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Updated: May 16, 2025
The boys made their way back through the swamp to the runabout in almost total silence, each busy with his own thoughts. Orvil Harris was crabbing as though nothing had happened, while the night watchers stood in plain sight on the opposite shore. Orvil must have seen the shots fired, Rick was certain. Even if he had been looking the other way, the first shot would have caught his attention.
Joe Vitalli kept a watch on the crowd and Chuck went into the barn while we pulled splinters out of you. He found Orvil, and he also found Lincoln Harris." "I remember meeting him," Rick nodded. "I was too groggy to be surprised." "He was okay. They hadn't mistreated him.
"Or it could be something else," Steve concluded. "No sign of a flyin'-saucer launcher," Orvil Harris said. He was stoking his battered brier. Rick grinned. "I wouldn't know one if I saw it." "Well, that wraps it up," Steve said. "Let's get aboard the runabout and head home. I've got to make a plane." He shook hands with Orvil Harris. "Glad to have met you after waving at you for so long."
The antenna might be needed for fringe-area television or, on the other hand, it might be a communications antenna, as Scotty had said. "Looks interesting," Steve said. The creek flowed only a little distance past the mansion before it became so narrow that Orvil Harris had to turn for the trip downstream.
Then, very carefully, he swam to the top of the water and lifted his head above the surface. He could see the sapling a dozen yards away, slightly to his right. Orvil was putting out lines upstream, near the point where Swamp Creek widened into the cove. Rick went under again and tapped Scotty. He headed for the pole, hands outstretched to intercept it. His left hand hit it and held.
But somehow, Rick didn't think Orvil had been a party to the shooting. Maybe it was stubbornness, refusing to think the crabber was involved just because they liked him. Or maybe it was because the crabber had no reason for helping Merlin and his gang; at least Harris had no reason known to Rick and Scotty. They reached the boat and conferred in whispers that were inaudible six feet away.
Rick shook hands. "That's Don Scott coming out with the coffee." Scotty put down the coffeepot and mugs he was carrying and shook hands. "Call me Scotty, Mr. Harris. How do you like your coffee?" "Strong and often," Harris replied. "Plain black. Call me Orvil." Like all visitors, Harris was interested in the houseboat. "Been hopin' for a look inside," he said in his slurred Eastern Shore accent.
He lifted his mask and surveyed the scene. Orvil Harris was still crabbing. Rick could see the boat, but the angle was wrong for him to see the crabber at work. He turned slowly in the water, and saw Scotty. The runabout was floating, motor off, about a mile away. He lifted an arm. The glint of first sunrise turned the lenses of Scotty's binoculars into a crimson eye, and Scotty waved back.
While he, Steve, and Scotty had examined the mansion through glasses from Orvil's boat, Merlin and company, or a single guard, had been watching them. They had drawn attention not only to Orvil, but to the time of day when the guards would need to be especially alert.
"We do," Rick agreed. Scotty added, "First of all, we have to warn Orvil Harris. If he goes crabbing in the middle of the night, he might foul a prop on the stake we left there." "The people in the mansion can't be suspicious of Orvil," Rick went on. "He goes crabbing there every day. They must be used to him by now. Suppose we call him, to warn him about the stake, and to see if he'll help out."
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