“Don’t use ’em unless you have to.” The young detective’s tone was low and tense. “But if you have to, shoot often and straight. It’s a tough bunch. Don’t know how many, but plenty, I’m afraid.
“As for the boy, Angelo,” his tone changed, “don’t worry too much about him. He’ll have to get along without his car and speed boat all right. But then there are plenty of people who’ll tell you big cars and speed boats do a boy more harm than good. Gives them false notions of life; that’s what they’d tell you. I don’t know much about that. An old police flivver with, like as not, a share of bullets waiting at the end of the road—that’s as far as I ever got.
“But one thing I do know.” He sat up straight and stiff. “Crooked dollars never did any one any real good. And every dollar Angelo Piccalo spent on that boy was crooked. Flowers! That flower shop was only a blind.”
“It seems strange,” Johnny mused, pulling hard at the oars. “Angelo is an artist at heart. He can make flowers talk. He loves music, and the best in pictures. Why should such a man be a crook?”
“A man’s love of honesty has—
“Look, Johnny! Swing a little more to the left. We’ll keep well out. Then when we’ve passed their camp we’ll swing in. They’re in a sort of clearing. Trees beyond them. Plenty of chance to slip up. They’ll not see us out here on the water. The moon is low yet.”
Again for a time there was silence, such silence as one finds only on a calm bay of Isle Royale at night. Now came from afar the sharp yip-yip-yip of a bush wolf. And now, from the opposite shore of the bay they caught the faint plash-plash of a moose swimming along the shore. Or was it a boat? Johnny’s heart skipped a beat.
“Can’t see us. Works both ways. We can’t see them. Might slip up on us. Then—”
“This artist business,” Drew broke in with a hoarse whisper. “Curious thing. A man can be a fine musician or a painter, and still be a crook. They’ve got some fine artists in Sing Sing. Art and conscience have no connection, it seems. The only thing that saves a fellow from being a crook is a desire deep down in his heart to be honest, to do right by all men.”
Drew lapsed into silence. There were many things Johnny wished to know. How was it that Drew felt so sure he was on the right track? What fresh evidence had he uncovered? How much had his own discoveries helped to bring things about? But this, he knew, was no time for questions. They were nearing a camp. Was it the enemies’ camp? Who could doubt it? The big amphibian could not be a quarter of a mile from that camp.