“Ramble and scramble!” Jupe shouted.
It was a prearranged signal they had used several times before. It meant the Investigators should all take off in different directions.
“Your bike’s right there,” Bob yelled to Jupe as he jumped onto his own bike and Pete vaulted onto his.
By the time Jupe’s kidnapper reached the porch, the three boys were almost out of sight, pedaling furiously away, rambling and scrambling off into the darkness.
“We were a bit confused at first,” Bob admitted. “When we found your bicycle by the bandstand, we knew something was wrong. And there weren’t any chalk marks leading out of the park.”
Jupe nodded. “I’m glad I called and told you where I was going,” he said.
It was early the next morning. The Three Investigators had met at a small rocky cove. They were wearing their swimsuits.
Jupe had phoned Constance as soon as he got home the night before and told her he was okay. He was no longer being held captive. They could go ahead with their plans to search for the sunken boat. They were waiting for her now.
“It was Bob who finally figured it out,” Pete explained. “When we found a patch of oil on the street with one of your chalk marks near it, Bob guessed some old jalopy had been parked there and you’d been driven off in it.”
“Yeah, but it was Pete who discovered another oil stain a hundred yards farther on,” Bob put in. “And after that it was easy. All we had to do was follow the stains until we saw that old limousine in the driveway of the house.”
He looked up. A tow truck was backing slowly down the dirt road that led to the cove. In the back of the truck, carefully packed between layers of wet foam rubber, was Fluke. His eyes were closed and he looked comfortable and content.
The truck backed across the narrow strip of beach until it was standing up to its rear axle in the ocean. Constance had picked this sheltered cove because the slope of the shore was unusually steep. Only a few yards out from the beach the water was deep enough for Fluke to swim in.
Constance and her Mexican friend climbed down from the cab. She was wearing a wet suit, and scuba goggles were dangling from her neck. She walked around to the back of the truck and, leaning over in the water, patted Fluke.
Pete could see now that beneath Fluke’s body a heavy canvas sling had been laid on top of the foam rubber. Working together, Pete and the young Mexican drew the flaps of the sling together and attached them to the dangling hook of the crane.
While they were doing this, Constance stroked Fluke’s head and told him not to worry.
The whale didn’t look the least bit worried. He opened his eyes and wagged his tail as the crane lifted him up out of the back of the truck. Then, heaving together, the three boys managed to swing him out over the water.
The young Mexican, working the winch, lowered the whale carefully into the ocean. Fluke was still helpless inside the sling, but he didn’t try to struggle. He lay quite still until Pete unfastened the hook. The canvas sling unfolded. Fluke glided out of it and swam a few yards out to sea.
He was free again. Free in his own world.
“Stay, Fluke. Stay, baby,” Constance called to him.
He obeyed her at once. He turned quickly in his own length and swam back to where she stood waist deep in the water. He nuzzled against her and she stroked his head.
“Okay,” she said to her Mexican friend. “Muchas gracias.”
The Mexican smiled and climbed back into his tow truck. “Buena suerte,” he called as he drove away.
“Ready to go?” Constance asked the Three Investigators. She looked out to sea. A hundred yards off-shore Oscar Slater’s outboard cabin cruiser was waiting for them.
“Bring the tape recorder with you, Jupe,” Constance told him. “I don’t think we’ll need it. Fluke won’t stray away from me, will you, Fluke? But I think we’d better have it with us, just in case.”
“Constance.”
Jupe advanced into the water until he stood beside her. The other two Investigators joined him.
“What is it, Jupe?”
“I’ve been thinking,” Jupe told her. “And I think Bob better stay here with the tape recorder.”
“Why?”
Jupe told her why. He explained it was possible that Oscar Slater had managed to smuggle that cargo of pocket calculators ashore in Mexico. “And if he did,” he finished, “he might want to cut you out of your share of whatever there is aboard that wreck. He might try to kidnap Fluke. Bob can be our insurance.”
Constance listened attentively. “You certain about the dates?” she asked.
“Positive,” Jupe assured her. “We had a friend check it out with the Mexican immigration officials. The boat put in to La Paz all right.”
Constance thought it all over for a minute.
“Okay.” She pushed the scuba goggles up over her eyes. “I guess Fluke and Pete and I can handle the diving without Bob. Come on, Fluke.”
She turned and swam quickly out to sea. Fluke swam beside her. Jupe followed more slowly. Pete walked back to the beach and picked up a small sealed plastic bag Jupe had brought with him to the cove that morning. Pete turned his back while Bob fastened it with a cord to the rear waistband of his swimming trunks. Inside the bag was a walkie-talkie.
“Think you can swim with it okay?” Bob asked.
“Sure. It feels pretty heavy now, but it won’t weigh me down once I get in the water.”
Bob watched his friend wade out into the sea. Pete was right. Once the water was above his waist, the plastic bag with the walkie-talkie in it floated up from him. Pete launched himself forward, breaking into a strong breaststroke. He soon caught up with Jupe.
Bob walked back up the beach. He picked up the airtight metal case with the recorder inside it, then, unrolling the sweater he had strapped to his bicycle, he took out a second walkie-talkie.
He pulled out the antenna and switched it on to Receive.
He found a dry rock, put on the sweater, and sat down, holding the walkie-talkie on his lap. The recorder in its metal case was on the rock beside him. Looking out, he could see that Constance and Fluke had already reached Slater’s boat.
“Welcome aboard,” Slater said, holding out his hand to help Constance climb in.
She paid no attention to him. “Stay, Fluke,” she said. “Good Fluke, you stay here.” She raised her hands to the low wooden rail and with a single easy movement swung herself on board.
With rather more effort, Jupe climbed in after her. Pete was floating on his back a few yards away.
“Can we just check the equipment, Mr. Slater?” Jupe asked.
“Sure.” Slater led him into the cockpit and showed him the small closedcircuit television camera. Jupe examined it and then looked at the monitor screen fastened to the bulkhead above the wheel.
“Are you sure the camera will work underwater?” he asked.
“Of course it will. Constance borrowed it from Ocean World. They use it all the time there.” He pronounced it “they-er.”
“You got any more stupid questions, boy?”