When I got back to the dock Scotty was working listlessly. Didn't seem to care if he never got the cutters ready to go out, and looked thoroughly disgusted.
"What have you dug up, Scotty?" I knew I had him. My appeal had sunk in.
"Not a blessed thing. I thought Jim Wheeler, the assistant engineer on the tug, could tell me something, but he's gone. The crew's all sauerkraut now. I'm sure Wheeler is on the level."
"Well, drop that now and pay close attention. I have a plan. It's a big bet, but I am going to make it if you will help. When does this cutter leave in the morning?"
"Eight o'clock."
"And how long will it take to run to Tortugas?"
"She can do it in two hours easy."
"That will bring her there at ten. Scotty, she must not get there till twelve, or even later. I know what they are doing at Tortugas. How can you fix it?" I asked, giving him a strong eye bracer.
He shrank as if stung. Scotty's inherited fealty to an employer was touched. It was one thing to talk, but his nature balked at acting. He looked down at the cutter as a lover, then across to the ocean tug that had replaced all hands with German born. His eyes finally came back fighting and his hands closed viselike, struggling with himself. Now was my time to drive in the nail.