"Which bank?" He thought quickly. Danger could only come from the mansion, and that was on the south bank. He turned and swam north, going slowly, paying out line from the spool. Now that he was traveling in a straight line, he covered the bottom quickly, and in less than a minute he was in shallow water. He stopped, afraid that his tank would show above the surface.
It was clearer in the shallows. He made out the line of a branch, or root of some kind that thrust its way through the surface. It would serve. Quickly he passed the spool around it and made a knot, then he pushed the spool itself into the mud and turned.
Now to find the boat again. Cruising slowly, he headed in the general direction, rising slightly as he swam. Finally, he found the boat by its shadow and swam under it to the stern. Again orienting himself by the sun, he made sure that the boat would be between him and the south bank. He surfaced and pulled off his mask.
Scotty was swabbing the deck of the cockpit as casually as though trouble was the last thing on his mind. Rick wondered briefly if he had imagined the danger signal, or had mistaken some other sound for a signal. Then Scotty hailed him.
"Where are all the clams?"
Rick's mind raced. Obviously someone was listening. Was the someone on the boat, or ashore?
"I only found one," he called back. "I don't believe there are enough in this cove to bother about, no matter what those fishermen said."
"Did you dig deep enough?" Scotty asked.
"As deep as I could without a shovel. The mud is two feet thick down there."
"Well, you might as well come aboard. I guess if we're going to have clam chowder, we'll have to buy clams from a commercial boat."