The House on the Cliff (7 page)

“I sure hope he shows up,” the driver said, walking toward the door. “Let me know if I can help any.”

When the man had left, Joe turned to Frank, puzzled. “Do you suppose Dad hid his car and was walking to the Pollitt house? If so, why?”

“Maybe he picked up a clue at that deserted farmhouse on Hillcrest Road,” Frank suggested, “and it led to the old Pollitt place. If he left his car somewhere, he must have been planning to investigate the haunted house without being seen.”

“Something must have happened to him!” Joe cried out. “Frank, I'll bet he went to Pollitt's and that fake ghost got him. Let's go look for Dad right away!”

But Mrs. Hardy broke in. Her expression was firm. “I don't want you boys to go to that house alone. Maybe you'd just better notify the police and let them make a search.”

The brothers looked at each other. Finally Frank, realizing how alarmed she was, said, “Mother, it's possible Dad is there spying on some activities offshore and he's all right but can't leave to phone you. The Pollitt line must have been disconnected. If Joe and I go out there and find him we can bring back a report.”

Mrs. Hardy gave a wan smile. “You're very convincing, Frank, when you put it that way. All right. I'll give my permission, but you mustn't go alone.”

“Why not, Mother? We can look out for ourselves,” Joe insisted.

“Get some of the boys to go with you. There's safety in numbers,” his mother said.

The boys agreed to this plan and got busy on the telephone rounding up their pals. Chet Morton and Biff Hooper agreed to go, and they suggested asking Tony Prito and Phil Cohen, two more of the Hardys' friends at Bayport High. Phil owned a motorcycle. He and Tony said they could go along.

Shortly after lunch the group set out. Chet rode with Frank, Biff with Joe, and Tony with Phil The three motorcycles went out of Bayport, past the Tower Mansion, and along the shore road.

They passed the Kane farmhouse, Hillcrest Road, and at last came in sight of the steep cliff rising from Barmet Bay and crowned by the rambling frame house where Felix Pollitt had lived. All this time they had watched carefully for a sign of Mr. Hardy's car, but found none.

“Your dad hid it well,” Chet remarked.

“It's possible someone stole it,” Frank told him.

As the boys came closer to the Pollitt property, Phil said to Tony, “Lonely looking place, isn't it?”

“Sure is. Good haunt for a ghost.”

When they were still some distance from the lane, Frank, in the lead, brought his motorcycle to a stop and signaled the other two drivers to do likewise.

“What's the matter?” Chet asked.

“We'd better sneak up on the place quietly. If we go any farther and the ghost is there, he'll hear the motorcycles. I vote we leave them here under the trees and go the rest of the way on foot.”

The boys hid their machines in a clump of bushes beside the road, and then the six searchers went on toward the lane.

“We'll separate here,” Frank decided. “Three of us take one side of the lane and the rest the other side. Keep to the bushes as much as possible, and when we get near the house, lay low for a while and watch the place. When I whistle, you can come out of the bushes and go up to the house.”

“That's a good idea,” Joe agreed. “Biff, Tony, and I will take the left side of the road.”

“Okay.”

The boys entered the weeds and undergrowth on either side of the lane. In a few minutes they were lost to view and only an occasional snapping and crackling of branches indicated their presence. The six sleuths crept forward, keeping well in from the lane. After about ten minutes Frank raised his hand as a warning to Chet and Phil. He had caught a glimpse of the house through the dense thicket.

They went on cautiously until they reached the edge of the bushes. From behind the screen of leaves they looked toward the old building. An expression of surprise crossed Frank's face.

“Someone's living here!” he exclaimed in astonishment.

From where the boys stood they hardly recognized the old place. Weeds that had filled the flower beds on their last visit had been completely cleared away. Leaves and twigs had been raked up and the grass cut.

A similar change had been wrought in the house. The hanging shutters had been put in place and the broken library window glass replaced.

“What do you suppose has happened?” Chet whispered.

Frank was puzzled. “Let's wait a minute before we go any farther.”

The boys remained at the edge of the bushes, watching the place. A short time later a woman came out of the house carrying a basket of clothes. She walked over to a clothesline stretched between two trees and began to hang up the laundry. Shortly afterward a man came out, and strode across the yard to a shed where he started filling a basket with logs.

The boys looked at one another in bewilderment. They had expected to find the same sinister and deserted place they had visited previously. Instead, here was a scene of domestic tranquillity.

“There's not much use in our hiding any longer,” Frank whispered. “Let's go out and question these people.” He gave the prearranged whistle.

The other three boys appeared, and the entire group walked boldly up the lane and across the yard. The man in the woodshed saw them first and straightened up, staring at them with an expression of annoyance. The woman at the clothesline heard their footsteps and turned to face them, her hands on her hips. Her gaunt face wore an unpleasant scowl.

“What do you want?” demanded the man, emerging from the shed.

He was short and thin with close-cropped hair, and he needed a shave. His complexion was swarthy, his eyes narrow under coarse, black brows.

At the same time another man came out of the kitchen and stood on the steps. He was stout and red-haired with a scraggly mustache.

“Yeah, who are you?” he asked.

“We didn't know anyone was living here,” Frank explained, edging over to the kitchen door. He wanted to get a look inside the house if possible.

“Well, we're livin' here now,” said the red-haired man, “and we don't like snoopers.”

“We're not snooping,” Frank declared. “We are looking for a man who has disappeared from Bayport.”

“Humph!” grunted the woman.

“Why do you think he's around here?” the thin man put in.

“He was last seen in this neighborhood.”

“What does he look like?”

“Tall and dark. He was wearing a brown suit and sports jacket and cap.”

“There hasn't been anybody around here since we rented this place and moved in,” the red-haired man said gruffly.

There seemed to be no prospect of gaining information from the unpleasant trio, so the boys started to leave. But Frank had reached the kitchen door. As he glanced in he gave a start. Hanging on a peg was a brown sports cap!

It looked exactly like the one his father owned, and which he had worn the morning that he had disappeared.

“I'M very thirsty,” Frank said quickly to the occupants of the Pollitt house. “May I have a drink?”

The red-haired man and the woman looked at each other. They obviously wished to get rid of their visitors as soon as possible. But they could not refuse such a reasonable request.

“Come into the kitchen,” said the man grudgingly.

Frank followed him through the door. As he passed the cap he took a good look at it. It
was
his father's, and there were stains on it which looked like blood!

The redheaded man pointed to a sink on the other side of the room. On it stood a plastic cup. “Help yourself,” he said gruffly.

Frank went across the room and ran some water from the faucet. As he raised the cup to his lips, his mind was racing. On his way out he glanced again at the peg.

Frank gave no sign that he had noticed anything amiss. He walked out into the yard and joined the other five boys.

“I guess we may as well be going,” he said nonchalantly.

“You might as well,” snapped the woman. “There's no stranger around here, I tell you.”

The boys started off down the lane. When they were out of sight of the house, Frank stopped and turned to his companions.

“Do you know what I saw in that kitchen?” he asked tensely.

“What?”

“Dad's cap hanging on a peg!”

“Then he
has
been there!” cried Joe. “They were lying!”

“Yes,” Frank continued, “and—and there were bloodstains on the cap!”

“Bloodstains!” Joe exclaimed. “That means he must be in trouble. Frank, we've got to go back!”

“We sure do!” his brother agreed. “But I wanted to tell you all about it first.”

“What do you think we should do?” Chet asked.

“I'll ask those people in the house about the cap and force a showdown,” Frank declared tersely. “We've got to find out where Dad is!”

Resolutely the boys started back to the Pollitt house. When they reached the yard they found the two men and the woman standing by the shed talking earnestly. The woman caught sight of them and spoke warningly to the red-haired man.

“What do you want now?” he demanded, advancing toward the boys.

“We want to know about that sports cap in the kitchen,” said Frank firmly.

“What cap? There's no cap in there.”

“There isn't now—but there was. It was hanging on a peg when I went in for a drink.”

“I don't know anythin' about no cap,” persisted the man.

“Perhaps we'd better ask the police to look around,” Joe suggested.

The redhead glanced meaningly at the woman. The other man stepped forward. “I know the cap this boy means,” he said. “It's mine. What about it?”

“It isn't yours and you know it,” Frank declared. “That cap belongs to the man we're looking for.”

“I tell you it is my cap!” snapped the swarthy man, showing his yellowed teeth in a snarl “Don't tell me I'm lyin'.”

The red-haired man intervened. “You're mistaken, Klein,” he said. “I know the cap they mean now. It's the one I found on the road a few days ago.”

“Guess you're right, Red,” Klein conceded hastily.

“You found it?” asked Frank incredulously.

“Sure, I found it. A brown cap with bloodstains on it.”

“That's the one. But why did you hide it when I went into the kitchen?”

“Well, to tell the truth, them bloodstains made me nervous. I didn't know but what there might be some trouble come of it, so I thought I'd better keep that cap out of sight.”

“Where did you find it?” Joe asked.

“About a mile from here.”

“On the shore road?”

“Yes. It was lyin' right in the middle of the road.”

“When was this?”

“A couple of days ago—just after we moved in here.”

“Let's see the cap,” Chet Morton suggested. “We want to make sure of this.”

As Red moved reluctantly toward the kitchen, the woman sniffed. “I don't see why you're makin' all this fuss about an old cap,” she said. “Comin' around here disturbin' honest folks.”

“We're sorry if we're bothering you,” said Joe, “but this is a very serious matter.”

Red came out of the house holding the cap. He tossed it to Frank.

The boy turned back the inside flap and there he found what he was looking for—the initials F. H. printed in gold on the leather band.

“It's Dad's cap all right.”

“I don't like the look of those bloodstains,” said Joe in a low voice. “He must have been badly hurt.”

“Are you sure you found this on the road?” Frank asked, still suspicious.

“You don't think I'd lie about it, do you?” Red answered belligerently.

“I can't contradict you, but I'm going to turn this over to the police,” Frank told him. “If you know anything more about it, you'd better speak up now.”

“He doesn't know anything about it,” shrilled the woman angrily. “Go away and don't bother us. Didn't he tell you he found the cap on the road? I told him to burn up the dirty thing. But he wanted to have it cleaned and wear it.”

The boys turned away, Frank still holding the cap. “Come on, fellows,” he said. “Let's get out of here.”

As the boys started down the lane they cast a last glance back at the yard. The woman and the two men were standing just where the young sleuths had left them. The woman was motionless, her hands on her hips. Red was standing with his arms folded, and Klein, the swarthy man, was leaning against a tree. All three were gazing intently and silently after the departing boys.