The barber, inclined to stoutness and baldness, shook his head.
“Not even any good fishing left,” he sighed.
“Everybody behavin’?” asked the sheriff.
“Just what are you driving at?” the barber asked.
“Nothing special; just thought you might have heard of something,” grinned the sheriff.
“Matter of fact, I have,” retorted the barber. “Somebody’s been flying around here the last couple of nights with a plane of some kind.”
“That ain’t so unusual, is it?” asked the sheriff. “We’ve been used to all kinds of things along this coast.”
“Well, that wasn’t so strange, but this morning when I was fishing down in Harpey’s bayou a boat came through there so fast it was nothing but a black streak and a flash of spray. Blamed thing must have been doing forty an hour.”
Bob’s eyes glinted.
“Where did it go?”