But already the flyer was dropping the amphibian low. They spattered down on the water and their speed dropped off as they neared the old wharf. Bob watched the house closely for some sign of life. The windows, many of them broken, betrayed no movements. From all outward appearances the house had not been occupied in years. The amphibian, now less than 50 yards from the beach, lost headway and drifted. “Looks like some bad rocks ahead,” said the pilot. “I don’t dare get any closer. You’ll have to swim if you want to land here unless I taxi out and down a ways. It looked better further down.” But Bob had no intention of wasting any more time. “I’m going ashore,” he told Lieutenant Gibbons. “You can stay here and see if anything happens.” Before the intelligence officer could protest, Bob eased himself out of the cabin and started swimming for shore. In a few yards he was able to touch bottom, but just as he straightened up there was a sharp puff from one of the lower windows of the old house and a bullet ricocheted along the water. Bob, acting by instinct, ducked and started swimming under water. He should have been greatly alarmed, but instead he felt a strange exultation for the firing of that shot had told him what he wanted to know—he was at the end of the trail. The young federal agent came up for air and as soon as his head appeared, three shots sounded in rapid succession, each fired from different windows in the house. Two of the bullets went wide of their mark, but the third splashed water in Bob’s eyes. Before he ducked again he heard Lieutenant Gibbons firing back and then another gun joined in the battle and Bob knew that the naval flyer had taken a hand in the party. Swimming with a powerful stroke, Bob shot along under water. When he came up this time he was in the shelter of the boathouse. He was able to stand erect and he waved back to Lieutenant Gibbons. The firing from the house had suddenly ceased and Bob made his way alongside the squat, powerful speedboat. He climbed into the craft and with several well aimed blows with the butt of his gun disabled the ignition apparatus. At least the kidnapers would not escape in the boat. From some place behind the house the sound of an automobile exhaust roared out and Bob leaped to the door of the boathouse. A car wheeled around the far corner of the house and he saw three men inside, two in front and one in the rear. It was the first time Bob had ever fired a gun with a human being as a target, but he fired rapidly from the automatic and it seemed to him that a whole volley of bullets issued from the weapon in his hands. Then the gun was silent and before he could get the other clip from his pocket the car had disappeared. Bob started running for the house, pausing only once when a cry from Lieutenant Gibbons caused him to turn his head. The intelligence officer was wading ashore and motioning for Bob to wait for him. But Bob had more pressing duties.