Dr. Peter Hubbard had already taken over. “Our first priority is to bring in specimens of the rats seen by Russell and Craig.” The island informality had carried the younger men to a first-­name basis quickly and easily. “The rats can’t all have vanished. I suggest we set up a bait. Use a rabbit, perhaps.” The scientist addressed Johnson. “If rats did get your dog, captain, they’ll go for a rabbit.”

“Makes sense,” Johnson concurred.

Peter Hubbard continued, “We have to consider that this may be more dangerous than we’ve so far thought. There can be big packs of rats roving the woods. They can easily kill a man, especially if they are sick, as I suspect here.”

The sheriff said quietly, “We all have guns now.”

Stephen Scott spoke up. “Right, Amos! You deputize anyone you need!”

Elias Johnson suggested, “We can wear our foul weather gear—rubber boots, oilskins.”

The scientist nodded. “That would be some protection.”

The old man stood up. “Any volunteers?”

All the young men got to their feet. The sheriff said, “Too many, we’d only get in each other’s way.” He tapped Ben Dorset and Russell Homer. “Come on back to the office. We’ll get the gear, and pick up a live rabbit at Julio’s place.”

Stephen Scott brushed sand from his slacks. If he was going to say anything, this was the time. But once again he silently asked himself what there was to report except the gun, and that might have slipped unnoticed from Hildie Cannon’s bag any time she had walked in the forest. There were enough unanswered questions floating around without adding more. Right now, the sheriff had a clear-­cut job to do. Let him go on, then, and bring in those rats, and let the Harvard people start their investigation. It suddenly occurred to Scott that he ought to ask Elias Johnson how much money the scientists were getting and who was paying, but he hurried after the sheriff with another thought.

“Hey, Amos, should we have the fire trucks go around town again about spraying?”

The sheriff nodded. “Good idea. Keep people away. Especially if we’re going to have to shoot.”

Craig said, “I’ll call the boys right out.”

“Phone working here?” Scott asked. “Good!”

Peter Hubbard joined the group. “Amos, if you catch anything, bring it right in. Make a note of everything you see—how the rat moves, how it holds its head, its tail. Everything. We can get important clues that way . . .”

The sheriff threw the scientist half a salute—one professional to another. “Got it!” As fishermen, they were used to the importance of reading small signs that others would hardly notice—a meager cloud appearing, a tiny shift in the wind, a momentary shadow in the water.

The three men piled into the sheriff’s blue and white car.