Rick supervised the refueling of his plane at the pier gasoline depot, a task he would not delegate to anyone else. The presence of attendants made it impossible to talk to the Navy lieutenant.
As Rick tightened the gas cap, Jimmy Kelly said, "Hop into your great mechanical bird and shove off, birdman. You'll just about beat the weather home as it is. Don't stop to fish on the way."
"I won't. Professor Zircon will tell you an interesting story. And we'll be monitoring the command channel at six for any advice you can give us."
"Okay. Don't get your feet wet."
Rick waved good-by to Jimmy and Zircon, then taxied out to the clear area and took off. The ceiling was lower than on the trip in, and he almost missed Clipper Cay because of strong winds and low visibility. He spotted the southern tip of the island just in time to avoid going right on by. He landed with beads of perspiration on his forehead. If he had missed, with luck he might have hit Puerto Rico, but more likely he would have had to make a landing in the open ocean.
Scotty and Tony came to greet him.
"We were worried," Tony said. "It's closing in fast."
"I got a little worried myself," Rick admitted. "Anything new here?"
Scotty gestured toward the northern end of the island. "Our pals have been busy, diving. They got the brass ball, or whatever it is, and stowed it aboard their boat. I kept an eye on 'em through the binoculars. Also, I suspect they're going to do some more diving, because they left their equipment on the boat."
Rick didn't particularly care at that moment. The flight back had been something of a strain. "Let 'em go," he said. "We can't do anything about it, anyway—not in broad daylight. Maybe tonight we can take a look."