"The striper fishermen!" cried the investigator, a little irritably. "Why, you'll see hundreds of beach buggies lined up along Nauset Beach in the early summer and fall. These striper fishermen live in these beach buggies. It's a terrific sight, believe me."
"You've been there while they were taking striped bass? You've seen them brought right up on the beach?"
"No!" exclaimed the investigator. "I personally didn't see that. But all hell had been breaking loose just before I got there. And later I heard that just a few minutes after I left the beach there was a real blitz of stripers. Why, people couldn't give them away, there were that many."
McDaniel started up the car and didn't speak for a long time.
"There's a fellow named Arnold Laine at Provincetown," said the investigator after regaining his composure, "he can smell striped bass. I'm told he can walk along the beach at Provincetown and sniff the air, and if the stripers are out there he can smell them. When he smells them he casts, and they tell me he gets more stripers than anybody on the Cape."
McDaniel said nothing.
"I'll give you the name of the book," the investigator said. "It's Striped Bass Fishing by Lyman and Woolner. It's all written up in there how this Arnold Laine can smell stripers."
There were no further words until the car reached the outskirts of Free-port, Maine. At the side of the road, there was a big signboard reading: "Home of L. L. Bean. Fishing and hunting Headquarters. Open 24 hours a day." This was the famous mailorder house whose catalog, describing each item in terms of its appeal and usefulness to Mr. L. L. Bean himself, is the delight of sportsmen from coast to coast.
"Stop the car," said the investigator. "Let me out at the L. L. Bean store."
McDaniel pulled into the curb.