The pilot, in his cockpit up ahead, was scanning the ground intently. The ship veered a little to the right and they circled over a sprawling village before which a broad, sandy beach broke the gentle swell of the Atlantic. Half a mile from the village proper was a sheltered cove with a score of small fishing wharfs. It was toward this that the pilot of the amphibian nosed his craft. As they swung over the cove Bob could see the upturned faces of fishermen as they stared at the unexpected visitor. Bob looked at the boats in the cove with extreme care, but none of them were unusual and none appeared capable of great speed. The amphibian smacked the water and spray flew out on both sides as they slowed down and taxied in toward the shore. The pilot cut the engine when they were near a low wharf and dropped a light anchor. A friendly fisherman put out in a dory and pulled alongside the plane. “Any trouble?” he asked. “Not yet,” replied Lieutenant Gibbons, “but we’re looking for a black speed boat. It’s been described as about 30 feet long and capable of 40 miles an hour. It’s a cabin boat with an antennae above the cabin. Ever seen anything like it around here?” Bob, watching the fisherman closely, thought he detected a slight narrowing of the other’s eyes, but he knew that the men of the east shore were by nature extremely cautious. “Don’t know as I’ve seen just that boat,” replied the fisherman, “but there’s a good many crafts slip around the coves here.” “This boat would have come in this morning.” “Better climb in. We’ll ask some of the other boys.” Bob and the intelligence officer seated themselves in the dory and were quickly put ashore, where a little group gathered about them. The man who had brought them ashore acted as spokesman. “These fellows are looking for a speedboat that might have come around here this morning. Anybody seen anything of such a craft?” There was no immediate reply and Bob could see doubt as to the wisdom of answering the question in the eyes of a number of the men. It was then that he decided to tell them the importance of their visit. He drew out his billfold and handed the nearest man his identification card. “We’re federal officers,” he explained, “and we’re looking for a man who was kidnaped last night in Washington in a speedboat and brought somewhere near Rubio. If you can give us any information it may save a man’s life.” The entire attitude of the group changed and a young man who had been in the background stepped forward. “I saw such a boat just about mid-forenoon,” he said. “It was coming up from the south, and coming fast, maybe forty an hour, but I didn’t see it put in any place.” A radio in one of the fishing shacks screeched as though in agony and the owner of the set hurried away to tune it down. “Somebody ought to break that thing up; it’s been doing that all afternoon,” grunted another fisherman. “Did it work all right before?” asked Bob.