CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Homeward Bound
Three days later, the case ended where it had really begun—back in the Cliffport Boat Yard. Only this time, Sandy and Jerry picked their way over the timbers and rails with Lieutenant Ames instead of with Sandy’s Uncle Russ.
“I guess you boys are glad this is all over,” he said. “I suppose you’re all set for your trip home now?”
“We sure are,” Jerry said. “We just need to buy a few things, and we’re ready.”
“It was sure nice of the FBI to let us have Jones’s sloop as part of the reward,” Sandy added. “I felt pretty bad when I saw my boat on fire. I was sure that if we ever got back to shore, we’d be taking the train home!”
“There was no sense in keeping it,” Ames said. “Not even for evidence. We had all the evidence we needed with that bundle of counterfeit money—and even more than that, with the printing press and the plates we found at Jones’s little resort. And everyone agreed that you ought to have it.”
They walked along the sea wall until they reached the corner of the shed, where Lieutenant Ames suddenly stopped. “As long as you’re thanking the FBI for the boat,” he said, “I think you might as well thank the Coast Guard too!”
“Well, of course,” Sandy said, puzzled. “I only meant that it was the FBI who really had title to it, and they were the ones who decided.... I mean, we’re grateful to you all.”
Ames laughed. “I don’t want to keep you in the dark,” he said. “The FBI gave you the boat, all right, but we decided to pitch in a little, too. Look!”
They turned the corner of the boat-yard shed. In front of them, resting in a high cradle, was the sloop, freshly painted and gleaming in the sun, her sides as smooth as glass.