CHAPTER V
The Face Is Familiar
The Bay Gourmet was all that its outside appearance promised. A waiter,elderly and courteous, his voice soft with the Eastern Shore accent, ledthem to a table in a main dining room that was like something out ofearly American history, Maryland style. The Maryland colony had not beenpoor, and many of its settlers had been of the English nobility. Theyhad brought with them furniture, paintings, and chinaware from Englandand France, and their homes were gracious and livable.
The restaurant followed the pattern. Rick wouldn't have been surprisedto see the ghost of Lord Baltimore walk through one of the arches.
The boys pored over the menus and finally settled on crab gumbo, clamfritters, and crab imperial. While they waited, Rick opened the subjectthat was on his mind. "How does a stingaree fly?"
Scotty shrugged. "Easy. He climbs to the top of a tall tree, spreads hiswings, and takes off. He flaps his wings to gain altitude. He steerswith his tail."
"I'm serious," Rick said sternly, his eyes twinkling.
"So am I. Alternate method: the stingaree climbs on a fence and lassos apassing airplane. Or catches a ride on an eagle's tail feathers. Takeyour choice."
"I've got a better way. The stingaree poses for his picture. The pictureis used as a model for making a kite, probably of black plastic. Thekite gets flown in the wind."
Scotty stared. "Maybe--just maybe--you've got something there. Thestingaree shape would make a good kite. Could what you saw have been akite?"
"It's possible." Rick nodded. "The wind was funneling down the creekpretty fast, and it would have carried a big kite. There's only onesmall difficulty. Why launch a kite that has no string?"
"You certain it didn't have a string?"
"In that wind, the string would have had to be a cable. I'd have seenit, and maybe felt it. The kite--stingaree, that is--just missed. Ofcourse, the string might have broken."
"There's another small difficulty," Scotty said thoughtfully. "If it wasa kite, where was it launched and why?"
"Up the creek somewhere. We don't know what's up there."
"True. From the looks, I'd say not much. Maybe some opossums andmuskrats, which don't launch kites."
Rick spread butter liberally on a hot biscuit. "We can always take alook."
"We can. In Steve's boat, the creek would be only a few minutes away."
Rick savored the biscuit and took another bite that finished it. "Icould eat a ton of these. What else would make a stingaree fly?"
Scotty accepted a pitcher of honey from the waiter and poured adisgraceful amount on a biscuit. "How about some kind of experimentalaircraft?"
Rick shook his head. "The stingaree was vertical. An experimental planein that position would have to be rising straight up, and this creaturewas traveling almost horizontally, with the wind. Besides, I heard nomotor or any kind of power plant."
"You're as lucid as lamplight, ol' buddy. You explain everything--exceptwhat made that stingaree fly."
Rick grinned wryly. "I'll never get a swelled head with you stickingpins in it."
"Only carrying out my proper function," Scotty said virtuously.
The first course had arrived. Crab gumbo turned out to be spicy, hot,and very, very good.
"I may decide to live here," Rick said as he spooned up the lastmouthful.
"I'm a native already," Scotty stated. "The Chesapeake Bay is my home,if the rest of the meal lives up to the soup."
The clam fritters were light, crisp, and succulent. "Meet a brand-newMarylander," Scotty announced.
Rick started to reply, then stopped as a party of three entered thedining room and were shown to a table nearby. He knew one of the men,but he couldn't remember where they had met.
"Scotty," he said softly, "look around at the group that just came in.Who's the man in the plaid jacket? I know him, but I can't remember."
Scotty's napkin "accidentally" fell to the floor. He had to turn to pickit up. When he straightened, he shook his head. "The face is familiar,but I can't place it."
Rick studied the man through half-lowered lids, not wanting to be rudeby staring openly. The familiar face was lean, and lined. It was not apleasant face, although its owner would be described as a"distinguished-looking man of middle age." The lips were not especiallythin, but they were tightly held. The chin was firm, with a shadow ofbeard even though the man looked freshly shaven. His hair was crisp,wavy, and pure white.
"Could be of French or Italian ancestry," Rick said. "Or, maybe, Spanishor Portuguese. Anyway, I'd vote for Southern European."
"On the button," Scotty agreed.
Rick's eyes dropped as the man looked their way. The eyes were darkbrown, he saw, with heavy lids. The eyebrows, in startling contrast tothe white hair, were dark.
The boy looked up again, his glance guarded. The man was smartly, butconservatively dressed, in dark-blue slacks, white sport shirt open atthe collar, and a linen sport jacket of subdued plaid, much like thoseaffected by some Ivy Leaguers.
The other two men were not familiar. One was almost bald, with a wisp ofsandy hair combed in a pitiful and useless attempt to conceal thebaldness. He wore glasses with clear plastic frames. They sat on a nosethat could have served as a golf-ball model. His lips were almostnonexistent, and his chin receded so far that Rick wondered why hedidn't conceal it with a beard. He seemed like a complete non-entity. Incontrast to the white-haired man's style of dress, the nondescript manwore a rumpled black suit of synthetic fabric, a regular white shirt,and a tie that a color-blind old aunt might have given him for Christmastwo decades past.
[Illustration (2 page 51 and 52)]
The third man was the largest of the three, with an expressionless faceand eyes that never stopped moving. He sat motionless in his chair,apparently completely relaxed. Rick knew that the relaxation wasdeceptive. Steve Ames at times looked relaxed like that, but it was thesame kind of quietness one finds in a coiled spring that has not yetbeen released. The man had brown hair, light-brown eyes, and a heavytan. He spoke only twice while Rick watched, and then only to giveorders to the waiter. The other two men talked steadily, but in such lowtones that the boys could not hear words.
The crab imperial arrived, and the riddle of the familiar face wasforgotten in a new taste treat. After one luscious bite, Rick said, "I'mgoing to bring the folks here and order a duplicate of this meal.They'll go crazy."
Excellent food was a tradition in the Brant household. Mrs. Brant was asuperb cook, and both she and Hartson Brant had taught the Spindriftyoung people to appreciate a well-prepared dish.
"I'll order the same thing just to keep them company," Scotty offered.
"Generous, always generous," Rick replied. "You'll eat the same thingeven if you have to force it down."
"I'll do just that," Scotty agreed. "Remember where you've seen yonderdiner?"
Rick shook his head. "Not yet. It's an odd trio. He's the dominant onein the group. The bald one looks like a servant, and the big one like apolice dog on guard."
"Bodyguard?" Scotty asked quickly.
"Maybe. Or, perhaps, a chauffeur. It's hard to say."
"Do you suppose the white-haired man is just a familiar type and we'venever seen him before?"
"No. It isn't that. I know I've seen him before, but I can't tell youwhere or when."
The boys finished the meal with a scoop of lemon sherbet and rosereluctantly. "We'll be back," Rick promised.
"That we will," Scotty echoed.
The old waiter bowed them to the door. As they were leaving, Rickpaused. "Do you know that white-haired man at the table near us?"
"Why, sir, that's Mr. Merlin. Summer folks, you might say. He bought oneof the old mansions. This is his second summer with us."
"Which one of the old mansions?" Scotty asked.
"Calvert's Favor. It's in the guidebooks, sir. We have copies for saleif you'd like one."
"We have one," Rick replied. "Thank you."
"Not at all, gen
tlemen. Hurry back."
The boys walked into a lovely summer night, with a newly risen moon,near fullness, floating just above the horizon. By unspoken agreement,they put the top down on Steve's convertible. Rick was just snapping itin place when he sensed someone standing next to him. He turned, to facethe big man of the trio.
The man got to the point without preliminaries. "You were asking thewaiter about Mr. Merlin."
"We thought he looked familiar, but we couldn't place him," Rickreplied. "We meant no discourtesy."
"I'm sure you didn't," the man said smoothly. He didn't smile, eventhough his voice was pleasant enough. "Mr. Merlin is a very prominentman. He comes down here to get away from people. Naturally, he doesn'twelcome inquiries. I'm sure you understand."
"We have no intention of intruding," Rick stated coolly. "As I said, helooked familiar. We merely asked out of curiosity."
"You're not local boys." It was a statement.
"No. We're visitors."
"The local people have learned not to ask questions about Mr. Merlin. Isuggest you follow their example." The man turned and walked back intothe restaurant.
The boys stared after him, openmouthed.
"If that poor soul only knew," Scotty said, "he picked the best possibleway to arouse our curiosity."
"I haven't been warned so politely in a long time," Rick agreed. "Comeon, son. Let's head for Martins Creek." He slid behind the wheel whileScotty got into the passenger side.
Rick started the car and listened to it purr for a moment. "I noticedthat Steve has quite a few books about the Eastern Shore on hisbookshelves," he said casually.
"So did I. Including one called _Tidewater Maryland_. Lots of picturesof the old estates in that one."
"Be interesting if there was a picture of Calvert's Favor, wouldn't it?"
"Interesting and maybe informative. Well, are we going to sit here allnight?"
"Nope. We're going to Steve's. Looks as if we have a small researchproject."
"To be followed by a second project," Scotty added. "First we read up onCalvert's Favor, and then we find it and look it over."
Rick grinned. "Nobody warns Scotty with impunity."
"But nobody!" Scotty said cheerfully.