The Crisscross Shadow (6 page)

“Okay,” the man replied nervously. “I'll have to get my coat out of the bedroom. Wait here.”

Before they could object, he turned, went into an adjoining room, and closed the door.

“We'd better keep a close watch on him,” Frank advised. “He may try to get away.”

Joe agreed, and called, “Say, you in there!”

There was no reply.

“Let's see what he's up to!” Joe exclaimed.

The boys burst through the door. Their eyes took in the shabbily furnished bedroom in a glance.

“There's no way out except by the windows and they're locked from the inside,” Frank stated. “He's got to be here somewhere!”

They began a careful search of the room. When Frank crawled under the bed he found a trap door that opened downward.

“Here's how he got out!” he exclaimed. “Joe, you guard the hall and I'll go after him this way.”

“Okay. Give our whistle if you need me.”

Frank squeezed through the opening onto a rope ladder which swung down from the edge of the trap door.

“This must be the basement,” he told himself as he reached the end and stepped onto the floor.

He whipped out his pocket flashlight and flicked it on. He saw no one.

Inch by inch Frank went over the cellar. But the man in the royal-blue sweater was not there.

“How you coming?” Joe called down.

“He got out of here somehow.” At that moment Frank heard a familiar sound—the
put-put
of a motorboat.

“This basement must be very close to the dock!” he shouted up to Joe. “There's a door. I'll let you know what happens.”

He hurried over, twisted the knob, and pushed. The door opened easily.

Blinking in the bright sunlight, Frank looked around. He was standing alone on a small dock that poked its nose into Eagle Bay.

Joe was peering from the living-room window. Now he raised the sash and called:

“See anything?”

“Nothing but the
Sleuth.”

Joe looked in the direction his brother was pointing.

“Tony! Hey, Tony!” Frank shouted across to the next dock.

Their friend's head appeared over the stern. “Hello. I'll come and get you.”

“Did you see anybody walk out of here?” Frank called.

“Sure. A few minutes ago two men came out.”

“Where'd they go?”

“They boarded a speedboat and headed off toward Bayport.”

“Did one of them have on a blue sweater?”

“No. But come to think of it, one man had something blue rolled up under his arm.”

“He's the guy we're looking for!” Frank exclaimed. “Joe, come on down! We're going after them!”

Tony brought the
Sleuth
up and the Hardys hopped in. Then the boat shot out into Eagle Bay and headed for Bayport.

Scanning the bay, his hand shading his eyes from the sun, Tony suddenly shouted, “There they are, Frank. Give 'er the gun!”

The other motorboat was plowing through the choppy water at a fast clip. Frank turned on full speed and the
Sleuth
fairly leaped across the waves. Gradually it began to close up the distance that separated them.

“We're catching up!” Tony exulted.

In a few moments the boys could clearly see two figures in the stern and a third at the wheel.

“There's the fellow with the blue sweater, all right,” Joe announced. “But he's masked now!”

“Say—the other one might be Breck,” guessed Frank, gripping the wheel tensely.

“Could be,” returned Joe. “He's got a mask on, too.”

Relentlessly the
Sleuth
plowed on, closer and closer to the fleeing craft. Finally Frank narrowed the gap and began to edge in toward the boat ahead.

“York's trying to hide!” yelled Joe as he discerned a figure hunched over in the rear seat. Just then the man beside York jerked his head around toward the pursuers and shouted something to the pilot of the fleeing speedboat.

Instantly the craft swerved sharply to the left. But just as swiftly Frank turned the
Sleuth.

From then on it was a zigzag chase. The fugitive boat veered crazily from side to side. Nevertheless, the
Sleuth
clung to the course, and Tony shouted encouragingly:

“Atta boy, Frank! Stick to 'em!”

York's companion turned around. Standing up, he shouted back:

“Scram outta here, you fool kids!”

The man at the wheel now resumed a straight course, making a beeline for Bayport.

The
Sleuth
roared up behind the speedboat. Suddenly York's companion bent down. As he straightened up, he raised a heavy log of wood and heaved it. The log soared through the air, directly in the path of the onrushing
Sleuth.

“Frank! Look out!” Joe cried.

Frank swung the wheel with all his might. But it was too late. With a splintering crash the
Sleuth
rammed the log!

THE shock of the collision was so violent that the boys were catapulted into the cold water of Eagle Bay.

In a few seconds three heads emerged from the waves.

“Joe! Tony!” Frank shouted out. “Are you all right?”

“Okay, here!” Joe called.

“I'm all right, too,” Tony answered.

To their amazement the
Sleuth
was still afloat, drifting aimlessly some yards away. As the boys swam to it, they noticed that an immense hole had been torn in her bow at the waterline.

“She's going to sink!” Tony cried woefully.

They clambered aboard and Frank discovered that the impact had switched off the engine. He tried to start it, but it was dead!

“This is a fine pickle,” he said in disgust.

“Where did the other boat go?” Tony asked.

The boys scanned the bay, but could see only a cluster of small craft near the shore. The men had made their escape!

‘ There's one clue, though, that they've given us,” Frank put in. “Did you notice that huge scar on the fellow's hand before he tossed the log at us?”

“Say—that's right!” exclaimed Joe. “I did see it. It was W-shaped, too! That means it was probably our friend Breck!”

“We practically had him!” Frank groaned. “Fine time to be stuck like this.”

“And we're drifting with the tide,” Tony pointed out as he noticed the shoreline receding.

Half an hour later he motioned toward a low-slung cabin cruiser that was bearing down on them.

“Look, fellows, isn't that the Coast Guard cutter
Mallimuk?”

The three boys shouted and waved their arms to signal the cutter. The captain saw them and drew alongside. When Frank explained the reason for their predicament, Captain Barnes shook his head in anger.

“I'll send out an alarm for those men right away,” he assured them. “Meanwhile, we'll give you a lift and some dry clothes.”

While he radioed headquarters, a guardsman threw a line from the cutter. Joe fastened it to the
Sleuth,
and the craft was towed to its dock.

The boys thanked the men and went to their car. After dropping Tony off at his house, they made arrangements to have the boat repaired, then drove home. Mrs. Hardy was waiting anxiously.

“Mother,” Joe asked, “is something the matter?”

“Yes, there is,” she replied. “It's Sam Radley. He's been injured!”

“What happened, Mother?” Frank asked. “One of the saboteurs get him?”

“Yes. Sam caught up with a suspect and they had a tussle. The man got away, but Sam was thrown and broke his leg.”

“Where is he now?”

“In Bayport Hospital.”

“We'd better go to see him right away,” Frank declared.

The boys were at the hospital in a few moments. They found their father's associate with his left leg in a plaster cast.

“We're sorry about this,” Joe said. “How do you feel now?”

“Pretty well, boys. But I sure hated to lose my man.”

“What happened?” Frank asked.

Briefly, Sam Radley told them he had received a tip to look along the waterfront for certain characters and had trapped one of the suspects at a boathouse outside Bayport. While he was taking him to his car, the man had made a break for it. In the fracas that followed, the saboteur had pushed Sam into a deep ditch. The detective pointed to his cast.

“This was the result.”

“At least you're making headway on the case,” Joe remarked.

“I was.” Sam smiled ruefully. “This sets me back. But without question your father and I are getting closer to cracking the case. On the other hand, the saboteurs are becoming bolder. They're likely to strike anywhere, any time!”

“Gosh,” Joe said, “I hope you'll get them soon before they do any real damage.” Then he asked, “Sam, what did the man who escaped look like?”

“He's heavy-set,” the assistant detective replied. “Dark-haired and swarthy-complexioned.”

Frank leaned forward tensely.

“Were there any distinguishing marks on this man that you tussled with?” he asked.

“Yes. He has a large W-shaped scar on the back of his right hand.”

“Scar on the back of his hand!” Frank exclaimed, and told of their recent adventures. “The man who threw the log at our boat had a W-shaped scar on the back of his right hand. And what's more,” he continued eagerly, “Breck, the phony leather-goods salesman, had the same scar on his hand. I'll bet that Breck, the man in the boat, and the saboteur are all the same person!”

“You're right,” Joe agreed.

Sam Radley stroked his chin thoughtfully and looked down at his injured leg. “Maybe you'll catch him before I do. Keep your eyes open and your wits about you. Those fellows are dangerous. The one who got away from me is known as Killer Johnson.”

“Was he hiding in the boathouse or had he just arrived there in a boat?” Joe asked.

“He was just coming out of the boathouse when I got there,” Sam answered. “I didn't see a boat, though.”

The boys talked a few moments more with Sam, then said good-by, promising to watch for clues that might help on the sabotage case.

On the way home Joe said, “I wonder where that boat disappeared to after the log was thrown at us.”

“There are a lot of little coves and inlets along the shore that it could have ducked into without being seen,” his brother replied.

“Maybe we ought to look along the shore,” Joe suggested.

After an hour of fruitless searching the boys turned homeward.

“Those fellows probably left town. They may have seen the Coast Guard pick us up. I'm sure that after they dropped Breck they went into hiding,” Frank pointed out.

“I think our best bet right now is to follow up the clue of the moccasin,” said Joe. “It's a clue to the real identity of Breck and might lead us to his pals.”

When the boys arrived home they found dinner ready. During the meal they told their mother and Aunt Gertrude about Sam Radley's condition and their suspicion that he had been after the same man they were.

“I guess we'll have to do Sam's work,” Frank observed with a sidewise look at his aunt, knowing she would object.

“Sam's work, indeed!” she cried out. “You leave the saboteurs to the big detectives!”

“Tall, you mean? I'm as tall as Sam.”

“Now, boys,” Mrs. Hardy cautioned, hoping the banter would not get out of hand.

“Solving crimes certainly gives them a good appetite for food and wit,” Aunt Gertrude declared as each was served a second helping of fricasseed chicken and dumplings.

When they finished, the young sleuths leaned back with a sigh.

“Aunt Gertrude,” said Joe, “sometimes I'd rather eat one of your meals than solve a mystery!”

At that moment the telephone rang. Frank picked it up. It was Iola. “Callie and I have been looking through some more Indian books and we've come across something important.”

“What is it?”

“We've found the name of an Indian tribe that begins with an R!”

Frank whistled in amazement. “Great work, Iola. What's the name?”

“The Ramapans.”

“Ramapans?” Frank repeated. “Listen, we'll be right over.”

Twenty minutes later the Hardys arrived at the Mortons.

“Iola and I decided to check some other books that Chet remembered were in the attic,” Callie explained. “We'd just about given up our search when we came across the Ramapans.”

“That's great,” said Joe. “Where are they located and what are they like?”

He pulled out a notebook and pencil ready to take down all the information.

“Well, the Ramapans are a small tribe. They live on a reservation about five hundred miles from here,” Callie replied.

“Yes. Go on,” Frank urged eagerly as the girl paused.

“They are skilled in making small trinkets and leather articles.”

“Skilled in leatherwork!” Frank exclaimed.

“I thought that would make you sit up and take notice.” Chet grinned. “Just come to Morton and Company for the best in detecting.”

“Can you show us on the map where the Ramapans live?” Frank asked.

Chet brought out an atlas and opened it. After turning several pages, he pointed.

“Here it is. Not many people live around this region.”