"Maybe that was our mysterious Mr. Smith," Greg suggested.

"The fellow on the phone had a Southern drawl," Chuck said flatly. He shrugged, glad to be rid of the problem. Descending to the wharf, he informed Whit that he could take possession of the houseboat that evening, since it would require only a few hours to remove the former owner's possessions to a storage room.

"I'd better call Regina," Barbara said suddenly. "She would never forgive me if I let you catch her in pin curls, Greg. We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."

Her phone call completed, she and Whit Egan piled into Greg's shiny new convertible. "What do you intend to do with the houseboat, now that you've bought her?" she asked Whit.

"Turn her into a restaurant." He grinned. "Sound silly? You'd be surprised at how many chefs ladle up their soup in old railway cars and streetcars. This should be quite a novelty in Santa Teresa-I'll bet we won't have room for half the people who will line up for a seagoing sirloin once we swab down the decks and freshen up her paint."

Barbara smiled at his enthusiasm. "It sounds like a wonderful idea! One thing puzzles me, though. How did you discover that this particular houseboat was for sale?"

"Lucky accident. I was waiting outside a phone booth near the base yesterday and I overheard this guy inside mention a houseboat at Dodson's in Santa Teresa. I didn't see his face-but he sounded like he was going to talk all day so I went to buy a newspaper. When I came back, he was gone."

"Whit's been dreaming about owning a houseboat ever since we ate at a place called 'The Willows' in Honolulu," Greg put in. "It's a fantastic spot, built like a huge raft over a pond. You can even pick out your own frog legs there."

Barbara wrinkled her nose, but before she could reply, Greg had leaped out and was halfway up the front steps of the Prescott house. She and Whit discreetly delayed their exit from the car for a few minutes, then joined the engaged couple.