The Wailing Siren Mystery (13 page)

The man in the launch saw the move, too. “There's another kid!” he shouted.

His warning came too late. Before the hamlike fist
could
start its forward journey, Frank, with the agility of a tiger, delivered a shove to his assailant's mid-section. As the man teetered, Joe flung a crushing body block against the back of his legs.

The sailor keeled over like a falling tree, his head cracking against the gunwale. He rolled over on his face, moaned, and lay still on the bottom of the
Sleuth.

So swiftly had the blow been struck that the man in the launch stared, speechless. He reached toward the dashboard and pressed a button. Then, letting out a shrill yell, he made a flying leap for the Hardys. He landed in the
Sleuth
simultaneously with a rumbling noise that quickly rose to a wail.

“He's set off a siren!” Joe cried out.

Frank plunged into the fellow, knocking him on top of his henchman. Joe flung himself into the melee, and together the boys pinned him down.

Above the din they heard another siren. “The yacht's answering!” Frank cried.

The prisoner beneath the boys snarled and puffed.

“Save your strength,” Frank retorted. “You'll need it for the swim back.”

“Let's tie him up and take him with us,” Joe suggested. “That'll make two prisoners who may be able to help us solve the riddle of the wailing siren.”

“No.” Frank said. “Carrying both of them will make too much weight for the
Sleuth.
We're going to have to run for it and we'll need every bit of speed. I think our one prisoner will tell plenty.”

From across the water a speedboat churned rapidly in their direction.

“Here you go, sailor!” Frank said.

The boys lifted the struggling man over the side of the
Sleuth.
He hit the water with a flat splash. Spluttering, he started swimming toward the launch, which had drifted some yards away.

Instantly Joe took the wheel and started the
Sleuth's
engine. As it leaped into action, Frank yanked a life jacket from a locker. Bending over their prisoner, he thrust the man's limp arms into it and buckled the straps.

“What are you doing?” Joe shouted.

“This fellow may have to be our secret weapon,” Frank replied.

“How?”

Before Frank could explain, the searchlight from the launch suddenly started to move across the water. The sailor had reached his own boat, climbed in, and was after them!

“Great crow!” Joe exclaimed. “We can't make it, Frank, with two boats after us!”

“Don't be too sure.”

Frank kept a wary eye on the unconscious man beside him, at the same time listening to the racing motor of the
Sleuth.
His insistence upon perfection in its engine was paying dividends. Joe made a beeline for the inlet. Although they were outdistancing the launch, the speedboat was creeping up. Suddenly there was a shot.

“They're firing on us!” Joe shouted.

Their prisoner began to revive. He twisted from side to side, mumbling. Frank could catch nothing intelligible. It sounded like
crack—gun —crack.

Frank watched the man carefully to remain master of the situation. He felt in the captive's pockets for weapons, or something that might identify him with the gang of smugglers or kidnappers. He found nothing.

“If the guy in the speedboat gets too close, I'm going to turn around and ram him!” Joe cried.

“You won't have to.”

“How the dickens are we going to beat him? Look at him gain on us!”

“There's your answer!” Frank pointed to their prisoner. As the speedboat raced to head off the
Sleuth
before she could make the narrow inlet, he shouted, “Now's the time!”

He helped the life-jacketed. man to his feet. “You okay?” he asked.

“Sure. Why—?” The sailor suddenly realized what was about to happen. His fist shot out.

But Frank was ready for him. He dodged, caught the sailor off balance, and pushed him into the sea.

“Now's our chance!” he shouted. “Run for it, Joe!”

Over the roar of the motor the boys heard a shout. Immediately the speedboat throttled down and came alongside the swimming sailor. At the same moment, the launch made a quick turn and barely avoided running down the man in the water. The boys could hear the engine going into reverse.

Joe urged the
Sleuth
to its top speed and grinned at his brother. “Your secret weapon worked swell!”

But the man in the launch did not give up the chase. After standing by to see that the sailor was picked up, he renewed the pursuit. The gun went into action again, and the boys crouched low. Bullet after bullet sang over their heads or spat into the waves. Joe was zigzagging the
Sleuth's
course.

“He's really pouring it on,” Joe said grimly.

“Gosh, if we only had our radio, Joe, we could have told Aunt Gertrude to notify the Coast Guard.”

Again the launch was gaining on them. The speedboat had turned back toward the dim hulk of the yacht.

“If we can only make the bay,” Frank thought, “I know of plenty of places to hide where the water's shallow and that launch can't follow us.”

“Here—we—are!” Joe shouted.

He applied a stiff left rudder. The
Sleuth
took the turn like a champion and sped through the mouth of Barmet Bay.

A snug cove lay a quarter of a mile ahead. The racing
Sleuth
reached it and turned in. There was no sign of the pursuing launch.

“We lost them!” Joe cried in relief. “I thought they had us! Too bad about our prisoner. He might have told us plenty.”

“He didn't have a thing in his pockets,” said Frank. “And besides, he probably wouldn't have talked. We'd better phone the Coast Guard pronto.”

Joe docked at an all-night waterfront restaurant in the inlet. Frank jumped out and rushed for a pay phone. When he had finished his detailed report, the lieutenant said, “We'll dispatch a boat at once to look for the speedboat and the launch. And I'll notify our stations along the coast to go after that yacht and also check on the helicopter. I'll get in touch with Police Chief Collig too.”

A few minutes later Joe guided the
Sleuth
to their boathouse. When the brothers arrived home, the Hardy house was brightly lighted and alive with excitement.

“It's you! Thank goodness!” Aunt Gertrude ex· claimed.

Briefly Frank and Joe told what had happened to them. In turn they asked for particulars about the burglars at the factory, and whether their father had reported anything further.

“No,” Mrs. Hardy answered. “You're to stand by until he calls. In the meantime you'd better get to bed.”

As the boys were putting on pajamas a little later, Frank said he thought the house should be guarded.

“That gang may still try something desperate —and before morning.” He slipped into slacks and moccasins. “I'm going downstairs,” he said.

“I'll take a turn later,” Joe told him. “But call me if you hear anything.”

It was nearly two o'clock when Frank halted at a side window that looked out on the driveway. As he peered through the narrow space, he drew back quickly. Was it an illusion, or did he detect a motion in the bushes beside the garage?

Every muscle in the boy's body tensed as he watched. The bushes parted and a man looked out. The dark figure stood motionless as if to listen, then made a “come-on” motion with his hand. Immediately the bushes parted again and a second figure emerged from the shadows. Together they tiptoed toward the house, hugging the shadows.

Frank raced upstairs to summon Joe. The younger boy, rousing instantly, hopped into slacks and loafers and hastened to the first floor.

“There they are!” Frank whispered, pointing to the space below the shade of the side window “They're coming to the back door.”

“They can't open it.”

“I unlocked it. We'll jump'em.”

“Good strategy.”

The boys tiptoed into the kitchen and stood behind the door. Soon they heard a low voice say:

“We can't fail this time. We've got to get Hardy's reports ...”

“We'll try the door, then one of the windows.” The knob turned. “What do you know? They left this door unlocked.”

The door opened slowly.

“Okay!” came a hoarse whisper. “This way. Don't make a sound. And watch out for the two boys.”

As a dark figure appeared in the doorway, Joe charged like a young bull, hitting the intruder a solid blow and tumbling him onto the porch.

Frank followed with a flying tackle in the direction of the second man, but missed him. He dashed off through the yard and vaulted the hedge. Frank went after him.

Joe was still grappling with the man on the porch. The struggling prisoner suddenly jack-knifed his knees and was about to deliver a vicious kick at the boy's head when the porch light went on and a voice shouted:

“Don't you dare!”

A rush of footsteps was instantly followed by a sharp blow, and the man went limp as an empty glove. Joe jumped up.

The light from the kitchen revealed Aunt Gertrude, her brother's hickory stick in her right hand, standing over the prone figure.

“Try to harm my nephew, will you?” she said, waving the cane menacingly.

As the man moaned and tried to sit up, Joe gasped. The fellow was tall and had red hair!

“You!” the boy cried out. “The man who knocked out my friend Chet and me and took our two thousand dollars!”

The prisoner glared. “I don't know what you're talkin' about,” he muttered weakly.

“Oh, yes, you do,” Joe said. Aunt Gertrude handed him a rope and he bound the intruder's arms and legs. “You're one of the gang my father's after. You're smuggling rifles out of this country.”

For an instant there was a look of guilty surprise on the man's face, then he denied ever having heard of such a thing.

By this time Mrs. Hardy had arrived on the scene, and suggested they go inside the house.

“This is all a mistake, lady!” the prisoner pleaded.

“We'll let the police decide that.”

Before they could telephone headquarters, Frank came rushing into the house. “You've got him!” he cried, seeing the prisoner. “That practically proves we have the right car!”

“What car?” Joe asked.

Frank explained that when he chased the red-haired man's companion along the street back of the Hardys', the fellow had started to cross over to a parked car. He had changed his mind when two policemen loomed up beside it, and he had sped on.

“Was he caught?”

“No. He was too quick for Smuff and Riley and me.”

“Smuff and Riley?”

Frank nodded. “They were given this beat to patrol, and actually found a blue car with a scratch on the door. It fits the description of the one parked near Chet's farm.”

The prisoner's jaw opened in astonishment. Frank went on, “If he won't tell us who he is, the motor vehicle department will.”

“It's not my car!” the man cried out. “It belongs to ...” Suddenly he realized he had said too much, and from then on kept sullenly silent.

“Where are Smuff and Riley?” Aunt Gertrude asked. “Bring them here to take this—this cutthroat away!”

Officer Riley came in, puffing from the exertion of pushing the car around the comer. Smuff was guarding it at the curb.

“A prisoner, eh?” Riley beamed. “You sure got him tied up for delivery.” He laughed at his own joke. “Well, I'll take him to headquarters.”

“Just a minute,” Frank said. “I believe the rest of the gang may have been brought in by the Coast Guard. I'll make a phone call.”

He went to the hall telephone and spoke to the lieutenant, first telling him of the red-haired man's capture, then asking if the launch or speedboat or yacht had been boarded.

The officer said his men had returned empty-handed. The suspected craft had too much of a headstart. He assured Frank, however, that a plane would be sent out at daybreak to check on the yacht.

Frank hung up, but stayed at the telephone. In a loud voice he said excitedly, “Oh, that's just great, Lieutenant! Now our prisoner will certainly talk!”

He returned to the kitchen. Continuing his hoax, he said to their captive, “Quite a racket you fellows were carrying on. How did you ever get tangled up in such a dangerous business? Uncle Sam has taken a hand in it now!”