"It's Orvil's," Rick said. "But where is he?"
"Get aboard," Scotty suggested.
"Okay." Rick stood up and timed his motion with the slight roll of both boats, then stepped into the crabber. Orvil's crab lines were coiled neatly in their barrels, the stone crab-line anchors and floats were stacked along the side of the boat. There were three covered bushel baskets of crabs, and extra baskets stacked in place. One open basket held a dozen jumbo crabs. Orvil's net was in its rack on the engine box, but there was no sign of Orvil himself.
Wait—there was a sign. Rick knelt by a small brown patch on the deck. He touched it, and a chill lanced through him. Blood, and only recently dried. Orvil's?
Rick straightened. Someone had turned the boat loose, idled down to its lowest speed. The stable crab boat had continued on course, heading out the mouth of the Little Choptank into the wide bay. Only a bloodstain showed that there had been violence aboard.
The flying stingaree had claimed another victim!
CHAPTER XVI
Steve Waits It Out
The two-boat procession moved down Martins Creek at slow speed, Scotty leading in the runabout and Rick following in Orvil's boat. The boys had decided to take the crab boat back to Steve's, because it could not be left adrift, and they did not know where Orvil berthed it.