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“Why just my wife?” Faraday growled. “Why not me too?”

“We’re not very familiar with boats of this type, Mr. Faraday. We might run it aground. We need you to navigate. You will bear it in mind that unpleasant things may happen to your wife if your navigation isn’t efficient.”

After digesting this, Faraday said, “What do you want?”

“Your formula, Mr. Faraday.”

Ellen whispered, “They are spies, Mike. We should have called the FBI when we stopped for water.”

The bulky man turned his expressionless face to her. “So you actually suspected us,” he said with mild surprise. “I thought our pose was excellent. Thank you for the information that you did not phone anyone when you made your stop.” Ellen looked abashed.

Faraday said, “You men are on the wrong track. I have no formula. All I developed was a mathematical theorem, and it can no more be suppressed from the world than Einstein’s theory of relativity could have been.

“At this moment my two immediate assistants at the university, Professors Max Abbott and Earl Laing, are in Washington explaining the facts of life to a group of thick-headed bureaucrats. I’m quite certain they’ll succeed in convincing them that a mathematical theorem cannot be classified top secret. By the time we get back to St. Louis, I expect to have permission to publish my computations in detail. If you’ll wait about a month, you can read it in any scientific journal.”

The thin-nosed man gave him a smile of polite disbelief.

“You’re as thick-headed as those jerks in Washington,” Faraday said dourly. “Can’t you get it through your head that I know absolutely nothing of military value?”

“Our superiors believe you do, Mr. Faraday. It is not our function to decide the value of what you can tell them. We were merely instructed to deliver you.”

“Deliver me where?”

“To a submarine we will rendezvous with some miles out in the gulf.”

Faraday looked at him with his mouth open.

“You mean you plan to take this ark out into the gulf?”

“I think your little outboard motor will push it far enough for our purpose. It will not be required to push it back again.”

Ellen said in a high voice, “Where will the submarine take us?”

The bulky man said, “You will learn that when you arrive at your destination, Mrs. Faraday. Now, if you please, will you begin to prepare breakfast while your husband gets the boat underway?”

Rising to his feet, he drew a blue-steel automatic from beneath his arm. “All right, Faraday. Start the motor and pull up anchor. I think I had better warn you that your wife will remain here in the galley with my partner all day, while you and I will stay on deck. At the slightest sign that you are not fully cooperating with us, my partner will put a bullet through her pretty head. For example, if any boats hail us and you try to give an alarm, your wife will immediately die. Understand?”

“I understand,” Faraday growled.

The man lifted his hat from the top of the refrigerator and dropped it over his gun, completely concealing the gun. Even from close by the occupants of any passing boats would think he was merely carrying the hat in his hand, Faraday realized.

He preceded the pseudo Martin Smith out on deck, started the engine and pulled in the anchor.

Faraday had no opportunity to confer with Ellen privately all that day, but he had a lot of opportunity to think. He made and discarded a dozen plans before he finally hit on one he decided just might possibly work. It would require Ellen’s cooperation, though, and he could see no way to get instructions to her.

At noon the thin-nosed man had Ellen bring sandwiches out to the men on deck, following behind her with his hat also draped over his gun. Faraday decided to test to see if either of their captors had any nautical knowledge at all.

“If either of you are interested in fishing, you might pick up some jack salmon along here by trolling from the rear of the boat,” he said. “I believe the channel in this part of the river is charted at six fathoms.”

Ellen gave him a peculiar look. The river current shifted the silt on the bottom so often that accurate depth charts were impossible, and they had no charts anyway.

The man who called himself Albert Johnson asked without much interest, “How deep is that in feet?”

“Forty-eight. A fathom is eight feet.”

He held his breath for some reaction, but neither man commented, indicating that neither knew a fathom was actually six feet. He was conscious of Ellen’s gaze on him and knew she realized he had some plan. He was sure she would be wise enough to go along when the proper time came.

Neither of their captors showed any desire to fish. When the sandwich plates were empty, the thin-nosed man ordered Ellen back to the galley and followed after her.

Several times during the day the houseboat was hailed by other boats. Each time the bulky man called a cheery reply. Faraday, afraid that any sound at all from him might endanger Ellen, merely waved to the hailers.

About an hour before dusk Faraday spotted the sort of place he was looking for. By now they had left Mississippi and the banks on both sides of the river were in Louisiana. Up ahead, close to the east bank, was a low, reed-covered island. The reeds grew about waist high and, as there were no trees on the island, even from a distance it could be seen that it was uninhabited.

It seemed to be about a mile long and no more than fifty yards wide. The channel between it and the east bank was only about seventy-five feet wide. The river bank was also covered with waist-high reeds and there were no cottages along the bank.

The place was ideal for what Faraday had in mind. He was sure that, so far from the main channel, there would be no current the other side of the island. And the area was isolated enough to satisfy their captors as a safe place to moor overnight.

“It’ll be dark in another hour,” he said to the bulky man. “We need calm water to moor overnight, and I doubt that we’ll find another place as suitable as the channel behind that island ahead. Want to pull in there?”

The man who called himself Martin Smith scanned the island and the shoreline beyond it, and was obviously pleased to see no buildings of any sort.

“You are the navigator,” he said. “Are you sure the water is deep enough there?”

“We only draw three feet. I’ll need my wife to give me soundings.”

“Soundings?”

Faraday was surprised at the man’s abysmal ignorance of everything about river navigation.

“She has to stand at the bow and test the water depth with a leaded line,” he explained. “There may be sandbars near the island which would run us aground. Then we’d be in real trouble.”

The bulky man glanced around to make sure no other boats were in sight.

“Albert!” he called. “Bring Mrs. Faraday out.”

Ellen came out on deck, followed by the fake Albert Johnson, again holding his hat over his gun.

“We’re pulling into that channel up ahead,” Faraday said to his wife, pointing. “Give me soundings in fathoms.”

Ellen gave him a quick glance. They didn’t ordinarily bother with nautical terms, Ellen always calling out soundings in feet. She made no comment, however.

Faraday went aft to start the motor, trailed by the bulky man, while Ellen went forward accompanied by the other man.

Ellen made her first sounding a hundred feet from the entrance to the channel. “Mark three,” she called.

As they slipped into the channel entrance, Faraday could tell by the feel of the boat that there was no current here.

“Mark twain,” Ellen called.

“What’s that mean?” the bulky man asked.

“Sixteen feet,” Faraday said. “Two fathoms. We’re safe even at a half a fathom.”

He maneuvered the boat in to within about twenty feet of the island.