Rob opened his eyes, squirmed and tried to take stock of the situation.

  His arms were tied behind his back, the rope running from his wrist down to his ankles. He couldn't straighten out but had too keep his knees slightly flexed in order to keep the rope from biting into the flesh of his wrists. He could, however, roll to his stomach and then stand on his knees; but this accomplished nothing, and after a few seconds the pain of supporting his weight on his knees against the bare floor caused Rob to settle back with his weight on one hip and then after a moment he fell down on his side.

  He had had an opportunity to take stock of the room in which he found himself. It was evidently a species of storeroom, the shelves being well-stocked with canned goods. There was a table, two or three chairs in the room by way of furniture, and nothing else.

  Rob tried to twist his wrists around inside the ropes but the ropes were knotted with a nautical cunning that made the knots tighter and firmer the more Rob moved.

  Lying on his side, he tried to double his knees so that he could reach the knots at his ankles, but found that only the tips of his fingers could work on knots which were far too tightly tied to yield to any such treatment. He explored several different positions and finally found one where he was in a measure comfortable, and settled himself to waiting.

  Outside the light lessened until dusk settled and deepened into darkness.

  Rob heard running steps on the little wharf to which the boat was moored. Then he heard a bustle of activity aboard, which was followed by another long period of silence.

  When it was completely dark, so that Rob could see stars through the porthole, he heard a shuffle of steps on the dock outside. It sounded as though a compact group of men were carrying something to the boat. The boat swayed slightly as men boarded it, and Rob heard a brisk struggle taking place on the deck directly above him. There was the pounding of feet, the noise of men straining and cursing, the sound of blows, then suddenly the struggle ceased. Rob heard something being dragged for a few feet, then the shuffle of steps and then another long period of silence.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Big Ed Wallington, known to fellow troopers in the State Police as 'Moose', hitched his chair around in front of the typewriter at the barracks and held big ham-like hands over the keyboard as he pounded out a condensed report of his activities on the previous day's patrol.

  Never particularly adept at punching the keyboard, Moose Wallington paused from time to time to take the cramps out of his fingers.

  Seated beside him, a fellow trooper, who had a flair for conversation but no gift for written reports, was finding the going tough.

  "Getting so there's so much paper work in this organisation," he said, "they'll have to list writer's cramp as an occupational hazard."

  "Uh-huh," Moose said, flexing his fingers. "Had a blowout last night. Guess it was soft for a while before it went out. But she let go with a bang. Surprising how hot one of those tyres get when it lets go. Believe me, I could hardly handle the thing."

  He returned to the keyboard, started writing names under the classification "Routine checks of driving licences."

  He came to the name Trenton, aged twenty-five, Noonville. Then as he started to type the name in his report he suddenly stopped, his middle finger held poised over the letter he had been about to hit.

  "What's the matter?" the other trooper asked. "Suddenly got a cramp, or is it an inspiration?"

  "Darned if I don't think it's an inspiration," Wallington said thoughtfully.

  "How come?"

  "This business of the tyre getting hot when there's been a blowout."

  "Well, what about it?"

  "1 came on this car last night," Wallington said, "pulled off to the side of the road, and the driver said he was just getting ready to move on after changing a tyre. He'd had a blowout all right ... and something kept pounding away at the back of my mind about that guy all night. Something seemed to be wrong. I couldn't figure what it was. Now it's just occurred to me."

  "What was it?"

  "He'd put the blown-out tyre on the spare and apparently had just let the car down off the jack. When I drove up he was putting the tools away and was ready to move on. But there was something about him. You know how you get to playing hunches. You just have a copper's hunch that something is wrong and ... well, hang it, 1 kept thinking about this fellow."

  "What did he look like?"

  "It wasn't that. It was just the whole set-up. But do you know, Don, I went over and punched that tyre a couple of times, the one that had gone flat with a blowout. Well, it was flat all right, and I looked at the big hole in the side where the tube had blown out, and somehow something wasn't right. And it was that blown-out tyre. It was cold as a rock."

  The trooper at the adjoining table was regarding him with questioning eyes. "What did you do about it?"

  "Not a darned thing," Moose Wallington admitted, crestfallen, "because I never noticed it ... that is, I noticed it, but I didn't think about it. Just when 1 touched that tyre 1 thought there was

  something wrong, but for the life of me there a the time I couldn't think what it was." "You checked his licence?" "Uh-huh."

  "Well, don't let Lieutenant Tyler know about it. Put it in as a routine licence check. Shucks, the guy had probably been driving slow and it was night, and ..."

  "Nope, he was lying to me," Moose Wallington said. "That tyre hadn't blown out there. He'd had that blown-out tyre on the spare rim for quite a ways. Long enough so the cool night air had cooled the carcass of that tyre ..."

  "Or he'd stopped to look at the moon," the other interrupted. "Go ahead, put it in as a routine licence check-up and let it go at that."

  Wallington shook his head. He ratcheted the sheet of paper down to the place calling for remarks and typed:

  Remarks: On state highway 72, about two miles past the junction with highway 40, came on a Rapidex sedan being driven by Robert Trenton of Noonville. Driving licence seemed to be in order and there's no pick-up order on his car. The party claimed to have stopped for change of blown-out tyre but there was no evidence on the ground that the stop had been for that purpose. Checked files again this afternoon just prior to going on duty to see if there was anything on the car.

  Moose started to type 'found nothing had been reported', then with a grin decided he'd done enough faking and had better go and check the late bulletins.

  86

  85

  Routine procedure required that in case of anything at all suspicious, he should call in on his two-way radio at the scene of the inspection, to find if there had been any late bulletins on the car. He trusted that the fact he had not done so would not seem too apparent to the eagle eye of Lieutenant Tyler who would scan the report. But having listed Robert Trenton as subject worthy of'remarks' rather than under the routine licence check, Wallington decided it would be highly advisable to make a careful check of the bulletin board.

  He found an entry which puzzled him. "Anonymous telephone call from Falthaven reported theft of light, two-door Rapidex sedan, presumably registered in name of Linda Carroll but with no data available on licence number or engine number Party hung up in middle of conversation."

  Moose Wallington walked back to his typewriter and continued pounding out his report.

  In view of bulletin on Rapidex from Falthaven, feel further investigation should be made of Robert Trenton and this occurrence.

  Having signed the report, Big Ed Wallington picked it up and walked to the office of Lieutenant Tyler.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Big Ed Wallington pulled the cruiser off towards the side of the road and slowed down. "Now it was right along in here somewhere," he said.

  Lieutenant Tyler said, "I'd like to find the exact spot if we can do so."

  "Well, 1 remember I went through a soft patch of earth just before 1 got out of the car. It should be ... right along in here ..."

  "Take it easy," Tyler said. "Put it in low gear." The car crawled along. Suddenly Wallington said, "This is the place. There are my tracks. There's where I went through the soft verge."

  "Okay. This is good," Tyler said. "Leave it here."

  They stopped the car. Moose Wallington put on the red blinker which warned traffic coming from both directions that a Slate Police car was parked by the side of the road. The two officers got out, carrying flashlights, and walked slowly along the ground, studying the car tracks.

  "This is where 1 parked. Right here," Wallington said. "When 1 pulled out you can see that I turned over to the left."

  "All right. Now where was this other car?"

  "Well, now, I'd say he was about fifteen feet ahead of me. 1 wanted to have it so my lights would show him up good ... and ... yes, there are his tracks right there."

  "All right," Lieutenant Tyler said. "Let's look around."

  They examined the ground carefully.

  87

  "Don't see any signs of a jack having been put down here," Wallington said, "and there certainly wasn't any flat tyre on the car which pulled in here."

  Lieutenant Tyler walked slowly and carefully. Wallington^ flashlight paused on a fence post. "Say," he said. "Look at this. There's a chip taken out of that fence post and it looks fresh."

  The two officers moved over and studied the light-coloured surface of the fence post which showed in contrast to the dark, weathered exterior of the other portion.

  "There's the chip on the ground," Wallington said. "Somebody cut it off very recently. It's good and fresh ... that's a marker."

  Lieutenant Tyler examined the chip, took a can of pipe tobacco from his pocket, regretfully dumped out the tobacco and put the chip inside the can.

  Wallington said, "I'm sorry I bungled this, sir."

  "You haven't bungled it," Lieutenant Tyler replied. "I had a man in Noonville give us a report on Rob Trenton. He's pretty well-known there. Trains dogs. In fact he's sold us half a dozen dogs that he's given basic training. We've taken them on from there."

  "What does Trenton have to say?" Wallington asked.

  "He doesn't say anything. He isn't there. But the man who works for him and has charge of the dogs when Trenton is away, said Trenton drove this car home and left it in the driveway. In the morning it was gone. Trenton started out in his station wagon and hasn't been heard from since. He's just back from a European trip. I telephoned Customs to see if they knew anything about the car and they told me Trenton had been subjected to quite a search because of association with a man by the name of Ostrander who was thought to have been mixed up in smuggling drugs."

  "What happened to Ostrander?"

  88

  "Ostrander was given a thorough search and a clean bill of health, but under the circumstances I'm not going to take any chances."

  The trooper's flashlight moved slowly along the ground. Moose Wallington said, "Look here, Lieutenant. There's fresh dirt on top of the grass and here's a place where the sod has been cut."

  "Get the shovel out of the car, Ed," Lieutenant Tyler snapped.

  The trooper hurried over to the cruiser, raised the turtleback and returned with a short-handled shovel.

  Lieutenant Tyler lifted the circular segment of sod, then dug cautiously downward. He stopped suddenly as the lip of the shovel rang on metal and a moment later he brought out the circular piece of metal and the packages wrapped in oiled silk.

  Wallington whistled.

  Lieutenant Tyler said, "Tune in on your radio. Give Headquarters code signal fourteen. That'll get four more men on the job. What's the co-ordinate here?"

  "I'll look it up," Wallington said, taking his book from the glove compartment of the car.

  A moment later he picked up the receiver from the hook on the two-way radio, said, "This is car seven calling Headquarters signal fourteen, co-ordinate AB north three hundred, and seventy-two east."

  Wallington could hear the dispatchers' voice snap to quick interest, "Signal fourteen?"

  "Right."

  "Okay," the dispatcher said, then hung up.

  Lieutenant Tyler said, "Now I want to put some of this stuff back in the ground. We'll keep the rest of it and ..."

  "You mean we're going to leave some of this stuff here?"

  "That's right. When the man who dug that hole comes back to pick up the stuff 1 want to be sure we have a charge against

  him that'll stick. It's not a crime to dig a hole in the ground, but it is a crime to have dope in your possession. 1 want to see that he has plenty in his possession."

  · "Yes, sir."

  "All right," Tyler said, filling his pockets with packages from the oiled silk cache. "We'll bury the rest and leave the ground just like it was. Then we'll get out of here so that these passing motorists won't wonder what we're doing. Of course, we're taking a chance that the man who buried it isn't one of these passing motorists ... 1 think it's a little early. I wish those reinforcements would show up. When they do, I'm going to station a man over in that field with a telephone. We'll plant cruisers down the road on each side. I don't want these boys to get away. 1 want to catch them red-handed."

  They walked back to the police cruiser and sat down to wait, knowing that within a matter of minutes two more cruisers loaded with men prepared for any emergency would be on the ground.

  The coordinates had located the position of car seven within two hundred feet.

  The trap was ready to be set.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Rob ached to the bone. The parched dryness of his mouth was causing his tongue to swell. He determined to try shouting. At the moment, he felt that he could risk anything in order to get a glass of cool, refreshing water.

  He took a deep breath - then held it as he heard steps outside, the sound of a key being turned in the lock. The door opened. A low candle power electric light clicked on. The big man, who had sat on the table, smoking, while amusedly watching Rob and the other man fight, walked across the stateroom to the porthole, pulled a curtain across it and stood looking down at Rob with eyes that were half-closed in thoughtful speculation.

  "How about water?" Rob asked thickly.

  "Sure," the man said. "Sure thing. I'll bet you are thirsty. You came out of it pretty easy though. You aren't marked up much."

  "I feel as though I'd been put through a mangle," Rob said.

  "Sure, you'll feel pretty tough. Okay, I'll get you some water."

  He left the little room, taking care to lock the door behind him, was gone for some twenty or thirty seconds, then returned with a glass of water. "How about sitting up?" he asked.

  Rob sat up. The man held the glass to Rob's lips, tilting it so that Rob would gulp down the water.

  "How's that?" he asked.

  Rob sputtered and choked on the last of the drink, but managed to say, "That's better. 1 could use more of that."

  "Not right now," the man said, perching himself on the table, cupping his hands around one of his knees and studying.Rob thoughtfully. "You and I are going to have a little talk."

  Rob said nothing.

  "You're a tough little rooster," the man said admiringly, lighting a rich brown cigar. "Where did you learn to fight?"

  "1 did some boxing in school."

  "I'll tell the world you did. Put up a pretty good fight, considering that you had to give away forty pounds at the start. Now let's talk a little sense. Let's get over this business of being tough with each other. It isn't going to get us anywhere."

  "What do you want to talk about?"

  "Your name's Trenton, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "Rob Trenton?"

  "That's right."

  "Now look, Rob, let's be grown up and quit this kid stuff. You drove that Rapidex sedan from the dock to your place at Noonville. Now something happened to the car between the time you started and the time you arrived."

  "Sure it did. I had a blowout," Rob said.

  "Something else happened to it."

  Rob tried to look innocent.

  "Now I'm going to tell you frankly," the big man said, "we're a pretty tough lot here. We don't try to be tough but we're playing for big stakes, and when a man gets to playing for big stakes he gets pretty impatient when something gets in his way. Do you understand what 1 mean?"

  "I can appreciate the force of your statement," Rob said.

  "Sure you can, sure you can," the big man said reassuringly. "Now look, Rob, things haven't been going too smoothly and we're going to have to clean up and make a getaway. Every minute that we're wasting cuts down our chances. Of course, the

  boys think they can pull this thing and get away with it, but they're worried, they're anxious. We have a deadline of midnight. We've got to start scattering by midnight. We've got to be way out of the state on a plane before daylight tomorrow morning, and it has to be done in such a way that we won't be caught. Now just put yourself in the position of one of the boys, Rob, and you'd be pretty impatient, wouldn't you?"

  "1 guess so."

  "Sure you would. If you thought something was standing in your way, you'd get tough. You'd get awfully tough."

  "Yes, 1 guess 1 would."

  "Well," the big man said, "you're standing in our way, Rob. You've got information that isn't going to do you a damn bit of good, but it's information we need. We've got to get it. There are easy ways and there are hard ways. I don't like to think of ihe hard ways because the boys are too much on edge, i can't tell just where they'd stop once they started. 1 don't like it myself, but I'm damned if I'm going to get soft in a showdown and let you cheat us out of the profits after we've taken all the risks."

  Rob said, "Why blame it on me? Do you know what happened there at the pier?"

  "No, what?"

  Rob said, "I was detained and searched to the skin. It was a matter of a couple of hours, I guess, and during all of that time the car sat out there in the shed - "

  The man smiled and shook his head with easy good nature. "No, Rob," he said, "that isn't going to do. We weren't dumb enough to let the car sit there without having someone to keep an eye on it. To tell you the truth, we were good and worried when you didn't come down to drive it away. It bothered us a bit."