“Dad brought the plates past customs not knowing what he was doing.” Ken spoke slowly, piecing together fragments of information. “They never thought we’d find out—they never thought anybody would find out.” He was rewrapping the plates and putting them back into the box.
Sandy got to his feet quickly. “And maybe nobody ever will, if we don’t get ourselves out of this mess.”
Ken lifted up the mattress on the lower bunk and shoved the box under it out of sight. “We’ll need that evidence,” he said, “and we don’t want Cal to throw it overboard or something.”
Sandy dropped the plank back in place. “Let’s go,” he said. “We’ll have to spell him for a while.”
The bargeman was still working away at the pump, but his strokes were slower now and he was panting with near exhaustion. He made way for the boys and leaned up against the cabin, clutching at it to maintain his balance as the barge heaved and swung.
“Stay there,” Sandy ordered, “where we can keep an eye on you.”
Once again the seconds began to keep pace with the pump handle and the stream of water spurted out of the outlet pipe. Back on the deck the gasoline engine throbbed reassuringly, its pump cascading a flood of water over the side.
Ten minutes passed by—then ten more. Ken was breathing heavily, his arms like lead once more.
“Drop out,” Sandy ordered. “Let him take over.”
“What about you?” Ken shifted to a position against the wall and let the bargeman take hold of the pump handle.