The Hidden Harbor Mystery (7 page)

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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: The Hidden Harbor Mystery
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“This fun house isn't much fun any more!” Joe exclaimed.
Savagely the big man kicked and lashed out. The boys gave hard, chopping blows in return.
New customers paused at the entrance to the tilted chamber. With one desperate heave, the flat-faced man shoved the boys aside and fled.
“Look out!” Frank yelled. “He has a knife!”
Recovering, Frank, Joe, and Chet plunged into a dark passage in pursuit. Excited screaming reached their ears from the blackness ahead. Suddenly they found themselves clambering on hands and knees, for the passage now sloped sharply upward. Above them appeared a round hole with the bright daylight showing beyond.
“It's the exit with the steep chute!” Joe warned. “Hurry!”
Suddenly the short, pudgy figure of a woman teetered in the opening at the top of the slide.
“Oh, oh!” she shrieked in terror. “Please, somebody please help me!”
Just ahead of the boys the hoarse-voiced man climbed into the light. Hastily he dived for the chute, knocking the frightened woman off balance, and going ahead of her. With a scream, she too began to slide down backward.
Frank, quick as lightning, stretched forward, grabbed the woman, and hauled her back to safety.
“Where's the man?” Joe asked, reaching the top.
“Just went down,” Frank answered.
Immediately Joe, followed by Chet, whisked down the chute to continue the chase.
“
I
can't do that!” sobbed the woman.
“It's all right, Miss Shringle,” Frank said soothingly. “You are Miss Shringle?” She nodded, as he went on, “There must be a stairway nearby.”
As other customers pressed behind them, the boy detected a camouflaged door just beside him. He guided the shaken seamstress through it onto a well-lighted flight of steps. They led down behind the façade of the building.
As Frank, supporting Jenny, returned to the boardwalk, Joe, Chet, and Bart Worth hurried up. “Lost that big guy in the crowd,” Joe reported. “How's Miss Shringle?”
“She'll be all right,” Frank assured them as he led Miss Shringle to a bench.
“Yes, yes—thank you so much,” the seamstress mumbled. But she avoided meeting their eyes—especially Bart Worth's.
“Why did you run away from me, Jenny?” he asked presently.
The woman folded her hands in her lap and stared ahead. “Because—because I'm not allowed to speak to anyone now.” She spoke the words defiantly, but there was fear in her voice.
“Not allowed by whom?” the editor prompted. “Did you come here only to visit your cousin?”
The seamstress shook her head emphatically.
“Is it Blackstone—something to do with the rumors you told me about?”
The woman simply pressed her lips together in stony silence.
“All right. Have it your way.” Bart sighed. “If you want to freshen up, we'll wait and drive you back to your cousin's.”
Miss Shringle nodded and hurried off.
“Anyway, we've learned something,” Frank pointed out, “just from the questions she
won't
answer. We know she's trying to keep certain information from us.”
“Yes. The name Blackstone is the signal for Jenny to clam up completely,” Joe remarked.
“Did you notice her dress?” Frank went on. “It was new—nothing like the ‘best dress' her neighbor described. The same with her handbag and hat. Somebody paid her to get out of Larchmont and keep still!”
“Blackstone,” Worth put in with satisfaction. “It must mean he knows my story can be proved!”
Riding back to her cousin's with them, Jenny Shringle preserved an obstinate silence.
“Jenny, you've
got
to understand how serious this is,” the editor pleaded. “Professor Rand disappeared right after these boys saw Blackstone strike him during an argument.”
“That's right,” Frank said. “Yet, when we brought back the police for a search of Blackstone's place, your former employer showed us a friendly note from the professor—to prove the two of them are on good terms.”
A flicker of surprise showed in the woman's gray eyes. Abruptly she addressed Frank.
“You helped me,” she said, “so I'll tell you this much. In all the thirty years I worked in that house, the Blackstones had nothing to do with the Rands. Oh, they weren't feuding. They just ignored each other—never even sent greeting cards. Ruel Rand would as soon write Blackstone a friendly note as jump into that pond I heard them quarreling about!”
“Then you don't think Rand wrote it?” Frank asked as he escorted the woman up to her cousin's little white house.
“Impossible,” said Jenny, slipping inside.
In thoughtful silence the young detectives and their client drove back to Larchmont. Night had fallen before they reached the high dunes around the campsite. As the sound of Bart's car died away on the road back to town, the boys busied themselves with supper preparations.
The camp stove was lighted. Meanwhile, Chet broke a dozen eggs into a bowl and beat them furiously. Joe heated a greased deep skillet over the flame. While the Hardys watched, Chet poured his omelet mixture, muttering all the time like a witch over her brew.
“Ah ... bits of ham—so. Chopped onions ... potatoes ... salt ... Now, with the turner, flip!”
A few minutes later, each boy was balancing a tin plate filled with a huge steaming third of the puffy omelet, and eating by flashlight.
Finishing, Chet gave a sigh of appeased hunger. At that moment, in the rays of the light, Joe saw a pair of white eyes in a dark face. Quickly he signaled the others to remain still. After a moment, the face disappeared.
“It's the boy who was eavesdropping on us today,” Joe whispered. “Now our campsite is known.” He and Frank decided to trail the lad.
The small figure proved easy to follow among the dunes, for the moonlight was already bright.
“He's carrying a package,” Frank noted.
The boy had struck across the sand toward the pond. With the help of the moon, the young sleuths kept him in sight all the way.
“He's heading for the Rand place,” Joe observed as the lad turned left at the pond.
The little boy, however, merely skirted the water and went into the swamp.
“I'll bet he knows we're following him,” whispered Frank. “He's trying to throw us off.”
The lad took the same trail over which the Hardys had chased the tall figure in the long coat a few nights before. The hedge loomed up at the end of the path. The boy disappeared through it.
“Let's wait here,” Frank suggested. “He'll think he's rid of us and come back.”
The brothers crouched behind a bush. Presently a light rustling in the hedge alerted them. In a moment the small boy passed by them. Without his package, he scuttled alongside the pond and over to the Blackstone property. Frank and Joe saw him pause near the big house and look back. Then he vanished into its cellar.
“That's funny. He sure knows his way around here. Wonder who he is,” Frank muttered.
“Mysterious character number seven.” Joe chuckled. “Let's have another look at the pond.”
Noiselessly the two boys walked on until they reached the westerly edge of the still water. Suddenly, in the moonlight, a ripple marred the surface very near them.
“The monster!” Joe whispered excitedly.
The saw-tooth fin emerged eerily in the moonlight. The huge creature remained visible for a few seconds, then slipped out of sight into the depths of the pond.
“Back to camp,” Joe said excitedly. “We'll get our diving gear and bring underwater lights. We'll find out what that thing is yet!”
“Right,” Frank agreed. “Let's cut through Blackstone's property and go to the beach that way. It'll be easier going, and we'll save time.”
When the Hardys reached the wealthy man's well-kept yards, they silently sprinted across the dark lawns, keeping away from the lighted house. But as they raced toward the beach, two enormous, bounding black shapes suddenly flew at them from the side. Blackstone's two ferocious watchdogs had been turned loose!
With a vicious snarl, the larger of the police dogs leaped at Frank and knocked him to the ground.
CHAPTER IX
Fishing Boat Clue
THE huge dog bared its teeth as it hovered over Frank. Rolling to the side, he seized the animal's throat to hold the fangs away from his body.
Joe had already whipped off his sweat shirt. He rushed in and bagged the dog's head with it.
While the baffled animal leaped about, giving short, confused barks, the brothers sprinted toward the ocean. They expected the smaller dog to streak after them, but it remained with its pal.
“That was close!” Joe panted. “You okay, Frank?”
“Yes, but I sure had a good scare. Say, wonder if somebody inside told Mr. Blackstone we were around, and he deliberately set his dogs on us.”
“Wouldn't put it past him,” Joe grumbled.
In camp once more, the young sleuths told Chet their plan, then loaded aqualungs, masks, weighted belts, Frank's flippers, and underwater lights into rucksacks. With Chet carrying their fishing spears, they set out for the pond.
To avoid Blackstone's dogs, the boys went by way of the tangled underbrush directly to the pond. The Hardys rigged themselves out for their plunge. Each brother grasped a spear in one hand and an underwater lamp in the other.
“Chet,” Frank said, “if anybody comes, or if you see that monster surface, knock two stones together under water to warn us.”
“Check.”
The two divers submerged. For a while Chet could see their lamps moving in ever-widening arcs away from him. Soon the lights grew dim and finally vanished altogether. Chet felt very much alone with the gloomy swamp across the pond, a mysterious, deserted mansion to his left, and fierce dogs to his right.
A splash startled him. An unearthly looking creature suddenly reared up from the water close by and came toward him.
“Yi! Help!” he bellowed.
“Keep still, for Pete's sake!” came Joe's calm voice. “I got some mud on me, that's all.”
Soon Frank, also looking like some sort of monster in his mud-covered equipment, waded ashore.
“Nothing,” he reported. “No sign of the prehistoric critter. We covered the whole pond.”
Quickly the brothers washed and dressed. Shouldering their packs, they hiked back to camp for a well-earned night's rest.
In the bright sunshine of the next morning, the waves rolled in from the blue Atlantic. Frank and Joe, in bathing trunks, dashed across the beach and dived into the breakers.
“Terrific!” Joe yelled, riding in on the crest of a wave. “Where's Chet?”
“Getting breakfast!” Frank shouted as he swam. “Since when can he wait to eat?”
Suddenly Frank swam over to Joe. “There's that fishing smack again,” he said, glancing seaward. “It's closer this morning.”
Joe nodded. “I just realized that boat's been out there ever since the morning after we set up camp. Once in a while I've spotted a figure on deck, but mostly the boat looks deserted.” Suddenly he stared at his brother. “You don't think somebody's anchored out there to spy on us?”
“That's a good hunch,” Frank answered as the boys swam ashore. “Let's look into it later,” he proposed. “First, though, we'd better see if we can locate Grover or Professor Rand. I'm convinced both know something important to Bart's case.”
Later, as the chums ate breakfast, Frank said, “I wonder if that little boy is a relative of Grover‘s, and was taking that package to him?”
“Mm.” Joe pondered this. “What do you suppose was in the package?”
“Food,” Chet said promptly. “What else?”
Though the Hardys laughed, they considered Chet's conclusion a good one. “If Grover is in hiding for some reason,” Frank said, “maybe the little boy brings him his meals. Let's go over to Professor Rand's this morning and scout around that hedge.”
An hour later Joe was slipping through the hedge opening where the Negro boy had disappeared the night before. He slid down to the meadow beneath. Frank and Chet followed.
Once in the field, they saw that the high bank of shrubbery extended from the back of the old mansion deep into the swamp. The boys moved along the base of the seven-foot rise toward the house.
A thick blackberry patch choked the end of the meadow. Picking and eating the fruit as he tramped through the patch, Chet suddenly called out, “Say, here are some bricks, fellows. Looks like a chimney. And here's a corroded copper pot. Must be the ruins of an old kitchen.”

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