"Got to keep you out of trouble," Scotty said amiably. "It isn't because I'm interested."
They walked from the house into the orchard that separated the low, gray stone laboratory buildings from the house and headed toward the air strip. The strip was grass-covered and just big enough for a small plane like Rick's. It ran along the seaward side of the island, with the orchard on one side and the sea cliff on the other.
"Just thought," Scotty said suddenly. "We'd better have some binoculars if we're going out to take a look at the fleet."
"I'll warm up while you get them," Rick agreed. He started the engine and warmed the plane until Scotty arrived with a pair of ten-power binoculars.
Scotty untied the parking ropes and pulled out the wheel chocks, then got into his seat. "Let's go," he said.
Rick nodded and advanced the throttle. In a moment the Cub lifted easily from the grass.
Rick settled down to the business of flying. He looked at the sea below and estimated the wind force. Mentally he figured his probable drift, then decided on south-southeast as his compass heading, and swung the little plane on course.
"Checked the equipment recently?" Scotty asked.
He referred to the two-man life raft and signaling pistol Rick had purchased from Navy surplus for just such overwater flights as this.
"Went through it Saturday," Rick said. "But don't worry. We won't get your feet wet."