Hide-and-Sneak by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

bay. Whatwas that bobbing there? A head?
    Officer Nelson grabbed the mike to his radio and began giving directions to the police launch.
    In very little time the officers took off. The deck of the Jolly Roger gave Joe and the others a perfect vantage point to watch the ensuing rescue operation. As the launch returned and moved in toward the yacht, the head looked up, and a pair of frantically waving arms appeared. One of the crewmen, carrying a line, dived in. A moment later the harbor patrol had the body out of the water.
    Soon after that the rescued man stood wrapped in a police issue blanket on the deck of the Jolly Roger. Frank and Sprock Kerwin were also brought aboard. Sprock was of course filming everything.
    The man was probably average height, but looked shorter thanks to his stocky build. With his brown hair plastered to his head by water, it was easy to see that he was beginning to go bald. He had a small snub nose and a strong chin.
    What struck Joe, though, were the man’s blue eyes. They were piercing and sharp.
    The man abruptly stuck out his damp hand to shake with Joe. “Pete Buckmaster,” he said. “I understand I have to thank one of you young men for spotting me.”
    Joe had to work to keep his jaw from dropping. Everyone had heard about Peter Buckmaster, Wall Street’s latest big moneymaker; the man they nicknamed the Buckmeister and the Buccaneer.
    â€œJoe Hardy,” he managed to say. “But the one you really want to thank is my pal Chet Morton over here.”
    Buckmaster pumped Chet’s hand. “Son, I owe a lot to your good eyes,” he said. “I brought the Jolly Roger into the bay last night and set the anchor.” The moneyman’s lips twisted into a grimace. “At least I thought I did. When I tried a morning swim, the yacht kept moving away on me. Began to think I was a goner.”
    â€œDon’t you have a crew on board, sir?” Officer Nelson asked. Joe noticed his tone was a lot more respectful toward Buckmaster than toward the boys.
    â€œDon’t need one,” Buckmaster replied. “This boat is mechanized and computerized up the wazoo. Sailing gives me a chance to get out and be alone. Swimming, on the other hand . . .”
    He shrugged, and the blanket opened to reveal a soft middle. “Let’s say I learned my lesson. I think I’ll stick to sailing for peace of mind.”
    More engine noises filled the air. Joe looked over the side of the yacht to see the girls’ boat and Andy Slack’s trawler both bearing down on the Jolly Roger.
    Joe turned to Officer Nelson. “Here comes the rest of our film crew now.”
    â€œFilm crew?” Buckmaster asked.
    Sprock Kerwin held up his camera. “It’s a student project. We’re filming an improvised chase situation here on the bay.”
    â€œA sailing picture, huh?” Buckmaster’s voice filled with enthusiasm. “You don’t see many of those nowadays. Are you the director?”
    â€œUm, no,” Sprock said. “The director’s on board the trawler down there.” Sprock pointed toward Andy’s boat.
    â€œWhat do you say we invite him and the others up?” Buckmaster said.
    Things were moving a little too fast for Officer Nelson. “Mr. Buckmaster,” he said, “what do you intend to do about these kids just climbing aboard your yacht?”
    â€œWell, as you heard, I thanked them.” Buckmaster sounded irritated. “Indeed I have to thank you, Officer Nelson, and the other patrolmen too. As soon as I’m done here, I’ll get on the line to the local chief. What’s his name?”
    â€œChief Collig,” Nelson said, looking pleased.
    Buckmaster nodded. “And I’m sure there’s a police benefit fund where I can make a contribution?”
    When he wanted to be, the big businessman was good at smoothing things over. Almost before Officer Nelson knew what was