sight, carrying the ship away piece by piece. But then what?

  There was the distinct possibility that the statue was somewhere under sand, and they had no way of removing the sand to see.

  It was apparent that most of the ship was under the sand-if the remainder of the ship was still intact. But Rick couldn’t escape the feeling that Captain Campion would have kept the statue close to him. And that meant in the aft part of the ship, the part that was

  exposed.

  Scotty hooted twice, pointing at his watch. It was time to surface. The next dive would be their last for the day.

  On the surface, Rick sounded discouraged as he said, “The cabin we uncovered might not even have a deck. There may be nothing but a mile of sand under it. And there isn’t much of the aft part of the ship left to explore, either. I guess tomorrow we can plan to take the captain’s cabin apart board by board.”

  “We’ll need Tony and Zircon for hard labor like that,” Scotty answered. “Notice how quickly you get tired down there? Also, we use air a lot faster when we work.”

  “Let’s just sort of make a survey this time,” Rick suggested. “We can probe for any cracks we might have missed, and I’ll take some over-all shots of the wreck. Then we’ll call it a day.”

  They followed Rick’s plan. He took pictures of Scotty, with wrecking bar, prying at likely places in the exposed part of the ship. But Scotty uncovered nothing of interest. In one place his prying disturbed another moray, who demonstrated his anger at the intruders by trying to fasten his needle teeth in the wrecking bar.

  A metallic clang caused them to lose interest in the eel suddenly. They looked at each other, then turned and swam toward the apparent direction of the sound. At that moment a distant wail struck their ears.