squinted up into the clear afternoon sky. “Hey, there she is.”
“Be casual, Smitty. We’re two simple picnickers.” After another poke at the contents of the basket, Josh glanced up. “Yep, that could be them. Little bitty dot now, but it does seem to be coming this way.”
“It’s Nellie,” insisted Smitty. “I know her style of flying.”
“Here’s our picnic beach coming up.”
“Yeah, so it is.” Smitty turned his attention to the beach and away from the sky. “A Coney Island it isn’t, huh?”
“Seen worse.” Josh took off his shoes and rolled up his trouser cuffs. He hopped from the rowboat as it hit shallow water and helped beach it.
Smitty stowed the oars and stood surveying the small stretch of dirty sand. Beyond the beach grew a tangle of brush, and beyond that rose a forest of gnarled, twisted trees. “I think I seen Bela Lugosi work on an island like this once.”
Josh walked up across the sand and set down the picnic basket. Withdrawing a checkered tablecloth, he flapped it open and spread it out on the ground. “Yeah, that’s the Lockheed, Smitty. She’s circling.” He casually cased the woods above the beach. “Nobody watching us. Let’s see if we can travel through the trees and get us a little closer to this chalet Harmon is maybe holed up in.”
“Huh? Oh, sure, let’s go.”
“We’ll stroll, just to be on the safe side.” Josh began to shuffle upwards.
The plane was still circling high above them. Then there were two figures falling through the blue sky.
Seconds later a white chute blossomed, followed by a second.
“Okay so far,” said Smitty.
The two parachutes, carrying the Avenger and Cole, were drifting down toward Grimm’s Island.
When they were only a few hundred feet above the treetops, a high-powered rifle began to fire up at them.
CHAPTER XXIV
Catching Up
The stocky cop said, “Down this way, Lieutenant.”
Lieutenant Allen worked his way down the weedy hillside and pushed through the wire gate in the fence. “Well, let’s have a look.”
The cop was standing beside a rundown wooden shed. “What was that, sir?”
Allen didn’t repeat it.
Agent Early came hurrying down from the road above to join them on the dilapidated pier. He took a look into the shadowy shed. “Harmon’s car, sure enough,” he said.
Going into the shed, Allen said, “Yeah, license number matches.”
“Registration, too,” said the stocky cop.
Opening the passenger door, the lieutenant stuck his head inside the car. “Perfume.”
“What?”
“Perfume. Somebody wearing perfume was in here recently,” he told the government agent.
Early wandered back outside, his gaze on the waters of the Sound. “Islands out there,” he said to the cop who’d found the car. “Anybody live there?”
“Oh, sure. There’s a year-round population on most of them,” was the reply. “Except for that one there, the one they call Grimm’s Island. I think it’s been tied up in some kind of court hassle for years. Anyways, it’s not got a soul living on it.”
“Fellow with a boat,” said Early, “wouldn’t have much trouble getting out to Grimm’s Island from here.”
“Nope,” agreed the cop. “Matter of fact, seems to me the last time I was by here, there was an old motorboat tied up here. Gone now.”
“Know who owns this little pier and shed?”
“Real-estate outfit owns it, but some guy’s been renting it for a year or so. I’m going to find out his name soon as the lieutenant is finished up here.”
“Where’s the nearest place I can rent a launch?”
“That’d be Abe Bunk’s boatyard,” said the cop, pointing to his left. “About a quarter of a mile from here. You can see his flagpole sticking up . . . see it right there.”
“Yeah.” Early returned to the shed.
Lieutenant Allen was on his hands and knees examining the floor mat of the car. “Nothing much.”
“Come on,” said Early.
Allen extracted himself from the car, asking,
“Be casual, Smitty. We’re two simple picnickers.” After another poke at the contents of the basket, Josh glanced up. “Yep, that could be them. Little bitty dot now, but it does seem to be coming this way.”
“It’s Nellie,” insisted Smitty. “I know her style of flying.”
“Here’s our picnic beach coming up.”
“Yeah, so it is.” Smitty turned his attention to the beach and away from the sky. “A Coney Island it isn’t, huh?”
“Seen worse.” Josh took off his shoes and rolled up his trouser cuffs. He hopped from the rowboat as it hit shallow water and helped beach it.
Smitty stowed the oars and stood surveying the small stretch of dirty sand. Beyond the beach grew a tangle of brush, and beyond that rose a forest of gnarled, twisted trees. “I think I seen Bela Lugosi work on an island like this once.”
Josh walked up across the sand and set down the picnic basket. Withdrawing a checkered tablecloth, he flapped it open and spread it out on the ground. “Yeah, that’s the Lockheed, Smitty. She’s circling.” He casually cased the woods above the beach. “Nobody watching us. Let’s see if we can travel through the trees and get us a little closer to this chalet Harmon is maybe holed up in.”
“Huh? Oh, sure, let’s go.”
“We’ll stroll, just to be on the safe side.” Josh began to shuffle upwards.
The plane was still circling high above them. Then there were two figures falling through the blue sky.
Seconds later a white chute blossomed, followed by a second.
“Okay so far,” said Smitty.
The two parachutes, carrying the Avenger and Cole, were drifting down toward Grimm’s Island.
When they were only a few hundred feet above the treetops, a high-powered rifle began to fire up at them.
CHAPTER XXIV
Catching Up
The stocky cop said, “Down this way, Lieutenant.”
Lieutenant Allen worked his way down the weedy hillside and pushed through the wire gate in the fence. “Well, let’s have a look.”
The cop was standing beside a rundown wooden shed. “What was that, sir?”
Allen didn’t repeat it.
Agent Early came hurrying down from the road above to join them on the dilapidated pier. He took a look into the shadowy shed. “Harmon’s car, sure enough,” he said.
Going into the shed, Allen said, “Yeah, license number matches.”
“Registration, too,” said the stocky cop.
Opening the passenger door, the lieutenant stuck his head inside the car. “Perfume.”
“What?”
“Perfume. Somebody wearing perfume was in here recently,” he told the government agent.
Early wandered back outside, his gaze on the waters of the Sound. “Islands out there,” he said to the cop who’d found the car. “Anybody live there?”
“Oh, sure. There’s a year-round population on most of them,” was the reply. “Except for that one there, the one they call Grimm’s Island. I think it’s been tied up in some kind of court hassle for years. Anyways, it’s not got a soul living on it.”
“Fellow with a boat,” said Early, “wouldn’t have much trouble getting out to Grimm’s Island from here.”
“Nope,” agreed the cop. “Matter of fact, seems to me the last time I was by here, there was an old motorboat tied up here. Gone now.”
“Know who owns this little pier and shed?”
“Real-estate outfit owns it, but some guy’s been renting it for a year or so. I’m going to find out his name soon as the lieutenant is finished up here.”
“Where’s the nearest place I can rent a launch?”
“That’d be Abe Bunk’s boatyard,” said the cop, pointing to his left. “About a quarter of a mile from here. You can see his flagpole sticking up . . . see it right there.”
“Yeah.” Early returned to the shed.
Lieutenant Allen was on his hands and knees examining the floor mat of the car. “Nothing much.”
“Come on,” said Early.
Allen extracted himself from the car, asking,
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