While the Clock Ticked

“Mr. Wandy!” Joe shouted. “Wait! I’ll help you. Don’t move.”

GROSSET & DUNLAP
Publishers • New York
A member of The Putnam & Grosset Group

CHAPTER I

“I
WONDER
who that man is, Frank,” whispered blond Joe Hardy, peering curiously from a second-floor window of their home. “He looks worried.”

His brother glanced down at the stranger just departing from the front door. “Let’s ask Aunt Gertrude. She talked with him.”

Joe, a year younger and more impetuous than his eighteen-year-old, dark-haired brother, bounded downstairs. Frank followed.

“Aunt Gertrude,” Joe cried excitedly, “who was the man who just left?”

Fenton Hardy’s sister shrugged. “I don’t know,” said the tall, black-haired woman. “He wanted your father to solve a mystery. I told him Fenton was away.”

The boys waited to hear no more. As they
dashed out the door, Frank said, “Why, Auntie, we’re detectives too, remember?”

Joe was first to reach the stranger, who was about to drive off in a convertible. “Sir,” he said earnestly, “please wait!”

As Frank caught up with his brother, the tall, vigorous-looking man stared at them through rimless glasses. The boys saw a wary look come over his face. “Well, what is it?” he demanded impatiently.

Quickly Frank explained. “We’re Frank and Joe Hardy. Our aunt told us you wanted Dad to solve a mystery. Since he isn’t at home, we thought maybe we could help you.”

“Mr. Hardy’s sons!” the man burst out. “Listen! I’m in real trouble, and I must see your father. I’ll pay any amount to contact him. Just tell me where he can be reached.”

Joe shook his head. “No use, Mr.—?”

“Dalrymple. Raymond Dalrymple of Lakeside. I’m in the banking business. Look here, why
can’t
I get in touch with Fenton Hardy?”

“Dad and Mother have gone on a camping trip up in Maine. They can’t be reached by telephone or telegraph.”

A look of desperation came into the banker’s eyes. “I can’t entrust this business to boys,” he muttered, as if thinking aloud.

“It’s not as if we were beginners at sleuthing,” Joe said persuasively. “Frank and I have helped
Dad on many cases.” He gave a sudden grin. “Even Aunt Gertrude would admit we’ve had some success, too.”

Mr. Dalrymple smiled faintly, then gave the boys a swift, penetrating look. “Like to follow in your world-famous dad’s footsteps, eh—be detectives yourselves, would you?” His keen eyes took in the hiking boots and khaki outfits they wore. “Fine summer morning for a hike.” He added abruptly, “Which direction are you taking?”

Before either boy could answer he went on:

“Try Shore Road, past the harbor. Turn off and follow Willow River Road out into the country.”

“Why?” Frank queried, intrigued.

“You’ll pass the old Purdy place. Know the one I mean?”

“Big stone house,” Joe answered. “Slate roof. Stands back from the road a way. Nobody’s been living there for some time, though.”

“You’re observant,” the banker commented. For a moment he was silent, as if trying to make a decision. He pulled nervously at his hatbrim. “Okay, boys,” he said finally. “You want to be detectives. Take a look around there on your hike.”

The brothers waited expectantly for further explanation. But instead of giving any, the banker started his car and drove off.

“Boy, oh boy!” Joe exploded. “We have a mystery, and we don’t know what it’s about!”

Frank, too, was baffled. “Well, let’s get back to the house. The fellows will be here soon.”

The Hardys found Aunt Gertrude waiting for them in the living room. “Well, I suppose you’re head over heels in another case. I can tell by your faces. What
did
that man want?”

Frank and Joe gave her a quick report. “We didn’t find out why he wanted to see Dad,” Frank admitted. “But one thing’s certain. We’ll hike right to the Purdy place.”

Miss Hardy cast her eyes upward. “Well, if you’re bound to get yourselves involved in another risky case, I should know there’s no stopping you until you solve it!”

The boys exchanged knowing winks. Beneath her peppery manner, their aunt was actually very proud of her nephews’ sleuthing abilities.

Suddenly there came a loud banging from the back of the house and a
clomp, clomp
of heavy footsteps through the kitchen. The next moment a chunky, jolly-looking boy marched into the living room. He had a knapsack on his back, and wore big high-top boots.

“Ready?” he sang out. “Tramp, tramp, the boys are marching! I got the provisions, so don’t worry.”

“My only worry is, Chet, that you’ll eat ‘em before the rest of us have a chance.” Joe laughed. Chet Morton was one of the Hardys’ best friends.

“Decided where you want to go?” inquired Biff
Hooper, another chum, who had come in behind Chet.

“Let’s try Willow River Road,” Joe suggested offhandedly.

“Suits me,” lanky Biff agreed readily.

With a hasty farewell to Aunt Gertrude, the four pals set out. Brisk walking brought them swiftly out of town on the Shore Road, which followed horseshoe-shaped Barmet Bay. Looking back, they could see the docks of the harbor.

Some distance ahead of them was the bridge which spanned the mouth of Willow River where it emptied into the bay. The boys turned right down the river road, which had deep ditches on both sides. They rounded the sharp corner Indian file, Frank leading, then crossed to the left-hand side of the road so they would be facing any oncoming traffic.

Suddenly there was a screeching of tires behind them. The hikers whirled to see the gleaming chromium grille of a black limousine. The big car had swerved wide around the turn, hugging the left shoulder of the road.

“Jump!” shouted Frank. He shoved Chet Morton into the ditch and landed on top of him. Joe and Biff dived to the side also.

Even in the instant of leaping to safety, Joe had taken a penetrating glance at the driver of the car. Now, as the boys picked themselves up, he was able to report.

“Mean-looking customer—husky, with a big jaw. Close crew cut.”

“Well, he nearly flattened us!” complained Biff. “What’s a tough guy like that doing in a limousine?”

“Running down innocent hikers,” Chet answered indignantly.

They climbed back to the road, and started out
once more. Presently they came to a section of large houses, set back on extensive grounds. Some of the estates were well kept, but a few had fallen into disrepair. Those on the left, the boys knew, were bounded in the rear by Willow River.