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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

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BOOK: The Secret of Skull Mountain
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Frank plunged headlong into the sea
The stranger stared at the youth. Kleng spoke up harshly, “I know this kid. Too smart for his own good. I'll take care of him this time.”
The stranger's hand shot out and pulled Kleng back. “No rough stuff,” he ordered.
“Let's cut the kid adrift,” Sweeper suggested. “The tide's going out. By the time anybody picks him up, we'll be through with our job.”
The stranger nodded. “Good idea. Cut the line, Sweeper!”
The thin man removed a pair of oars from the dinghy, then stepped back into the speedboat and unhooked the painter. The dinghy drifted away rapidly.
“So long, kid!” Sweeper called mockingly. “Don't get your feet wet!”
Frank sat down in the boat and watched helplessly as the tide carried it out to sea. He scanned the water. No ship was in sight.
“You've done it now!” he told himself bitterly. “No oars, no food, no water to drink—and if I know anything about clouds, a storm's blowing up!”
Frank studied the water and the black sky. Then, as his eyes fell on the empty oarlocks, a plan formed in his mind.
He straightened the tarpaulin. Then he twisted and squeezed a corner of the canvas to make a short length of rope, which he thrust through one of the locks. He tied the end into a tight knot, tugging it hard against the oarlock to make sure it could not slip through. He did the same with the adjacent corner of the canvas, knotting it outside the second oarlock.
Frank sat and waited as the boat bobbed in the darkness. It was not long before the sea began to churn harder. The wind was rising.
Now Frank stood in front of a seat, holding aloft the untied corners of the tarpaulin. He stretched his arms wide. The impact of the wind rushing into the canvas almost knocked him overboard, but he braced the calves of his legs on the edge of the seat and stiffened himself against the wind and cold water.
The improvised sail sent the boat plunging through the waves toward the island. Lightning snaked across the sky. Thunder boomed and rain fell in torrents. The waves leaped higher and Frank nearly lost his balance several times.
Suddenly a gust of wind caught him full force, tearing a corner of the canvas from his hands. He reached for the flapping tarpaulin, but lost his footing just as a huge wave sent the dinghy reeling. Frank pitched forward and plunged headlong into the sea.
The boy struggled to the surface and shook the water from his eyes. The dinghy was drifting away rapidly, whipped by the wind!
CHAPTER XII
Decoy Hunt
DESPERATELY, Frank's eyes searched the darkness for the island. A wave lifted him, and he was suddenly conscious of the tinkling of a bell.
The buoy!
He turned his head and saw the light a few feet from him, bobbing and blinking. Thankfully, Frank swam toward it and clung to the chain. The island was only a hundred yards away, but his strength was gone. He closed his eyes and waited for the storm to abate.
It was daylight when the weather cleared. Frank attempted to strike out for the sandy shore. But his arms felt too heavy to move.
Suddenly he spotted a helicopter approaching the island.
Frank shouted and waved weakly. He saw a man signal through the craft's window, and a minute later the helicopter hovered directly over him and started to descend.
It halted thirty feet above the water and hung in the air. The cabin door was thrust open and a blond-haired youth looked down.
“Frank!” he yelled. “Hang on! We'll drop a line!”
It was Joe! Frank grinned. “I'm all right!” he yelled as loudly as he could. “Just get me out of this soup!”
Joe laughed with relief. “Okay!” he called. “Catch!” A nylon rescue line with a breeches buoy was dropped, and Frank was drawn up safely into the helicopter.
“Boy! I was afraid for a minute I was seeing things!” Frank said weakly as his brother and father wrapped him in blankets.
Frank did not feel strong enough to discuss his experience until he was home and had taken a hot shower. Then, fortified with a bowl of hearty soup, he described in detail what had happened.
Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude looked worried. “It's a wonder you didn't drown!” his aunt declared. “I think a doctor should have a look at you.” Frank insisted he felt much better.
“But you must be exhausted,” his mother said. “I think you should get right into bed.” Mr. Hardy agreed.
“I am pretty tired,” Frank confessed with a smile. As Joe accompanied his brother upstairs, he told him of his discovery that Sweeper was Timothy Kimball Jr.
“I thought Sweeper was a phony-sounding name,” Frank said, smothering a yawn.
“Or a nickname,” Joe said.
But Frank had already stretched out on his bed and was beginning to doze. Joe tiptoed from the room and found his father waiting for him in the study.
“What Frank overheard last night means we'll have to act fast,” Mr. Hardy said quietly. “I'm afraid of what the gang will do to Dr. Foster. If only we knew where they're holding him!”
“My guess is that they have a hideout on Skull Mountain,” Joe said. “He may be there. If we could find Kleng or Sweeper, we might be able to follow them to the place.”
“Right,” said Fenton Hardy. “Joe, you go to Kleng's house. Try to find out if he's there—if not, when he'll be back. And, son—be careful.”
“I understand,” Joe told him.
“The plumbing shop is closed,” Mr. Hardy went on, “but Kleng and the others may be using it as a meeting place. Do you suppose Chet could stand watch on it? The crooks would be less apt to notice a boy than a man, I think.”
“Sure, Chet could do it,” Joe said.
“Good!” The tall detective put on his hat. “I'm going to Brookside and see if I can get Mr. Kimball to talk. He might know something that would help us.”
Joe phoned Chet and told him of Frank's rescue. The stout boy was relieved. He quickly agreed to stake out the shop. Then he paused. “Oh!”
“What's the matter?” Joe said.
“I asked Biff Hooper to meet me at the boat landing this morning. I decided it would be easier for two people to look for those wooden things-one could man the boat if the water got rough.”
Joe debated for a moment. “You'd better go ahead with that plan,” he decided. “The markers may come through the tunnel any time. I'll watch Kleng's house and later take over in the bay, while you keep an eye on the plumbing shop.”
“Check,” his friend agreed.
The window shades were still drawn in Kleng's house when Joe drove up. He stepped onto the porch and rang the doorbell. To his surprise, the door opened at once and a middle-aged woman wearing a faded dressing gown faced him. “What d'ya want?”
“Mrs. Kleng?” Joe asked politely.
“Yeah.”
“Is your husband at home?” Joe asked.
“No.” The woman regarded Joe suspiciously. “What d'ya want him for?”
“Our kitchen faucet is leaking,” Joe told her. “We need someone to fix it.”
The woman smirked. “It'll make a pool if you wait for Kleng to take care of it. He's away on a trip.”
“Oh, that's right,” said Joe, as if he suddenly remembered where the man had gone. “Did he take a boat?”
“Boat?” the woman asked. “You don't go to the hills by—” She broke off abruptly and slammed the door in the boy's face.
Joe grinned as he ran down the steps. The woman had been caught off guard. So Kleng was in the hills. That must mean Skull Mountain!
Joe drove to the boathouse. He guided the
Sleuth
out of her slip and headed into the bay. A short distance from shore he saw Chet sitting in the skiff with Biff Hooper, a high school companion.
“Hi!” Joe called. The two waved to him, and Joe brought the Sleuth alongside the skiff.
“See anything yet?” Joe asked eagerly.
Chet shook his head. “Maybe the stuff got stuck somewhere in the tunnel,” he said. “How'd you do at Kleng's house?”
Joe told him. Chet grinned and said, “Boy, you did good! I hope I find out something at the plumbing shop.”
“Want me to go out in the
Sleuth
with you now?” Biff asked Joe.
“I wish you would, two pairs of eyes are better than one. And Chet had better head for his stake-out.”
“Fine,” said Biff. “I've fished for everything else in these waters. I may as well try my luck at catching a decoy duck!”
Joe towed the skiff back to the boathouse and moored it there. Chet stepped ashore and saluted importantly. “Detective Morton on duty!” he announced, and hurried away.
Chet found the plumbing shop closed, as Mr. Hardy had said. The stout boy peered through the plate-glass window, but saw no one inside.
Directly across the street was a hot-dog stand. Chet brightened.
“Chow time!” he exulted. “Twelve o'clock!” Besides, he could station himself by the stand. Nobody would suspect he was watching.
Chet strode over and ordered a hot dog and a tall glass of orange juice.
Two frankfurters and three glasses of juice later, Chet was still waiting for some sign of action at Kleng's shop.
For an hour he strolled up and down the street keeping an eye on the store. Finally he stopped at the stand again and ordered a doughnut. As he took it from the man, he turned to face the store again. Suddenly his eyes widened.
A man was unlocking the door of the plumbing shop!
Chet gulped nervously as the man limped into the store. Thrusting the doughnut into his pocket, the stout boy crossed the street. He looked through the window, but could not see anyone.
The young detective wet his lips, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He tried the door and found it locked. Wiping his forehead, Chet paced back and forth for several minutes, staying a short distance from the shop.
Suddenly he started. Two men were leaving Kleng's place! Backing into a doorway, Chet watched them cross the street. One was the man with the limp. The other was tall and thin.
As the pair neared the opposite curb, the taller man glanced around as if he suspected they were being followed. Chet swallowed and tried to look as if he were examining his wrist watch. The two men mounted a motorcycle and roared away.
Chet's eyes popped at the peculiar, uneven rhythm of the motor. It was the machine Frank and Joe had described!
“Well, I guess I cased them!” Chet said to himself. “Now to report to headquarters!”
At the Hardys' house, Chet found Mr. Hardy and Frank seated in the detective's study. After greeting them, Chet earnestly told of his vigil. He wiped his brow as he concluded, “It was touch and go for a few minutes!”
Mr. Hardy smiled, but declared heartily, “That's good work, Chet!”
“Are you going to tell the police?” the stout boy asked eagerly. “They could find the motorcycle and follow it to see where those fellows go!”
“That's too risky,” replied Mr. Hardy. “If the gang got wind of the police, they might silence Dr. Foster and clear out fast. There's a little time yet,” he added. “We must find them quietly on our own, then bring in help.” The detective went on to tell of his visit to Brookside. “I persuaded Mr. Kimball to level with me. Actually he doesn't know as much as we do.”
“What about the man with the limp?” Chet asked.
Mr. Hardy shrugged. “A confederate. I feel sure now it would pay us to post a regular watch on the plumbing shop.”
Chet asked, “You mean me?”
“Why not?” the detective queried. “You did a good job today!”
The boy beamed. “Leave it to me, Mr. Hardy!”
Frank stood up. “Dad says Joe is watching Kleng's house.”
“No, he was there,” said Chet, and told what Joe had found out about the plumber.
“He's gone to Skull Mountain, all right,” said Frank, “and that's where we should go to search for that hideout.”
“You can start tomorrow,” his father agreed. “Where's Joe now, Chet?”
“Out in the
Sleuth
with Biff Hooper. They're looking for the stuff we planted in the reservoir.”
“I'll go down and help them,” said Frank. “Coming, Chet?”
“You bet.”
It was late afternoon when the boys arrived at the boathouse. The
Sleuth
had not returned.
“We'll use our rowboat to look for Joe and Biff,” Frank said.
They found the
Sleuth
anchored in the bay. Joe and Biff were sitting in the cockpit. Frank rowed alongside. “Any luck?” he asked.
“No,” his brother replied. “I'm afraid the stuff came through during the storm and was washed out to sea.”
“If so,” Frank said, frowning, “we'll have to forget it for now. First thing in the morning we've got to go to Skull Mountain and search for Dr. Foster.”
The Hardys swapped places, Frank taking the wheel of the
Sleuth,
Joe joining Chet in the rowboat. They hooked it by a towline to the speedboat and started off. Frank guided the two crafts as close to the rocky shore as he dared.
The boys examined the numerous coves which bit into the shoreline of the bay. Hours later, when it was dark, they still had seen no sign of the markers.
“Let's quit,” Chet pleaded. “I'm starved!”
“We'll try one more cove,” Frank said. “If we don't spot the things, we'll go home.”
He steered the
Sleuth
toward a rocky slit in the shore, then cut the motor. The two boats drifted into the cove.
BOOK: The Secret of Skull Mountain
7.14Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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