"I told you how it was," the fisherman said tonelessly.
Rick searched his face and liked it. Tom Tyler was perhaps forty, but he looked ten years younger. His face was burned from wind and sun, but it was not yet heavily lined. His eyes, gray in color, were clear and direct as he faced his questioners. He was a tall man; that was apparent even when he was seated. He had a lean, trim look that reminded Rick of a clean, seaworthy schooner.
The boy lifted his camera and took a picture. The group turned briefly as the flash bulb went off. They glared, then turned back to the fisherman again.
The town policeman spoke. "You know what this means, Tom? You not only lost your ship, but you're apt to lose your license, too. And you'll be lucky if the insurance company doesn't charge you with barratry."
"I've told you how it was," Captain Tyler repeated.
The man in the brown suit exploded. "Stop being a dadblasted fool, Tom! You expect us to swallow a yarn like that? We know you don't drink. How can you expect us to believe you ran the Sea Belle ashore while drunk?"
"I got no more to say," Tyler replied woodenly.
Jerry turned to Rick and Scotty and motioned toward the door. Rick led the way back into the corridor. "Getting anything out of this?" he asked.
"A little," Jerry said. "Let's go out and talk to that old man."
"Lead on," Scotty said. "I've always wanted to see a real news hound in action."