BULLETS FLY A half-mile or so beyond a black cruiser lay at anchor at the mouth of a cove on the island side of the sound.

She was broadside-to and one look at her was enough for Harry Corwin.

"It is!" he cried.

"We've got her, fellows!" "Not yet," warned Phil as the fellows clustered from all parts of the boat.

"That's her, but how are we going to get her back?
Hadn't we better stop here, Steve, and decide what to do?
Those men aren't going to give her up just for the asking, I guess." "Right," agreed Steve.