The Hidden Harbor Mystery (3 page)

“Blackstone's place should be to the right,” said Frank, plunging forward in a northerly direction.

Some distance beyond, the brothers discerned house lights ahead. There was a narrow path which they followed through swampy ground. An ominous growling reached their ears, and they skirted a pen containing two big, fierce-looking dogs.

“Look, Joe!” Frank exclaimed, pointing to the large, imposing white-pillared mansion before them.

The boys stopped and stared at a brightly lighted, partially open window. Through it they saw three men. One, facing them, was large and portly. The other was tall, dark, and gangling. A Negro servant, wearing a white butler's coat, stood near the door.

As the Hardys approached stealthily, the men's voices reached them.

“Rand, you'll get it over my dead body!” shouted the heavy-set man.

“The big one's Blackstone, no doubt,” Joe whispered. “Wonder what Rand is after.”

The tall man, obviously furious, said something indistinguishable. Suddenly Blackstone, his face livid, seized a heavy china vase from a desk and smashed it against the professor's head!

Instantly the light went out. Frank and Joe dashed up the steps and pounded on the door. Within twenty-five seconds it was opened.

“Yes?”

The Negro servant who had been in the room stood looking at the boys calmly from the hallway.

“We'd like to see Mr. Blackstone—right away!” Frank cried.

Without a word, the servant ushered the brothers into the bay-windowed room. There, comfortably seated in an easy chair and reading a book, was the large man. To the Hardys' profound astonishment, they found no trace of Professor Rand.

Even more astonishing was the fact that the china vase which had been smashed against his head stood whole upon the desk!

FOR A moment Frank and Joe remained too astonished to speak. The heavy-set man put down his book and stood up.

“You want to see me?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes. You
are
Mr. Blackstone?” Frank spoke up.

“I am. What do you want?”

“We ... we heard a cry, and thought maybe there had been an accident!”

“Accident?” The man gave the brothers a steely look of suspicion. “No, there's been no accident that I know of. I've been spending a quiet evening reading. You're the first visitors I've had tonight. By the way, what are
you
doing on my property?”

“We're visiting the area,” Joe answered promptly. “We've just been exploring the beach and came up here.”

“Treacherous swamp around here,” Mr. Blackstone commented. “Incidentally, my dogs are usually let loose at night, so I wouldn't advise your getting lost in this direction again. Minnie! Show these young men to the door.”

A young Negro maid entered the room. The Hardys were surprised. They had expected to see the somewhat elderly man who had answered their knock. They looked around for him on the way out. But he, too, was gone.

“If we hadn't both seen that fight I'd think I was crazy,” Joe muttered, as he and Frank left.

“Oh—oh,” Frank whispered. “Mr. Blackstone has another caller.” A linen-suited figure was approaching on foot up the drive.

“Mr. Cutter!” Joe exclaimed.

A moment later tall Henry Cutter mounted the steps. He glanced at the boys sharply, but merely nodded as he went past them into the house.

“Wonder what he's here for,” Frank mused.

For a few minutes the brothers lingered under a huge spreading cypress near the house. They saw Blackstone draw the curtains across the bay window, but still his gruff voice could be heard clearly.

“Those boys? Just a couple of nosy Northerners. I got rid of them. Look here, Cutter, it's no use coming around. I won't sell.”

The men apparently moved away from the window, for the young detectives could hear no more. As quickly as possible they retraced their steps to the pond, and toward camp.

“What happened to Professor Rand?” asked Joe. “I thought he got a knockout wallop. And how did Blackstone mend that broken vase so fast?”

“I couldn't even see a crack in it,” Frank added.

“I wonder what Cutter wants to buy from Blackstone,” Joe said. “Something for his antique business?”

“Wish I had an answer,” his brother replied wryly. “Let's try our luck at Rand's home tomorrow.”

As they ate an early breakfast, Chet pointed out a dilapidated fishing smack some distance off shore. “Wonder what's running,” he murmured.

Frank and Joe did not reply. They set off for the pond. Reaching it, they turned left.

“We'll get Rand's story about last night,” Frank declared.

Huge live oaks, hung with Spanish moss, partly hid a stately white Southern mansion in need of paint. Wisteria blossoms hung bell-like from vines climbing the walls. The Hardys mounted the steps of the still stately portico, supported by high, once-white round columns.

Frank knocked repeatedly on the door. There was no response. As they circled the neglected structure, they rapped on windows, called out, pounded on side and back doors, with no results.

“The professor's not here—or he just doesn't want visitors,” Joe concluded. “All right, then—back to Blackstone‘s!”

Samuel Blackstone's estate, with its carefully tended flower beds and pruned shrubbery made a sharp contrast with his cousin's run-down property. When Frank spotted a young gardener pushing a power mower, he strolled over to him.

“Lookin' for somebody?” The pleasant-faced young man squinted at them in the bright sunshine.

“Yes—the elderly butler who works for Mr. Blackstone,” Joe answered. “We can't find him.”

“Grover?” the gardener drawled. “Well, now, he's gone on vacation—just this morning, I hear. First one in thirty-five years. Don't it beat all?”

“Sure does.” Joe laughed. But the minute he and Frank were alone, Frank noted, “Mighty sudden vacation, if you ask me.”

“Very,” Joe agreed tersely as he followed the drive, which looped around the house before leading to the road. The route took them past the dog pen. The police dogs leaped and whined as though eager to attack the boys.

“I'd sure hate to have them at my throat!” Joe remarked, grinning.

Meanwhile, Frank had been thinking out the boys' next step. “We'd better head for Larchmont,” he advised, “and look up Jenny Shringle. She overheard Rand and Blackstone quarreling before, and according to Bart, she also told him the rumor that the Blackstone money originally came from smuggling.”

“Why did she tell Worth all this?” Joe wondered, as he and Frank hurried toward their camp.

“Revenge,” Frank reasoned. “She'd been a seamstress in the family for years, and just lately Blackstone fired her. She probably wanted to get square with him.”

The brothers brought Chet up to date on the news, then set off in the convertible for Larchmont. Frank consulted a slip of paper, then watched the street signs until he found the one he wanted. He turned onto an unpaved road that ended in a steep railway embankment. The houses along the road were small and dingy.

“Here we are,” Frank announced, pointing to a boxlike cottage overgrown by scraggly bushes. The Hardys went to the door and knocked.

“Meow!” A black-and-white cat came around the corner and rubbed herself against the boys' legs. Once more Frank rapped urgently.

“Meow,” was the only answer.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!” sang a voice nearby.

Turning, the Hardys saw a heavy, middle-aged woman calling from the porch of the house next door. In her hands she held a saucer of milk.

“Miss Shringle?” Frank inquired.

“No. And I don't know where Jenny is,” replied the woman, who appeared willing and even eager to talk. “But it's right strange about her going. She left here without providing for her cat.”

After placing the saucer on the ground, the neighbor continued, “Now this is why it's funny. She left the house yesterday morning
just after dawn.
That's not a time for law-abidin' folks to be about. Jenny had no suitcase, and not even a pocketbook. Just slipped out in her best dress—really a little old shabby black one—and an old flowered hat.”

“Do you know where she went?” Joe asked.

The woman shrugged. “I reckon she walked out to the main road. Maybe somebody sent for her. Maybe not. But why be so sneaky about it?”

The Hardys were noncommittal in order not to arouse the woman's suspicions. Soon the brothers said good-by and returned to camp for lunch.

After eating, and telling Chet about the strange disappearance, the chums rested under some pines near the tent.

“Three people involved in this case have disappeared,” Joe summed up in exasperation.

“And no leads as to where they might have gone!” Frank added.

Chet yawned. “Maybe we should report these disappearances to Mr. Worth or the police.”

“Let's wait one more day,” Frank urged. “I want to explore the pond tonight. After all, it's the central issue in this whole case. If we don't turn up anything, we'll call in the authorities.”

“Well, I'll hold the fort here,” Chet offered cheerfully. “Fishing's great.”

That evening, the hazy light of dusk found the two detectives advancing quietly among the sand dunes and the tall grass. Because of the insects, they had smeared their arms and faces with repellent. Also, as a precaution against an onslaught by Blackstone's dogs, Joe carried a stout club.

In the dim light the dead trees and hummocks of swamp grass assumed fantastic shapes. Frogs croaked, and now and then one would slip with a gurgle into a brown, stagnant pool. At last the boys reached the pond between the two properties.

“This way,” whispered Frank, turning left. “Let's try Rand's side first.”

He and Joe pushed through the dense growth around the pond's edge. It was totally dark when they emerged at a flat, open space. Before them rose the branchless trunk of an ancient oak tree, nearly twenty feet high. It was silhouetted against a moonlit but partly clouded sky.

Carefully the boys examined the remains of the old tree. “This must be one of the trees mentioned in the will,” Frank said, as the boys made their way back along the pond until they came to the Blackstone side of the water. Here the oak stump was shorter.

Disappointed, Frank and Joe switched off their lights and looked around. Overhead, moonlight glowed silver around the fringe of a cloud. Suddenly Joe grasped Frank's arm and whispered, “Over there!” The yellow beam of a flashlight could be plainly seen on the far rim of the pond.

The light moved around the oak stump like some giant firefly. Once, when the moon sailed free of clouds, the boys caught a glimpse of a tall, dark figure, pacing back and forth.

“He's looking for something!” Frank whispered.

“Suppose it's Rand?”

The light began moving around the edge of the pond toward them. Nearer and nearer it came. The boys waited breathlessly. But before they could make a move, heavy, crashing steps retreated through the underbrush and died away.

“We should've nabbed him!” Joe said in disgust.

“At this distance?” Frank said. Then he pointed in amazement toward the middle of the pond.

The white moon, thinly veiled by a few mackerel clouds, showed up a sudden roiling disturbance on the glassy surface. Large circles of rippling water were expanding outward. At their center a gleaming row of finlike humps slid into view. A fantastic, monstrous head rose briefly, dripping, into the moonlight. Then it sank beneath the dark waters!

THE Hardy boys could almost believe they had beheld a prehistoric creature with its jagged fin and enormous head. Frank and Joe peered in fascination at the swamp-bordered pond.

“There it is again!” Joe whispered in awe.

The grotesque shape had again surfaced, and now cut through the water to the rear bank. Here it wriggled up and disappeared.

“Come on!” Joe cried, switching on his flashlight. “Let's go after that thing!”

They found the swamp at the rear of the pond almost impassable. Stumbling over roots, dodging under hanging moss, sinking in the rank mire, the two boys doggedly made their way along.

“That monster must have come out near here!” Frank panted, shining his light around.

In this spot the thick vegetation grew right to the water's edge. The Hardys plunged through the tangle until they felt the tepid water lap over their sneakers.

Their flashlight beams picked out crushed leaves and stalks where something large must have dragged itself ashore. But the trail ended a few feet from the water, in the thick growth. No further signs of the strange creature could be found.

“Maybe the monster slipped back into the pond,” Joe whispered apprehensively.

Suddenly Frank snapped off his flashlight and signaled his brother to do the same. At the edge of the gloomy pond, where the big swamp stretched toward the main road, a light was moving!

In a moment the Hardys were fighting their way through the dense undergrowth toward the figure. The moon was their only light, as they crept forward silently and swiftly. Soon a glow about fifty yards ahead of them lit up a grove of weird, moss-covered cypress trees. Underneath one of them, Frank and Joe discerned a tall figure in a long coat and floppy hat, his back to the boys.

Scarcely breathing, Frank and Joe slipped forward. In one hand the strange figure carried a small lantern. He frequently stooped to examine the ground. Once he crouched for a long time looking at something. The boys crept closer.