The Shore Road Mystery (14 page)

Frank stayed behind the wheel while Joe went in to register. When he came out again, they took their luggage from the trunk.

“Our friends are still along,” Frank whispered.

Joe could see the black sedan parked to their rear half a block away. Paying no attention, the boys carried their gear in two trips up to their second-floor room. On the last trip, Joe overheard the sedan's driver checking the Hardys' length of stay with the desk clerk.

In the room the boys changed into swimming trunks. “It's a shame we can't enjoy what we paid for.” Frank smiled. “But we'll put on a good act for our two friends.”

When the Hardys returned from a brief swim, the black car was gone. “Think we've convinced them?” Joe asked.

“Yes. They're probably hightailing it back to Bayport to attend to their—er—business.”

It was early afternoon when the brothers walked to a used-car lot in the Harpertown business district—the one Frank had scouted on his previous visit.

They looked over several late-model cars. Joe smiled. “It doesn't seem possible we're actually going to own a car.”

“You're right.”

The heavy, round-faced owner approached them. His manner was friendly and he talked volubly.

“Thought I remembered one of you fellows,” he said, walking around with them. “What kind of car are you looking for?”

“Something pretty flashy, if it's not too expensive,” Frank said.

“At least a year old,” Joe added, recalling the points common to the cars stolen on Shore Road. “And nothing foreign.”

The man knit his brows, then pointed out several large cars. He came to the end of a row. “Here's a nice Booster six-cylinder job, white walls, power steering—”

The boys regarded the two-tone brown sedan, then shook their heads. “None of these are as sharp-looking as we wanted. Have you anything else?”

The owner led them to a far corner of the lot. He pointed to a handsome, sea-green Chancellor, a model two years old. Excited, both boys walked around it several times.

“She's a real limousine all right,” the dealer acknowledged. “But her engine's not the best and the carburetor could use some work. Wouldn't buy her myself, but if you boys want a flashy car, that's the one.”

The Hardys climbed inside, then got out again. There was no question of the car's luxurious appearance.

Excited, Joe looked at his brother. “What do you think?”

Frank checked the trunk before replying, then grinned. “I think we've found our horse!” Frank exclaimed. He turned to the man. “What are you asking for her?”

“I'll give you a fair price.”

An hour later the Hardys happily closed the deal on the Chancellor. They had the bill of sale and new license plates. As the boys proudly received the keys and got in, with Frank at the wheel, the man leaned in the window.

“Can't understand why you care just about the car's appearance. But I wish you lots of luck.” He started away, then looked back. “By the way, if you fellows are heading south, you'd better watch this baby near the Bridgewater-Bayport area. Been lots of thefts down there, and this is the sort of car they've been taking.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

Back at the motel, Frank and Joe rechecked the entire parking area for the black sedan. But it seemed to be gone for good. They now locked their father's car securely. “We'll have to leave this here in case those men return,” Frank said. In their own handsome car, they were soon on the road back to Bayport.

“How does she drive?” Joe asked.

“A little slow starting. Otherwise, no trouble. After paying for a ‘week's vacation' and a risky purchase, do you know how much money we have left?” Frank shook his pocket. “Three dollars and forty-seven cents!”

“Not much for a sleuthing trip,” Joe commented. He traded places to try the car.

Frank switched on the radio in time to hear the end of a news bulletin.

“Slagel's men are still in operation. That's a good sign—for us, anyway,” Frank remarked.

The Hardys stopped along the highway at a small diner for a quick bite to eat, then phoned Chet. He promised to meet them in his car near a Shore Road camping area.

Dusk was falling when his jalopy rattled to a stop near their car behind some trees at the Pine-wood Campsite.

“Jumpin' catfish!” he exclaimed. “She's a real beauty!”

The Hardys gave him the details of their being followed and the purchase. They directed Chet to park his car in an inconspicuous spot on the other side of the highway.

The boys' plan, though dangerous, was simple. If one of the gang took the “bait” and drove off in the Hardys' new car unaware of the brothers in the trunk, Chet was to follow cautiously at some distance. When he was sure of the thief's destination, he was to notify the police as quickly as possible.

“Of course I know the
real
reason you guys want my car parked over here.” Chet winked as the Hardys wished him good luck at his post. “You're afraid my four-wheeler will tempt Slagel's man away from yours.”

Joe grinned. “Fat chance.”

When darkness fell, the brothers climbed inside the trunk of their car and closed it. Joe had punched minute air holes in the metal near the seams. Although the air was very close, Frank and Joe were too tense to notice any discomfort.

Several hours passed, as they crouched in rigid silence. The only sounds were those of cars passing north and south on Shore Road.

The luminous dial on Frank's watch read one-thirty when they detected approaching footsteps. The Hardys stiffened.

The crunch of feet on gravel became louder, then stopped. After a silence, the boys felt the car door being opened and an added weight in front. Joe bit his lips.

The motor turned over weakly, sputtered, and died.

Several more attempts were made, but the engine only whined futilely. Both boys recognized the voice of Slagel complaining loudly. The car door slammed and the man's footsteps faded away.

The Hardys were bitterly disappointed. When they were sure Slagel had gone, the boys climbed out. “Guess that ends our wooden-horse bit tonight,” said Joe in disgust as they signaled to Chet by flashlight to join them.

“What a bad break!” their friend said. “Can we try again tomorrow night?”

“You bet!” Frank answered. “Next time this car won't fail us! By the way, can we borrow a little money from you to tide us over?”

“Sure thing, but I only have ten dollars.”

Tired and stiff, the Hardys primed the motor and reluctantly it started. They bid good night to Chet and drove back to their motel in Harpertown. In the morning they had breakfast and attended church. The Hardys spent the balance of the day working on the car engine.

Periodically they listened to radio newscasts, but there was no report of thefts.

After supper the brothers set out once more. “Cross your fingers and hope this car will be stolen!” Frank said as they left Harpertown.

The three boys had decided upon another spot for their mission—near a deserted fishing area on Shore Road somewhat south of the place used the previous evening. Chet arrived and took up his position in the dark woods.

This time Joe had placed an air mattress on the floor of the trunk and each carried a flashlight. As the Hardys climbed in, threatening storm clouds blotted the night sky. They snapped down the lid. Again the brothers imposed a rigid silence upon themselves.

Few cars came by, and only the faint sound of the sea reached their ears during the slowly passing hours. Once Frank and Joe heard the voices of two night fishermen on their way down to the beach. Then it was still again. A boat whistle tooted mournfully from far out on the bay. Another hour dragged by.

Would the boys' plan to capture the car thief work?

A car approached, slowed down, and stopped. Then a door opened and shut quietly before heavy footsteps came toward the hidden boys. After a pause, Frank and Joe heard the front door of their own car close. They waited in an agony of suspense. Would the boys' plan to capture the thieves work?

The engine roared to life!

In a moment the boys' car was being backed up. Then it spun around and headed south on Shore Road. About a mile farther on, the Hardys braced themselves as the car turned sharply and headed in the opposite direction.

Frank held up his fingers in the shape of a V and grinned. The brothers tried to detect the sound of Chet's rattling jalopy to their rear, but could not do so above the noise of their own engine.

Joe watched the second hand of his watch, trying to estimate the distance north the car was covering. After eight minutes had passed, they slowed down. Frank heard a loud rattling sound like that of machinery. “A tractor!” he thought, and hastily whispered:

It soon became clear that the car was not continuing toward Pembroke Road, Route 7, or Springer Road. Remembering Birnham's dirt lane, both Hardys anticipated entering this. But instead, the car slowed almost to a stop, then veered sharply to the left and began to bounce up and down, apparently going over bumpy terrain. At one point, Joe grimaced as his head struck the trunk lid. After a time the car hit a short, smooth stretch, then went downhill before the driver stopped and let the motor idle.

The Hardys heard a man say, “Okay in the gully!”

The boys were thrown forward as the car resumed its descent, and the roar of the ocean became louder. Their next sensation was of a soft, smooth surface before the car came to a halt. The engine was shut off.

“Nice work, Ben. She's a pretty one. Where'd you pick her up?”

“About five miles south—a real cinch.”

“Anything valuable in the trunk?”

“Don't know. Didn't have time to check. Let's take a look.”

A sinking feeling came over the Hardy boys! Holding their breaths, they clenched their flashlights.

The key was inserted into the lock of the trunk!

FRANK and Joe crouched in the trunk, poised to defend themselves. At that moment there came a call from a distance, then the scrape of the key being withdrawn.

“We'd better go,” said one of the men.

After their footsteps had faded, all was silent.

“Let's get out of here before they come back!” Frank whispered.

Raising the lid, the brothers climbed out and found themselves in darkness. They stood on the beach.

“This is where that black fishing boat docks!” Joe whispered. “It's anchored out in the cove now!”

As the boys watched it, Frank said, “We cased this inlet from the
Sleuth
and didn't see anything suspicious.”

The brothers crouched behind upjutting rocks and beamed their lights upward. There was a short gully from the beach to the grassy slope.

“Look!” Frank hissed.

Pegged into the soil near the foot of the slope was the end of a long stretch of thick netting.

“It must go to the top!” he said. “That's how they get the stolen cars down! The net would give the cars traction. Slagel's Army hitch probably taught him this type of operation.”

Frank reasoned that the bumpy part of the boys' trunk ride had been through Birnham's unplanted field to its far end. “To cover tire tracks of stolen cars pronto,” he added, “the thieves had Birnham use his tractor and disk harrow over the ground. That explains his night farming. Next, the thieves crossed Shore Road for the descent and Birnham brushed away any tire tracks across the road.”

Joe nodded. “The same truck must transport cars at night to Kitcher's before shipping them south of here—probably to New York. But that junk we saw put onto the barge puzzles me.”

“Perhaps,” Frank suggested, “Kitcher was moving it to make room for Slagel's booty.”

“Let's find out where those men who brought us here went!” Joe urged.

Hugging the cliff base, the brothers proceeded in darkness along the beach. Presently they came to the mouth of a tunnel covered with hanging rockweed.

“No wonder we didn't know about this place,” Joe whispered.

The boys noticed a strange odor of explosive powder and several dead bats.

“Dynamite!” said Frank. “It was probably what killed the bats we've found—one of them managed to fly as far as Oceanside Beach, the other died when it reached the Dodd farm. Slagel's gang must have enlarged this place to be used as headquarters.”