Mystery of Smugglers Cove (13 page)

“Any word on the patrol?” he asked the sergeant.

“They were held up on the way,” was the reply. “I'm not sure just when they'll be there.”

“Do they know a place called the stone house?”

“I doubt it. Must be off the routes we keep under surveillance.”

“There'll be a trail of broken branches going north from the poachers' camp,” Joe said. “They should have no trouble finding the camp. It's just before the big bend.”

“I'll alert the patrol at once,” the sergeant promised, then hung up.

Joe pocketed Frank's note and went to the north side of the camp. Finding the spot where Frank had begun to shadow Morphy, he plunged into the woods. Would he find the gang's headquarters at the end of the trail?

Far ahead of Joe, Frank had carefully broken branches on obvious trees to show where he had gone. Each time he had chosen the lowest branch and snapped it at a point about one foot away from the tree trunk.

The Hardys often used signals to communicate with each other when they were on dangerous cases. Frank knew his brother would notice the trail and make his way in the right direction.

Keeping Morphy in sight, he found the terrain changing. The swamp of water, mud, and tropical vegetation gave way to a dry area where the footing was better. Now the earth was solid and there were as many pine trees as mangroves.

Finally, an isolated building became visible. It was three stories high, faced with Florida limestone, weather-beaten, and covered with moss. Most of the windows were shattered, and broken shutters dangled at crazy angles. The paint on the front door was peeling, and the grounds were thick with weeds.

Looks like nobody's lived here since the year one, Frank thought. He speculated that the house might have been built in the days when the United States Government considered draining large areas of the Everglades in order to open swamp area for housing. Eventually, the Everglades National Park was created instead.

“The builder jumped the gun,” Frank told himself. “He erected the place, then found it was too far out in the boondocks to live in. He sure made it easy for the chief, though. What a meeting place for crooks!”

The weeds were trampled in a path to the house. Someone had been there recently.

Frank ducked into the tall weeds and followed Morphy cautiously in a panther crawl. Soon he came to a moat ten feet deep surrounding the house.

He looked over the edge and gasped. The shallow water in the moat was teeming with alligators!

He turned to see what Morphy would do. The former secretary rummaged in the underbrush and found a two-by-six. He threw it across the moat to permit a safe crossing above the alligators.

On the other side, a drop gate kept the giant lizards penned in the moat. If it were raised, it would allow them to swarm onto the grounds around the house.

Morphy placed one foot on the board to test its stability. Satisfied that it would hold him, he began to walk over it. Halfway across, he stumbled. Teetering to one side, he hovered precariously over the moat. Below him, the alligators bared their teeth and waited for him to fall!

At the last moment, however, Morphy regained his footing. He extended his arms on either side to keep his balance and walked the rest of the way across. Then he mounted the front steps and pushed in the door, which opened on creaking, rusty hinges.

He went inside and closed the door behind him. The alligators settled down again, since their prey had escaped them, but kept their eyes fastened on the board to see who would come next.

Frank considered going after Morphy, but realized he could be seen from the broken window in the front door. No sound came from inside the house. Suddenly the boy heard voices behind him. The poachers appeared from the woods and took the path up to the moat.

“I'd like to shoot these monsters,” Fatso said, looking down at the alligators.

“Forget it,” Tom advised him. “They're here to protect the place when the chief's away. He don't want anyone snooping around. ”

Lami led the way across the trench and the men followed one by one. Fatso was at the end. The thick board dipped and creaked under his weight, but he made it to the other side. The poachers went into the house, and Frank heard them being greeted by Mark Morphy. However, he was too far away to make out the ensuing conversation.

Suddenly a cry of an Everglades hawk pierced the stillness around the house. It was repeated four times at intervals of about ten seconds.

Frank grinned. He knew it was Joe—the brothers frequently located one another by simulating the sounds of animals or birds when they were out in the woods.

Frank crawled back into the trees and responded with the same cry, repeating it twice.

Minutes later Joe slipped through the mangroves and joined him. Quickly Frank explained the situation.

“Are the rangers coming?” he asked at the end.

“They're headed for the camp,” Joe told him. “They don't know where the stone house is, but I told them to follow our trail. I hope they'll find it. ” He looked at the front of the house. “How do we get over there?” he wondered.

Frank described the moat filled with alligators. “We'll have to get across somehow,” he concluded. “We can't use the board because we'd be spotted. Let's go around back and see if there's another way. ”

Sticking to the line of trees to avoid being seen, the Hardys circled the house. Everywhere the open moat gaped before their feet, and there was no other board to be found.

“We'll have to do some broken-field running through the ‘gators, ” Joe quipped.

“We'd get tackled before we reached the goal line,” Frank said. “Hey Joe, I have a brainstorm. Come around back again.”

In the rear of the house, Frank pointed to a tall pine tree standing in the yard about halfway between the moat and the house. The stump of a branch extended upward at an angle and touched the roof.

“We could throw a rope over that branch and swing across,” Frank suggested.

“Sure. Do you have one?”

“We can make one out of the vines,” Frank replied.

Joe grinned. “Terrific idea.”

Speedily the boys tore up thick, supple vines and tied them together. Joe tested the rope by looping it over the branch of a nearby tree and hanging on it.

“It's strong enough,” he confirmed. Then he tied one end into an open knot and passed the length of the rope through the opening.

“Perfect,” he pronounced. “I could lasso steers with it. ”

“Try to lasso the pine tree,” Frank suggested.

Since there was no sign of life in the rear of the house, Joe walked boldly up to the moat. The alligators stirred at his approach and opened their jaws expectantly, but he ignored them.

Coiling the rope in one hand, he cast the lasso at the sheared-off branch of the pine tree. It fell over the stump and held fast!

“I'm glad you've got a good aim.” Frank chuckled. “Otherwise we would've had to make another line. The ‘gators would have eaten this one if it had dropped in the moat!”

Joe grinned and carried the end of the rope to another tall tree on their side of the moat. “We'll tie it up there at about the same level and work our way across hand over hand.”

Both boys climbed the tree and Frank secured the line. Joe offered to go first. He grasped the rope, but soon realized that it was quite slippery. Clenching his teeth he strained the muscles in his arms and hands almost beyond endurance as he pulled himself over the deadly trap. Once Joe had reached the roof, Frank followed. The older Hardy boy actually lost the grip of his left hand as he was in the middle of the moat and the giant lizards snapped hungrily at his dangling body. However, he regained his hold and made it to the other side with nothing worse than a blister on his palm.

“Wow!” he gasped. “I hope we don't have to go back this way!”

“I know what you mean,” Joe said as he led the way to a corner of the roof where a rainspout extended to the ground. “It was not the most pleasant means of transportation.”

The young detectives silently slid down the drainpipe and jumped onto the grass. Stooping low and hugging the wall, they sneaked around the house to a side window where they could hear the gang talking.

Cautiously they peeked through the half-open pane into a dusty room with wallpaper hanging down in shreds. Bits and pieces of plaster lay on the floor. A carpet was rolled up along one wall, and chairs, tables, and a sofa were covered with sheets. A discolored spot on the floor showed where rain had leaked through a hole in the roof.

“What a spooky place,” Joe whispered.

The poachers were sitting on the furniture without bothering to remove the sheets. Morphy perched on an ottoman facing the window.

“We want to poach alligators,” he was saying.

“No problem,” Fatso declared. “That's what the chief wants, isn't it?”

“But where do we stand now?” Tom Lami asked.

Morphy shrugged. “It's a whole new ball game.”

Footsteps sounded on the board across the moat, then the door opened with a harsh creak as the newcomer entered.

“Here comes the chief now,” Morphy said and got to his feet. Just then the man became visible to the Hardys. He was short and wore a hat pulled low over his forehead. Sunglasses further obscured his face. Yet, somehow he seemed familiar to the young detectives!

“Hi, Chief,” Morphy greeted him.

“Hello, men. I'm glad you could all make it,” the stranger responded.

It was his voice that gave him away. Frank and Joe realized at the same instant that the chief was none other than Harrison Wester!

Wester did not limp, and he walked without a cane.

“I'm changing my method of operation,” he began. “As you probably know by now, Nitron has been arrested. This means a substantial loss to my business. In order to keep the poaching operation running smoothly, I feel I must take tighter control. ”

“This is why you came personally to talk to us today?” Tom Lami asked.

“That's right. Each group had too much autonomy as long as I only communicated by written messages. Nitron hired people without my knowledge. This was a crucial mistake and it landed him in jail.”

“And all because of the Hardys,” Lami muttered.

“Those snooping kids even followed us into the Everglades,” Fatso said and explained how Joe had escaped at the alligator pool, and how they assumed he had immobilized the poachers' boat by pouring water in their gas tank.

“Do the Hardys know about the stone house?” Wester asked, worried.

“I don't see how they could,” Lami said.

“They're smart, smarter than I thought. I'd have kept a tighter hold on them had I known,” Wester admitted. “You never can tell where they'll turn up. Mark, you shouldn't have brought them into the case with that ridiculous photo you left for my brother in Bayport.”

Morphy looked embarrassed. “Sorry about that, Chief,” he mumbled.

“And I told you to keep the Hardys under surveillance!” Wester added angrily.

“I tried,” Morphy protested. “But Frank saw me the night I came to talk to you in your house. After that, I didn't dare go near Smugglers Cove!”

“You have a point there,” Wester mused. “Anyway, I left word at my house that I was in Key West. I never thought the Hardys would figure out the Everglades angle.”

He paused for a moment and bit his lip. “We'll have to clear out of here at once. Tom, I'll send Morphy to meet you in Blanco City next week and give you my further orders. Don't do anything until you hear from him, understand?”

“Yes, sir. I'll pass the word around to the men after I speak to Tom.”

“Since the rangers are on your trail, you might run into them. Pretend to be campers. There's nothing that could possibly tell them what our real business was, since all your weapons and ammunition are gone.”

Wester turned and walked to the window. Frank and Joe quickly flattened themselves against the wall on either side, hardly daring to breathe.

Morphy went up to the chief and said quietly, “No more smuggling? It was a great business.”

“We'll build it up again later. Not until the heat's off. ”

“Does your brother suspect anything?”

“Raymond?” Wester snorted. “He has no idea I'm running this show. But he knows the Hardys suspect you of helping steal the picture, Mark.”

Morphy shrugged. “I don't care what the Hardys think. ”