Saturday morning, Barbara and Regina ate a quick breakfast before hurrying down the overgrown path through the woodland back of the house. A few minutes later, the Albatross churned into view.
As the girls waved from the shore, the houseboat's engines slowed for the tricky approach to the boulder-strewn inlet. Their waves turned to cheers when at last the barrier was crossed and the anchor dropped with a splash that sent water geysering high into the air.
The boys, dungaree-clad and barefoot, swaggered down the gangplank.
"Shouldn't someone tell the Matson Line about these nautical geniuses?" Regina teased.
"Do you think they'd become commodores right away? Or would they have to settle for mere captaincies?" Barbara pretended to wonder.
Taking the razzing with good humor, the boys bent to the task of making the Albatross fast to shore.
"Did you get all your final papers without any trouble?" Barbara asked.
Whit nodded, but an angry look flickered briefly over his face. "There was nothing you'd call trouble, exactly," he said. "Just that Smith character hanging around again. He offered Mr. Dodson a whopping bribe to cancel our agreement. The old man threatened to call the police if he showed up at the dockyard again."
"Do you suppose there might be a reason why the Albatross is so popular?" Barbara asked carefully, apprehensive that she might be taunted about her wild imagination.
Whit shot her an appreciative look. "That occurred to you, too? My suspicion started to rise the minute Smith went for his wallet."
"We spent three hours last night searching that boat from prow to keel," Greg said. "If there ever was a pirate treasure or something concealed aboard her, it isn't there now."
"In that case, we can just forget about Mr. Smith and all the other menacing rivals you three have conjured up," Regina said firmly. "Pretty soon we won't have time to loaf around; we'll have to buckle down and start getting things in shape for the wedding."
"To think I've met my doom so young!" Greg moaned, but it was obvious that he wouldn't have traded one of Regina's dimples for an admiral's stripes.
Regina proposed a picnic, an idea which the others quickly seconded. They made a foray on the Prescott refrigerator, then returned to the beach to eat, talk, and swim the day away.
Late that afternoon, Whit boarded the Albatross, and presently he rejoined his companions carrying a dog-eared catalogue. Using the damp sand as a tablet, he estimated the cost of the furniture and equipment which would be needed to start the houseboat-restaurant in business.
"I hadn't figured on everything being so expensive," he said in a worried tone. He added that even at wholesale prices his budget could not possibly stretch enough to cover the cost of all the tables and chairs, as well as the enormous amount of dishes, flatware, and linen that would be needed.
"Why don't you buy some of the things secondhand?" Barbara suggested. "We can all scout around for a cafe that's going out of business. In that way, you could buy what you need at half price, or even less."
Whit solved a quick problem in long division. "We could swing that," he agreed. "Buying the stuff at half price would leave us enough capital to install a modern range and dishwasher, too."
"We'll look around first, and if we don't find anything suitable, perhaps an ad in the paper would smoke out a place," Barbara proposed.
Greg laughed. "I think it's all a plot to drum up business for the Courier!" Nevertheless, he agreed that her idea was sound.
Whit was anxious to have the refurbishment well under way by the time Roger Nelson, his partner, arrived. The young couples spent the rest of the afternoon pacing off the decks of the houseboat and computing the amount of paint, primer, cleanser and detergent required to give the Albatross the trim, spotless appearance which would attract customers.
Returning to the house at six o'clock, Barbara found a telephone message awaiting her.
"Melinda wants me to cover Terri Nicholson's deb dance!" she exclaimed with a mixture of excitement and regret, since Whit had already asked her out for the evening.
"Miss Foster said she didn't feel up to attending herself," Mrs. Prescott called from the kitchen. "I'm afraid it doesn't give you much notice. Can you be there by nine? She also mentioned that you were welcome to bring an escort."
"Would you like to come with me, Whit?" Barbara asked eagerly. "We could have just as much fun-oh! It's black tie."
"You're in luck," he replied loftily. "The best men at weddings nowadays come fully equipped with black ties-and white dinner jackets. Pick you up at eight-thirty."
Barbara raced through a shampoo and shower. She borrowed Mrs. Prescott's hair dryer to set her curls, and gave herself a manicure. When the doorbell chimed, she was dabbing cologne on her wrists and temples.
"I'm coming!"
She spun once in front of the mirror, admiring the swirl of her lemon-yellow gown with its flared skirt, then draped a matching stole around her shoulders.
Whit's smile showed his very evident approval. After a complimentary remark about her appearance, he mentioned that Mr. Prescott had offered them the loan of his car.
Barbara decided that in his white dinner jacket and with his reddish hair freshly trimmed, Whit was the handsomest escort she had had in months. She was also secretly delighted that, even while wearing the highest pair of heels she possessed, the top of her head barely brushed his chin.
Most of the guests were already assembled when they arrived. Barbara whipped a pen and notebook from her purse as the debutante, radiant in bouffant white, made her grand entrance. For the next half hour, she concentrated on identifying half-forgotten faces, jotting down details, and filling page after page with notes regarding floral decorations and the superb buffet dinner of which the guests would partake later.
Pausing to relax her cramped fingers, Barbara looked around for Whit and caught sight of him dancing with a raven-haired girl in a snug, backless dress. The girl appeared to be listening breathlessly to his every word. And Whit seemed to be enjoying her adulation!
I have enough data to fill three articles, Barbara abruptly decided. She tucked the pen and notebook in her evening bag, determined that there they could stay for the remainder of the evening. She wasn't jealous, of course, but-
To her relieved delight, Whit escorted his sophisticated partner back to her seat as soon as the dance ended, and shouldered his way through the crush of couples to Barbara's side.
"Have you ever," he asked with an amused grin, "been tickled under the chin by a pair of false eyelashes? It's quite an experience!"
Barbara shared his laughter, glad now that she had not attempted anything along the lines of heavy glamour herself. When the members of the orchestra bongoed their way into a rhumba, she at first insisted on dancing at arm's length, until Whit drew her closer.
"Just keeping my eyelashes out of harm's way," she explained demurely.
"Yours aren't phony!"
The midnight buffet tasted as delectable as it had looked, and after they had circled the floor in a final waltz and said their good nights to their hostess, Barbara exclaimed that she had never enjoyed a party so thoroughly.
"Care for a short stroll?" Whit suggested, cutting the motor after pulling up in front of the Prescott garage. "Only to work off the anchovies," he added innocently when she hesitated.
Barbara laughed and took his hand. Whit was fun and, so far, had proved himself to be definitely unwolfish. In an amiable silence, they sauntered up a knoll which commanded a view of the moonlit sea.
"Santa Teresa is a beautiful town," Whit said sincerely. "Exactly the spot I've always wanted to settle down in. I'm glad Greg talked me into coming here."
"So am I," Barbara admitted. "Regina's wedding-" Suddenly she stopped, rising on tiptoe to peer over a clump of low-growing trees at the water's edge. "That's odd," she murmured. "I thought I saw a light down there."
Whit tensed. Dropping her hand, he strode forward a few paces.
"There it is again!" Barbara cried, pointing.
But Whit, too, had seen the pinpoint flash. "Let's go," he said, tight-lipped. "Somebody is on the Albatross!"
"Wait!" Barbara caught Whit's arm, restraining him from hurtling down the rocky slope. "You'd only break a leg going through there in the dark. Besides, it's quicker by car-there's an abandoned road just the other side of the grove."
Whit steadied her across the slick patches of grass as they raced toward the driveway. He had the motor turning over before she was half in the seat, and an instant later, they were rocketing down the quiet street.
"There!" Barbara indicated the turn.
Whit shifted into low gear, exclaiming in disgust at the ruts that snatched at the tires and pitched the car into the center of the road. Reluctantly, he eased up on the accelerator. "I've thought of a hundred questions to ask about that houseboat in the past twenty-four hours," he said grimly. "Now maybe we can get a few answers!"
Barbara felt certain that an urgent reason lay behind the interloper's nocturnal visit to the Albatross. She glanced anxiously at the determined young man beside her. "But-you and Greg searched the boat, didn't you?"
"Sure," Whit affirmed. "That doesn't mean a thing. We didn't know where to look, or even what we were looking for. We didn't rip up the decks, pump out the gas tanks. To be positive of finding every secret cranny, we'd have to put the Albatross in dry dock and take her apart nail by nail."
"It's hard to know what to think," Barbara murmured. They would, she decided hopefully, know a great deal more about the riddle of the Albatross if they were successful in surprising the intruder at his search.
She peered ahead at the swarm of insects trapped in the glow of the headlights, praying that the person aboard the houseboat was too much absorbed in his errand to pay attention to anything else.
As they neared the inlet, the road deteriorated into a web of ruts and chuck holes, so crisscrossed and deep that the brilliant beams of light jiggled crazily, illuminating bits of trees and shrubs and now and then a patch of black, swirling water. The powerful headlights would advertise their approach as effectively as a siren!
Whit seemed to read her thoughts. Cautiously, he pulled up on the pitted shoulder of the road and cut the ignition.
"I'm afraid of breaking an axle if we drive any farther," he told her. "Feel up to a hike?"
"Nothing like a stroll in the country to work off the anchovies," Barbara returned. She hopped out, trying not to think what the brambles and stones would do to her sandals and nylons. "We haven't far to go, have we?"
"Just a few hundred yards." Whit pitched his voice low, aware that sounds carry a considerable distance over water.
Following the road's rugged curve, they hurried toward the mouth of the inlet. Within a few minutes, they were able to make out the dark shape of the Albatross rocking at anchor and to hear the lapping of waves across her keel.
"Do you think he's still-" Barbara started to ask, and then, not watching her footing, stumbled as her heel twisted on a rock. Whit caught her before she could pitch forward, but the rock skipped over the ledge formed by the gravel shoulder of the road and dislodged a nest of pebbles, which tumbled noisily into the sea.
"Oh!" Barbara bit her lip in disgust. The clamor had aroused swift activity aboard the houseboat. From across the water, she heard the echo of running feet, followed by aloud, hollow thud. Seconds later, a sputtering engine growled twice before resolving itself into a steady putt-putt fading toward the open sea.
Whit had sprinted ahead, but he was unable to catch more than a shadowy glimpse of the figure crouching in the motor boat.
"He's half a mile away by now," he said gloomily, striding back.
"I really put my foot into it that time," Barbara scolded herself. "Whit, I am sorry!"
"Forget it-we had about one chance in a thousand, anyway. The slightest noise would have alerted him. You notice he had the motorboat all primed for a quick getaway."
Clinging to Whit's arm, Barbara hobbled mournfully along. Even though he didn't blame her for the blunder, she could sense his deep disappointment. An answer to the mystery of the Albatross had been almost within his grasp-until she had kicked it out of his reach.
"Perhaps we frightened him away before he found whatever he came for." She offered the faint consolation hopefully.
Whit allowed her to precede him up the gangplank, which swayed creakingly in the night breeze, then strode across the deck. "I'm half-inclined to hope that he got it," he growled. "Maybe then we'd get a little peace and-" He bit off the sentence as, wrenching open the cabin door, his eyes fell upon the wild disarray inside.
"Oh, what a mess!" Barbara gasped.
Whit snapped on the light powered by the boat's generator. Following him inside, Barbara saw that the bunks had been ripped apart and the heavy chairs upended. Books, papers, pictures were strewn about and tossed carelessly into corners. Even the light fixture had been unscrewed, leaving the bare bulb glaring from the ceiling.
"The next room is in even worse shape," Whit reported glumly, returning from a hasty inspection tour. "Looks as if he had just started on the galley-only a couple of cupboards disturbed there."
"That's a good sign," Barbara offered hopefully. "If he was still searching when we interrupted him, it means he didn't find what he was looking for. I imagine he was slowed down considerably by having to rely on a flashlight."
"Maybe we ought to hold 'open houseboat', " Whit grumbled. "Burglars welcome Tuesdays and Thursdays."
He wrestled a chair upright and climbed on the seat to replace the light fixture. Barbara stooped to collect the scattered books and papers. "Are you going to notify the police?" she asked.
"I don't see what good it would do. Anyone would know better than to leave his fingerprints lying around. And I'm afraid that if this got into the papers the unpleasant advance publicity might jinx our restaurant business."
"Yes, I can see that people might be wary of a place that is reputed to have the crown jewels or a pirate treasure stashed away in a sliding bulkhead," Barbara agreed. She stacked a handful of books on the shelf. "Whit what do you suppose it is?"
"To me, it looks like a place that's just had a rodeo in it," observed a wry voice behind them.
Barbara whirled to see Greg leaning against the doorframe.
"You won't think it's so funny when you have to sleep on a mattress that's had half its stuffing gouged out," Whit predicted.
While he and Barbara sketched in the details of the prowler's discovery and escape, Greg rolled up his sleeves and helped them restore order to the cabin.
"I can't see that anything is missing," he said presently.
"Would we know if it was?" Whit countered.
"I don't believe the burglar was after anything you boys own," Barbara said. "I have an idea he thinks Lance Shelby concealed something of value here."
"Lance Shelby!" Greg exclaimed. "Was this his houseboat?"
"Why, yes." Barbara eyed him curiously. "Did you know him?"
"He visited the base early this month," Greg said. "He had been granted permission to interview Admiral Billingsly. A lot of the brass sat in on the conference, and since I was acting as the admiral's aide at the time, I stayed during the interview. Saw quite a lot of Shelby."
"You'd have thought he was the President coming to bestow a couple of light cruisers on the fleet, the way everyone catered to him," Whit contributed. He snapped his fingers. "Speaking of Lance Shelby, didn't Buck Younger trigger off that riot in front of the admiral's quarters the same evening the great newsman arrived?"
Greg nodded. "What a brawl! Took every Shore Patrolman in Port Dixon to break it up. I don't think anyone ever did discover what it was all about, but Buck was headed for a long stretch in the brig because of it."
"He broke out a couple of days later, though, and nobody's seen him since." Whit frowned suddenly. "And wasn't it the very next morning that they discovered-"
Barbara intercepted the warning look that Greg shot his friend. "Discovered what?" she prompted.
"Me and my big mouth!" Whit groaned. "Sorry Miss T., Military Secret."
Barbara did not press him. For a moment, though, the conversational trend had reminded her of something, some obscure piece of information that she had recently garnered while reading or watching a news telecast. The vague memory skipped away before her brain could really take hold of it.