The Hidden Harbor Mystery (6 page)

They waited hopefully throughout the day for their distress signal to be noticed, but no one appeared. Finally, when evening came, the three boys carried the stuffing, the papers, and pieces of the wooden chair-frame to the highest point on the rocks. A starlit sky spread overhead, but a hard wind and a heavy sea had set in. The high-dashing spray was caught by the wind and whipped over the little island like gusts of fine rain. While Frank and Chet acted as shields, Joe lighted one of their few remaining matches. A feeble flame began to lick at the crumpled papers, only to be extinguished by the driving spray. Another match was used, with the same result.

“Shall we use our last two matches?” Joe asked.

“Try one more,” Frank answered.

This time a bluish-yellow finger of flame climbed, spread out, caught at the chair stuffing, and began to lick at the wood.

At that moment a shout, followed by the sudden roar of a motor, brought the boys to their feet.

“It came from the jetty!” cried Joe.

Racing around the lighthouse, they saw a dark figure leap into a motorboat, which then churned out from the island.

Frank and Joe ran at top speed to the end of the stone dock, plunged into the rough water, and struck out after the fleeing boat.

For a while the heavy waves slowed the boat more than the swimmers. But just as Joe came within grabbing distance, it suddenly spurted ahead and roared off into the darkness.

“Where
was that guy hiding?” Frank asked himself dismally.

Thoroughly soaked and chattering with cold, the Hardys returned to their fire, only to find darkness.

“I did my best to keep it alive,” Chet apologized.

The heavy spray had quenched the flames, and the high wind had scattered the remaining paper all over the wet rocks.

MISERABLY, the three boys plodded back to the shelter of the lighthouse. Hunger and the lack of dry clothes combined to make a fitful night's sleep. Next day, as the marooned trio stepped into the morning sunlight, a faint droning sound alerted them to a silvery object passing high overhead.

“A seaplane!” Joe cried wildly. “Hey! Help!”

Stripping off their shirts, Frank and Joe waved madly, while Chet bellowed at the top of his lungs. The plane continued toward the mainland.

“No breakfast ration today, boys,” Chet said grimly. “No cookies, no water. I won't put up with it. There are fish in this ocean, and I'm going to get one somehow!”

While the stout boy lumbered off with a determined frown, Frank and Joe discussed the case once more.

“Who's trying to get rid of us?” asked Frank. “Blackstone? Then he sure
will
go to any length to keep Bart from proving the rumor.”

“It must be Blackstone,” Joe decided. “He deliberately let us think Rand was out here. He must have faked that note.”

“He
could
have been fooled by it,” Frank commented. “Who else might have guessed we'd come here? Cutter? Stewart? The boat owner?”

“Maybe Cutter and Stewart,” Joe agreed. “That pale-faced Cutter seems mighty interested in us. Maybe he's working for Blackstone.”

A shout from Chet interrupted their speculations. Dripping wet, the stout boy hustled toward them. In his arms gleamed a big mackerell

“It was washed into a tide pool,” he cried excitedly. “I waded in after it!”

A few minutes were enough to rip out part of the railing of the wooden staircase and build a fire. “Here goes my last match,” said Chet. Soon he had planked the mackerel in fine style. Using sea water for salt, the boys regaled themselves on the tasty fish.

As they finished, a drone overhead announced the return of the silver seaplane. The boys signaled frantically. This time the craft circled once, then settled down on the calm water.

“Hot dog!” yelled Chet in fervent relief.

The seaplane taxied up to the stone dock, and the cabin door opened. “Hello, there,” called the slim, sunburned young pilot, leaning out. “I didn't see your signals earlier, but my passenger did. He didn't tell me until we landed—thought it was a joke.”

“Some joke!” said Chet as the boys clambered in.

“Figured ”I'd better check,“ said the pilot. ”My name's Al West. I'll take you to Larchmont Airport and drive you to town, if that'll help.“

“Thanks a million!” Joe said gratefully.

“Same here!” Frank exclaimed. “We thought we were stuck on that rock pile for good!”

Exactly one hour later the Hardys and Chet, who was still shirtless, stepped from Al West's car, waved good-by, and trooped into the
Larchmont Record
office.

Bart Worth stared at them, flabbergasted, and upon hearing their story, expressed still further amazement. “You come home with me for a change of clothes and a solid meal,” he ordered. “And you'd better forget my case. This newspaper isn't worth risking your lives.”

“We'll accept that meal,” Frank answered for the three, “but if you think anything could keep us from this job now, you're mistaken. We have several scores of our own to settle.”

While the hungry youths feasted at Worth's bountiful table, the editor paced the floor.

“The lawsuit against me is coming up for trial, and I haven't a shred of proof that some outsider tampered with my editorial,” he said. “Jenny Shringle first told me that story. She may have something to back it up, if we could find her.”

“Somebody
besides her neighbor must have seen her leave,” Frank reasoned. “We'll comb the town.”

“Good!” said Worth. “I'll come along.”

The boys set out, accompanied by the editor. First, Chet bought a blazing yellow shirt with a pattern of zigzag lightning on it.

“This'll make a swell distress signal”—he grinned—“if we need one again.”

They started from the town square and questioned everyone who might have noticed the seamstress departing a few mornings before. No one had. Gradually the four worked their way to the docks, where the man from whom the boys had rented the boat eyed them suspiciously.

“Where's my boat?” he asked.

“Drifted off,” Frank answered.

“Drifted off! Then you all will pay for her!”

Bart Worth immediately drew out his checkbook. “You boys were working in my interest when you lost it,” he insisted, despite the Hardys' protests.

Once more they pressed the search. Suddenly Frank halted before a small gift shop not far from the docks.

“Those two oriental vases,” he said, pointing to the window. “They're the same kind as the one Blackstone used to hit Rand!”

Eagerly the party went into the store. Chet noticed a small, shy-looking Negro boy, who had been tagging them constantly, enter after them.

“Oh, those china vases,” the shopkeeper said in answer to Frank's question. “Yes, they're always sold in pairs.”

“That explains how Blackstone replaced his,” Frank murmured to the others, as they turned to go. Quickly the little lad slipped out in front of them.

“That kid's been eavesdropping on us for half an hour,” Chet finally remarked.

“That youngster?” Bart shook his head doubtfully. “He's doing no harm, I'm sure.”

Next, the Hardys and their friends stopped at an open-air fish market. While Frank, Joe, and Bart questioned the paunchy vendor, Chet watched the little boy sneak up behind the high wheel of a loaded cart of fish, and listen with bright, inquisitive eyes.

“Jenny Shringle?” the vendor repeated. “Sure, I saw her. Just the other day, early—”

Crash!
Chet had made a frantic dive at the little eavesdropper. The boy had dodged nimbly, but Chet had caused the whole cartload of fresh, wet fish to tip forward on its two wheels. The fish cascaded in a heap on top of Chet!

“My fish!” cried the vendor.

“My new shirt!” Chet wailed.

“Get that kid!” cried Joe to others on the street. But the little boy disappeared.

After Chet had been helped to his feet, and the Hardys had paid for the fish, the vendor, mollified, went on with his story.

“I was settin' up my stall t‘other morning. Pretty soon I saw Jenny come by and get on the six-o'clock bus for Sea City. She's got kin there, you know, Mr. Worth. Right funny, though, she didn't carry a suitcase.”

“That settles it,” said Frank with satisfaction. “We're off for Sea City!”

They hurried back to the
Record's
parking lot, where the four got into Worth's green sedan and sped out to the boys' camp among the dunes. Here Chet quickly changed his fishy shirt, and the party drove off.

They traveled at the highest legal speed toward Sea City. Suddenly Bart slowed down.

“That parked car back there on the shoulder!” he exclaimed. “Professor Rand was in it!”

“Really?” asked Frank, amazed. “Cutter was at the wheel!”

Impatiently Bart sped forward looking for a chance to turn back, but traffic was heavy in both directions. At last he found a chance, but when they retraced their route to the spot, the parked car was gone.

“You're sure it was Rand?” Frank asked as they headed for Sea City once more.

“Yes,” Worth stated. “He saw me, too.”

“Well, why doesn't he want anyone to know he's still around?” Joe wondered.

Nobody could answer this question. When they reached the main street of Sea City, Frank hopped out and went into a drugstore with a phone booth.

Returning, he reported, “Only one Shringle listed in the telephone book,” and gave Bart the address.

Soon they pulled up before a little white bungalow on a side street. The Hardys and Bart alighted and knocked on the door.

A bald, middle-aged man answered. “Oh, you all want to see my cousin Jenny?” he said. “Yes, she's staying here, but she's gone for the day to the amusement park on the boardwalk.”

Now the trail was getting hot! When they reached the amusement section, Bart parked his car, and the four walked onto the crowded boardwalk.

It was just after lunchtime. Crowds of vacationers were just leaving a cluster of tables shaded by great beach umbrellas near a boardwalk restaurant.

“There!” cried Bart, pointing.

A middle-aged woman with gray hair was seated at one of the tables. She was sipping an ice-cream soda. As Worth called to her, she looked up at him. Instantly she jumped up, grasped a black purse, and scuttled away.

“Jenny! Wait!” called the editor, as he and the boys dashed after her.

With surprising speed, Jenny Shringle dodged in and out of the throng. Frank gained on her.

“Miss Shringle!” he cried out.

She glanced back with a panicky look but did not slow down.

Suddenly she darted off the walk and halted at one of the amusement ticket windows. The next minute the four friends, running toward her, saw her disappear into a brightly painted “fun house” billed as
Bluebeard's Palace.

At one side of the high, bizarre building, a well-greased wooden slide shot the screaming customers down to the boardwalk.

Chet folded his arms. “Well,” he said, “all we do is wait here till Jenny Shringle comes out. She can't stay in there forever.”

Bart shook his head. “This fun house is too rough for a woman of Jenny's age.”

“We'd better go in,” Frank agreed, “before she gets hurt. Bart, you wait here.”

He quickly purchased admission tickets, and the three boys entered the fun house. Frank led the way through a dark, narrow tunnel. Chet followed, then Joe.

As fast as possible, they stumbled forward. Weird screams startled them. Hanging cobwebs brushed their faces. Slithery, snakelike forms writhed underfoot. Finally reaching a level place, they walked ahead rapidly—only to find themselves on a treadmill carrying them backward!

At last, Frank, stepping off the treadmill after the others, entered a dimly lighted chamber with distortion mirrors around the walls.

Suddenly he stopped short. Confronting him was a wide-shouldered, giant figure with a very narrow waist. Frank burst out laughing. It was his own image, greatly exaggerated! Then, reflected behind him loomed another figure of gorilla-like proportions, with a familiar flattened face.

“I warned you!” a hoarse voice rasped.

As the huge arms grabbed for him, Frank ducked nimbly into the next room. In the weird half-light the boy saw that the floor tilted sideways, and the walls were tipped crazily. Frank found that he was forced to run downhill without being able to stop himself.

In another instant he bowled, helpless, into Chet and Joe, who had just picked themselves up at the far wall. The next second, the heavy bulk of the flat-faced man hurtled into their midst. All four went down on the floor in a heap.

Frank, who had been struck hard in the pit of the stomach, gasped for breath. As the four rolled about in a violent struggle, he caught the gleam of a knife in the big man's hand!

“LOOK out!” Frank yelled. “He has a knife!”

The boy threw himself on the man's brawny forearm, seized his wrist, and clung to it grimly.

As their antagonist struggled for a foothold, Joe dived under the blade for an ankle-high tackle. The man smacked heavily into the inclined floor, where Chet pounced on his chest.

All this time Frank had clung to the man's arm. Now he gave the thick wrist a sudden twisting wrench. The man gave a roar of pain. His big fist opened, and the knife slid harmlessly away over the tilted floor.