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Title: The great airport mystery
Author: Franklin W. Dixon
Release date: January 1, 2026 [eBook #77595]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 1930
Credits: Al Haines, Cindy Beyer & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT AIRPORT MYSTERY ***
[Cover Illustration]
[Illustration: _The Great Airport Mystery_
“IT’S ROBBERY, BUT I’LL SELL THE PLANE,” THE HARDY BOYS HEARD OLLIE
JACOBS SAY.]
HARDY BOYS MYSTERY STORIES
THE GREAT AIRPORT
MYSTERY
By
FRANKLIN W. DIXON
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
‾Made in the United States of America‾
Copyright, 1930, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP, Inc.
——
_All Rights Reserved_
The Hardy Boys: The Great Airport Mystery
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I Peril from the Sky . . . . 1
II The Crash . . . . . . 8
III A Promise of Trouble . . . . 17
IV An Attack . . . . . . 25
V Anxious Days . . . . . 34
VI The Cabin in the Woods . . . 42
VII A Mysterious Conversation . . . 51
VIII Puzzled . . . . . . 59
IX Missing Mail . . . . . 67
X Looking for Clues . . . . 77
XI News from the City . . . . 87
XII Under Arrest . . . . . 96
XIII Circumstantial Evidence . . . 106
XIV Held for Trial . . . . . 115
XV On the Trail of Ollie Jacobs . . 125
XVI Mysterious Plans . . . . 136
XVII Dangerous Business . . . . 144
XVIII The Warning Message . . . . 153
XIX The Twenty-Eighth . . . . 162
XX That Night . . . . . . 172
XXI West of Bacon Hill . . . . 181
XXII Captured . . . . . . 189
XXIII Back in Bayport . . . . . 197
XXIV Vindicated . . . . . . 207
CHAPTER I
Peril from the Sky
“It’s certainly great to have an airport so close to Barmet Bay,” said
Frank Hardy.
“I wish we could go up in an airplane some time,” returned Joe, his
brother.
“Wouldn’t you be scared?”
“Me? Would you?”
“No.”
“Then I wouldn’t be scared either. Look at the record holders! Where
would they be now if they’d been afraid to go up in an airplane?”
“That’s right,” said Frank. “Airplanes are pretty safe nowadays. Almost
as safe as this car of ours.”
The two Hardy brothers were driving on the Shore Road, leading out of
Bayport and skirting Barmet Bay, in their new roadster. It was
springtime. Snow had disappeared from the hillsides and the blue waters
of the bay sparkled in the sunlight. Their destination this afternoon
was the new airport, a few miles out of the city.
“I’m glad winter is over, even if we did have a lot of fun on Cabin
Island,” said Joe. “It won’t be long now before we’re through school.”
“If we pass our exams,” Frank reminded him, calmly.
“You’ll pass all right. I’m not so sure about myself. I had to work
mighty hard to catch up to you.”
“Yes, but I lost a term that year I was sick. Anyway, our marks have
been good this year. We should get through. Isn’t it funny—when we’re
going to high school we wish we were out of it and now that we are in
our last term I’m rather sorry to leave.”
“Me, too,” said Joe. “Wonder where we’ll be next fall?”
“College, I guess.”
“Mother has her mind set on a college course for both of us. So far as
I’m concerned I’d rather go into detective work with dad.”
“It would certainly be more exciting. Still, we’d have a good time at
college, I imagine,” observed Frank.
He turned the car into a road that branched off the main highway. This
road led toward the airport that had been constructed back of Bayport
the previous summer.
“Wonder why they built the airport so far out,” Joe said.
“They have to have plenty of ground. It was the only place available.
Then, there’s a railway siding near by and a train always meets the mail
planes,” Frank explained. “Dad was telling me all about it the other
evening. They use the port for commercial flying too, and I hear they do
a lot of business and hope to do more.”
“An airmail pilot must have lots of nerve. It’s marvelous that they
nearly always bring the mail through on time. And lots faster than
trains. I wish we knew one of the pilots. He might take us up for a
flight.”
“Chet Morton and the rest of the fellows would be green with envy,”
rejoined Frank.
The roadster bounced along the rutted road toward the airport. A
signpost near by conveyed the information that the flying field was
three miles away. A little later, as the car came over the brow of a
hill the Hardy boys could see the great flat field lying in the valley
below. In front of a hangar they could see a plane with silver wings.
“Chances are we’ll both have a plane of our own in about ten years,” Joe
said. “Everybody will be flying then, and think nothing of it.”
Frank applied the brakes as the roadster descended the steep grade. In a
few minutes they had reached the foot of the hill. The car raced along
the level road toward the airport.
The boys had often seen the airplanes flying over the city, but they had
never been in close proximity to one of the machines and now they were
excited over the prospect.
“Perhaps,” said Frank, “we’ll even meet one of the pilots and have a
chance to talk to him and hear about some of his adventures.”
Joe turned in his seat and looked back.
“Why, there’s a plane now!” he exclaimed. “We’ll be able to see it
land.”
Above the roar of the car the boys could hear the hum of an approaching
airplane. It came swooping down out of the sky beyond the hill.
“Seems to be flying mighty queerly,” commented Frank. “Usually they go
along as smoothly as a bird.”
“Nothing smooth about that one. Maybe the pilot’s in trouble.”
The flight of the plane was indeed erratic. It was going from side to
side in a jerky fashion and it seemed to be flying much closer to the
ground than safety warranted.
“He’ll never reach the airport at that rate,” said Frank, looking back
again. “He should be higher up than that. Look! He’s coming straight
down, and the airport is a couple of miles away!”
“I hope he doesn’t land on the road. He might hit us.”
“If he lands on the road he’s in for a nasty crash. A plane has to have
plenty of room to move around in.”
Between steering the roadster and eying the plane, Frank Hardy was well
occupied. Joe kept looking back and staring at the descending machine.
“I believe that fellow _is_ in trouble,” he said. “He’s coming down
right this way.”
They could see the airplane quite clearly now. They could even see the
figure of the pilot in the cockpit. The machine was descending at
terrific speed in a long glide that made it seem inevitable that the
plane would fall far short of the airport.
Frank stepped on the accelerator. The car leaped forward, raising a
cloud of dust. But the speed of the car was as nothing compared with the
speed of the plane. The distance between them diminished, and the plane
was steadily nearing the ground.
“Great Caesar! That fellow is coming down on top of us!” shouted Joe, in
alarm.
“Not if I can help it,” returned Frank grimly.
Joe looked up. He could even distinguish details of the understructure
of the airplane now. The roar of its engine was deafening. Lower and
lower it came.
For a moment the plane flew level. Its nose raised and it gained
altitude. Joe breathed a sigh of relief. Then the big machine dipped
again. He could see the propeller blades flashing in the sun.
The roadster was traveling at sixty miles an hour. Frank did not dare
raise his eyes from the road. He crouched over the wheel.
“Where is he now?” he snapped.
“Right behind us! And coming down every minute!”
Joe was really frightened. There was no hope that the plane would ever
reach the airport, for it was flying too close to the ground. He
wondered if the pilot was merely trying to scare them. But the plane was
diving toward them in such headlong fashion that he quickly abandoned
this explanation.
Powerful though the roadster was, the speed of the plane was much
greater. It was scarcely two hundred feet from the ground now and its
nose was pointing down at a dangerous angle. In a few more seconds there
would be a crash, and, from the angle of flight, it seemed almost
certain that the heavy machine would crash directly on top of the
roadster!
The car roared ahead, the noise of its engine drowned in the gigantic
throbbing of the airplane’s motor. The plane came nearer and nearer,
diving at almost incredible speed.
“We’re done for!” groaned Joe.
Unless a miracle intervened the plane would crash directly on top of the
Hardy boys’ car!
CHAPTER II
The Crash
Frank Hardy could scarcely keep the car on the road. He glanced at the
speedometer. They were traveling at seventy miles an hour.
It was certain that the airplane would crash on the highway.
Suddenly Joe leaned forward.
“Look! The side road!” he shouted. “Take the side road!”
A short distance ahead Frank saw a rough dirt road leading off the
highway to the airport. If he could only reach it in time! The roar of
the descending airplane was deafening now. They could even hear the wind
screaming in the struts. Joe saw the pilot, in helmet and goggles,
waving his arm wildly.
Frank slackened speed slightly as he neared the dirt road, bore down on
the wheel, and made the turn. The rear wheels skidded wildly, there was
a screech of brakes, the car teetered perilously, then righted itself,
and shot down the rough lane.
At the same moment the airplane roared past. It was so close that the
wing tip came within a few feet of the rear of the car.
Then it crashed.
Frank was having his own troubles and he did not see the crack-up. On
the bumpy dirt road the car skidded, throwing up a cloud of sand and
dust, then shot across a ditch, thumped and lurched over some rocks, and
finally came to a stop at a rail fence.
Joe came close to going through the windshield and then hit the door
with a thud.
“Wow!” he burst out. “Some wild ride, I’ll tell the universe!”
Frank had been thrown tightly against the wheel, otherwise he, too,
might have gone into the glass. As it was, he hurt his ribs a little.
“Well, I’m glad we didn’t overturn,” he remarked, as soon as he could
catch his breath.
“Or take down the fence.”
“Wonder who that crazy fellow was?”
“Maybe something went wrong with his air bus.”
“Well, I’m glad we managed to get from under. It was a mighty close
call.”
Joe, looking back, saw the airplane as it crashed.
Nose-down, it came, then flattened out just before it reached the
ground. Its understructure crashed into the earth. The plane seemed to
bound high in the air, then came down again with a snapping and
crackling of wood, and buried its nose in the dust of the road. Then its
tail canted up and the plane turned a somersault over on its back.
It was a wreck!
While the Hardy boys are scrambling out of their roadster and hastening
back to the scene of the airplane crash that had so nearly cost them
their own lives, the opportunity will be taken to introduce them more
definitely.
Frank and Joe Hardy were the sons of Fenton Hardy, an internationally
famous detective, late of the New York police force. Mr. Hardy had made
such a name for himself as a detective with the New York force that he
had resigned to go into business for himself as a private detective and
his services were frequently sought in important cases. His sons, Frank
and Joe, were eager to follow in his footsteps.
The Hardys lived in Bayport, a thriving city on Barmet Bay, on the
Atlantic coast. Here Frank and Joe attended the Bayport high school,
where they were in their final year. Although Frank, a tall, dark,
handsome lad, was a year older than his curly-headed brother Joe, both
boys were in the same grade because of an illness that had caused Frank
to lose time. Mr. and Mrs. Hardy were anxious that their sons should go
to college after finishing high school, Mrs. Hardy wishing them to study
law and medicine. But the boys were of different mind. Their father’s
profession appealed to them. They wanted to be detectives.
As a matter of fact, the lads had a natural bent toward detective work
and they had already proved their ability so thoroughly that Fenton
Hardy was disposed to believe that they would be successful if they
followed in his footsteps. The Hardy boys had solved a number of
mysteries that had puzzled the police of Bayport and vicinity, and
already the people of the city knew of them as boys possessing more than
the usual share of initiative, resourcefulness, and deductive ability.
Frank and Joe were introduced in the first volume of this series,
entitled: “The Hardy Boys: The Tower Treasure,” in which they solved the
mystery of the disappearance of a treasure from Tower Mansion, on the
outskirts of Bayport. In succeeding volumes of the series their
adventures while seeking to unravel other mysterious cases in which they
became involved have been described at length. During the winter
previous to the time this present story opens, Frank and Joe Hardy had
spent a vacation on Cabin Island, in Barmet Bay, where they had cleared
up the mystery of a stolen stamp collection of great value, discovering
the precious stamps after many thrilling events. These adventures have
been related in “The Mystery of Cabin Island,” the volume immediately
previous to this story.
As the Hardy boys ran back down the dirt road toward the wreckage of the
airplane they had little hope that they would find the pilot alive.
“He’ll be smashed to pieces!” gasped Joe.
“The plane isn’t burning, anyway,” said Frank. “There may be a chance
for him yet.”
Just then they heard a cry for help.
It came from beneath the jumbled wreckage of the plane. In a few moments
the Hardy boys reached the scene.
Although the crash had been witnessed from the airport and people were
already proceeding toward the spot, the Hardy boys were the first to
arrive. They could hear groans and shouts from beneath the plane.
“We’ll have to lift up some of that wreckage to get the poor fellow
out,” said Frank quickly. He looked around. It was futile to attempt
raising the wreckage by hand. He saw a heavy rail lying at the base of
the near-by fence. “Here we are. This will do as a lever.”
The boys seized the rail and carried it over to the wreckage. They
inserted one end of the rail beneath the body of the plane, rolling a
big rock forward as a support.
The groans and shouts continued.
“All right there!” called Frank. “We’re going to pry some of this
wreckage away from you. Are you badly hurt?”
“I’m nearly killed,” groaned the pilot. “Hurry up and lift this plane
off me.”
“Try to crawl out when we raise it,” advised Frank.
The boys bore down on their improvised lever. There was a clattering and
crackling of the wreckage; then the mass began to move. The body of the
upturned plane rose slightly. Joe caught a glimpse of the pilot
scrambling out of the cockpit. The man’s face was scratched and
bleeding, but he seemed to be crawling out of his precarious position
quickly, so evidently no bones were broken.
The boys managed to hold up the plane by means of the strong rail until
the pilot crawled out.
“Anyone with you?” demanded Frank.
The pilot, struggling to his feet, shook his head. The boys released
their grasp on the rail and the wreckage subsided again with a crash.
The pilot came forward. The boys noticed that he lurched slightly as he
walked and that he staggered as he came up to them. His uniform was torn
and he had a few scratches across his face, but otherwise he did not
appear to be badly hurt.
“How are you feeling?” Joe asked him.
Swaying from side to side, the pilot confronted them in silence. His
face was flushed.
“Narrow escape,” he muttered. “Mighty narrow escape.” He turned and
looked at the wrecked plane, and hiccuped.
“What happened?” asked Frank. “Engine trouble? Or did you run out of
gas?”
“I dunno,” answered the pilot thickly. “I dunno what happened. It wasn’t
my fault. All the fault of them fellows in the car.”
“Fellows in a car?”
“Yes. Couple of fools in a car ahead of me. I wanted ’em to stop and
they wouldn’t. They rushed right ahead and got in my way. Thought I’d
scare ’em and make ’em stop, but they kept on going. Then I found I
couldn’t get back in the air again—flying too low—it was all the fault
of those fools in the car.”
Frank and Joe glanced at one another significantly. Clearly, the man was
referring to them. And it was just as clear that the pilot had been
drinking.
“We were in a car,” said Frank. “If you think we’re to blame for your
accident you’re badly mistaken. You mighty near cost us our lives. We
had to get off the road or you would have crashed on top of our car.”
The pilot turned and looked at the boys, an ugly expression in his
bloodshot eyes.
“You were in the car, eh?” he shouted. “You’re the fellows that are to
blame for this crack-up!”
“It was your own fault.”
“Wasn’t my fault. You fellows wouldn’t stop. I was afraid I was going to
hit you. That’s why I lost control of the plane.” The pilot was working
himself up into a temper. “You’ll pay for this, let me tell you. My
plane is wrecked and I was mighty near killed just because a couple of
fool boys didn’t know enough to stop.”
Frank and Joe Hardy stared at the man in amazement. The injustice of the
charge passed belief. They were just about to reply angrily when they
heard voices and saw men hurrying down the road toward them. A number of
farmers in the adjacent fields had witnessed the accident and had lost
no time in hastening to the scene.
“What happened? Anybody killed?” demanded one man, as they came up.
“The plane is wrecked. The pilot escaped,” explained Frank.
“No thanks to you young fools,” snarled the pilot. He turned to the
farmers. “I’m lucky to be alive. I was trying to make a landing on the
road and these young idiots in their car kept racing ahead of me so I
couldn’t come down. I lost control of my machine and it’s wrecked.”
The farmers looked gravely at the Hardy boys. Frank laughed.
“I think you’d better wait until you sober up,” he told the pilot,
“before you make any charges like that. You haven’t any business being
in an airplane when you’re drunk.”
“Who says I’m drunk?” demanded the pilot belligerently. He clenched his
fists and stepped forward. “My airplane is wrecked and I’m going to hold
you young fools responsible.”
CHAPTER III
A Promise of Trouble
“You can’t blame us for this smash-up!” exclaimed Frank Hardy. “Why,
that’s absurd! We were on the road, where we belonged. If you wanted to
land, you should have landed in a field. There’s plenty of room.”
“I’ll land my plane wherever I please,” raged the pilot.
“Why pick on us?” asked Joe. “We did our best to get out of your way. I
think you deliberately tried to run us down.”
“Never mind. You’ll hear more about this affair. I’m going to report
this to the air mail service and they’ll come on you for damages.”
“Try to get ’em,” returned Frank.
A lanky farmer stepped forward.
“I saw the whole thing from the top of the hill,” he said slowly. “If I
was you, Mr. Airplane Man, I wouldn’t try to collect no damages from
these lads.”
“Why not?”
“Because they wasn’t to blame for the accident. The whole thing was your
own fault. And, by jing, if you _do_ try to blame them they can count on
me for a witness to prove that they did their best to get out of your
way. They was ridin’ peacefully along the road, and then you come
swoopin’ and bouncin’ out of the sky and come slap down on the road
where you shouldn’t be. You airplane fellows give me a pain. You’ve got
the whole sky to move around in, and yet you think you have a right to
chase people off the earth too.”
“Is that so?” sneered the pilot. “Well, you’ll have a chance to give
your evidence, seeing you know so much.”
“I’m glad of that, Giles Ducroy,” said the farmer. “I’m glad I’ll have a
chance to give evidence, for then I can tell ’em how drunk you were when
you crawled out from under the plane.”
This shot told.
“I’m not drunk,” stormed Ducroy. “I’m nervous.”
“You must have a pretty bad case of nerves to make your breath smell so
strong,” rejoined the farmer calmly. “I’ll bet the air mail service
won’t keep you on very long after this, when they hear what I’ve got to
say.”
The pilot turned his back.
“I haven’t got time to bother with you. It’s these boys I’m dealing
with. I warn you,” he said, glaring at the Hardy boys, “you haven’t
heard the last of this. There’s going to be plenty of trouble for you.”
Just then there was a roaring and clattering as a huge truck lumbered
down the road, bound from the airport. The driver stared at the scene in
amazement. Some of the farmers moved the wreckage of the plane out of
the road to enable the truck to pass. Giles Ducroy strode forward
arrogantly.
“Driver!”
“Yeah?”
“There are some bags of air mail in my plane. I want you to bring them
to Bayport.”
“Who says so?” asked the driver calmly.
“I do. I’m pilot of this plane.”
The driver regarded the wreckage.
“Looks like you made a pretty good job of the crack-up,” he said
finally.
Some of the bystanders grinned. Giles Ducroy flushed angrily.
“No nonsense about this,” he snapped. “It’s my duty to see that the mail
bags reach the city.”
The truck driver sighed.
“Why didn’t you bring ’em to the airport in your plane?” he inquired.
“Can’t you see? I’ve had an accident.”
“You picked a nice day for it,” observed the driver, glancing up at the
sky.
Giles Ducroy lost patience. He went over to the wreckage of the plane
and burrowed among the débris until he found the mail bags. These he
hauled forth and tossed into the truck.
“There!” he said. “Get them to Bayport as quick as you can.”
“Yes, Commander!” said the truck driver, with an elaborate salute. “The
air mail must arrive on time. If I run out of gas I’ll come down in a
parachute.” And the big truck lumbered off.
This exchange of witticisms, in which Giles Ducroy had come out second
best, judging by the snickers of the farmers who were now crowding
about, did not leave the pilot in a very good temper. He stormed into
the middle of a group of men who were examining the wreckage, ordered
them to stand back, and promised all sorts of dire penalties if anyone
touched the airplane until he returned from the airport.
“As for you,” he said, turning to Frank and Joe Hardy before he stalked
away, “you’ll hear more about this. You’re to blame for the whole
business and I’m going to see that you suffer for it.”
He went away, walking rather unsteadily down the road.
The lanky farmer who had befriended the boys came over to them.
“A man like that oughtn’t to be allowed in charge of a plane,” he said
gravely. “I’ll bet if the air service people knew about him being drunk
he wouldn’t hold his job two seconds.”
“Do you think he can make trouble for us?” asked Frank. “It wasn’t our
fault that he crashed. We did our best to get out of his road, and it
was just by luck that he didn’t smash right on top of us. I nearly
wrecked our roadster getting out of the way.”
“I saw it,” said the man. “I saw it all from the top of the hill. And
it’s just like I told Ducroy. I’ll be a witness for you if there’s any
trouble. My name is Jim Perrin and people around here know my word is as
good as my bond. You lads were no more to blame for that smash-up than I
was, and I’ll tell ’em so.”
“It’s mighty good of you, Mr. Perrin,” said Frank gratefully. “If we
have any trouble about this matter we’ll certainly call on you.”
“Be sure you do. I’ll help you all I can.”
The farmer went back toward the wreckage. Frank and Joe decided that
their trip to the airport might as well be called off for the time
being, as they had no desire for a further encounter with Giles Ducroy.
So they went back to the roadster and extricated it from its position
among the rocks, backed it out into the highway and headed toward
Bayport again.
In spite of Jim Perrin’s reassuring words, the lads were disturbed.
They had no idea how far Giles Ducroy might go and they realized that
the man would certainly stretch the truth in order to clear himself with
the airport officials. Like most boys, they believed that a man in
uniform was vested with powers beyond that of the average citizen and
they reflected that the officials might be more inclined to believe
Giles Ducroy’s word than theirs.
“I think we’d better tell dad about this,” said Frank. “We know we
aren’t to blame, but this thing might be serious if Ducroy makes any
charge against us.”
“Good idea,” replied Joe.
When they reached home they ran the roadster into the garage, then went
into the house. Fenton Hardy was working in his study, but he put aside
his papers when the boys came in and looked up at them with an inquiring
smile.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “You both look as if you have something
on your minds.”
“We have,” said Frank.
“Been in an accident with the car?”
“There was an accident, but we weren’t in it. We saw an airplane crash
and we’re blamed for it.”
Mr. Hardy looked serious.
“How on earth could you be blamed for an airplane smash when you were in
your roadster?”
Frank then explained the circumstances and told how they had been
obliged to take refuge in a lane in order to avoid the descending plane.
“It certainly wasn’t our fault,” he concluded. “We might have been
killed if we hadn’t reached the lane in time.”
“You say Ducroy was drunk?”
“He had been drinking. We could smell liquor on his breath.”
“I don’t think he’ll get very far if he tries to lay any charges against
you,” said the great detective. “The post office authorities won’t be
very easy on him if they discover he had been drinking. And, then, you
have this witness, Mr. Perrin. I’m inclined to think they’ll accept his
word about how it happened.”
“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see what Ducroy does,” said Joe.
“Perhaps I can fix things up,” said Mr. Hardy. “I happen to have a good
many friends in the postal department. I cleared up a big mail robbery
here a few years ago and they appreciated it. I’ll go down right away
and have a talk with some of the officials and I’ll try to explain
things to them. Don’t worry too much about it.”
“That’s mighty good of you, Dad,” said Frank.
“I’ll say it is!” chimed in Joe.
“Well, I certainly can’t see my sons accused of wrecking an airplane
when they didn’t have anything to do with it,” said Mr. Hardy warmly. He
got up and reached for his hat. “I’ll go and see what can be done about
it right away.”
CHAPTER IV
An Attack
The airplane crash was a front-page feature in the newspapers of Bayport
for several days thereafter, and the Hardy boys learned that the post
office department was conducting an investigation into the cause of the
affair.
Several reporters called on Frank and Joe Hardy to learn their version
of the accident, and although the boys told exactly how the crash
occurred, they were disturbed to find that considerable space was given
to Giles Ducroy’s account. Ducroy was not backward in laying the blame
upon the Hardy boys.
“My plane cracked up simply because I was trying to avoid hitting the
car,” he said, in an interview. “The boys deliberately drove their
roadster ahead so that I was unable to find a landing place until it was
too late. They confused me so much that the accident was the result.”
All this looked very bad in cold print, and one of the newspapers hinted
that the post office department might take action against the boys if
Ducroy’s story was upheld.
“Don’t worry about it,” Fenton Hardy advised. “Don’t let it be on your
minds while you are writing examination papers.”
This counsel was sound. The lads were busy writing their final
examinations and upon the result would depend their graduation from the
high school that year. If they failed, it would mean another term, and a
year’s work wasted.
Both Frank and Joe had studied hard and were well up in their work.
Under ordinary circumstances they would have had little doubt of the
outcome, but with the Ducroy affair on their minds they could not
concentrate on their studies as well as they might have done otherwise.
Frank shook his head mournfully when the boys left school the afternoon
of the geometry examination.
“How do you think you made out?” he asked Joe.
“Not so good.”
“I’m sure I failed.”
“It was a tough exam. Everybody says so.”
“I know it was tough, but I couldn’t help thinking of the trouble we’ll
be in if the post office people decide we’re to blame for that
accident.”
“It was in my mind too,” Joe admitted, “Still we know it wasn’t our
fault.”
“Of course it wasn’t. But the chances are that they’ll believe Ducroy,
seeing he’s one of their own pilots.”
“If they blame us, we’ll fight it. We’ll tell them Ducroy was drunk.”
“Perhaps they won’t even listen to us,” said Frank.
The boys went on down the street toward the downtown section. Joe caught
sight of a familiar name in a newspaper headline.
“This looks interesting,” he remarked. When he bought the paper, the two
stood on the corner to read it.
“Post Office Department Discharges Giles Ducroy,” read the
headline. “Air Mail Pilot Released Following Crash Near Local
Airport.”
Joe whistled softly. The boys read further:
“It was announced to-day at post office headquarters that the
resignation of Giles Ducroy, pilot in charge of the mail plane
that crashed on the airport road last Saturday, had been
requested by the department. Ducroy handed in his resignation
early this afternoon and is no longer with the service. It was
stated that information had come into possession of the
department to the effect that Ducroy had been drinking heavily
on the day of the crash and that he had been drinking for
several days previous. According to officials, the pilot had
been warned several times that his bad habits would get him into
trouble, and although he promised to mend his ways he had
evidently failed to do so. Other aviators claimed that Ducroy
was a menace to the air service and that he should not be
permitted to handle a plane. His flying license has been
canceled.”
The Hardy boys looked at one another in silence.
“I guess that will clear us,” said Frank finally.
“It doesn’t say so.”
“They can’t very well blame us after that.”
A familiar voice broke in:
“Hi, there! Hear the news?”
The Hardy boys looked up to see Chet Morton, one of their chums,
approaching. Chet, too, had a newspaper under his arm.
“We were just reading it,” said Joe.
“It was coming to him,” declared Chet warmly. “I was talking to one of
the men at the airport yesterday, and he said Ducroy ought to be fired.
He was always drinking. None of them were surprised when he had that
crash.”
“I’m sorry he has lost his job,” said Frank, “but I guess he deserved
it. If they let him stay on he might get into a serious accident and
kill somebody.”
“He mighty nearly killed us,” Joe reminded him. “If I only knew that
this meant we were clear of blame I could write the rest of my exams
with an easy mind.”
“Don’t worry,” advised Chet. “They won’t blame you chaps. The very fact
that Ducroy has been let out means that they didn’t believe his story.”
Suddenly Frank nudged his brother.
“Here he comes now.”
“Who?”
“Ducroy,” whispered Frank.
Joe looked around. Coming down the street he saw the former air pilot.
Ducroy’s face wore an angry look and he appeared not to notice the
stares and the comments of the people near by.
“Don’t pay any attention to him,” said Joe. “There’s no use looking for
trouble.”
But, if the Hardy boys were not going to pay any attention to Giles
Ducroy, it soon became apparent that the pilot intended to pay some
attention to them. He changed his course and came over toward the three
boys.
“Now what’s the big idea?” muttered Chet.
Ducroy blustered toward them. He faced Frank and Joe angrily, brushing
Chet to one side.
“Well,” he sneered, “I suppose you’re satisfied now?”
“What do you mean?” asked Frank.
“I suppose you’re satisfied now that you’ve lost me my job?” demanded
Ducroy.
“You lost it yourself,” returned Frank. “We didn’t have anything to do
with it.”
“You didn’t, hey? It was your fool driving that caused the crash, and it
was because of the crash that I got fired.”
“The paper says something different,” said Joe calmly.
“It says I got fired because I was drunk, and I was as sober as I am
now.”
“And you’re not any too sober now, either,” Chet reminded him sweetly.
Ducroy turned to him. “You keep out of this,” he snapped. “This is none
of your business. I’ll thank you to keep your mouth shut.”
“Seeing you ask me so nicely, I will.”
Ducroy turned to the Hardy boys again. “I’m not through with you two
yet,” he said. “I may have lost my job, but I’m going to get some
satisfaction, anyway.”
“How?” asked Frank.
By way of reply, Ducroy drew back his right arm and lashed out suddenly.
His fist struck Frank in the face and sent the youth staggering back.
The blow had come so abruptly that he had no chance to defend himself.
But Joe, when he saw his brother attacked, lost no time in getting into
action. He plunged at Ducroy without hesitation and planted a swinging
blow on the pilot’s right eye, completely closing it. Ducroy gave a yell
of pain and struck at Joe, but the blow was wild.
Frank recovered himself.
“Let me handle this,” he said to his brother. And with no further ado he
advanced on Ducroy.
The pilot swung at him, but Frank ducked, came in, and stung Ducroy’s
face with an uppercut. Ducroy was bigger than Frank and considerably
heavier, but he was far from being a scientific fighter, relying chiefly
on bull-like rushes and ponderous swinging blows that would have done
damage had they landed, but seldom did. Ducroy rushed Frank back across
the pavement, his heavy fists swinging, but Frank backed away, ducking
and dodging, watching for an opening.
It soon came.
Ducroy swung so wildly that he left himself completely unprotected.
Frank’s fist shot out. The blow caught Ducroy directly on the point of
the jaw, and he went down in a heap.
“Is that enough?” asked Frank.
A crowd had collected, and Con Riley of the Bayport police force
hastened forward.
“What’s all this?” he demanded. “Fightin’ on the streets? What’s the
trouble?”
Frank turned away. “Just a little argument,” he explained. “This man hit
me first and I had to hit him back.”
“That’s right,” chimed in Chet Morton. “I saw it all. I can prove it.”
Giles Ducroy got slowly to his feet and Riley seized him by the collar.
“I got a good mind to run you in,” said the officer. “What business have
you got hittin’ a lad half your size?”
“I don’t want to lay any charge against him,” said Frank. “Better let
him go.”
Con Riley looked dubious. Then he released his grip on Ducroy’s collar.
“Well, seein’ you ask it,” he said. Then he glared at Ducroy. “Take
yourself out of here!” he ordered sharply. “If I catch you makin’ any
disturbance on the street again it won’t go so easy with you.”
Giles Ducroy lurched away, muttering and defeated. Con Riley then turned
his attention to the crowd and dispersed the bystanders with a wave of
his stick. “Move on!” he ordered. “Move on out of here.”
The crowd scattered.
The Hardy boys and Chet Morton continued their journey down the street.
Chet was warm in his praise of the artistic manner in which Frank had
dealt with the bully.
“I’ll bet his jaw is sore for a week!” he declared.
“I hate a row like that,” said Frank. “Dad would be angry if he knew we
were mixed up in a common street fight.”
“You couldn’t help it. You didn’t start the fight. It was all Ducroy’s
fault,” said Chet. “He struck you first. Boy, that was a nice pasting
you handed him!”
But Frank remembered the vindictive look in Ducroy’s face as the beaten
man slunk away.
“I don’t think we’ve heard the last of this, by any means,” he said.
CHAPTER V
Anxious Days
It was not until the next evening that the result of the investigation
into the airplane crash was officially announced. Then, to the joy of
the Hardy boys, they learned that the authorities held them blameless
for the accident.
The report ran, in part:
“A thorough investigation of the circumstances surrounding the
crash has led us to decide that the responsibility rests wholly
with the pilot, Giles Ducroy. We find that Ducroy had been
drinking on the day of the accident and that, according to
reliable witnesses, he was still under the influence of liquor
after the wreck. In his condition, Ducroy was unable to make a
proper landing. He has made a clumsy attempt to lay the blame on
two boys driving an automobile in the road near the scene of the
crash, but this is manifestly absurd. The motorists, on the
other hand, had a narrow escape from death because of Ducroy’s
irresponsible handling of his plane, and certainly no blame can
be attached to them.”
Frank danced an impromptu jig. “Hurrah!” he shouted. “That takes a load
off my mind.”
“I’ll bet dad put in an oar for us,” said Joe happily.
“Shouldn’t be surprised. Let’s go and ask him.”
When they entered Fenton Hardy’s study, the detective smiled at their
evident delight.
“What’s happened?” he asked. “Have you fallen heir to a fortune?”
“Better than that. The post office people have announced that we aren’t
to blame for that plane wreck,” declared Frank. “We’ve been worrying our
heads off about it.”
“Did you help, Dad?” asked Joe.
“Oh, I may have said a few things to the inspector,” observed Mr. Hardy.
“He is an old friend of mine and I have done him a few favors in my
time. It really wasn’t necessary, because I don’t think they would have
blamed you in any case. But it prevented them from being fooled by
Ducroy, anyway.”
“That was certainly mighty fine of you. Dad!” exclaimed Frank. “I don’t
know how we can thank you.”
“I know,” said their father. “You can go back to school to-morrow and
dig into those examinations and graduate this year.”
“We’ll do our best,” they promised.
“The exams won’t be so bad, now that this worry is off our minds,” added
Joe.
For the rest of the week the Hardy boys attacked their final
examinations with such determination and enthusiasm, unmarred by any
worries about the airplane accident, that when they handed in their
final papers they knew that if they had obtained passing marks on the
papers written earlier in the week there was little doubt of the final
outcome.
“But that’s just the trouble,” groaned Joe. “I was so worried when I
wrote those first papers that I’m sure I didn’t get by.”
“Forget it,” advised Frank. “The exams are over and we can’t change the
papers now. We’ll just have to be patient and wait for the results.”
“I wish I knew them now,” said Chet Morton. “If I don’t pass this year,
my dad will flay me alive. I might as well pack up and head for Alaska
if I don’t get through. What are you fellows going to do, now that
school is over?”
“Wait for the results,” returned Frank. “If we pass, I think dad wants
us to go to college and we’ll have to start making our plans.”
Jerry Gilroy, another chum of the Hardy boys, sauntered up.
“How about you, Jerry?” asked Frank, “What are you going to do now?”
“I have a job,” announced Jerry calmly.
“Already?” the others exclaimed enviously.
“I start work Monday as a reporter for _The Banner_.” Jerry stuck out
his chest and pulled his hat brim down over one eye.
“That’s a good job,” said Tony Prito, who joined the group at that
moment. “You’ll be able to get into all the shows in town for nothing
and get through the police lines at all the fires.”
“Well,” said Jerry doubtfully, “just at first they’re putting me at work
writing up obituaries and real estate deals. But I’ll soon work my way
up,” he added hastily.
Tony Prito announced that his parents had decided on a college course
for him and that Phil Cohen was bound in the same direction.
“Looks as if the old gang will be broken up by next fall,” said Joe
glumly.
“That’s true,” agreed Chet. “I think we all ought to get together as
soon as we know the results of the exams and have one big party to
celebrate.”
“A picnic!” exclaimed Frank.
“Good idea!” declared Jerry Gilroy. “I’ll write it up for the paper.”
“Where shall we have the picnic?” asked Tony. “Beach Grove?”
“Beach Grove is the only place for a picnic. We’ll have the whole
graduating class,” Frank said. “The girls, too.”
“I don’t know about that,” demurred Chet, who did not care for girls.
“Go on with you. If we have a class picnic we can’t leave the girls out.
Anyway, they’ll be sure to bring along lots of eats.”
“Oh, I forgot about that,” said Chet, who had a weakness for food. “By
all means, we must have the girls along.”
“In the meantime, Jerry, keep your eyes open around your newspaper
office and see if you can’t get a look at the examination results when
they’re sent in for publication,” Frank suggested. “They’ll appear in
the paper first, and if you get on the good side of the city editor he
may let you have a look at them.”
“And phone us right away,” added Chet.
Jerry promised to keep on the lookout for the examination results.
Frank’s suggestion of a picnic met with the instant favor of the other
members of the graduation class who were enthusiastic over the idea.
They all realized that within the next few months the class would be
scattered far and wide and that it would probably be their last
opportunity of being all together.
Then they settled down to the tedious business of awaiting the
all-important results. Two days passed, with no word from Jerry Gilroy,
who had extracted a promise from his city editor that he would be shown
the list as soon as it reached the office. The Hardy boys and their
chums bided their time with such patience as they could muster. Frank
and Joe went out on Barmet Bay in their motorboat, _The Sleuth_, and
explored the countryside in their roadster.
On Thursday morning the boys were in the gymnasium in the barn back of
the Hardy home. Chet Morton was sitting in a window munching at an
apple, as usual. Biff Hooper was drumming away at the punching bag. Tony
Prito was practicing some complicated maneuvers on the parallel bars,
while Phil Cohen and Joe Hardy were engaged in a spirited wrestling
match. Frank was busy trying to repair a broken baseball bat, with small
success.
“Somebody calling you, Frank,” said Chet, glancing out the window.
Frank looked out. Aunt Gertrude was standing in the back door, beckoning
to him.
“You’re wanted on the telephone,” she called.
“It must be from Jerry!” shouted Frank.
The others stopped their activities instantly. Frank almost tumbled down
the stairs in his anxiety to reach the house in the quickest possible
time. The other boys crowded to the window. They saw him disappear into
the house. He seemed to be away for a long time.
“Bad news, I’m sure of it,” moaned Chet.
“Good news, I’ll bet a cookie,” said Joe, trying to be cheerful.
After a while they saw Frank come out of the house. His shoulders
drooped. He walked slowly.
“What’s the verdict?” clamored Chet.
Frank looked up, shook his head mournfully, and sighed. They heard him
coming up the stairs.
“I knew it,” Chet groaned. “We’ve all failed.”
When Frank came up into the gymnasium they crowded around him. He looked
as though he had lost every friend he had in the world.
“For the love of Pete, don’t keep us in suspense!” demanded Tony. “Was
it Jerry? What did he say?”
“It was from Jerry,” admitted Frank heavily. “Well, fellows, I don’t
know how you’re going to feel about it, but as for me——” he shook his
head again.
“Back to the high school for another year, is it?” asked Joe solemnly.
“Don’t take it too badly, fellows. Of course, we all knew the exams were
harder than usual.”
“Yes, they were tough,” admitted Chet. “But, hang it all, didn’t _some_
of us get through? I was sure I’d failed, but I thought the rest of you
would make it.”
“The results are out,” said Frank. “I know you’re going to feel bad
about it, but every one of us—every one, mind you—_passed_!”
“What?” they roared.
Frank turned a handspring.
“We all passed!” he yelled, in delight. Then he sat down on the floor
and laughed at the expression on their faces. “Boy! didn’t I throw a
scare into you?”
Biff Hooper hurled a boxing glove at him. Phil Cohen seized Tony Prito
around the waist and danced about in glee. Chet threw away the core of
his apple and stood on his head. Joe vaulted over the parallel bars.
Pandemonium reigned.
School was over at last!
“And now,” shouted Frank, “for the picnic!”
CHAPTER VI
The Cabin in the Woods
Preparations for the picnic at Beach Grove on the following Saturday
were in full swing during the next few days. All the members of the
graduation class at Bayport High were enthusiastic, and the girls were
busy baking cookies and cakes. From the standpoint of Chet Morton, at
any rate, the success of the outing was therefore assured.
“As long as there’s plenty of food, it will be a good picnic,” he said.
Callie Shaw, who was Frank Hardy’s particular favorite among the girls
of the class, admitted that she felt sad at the prospect of seeing “the
crowd” broken up at last.
“We had some good times at High. Somehow, I wish now that we had all
failed so we could go back for another year.”
“You didn’t feel like that when you were writing the math exam,” Iola
Morton, Chet’s sister, reminded Callie.
“No. I suppose if I did go back I’d be grouching about the work all over
again,” laughed Callie. “I’m glad we’re going to have the picnic,
though. It will be nice to be all together again for once before the
class is scattered.”
“There won’t be many of the gang left around town by next fall,” said
Frank. “What with some going to college and others going to work, the
class will be pretty well broken up by then.”
“I hope we’ll get good weather for the picnic,” ventured Joe.
“The class had good luck on the exams,” Iola reminded him; “so we should
have good luck with the weather.”
Iola’s optimism was justified. When the day for the picnic dawned the
sky was cloudless, the day was warm and clear. Mrs. Hardy had prepared a
big basket of good things for the Hardy boys to take with them, and they
stowed the basket in the roadster along with their bathing suits and
baseball gloves. They had arranged to call for Callie Shaw in the car,
while Iola was to go with Chet in his roadster.
It was to be a real picnic—“not one of these afternoon teas,” as Chet
expressed it. All members of the class had been notified to meet at
Beach Grove by ten o’clock in the morning and when Callie and the Hardy
boys reached the grove they found a dozen others already on hand. Chet
arrived a few minutes later with Iola and Biff Hooper, whom he had
picked up on the road, and by half past ten the crowd was complete.
Beach Grove was just off the Shore Road and extended to a sandy beach on
the shore of Barmet Bay. There were many paths through the woods, a
grassy meadow which was ideal for baseball games and races, and the park
keeper had granted them permission to use a little building in the grove
where a stove and kitchen facilities were installed. The boys lit a fire
and busied themselves bringing up driftwood from the beach, while some
of the girls settled down to preparing lunch and opening up the numerous
baskets at their disposal.
The Hardy boys and the other lads went down to the beach for a swim
before lunch, and had some fine sport on an improvised raft which they
took turns in defending against all comers. Chet Morton became unduly
ambitious and tried to improvise a sailboat out of a plank and an old
piece of tarpaulin he found on the shore, but the sailboat came to grief
and tipped Chet into the water, to the hilarious delight of his
companions.
By the time the swim was over and the boys returned to the Grove they
had developed lusty appetites for lunch, and there were loud cheers when
Callie, as chief cook, hammered a tune on a tin plate with a poker,
announcing that the meal was ready. There was hot coffee, heaping bowls
of baked beans, stacks of sandwiches, plates of potato salad, and cake
and fruit without end. The boys and girls sat beneath the trees and ate
from tin plates until they could eat no more.
Chet, alone, looked discontented when lunch was over.
“What’s the matter with you?” asked Tony Prito. “Didn’t you like it? I
thought it was the best meal I ever tasted.”
“The meal was all right,” said Chet dolefully.
“Then why are you looking so glum?”
“I never have any luck,” confessed Chet. “Something always goes wrong.”
“Didn’t you get enough to eat?” asked Callie anxiously. “There is a lot
more potato salad.”
“No, thanks. I don’t think I could eat any more potato salad—not just
now, at any rate. It was very good potato salad but I couldn’t eat any
more right now. Maybe in an hour or so—oh, well, it doesn’t matter.”
“If the meal was all right and you got enough, what’s all the trouble?”
asked Frank Hardy.
“I saw you take three helpings of beans,” added Joe.
“That’s why I feel so badly.”
“Got a tummy-ache?” asked Iola solicitously.
“No. But, you see, I liked the beans so well that I took two helpings
after the first one, and I liked the potato salad so well I took two
helpings of that, extra, and then I saw some sandwiches I liked real
well and I ate about a dozen of them, and then somebody passed around
angel food cake so I ate that, and then I didn’t have any room for
anything else.”
“I think you did very well,” remarked Jerry Gilroy. “I don’t see where
you have any kick coming.”
“I like chocolate cake. It’s my favorite cake,” declared Chet gloomily.
“There was plenty of chocolate cake,” said his sister. “There are two
chocolate cakes left right now.”
“Save ’em for supper,” advised Chet. “That was the big trouble. I like
chocolate cake so well that I feel bad because I was so full by the time
it reached me I couldn’t eat any.”
The others looked at one another helplessly.
“What can you do with a fellow like that?” demanded Phil Cohen. “He’s
never satisfied.”
“I think he needs exercise,” said Iola threateningly.
“Now, don’t!” pleaded Chet, who had found a soft spot beneath a shady
tree and was preparing to go to sleep.
“Maybe you boys don’t know it,” said Iola, “but I do. Chet is ticklish!”
“Don’t, Iola!” clamored the victim.
But Iola advanced on her brother and tickled him until he yelled for
mercy, whereat the others, delighted at the exposure of this secret,
pounced on the luckless Chet and rubbed his ribs until he was forced to
make his escape. They chased him through the meadow, shouting with
laughter, and back and forth among the trees until he could run no
longer.
“It’ll help him digest those three helpings of beans and potato salad,”
said Iola, without sympathy.
Having concluded their attentions to Chet, the classmates organized an
impromptu program of sports, with races, a ball game and a blindfold
boxing match between Biff Hooper, Jerry Gilroy, Phil Cohen and Tony
Prito, which ended without casualties. Biff, who prided himself on his
boxing ability, wandered away from the others and tackled a large tree,
under the impression that it was Jerry. After dealing a dozen terrific
blows without knocking out the enemy he tore off the blindfold and then
looked very sheepish.
Most of the others went swimming during the afternoon, but the Hardy
boys had decided to take advantage of the opportunity and investigate a
mysterious little cabin at the far end of the grove. They had often been
curious about the place, and it was Frank’s suggestion that perhaps the
cabin was used as a hiding place for smugglers that prompted their
decision to visit the place.
“May we come, too?” asked Callie Shaw, as the two boys were starting off
together. She and Iola had remained behind to clear up the last of the
picnic dishes while the other girls went swimming.
“Glad to have you,” answered Frank.
“Come on, Iola.”
The two girls went running across the grass, and the four young people
set out down a winding path beneath the trees.
“Where are you going, Frank?” Callie inquired.
“We thought we’d take a walk over to that little cabin at the east end
of the grove. Joe and I have often been curious about that place, but
we’ve never been near it; so we thought this was as good a chance as
any.”
“Oh, this is thrilling!” declared Iola. “Do you think there’s anything
suspicious about it?”
Joe shrugged. “Perhaps. It will be fun to look the place over, though.
We thought it might be used by smugglers.”
“Smugglers!” exclaimed Callie, stopping. “I’m frightened. I don’t think
I care to go after all. I don’t want to meet any smugglers.”
“Nonsense!” laughed Frank. “There wouldn’t be any smugglers around at
this time of day, anyway. We’re not sure about the smugglers in any
case. Perhaps it’s just a perfectly innocent tumbledown old shack, with
nothing strange about it at all.”
Callie gathered up courage and they went forward again. The little cabin
was at the extreme end of the grove, and it was some time before they
came within sight of it. Finally, rounding a bend in the path, they
caught a glimpse of the place among the trees. The cabin had been built
in the woods, several hundred yards back from the water.
“Mighty dingy looking cabin, it seems to me,” remarked Iola.
“Why, there are some smugglers now!” exclaimed Callie, wide-eyed. “Don’t
you see them, Frank? Down in the bushes. Look, they’re going up toward
the cabin!”
Frank called a halt.
“Just a minute!”
He could see three men making their way up a path in the direction of
the cabin. The trio were apparently unaware that they were being
watched, for they did not look around. For a moment they were hidden by
the intervening branches. Then they appeared in view again. One of the
men halted in front of the cabin, removed a key from his pocket, and
unlocked the door.
The three men disappeared inside.
Frank turned to the others.
“I think we’d better go back,” he said quietly.
“Were they smugglers?” demanded Callie. “Let’s get out of here. They
might start some trouble.”
They turned and retraced their steps toward the picnic grounds. Once Joe
said:
“Do you know, I’m sure I recognized one of those chaps.”
Frank flashed him a warning look.
He did not want to alarm the girls, so he had said nothing. But Frank,
too, had recognized one of the men, and he was none other than Giles
Ducroy!
CHAPTER VII
A Mysterious Conversation
When the Hardy boys and the girls got back to the picnic grounds, the
boys excused themselves and drew away to one side, while the girls went
down to join the swimmers.
“I think we ought to go back there,” said Frank quietly.
“Why? Did you recognize any of them?”
“Did you?”
“I thought one of them looked mighty like Ollie Jacobs,” said Joe. “He’s
a pretty shady customer, as you know. I’ve heard of more than one bad
business he has been mixed up in around Bayport.”
“Ollie Jacobs, was it? Then the other fellow must have been Newt Pipps!
He is always hanging around with Jacobs. They’re a bad pair.”
“Who was the other fellow? I didn’t get a good look at him.”
“I did,” returned Frank. “He was Giles Ducroy.”
Joe whistled in amazement.
“So that’s who Giles Ducroy is mixed up with now! I wonder what they’re
doing down in that old cabin?”
“We’d better go and find out. We can get up to the back of the place
without being seen, and perhaps we can overhear what they’re saying.”
“Come on. It’s worth trying, anyway. I’m interested.”
The boys hurried off down the path. Once Joe glanced up at some lowering
clouds that had gathered above the trees.
“Looks like rain,” he remarked.
“It may hold off for a while. It won’t stop me from finding out what
that gang is up to.”
“Not if I know it,” declared Joe.
When the boys came within sight of the cabin they proceeded more
cautiously. They did not come out into the open, but edged their way
around through the trees until they came to the rear of the little
building.
“There’s an old road near here,” whispered Frank. “Perhaps that’s how
they reached the place.”
“I can see it from here. And look—there’s a car! It’s parked under the
trees.”
“That explains how they come to be here. They’ve probably arranged a
meeting. There’s some funny business on foot, I’ll be bound.”
Cautiously the brothers went on through the undergrowth. It was
fortunate that bushes grew within a few feet of the back of the cabin,
so the boys were able to make their way near enough to overhear the
conversation of anyone who might be within without danger of being seen
themselves.
As they pressed close against the logs of the cabin they could hear a
murmur of voices. They soon found a convenient chink in the logs where
they could peep through. There, in the dimly lighted interior of the
building, they saw Giles Ducroy, Ollie Jacobs, and Newt Pipps seated
about a rude table, with a bottle and glasses before them.
“I tell you,” Ducroy was saying, “I know what I’m talking about. I’m
giving you fellows a chance that lots of other men would jump at.”
“It sounds good,” admitted Jacobs, a short, ill-favored man with squint
eyes. “But it’s mighty risky.”
“Nothing venture, nothing gain,” said Ducroy, taking a swig from the
bottle.
“That’s true,” said Newt Pipps. “But I’m not anxious to get a bullet
through me.”
“Bullets, nothing!” scoffed Ducroy. “We’ll get away with this as smooth
as silk.”
“Maybe,” demurred Jacobs. “You say the money is sure to be there, all
right?”
“I know it will be there. I wouldn’t tell you fellows about it if I
wasn’t sure.”
Newt Pipps shrugged. “Well, I’m as brave as the next man,” he said, “but
this is a mighty big job. It’s bigger than any I’ve ever tackled yet,
and I can’t say I like it.”
“The bigger the job, the bigger the profit,” remarked Ducroy.
“Yes, and the bigger the risks, too.”
Ollie Jacobs looked around uneasily.
“Don’t talk so loud,” he said. “If anybody hears us, we’re done for.”
“Who could hear us?” demanded Ducroy, who was evidently half
intoxicated. “That’s why I picked this cabin for a meeting place.
There’s nobody within miles.”
“Oh, yes there is,” Jacobs answered. “A bunch of high school kids are
having a picnic over in Beach Grove, and that’s not very far from here.”
“I thought I saw somebody over among the trees when we were coming in
here,” said Newt Pipps.
“You did?” said Ducroy. “Why didn’t you speak up?”
“I might have been mistaken.”
“If you think there’s anyone around, go and take a look around the
cabin. A person would have to be mighty close to the place to hear us
talking.”
Then, to the horror of the Hardy boys, Newt Pipps got up from his chair,
rather unsteadily.
“That ain’t a bad idea,” he remarked. “I’ll just do that.”
He moved over to the door, opened it, and stepped outside.
Frank and Joe had no time to lose. They knew that in another moment Newt
Pipps might come walking around to the back of the cabin. They drew back
quickly, yet cautiously, seeking the shelter of the undergrowth near by.
The bushes were small and afforded little cover, yet they did not dare
move back farther for fear of being heard. So they crouched down as far
as possible. They were not a second too soon. Scarcely had they
flattened themselves in hiding than they heard heavy footfalls from the
side of the cabin.
They were so poorly hidden that they could plainly see Newt Pipps as he
came around the corner. But Pipps had been drinking and he had evidently
little expectation of seeing anyone around. He did not search in their
direction, but contented himself with a casual glance, then turned and
went back again.
Frank breathed a sigh of relief.
“That was close!” he whispered.
“I’ll say it was,” affirmed Joe.
The Hardy boys waited until they heard the cabin door slam again. Not
until then did they emerge and creep forward to the rear of the cabin
once more.
Newt Pipps was sitting down at the table.
“Satisfied?” asked Giles Ducroy curtly.
“There’s no one around. Still you can’t be too careful,” said Pipps.
“That’s true,” agreed Jacobs. “Never know when somebody may be hanging
around.”
“Well,” snapped Ducroy, “I can’t stay here all day. I’ve made a
proposition to you men and I want to know what you’re going to do about
it.”
Ollie Jacobs and Newt Pipps looked at one another.
“What do you say, Ollie?”
“I don’t know. There’s a lot of money in it for us, all right. And I
could use some cash right now. I’m pretty near broke.”
Giles Ducroy leaned forward and pounded his fist on the table.
“There’s ten thousand dollars or more apiece in it for us,” he declared.
“Where else could you make ten thousand dollars as easily, I’d like to
know.”
“It’s easy money,” admitted Newt. “But it’s dangerous.”
“And we might get shot,” added Ollie.
“I’m taking that chance the same as you,” Ducroy answered. “Well, hurry
up. I can’t wait here all day.”
“Ten thousand looks mighty good to me,” said Newt Pipps. “But I ain’t
anxious to get shot earning it, for then it wouldn’t be any use to me.”
“Same here,” demurred Ollie Jacobs.
Just then there was a low growl of thunder overhead. Raindrops began
pattering on the cabin roof. Frank and Joe Hardy looked up and saw that
the brooding storm was already breaking.
“It’s starting to rain,” said Ducroy. “I want to get back to the city
before the storm turns that road into a mud-hole. Can’t you make up your
minds?”
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said Ollie Jacobs, finishing the bottle.
“Newt and me ought to talk this over a little more. There’s a lot of
money in this job, but there’s a lot of risk too, and I want to make
sure it’s safe.”
“Of course it’s safe!” raged Ducroy. “You’ll never make an easier ten
thousand in your life.”
“That’s letting _you_ tell it.”
“I think Ollie is right,” said Newt. “We’ll talk it over and let you
know later.”
“When? I can’t wait long, you know. I’ve got my own plans to make yet.”
“We’ll let you know to-night,” declared Jacobs, getting up.
“All right,” grumbled Giles Ducroy. “But don’t take any longer. Come on,
now. It’s starting to pour. I want to get back to town.”
The three men left the cabin. Rain was now falling on the roof in a
steady downpour. The Hardy boys looked at one another, puzzled.
“I wonder what mischief those three are up to?” said Frank, as the
brothers hurried back into the shelter of the grove.
CHAPTER VIII
Puzzled
The clouds were black overhead and the rain was pouring steadily as the
Hardy boys hastened back up the path toward the picnic grounds. Once
under the trees they were partly sheltered from the rain but in the open
spaces they were thoroughly drenched. Thunder rolled continuously,
lightning flashed, and the rain came in sheets.
“This ends the picnic,” panted Joe, as they ran back.
“It sure does. Everybody will be soaked.”
The trees were threshing and sighing in the wind. There was a vivid
flash of lightning followed immediately by a crash and a clap of
thunder.
“Must have hit a tree,” said Frank.
When they came in sight of the picnic grounds, Frank saw that he had
guessed correctly. Only a few yards away from the cook-house, a great
oak lay prone on the ground, a jagged fragment of the trunk sticking up
out of the earth. The trunk had been sundered by the lightning and the
great tree had been struck to earth.
Inside the cook-house, the boys and girls of the graduating class were
huddled together. Many of them were badly frightened, for the lightning
flash had come unpleasantly close, and the falling tree had missed their
refuge by a scant few feet.
As Frank and Joe came racing across the sloppy ground, a cheer went up.
“Here they are!”
“Here come the Hardy boys!”
“At last!”
“Where have you two been?” shouted Chet Morton, as they dashed up onto
the veranda, their clothes dripping wet. “We’ve been worried sick.
Thought you’d got struck by lightning.”
“Looks as if you people were nearer to being struck than we were,”
replied Frank, looking ruefully at his drenched garments.
“We’ve been awfully worried,” said Callie Shaw, pressing forward. “When
the storm began, everybody gathered here except you and Joe, and we had
no idea where you were.”
“Oh, we were just exploring around,” said Frank. “No harm done, except
that we’re mighty wet.”
“No harm done!” exclaimed Iola Morton. “How about our nice picnic? It’s
all spoiled now!”
“Well, we were nearly ready to go home anyway,” observed Chet. He turned
to the Hardy boys. “Well, you two chaps missed the best display of
fireworks I’ve seen since last Fourth of July.”
“Looks as if you had a mighty narrow escape,” said Joe.
“We certainly had. There was a flash of lightning that seemed to miss us
all by about two inches, then the loudest crash of thunder I ever heard
in my life, then a tearing and crackling, and we saw that big tree
topple over.”
“It seemed to be coming right down on top of the house,” said Callie.
“We thought we were done for. If that tree had ever hit the roof we
would have been crushed to death. And that _would_ have spoiled the
picnic for sure,” added Chet.
The very real danger they had been in and the storm had dampened the
spirits of the graduating class, and when the rain finally began to die
down there was not a dissenting voice when Frank Hardy suggested that
they make a dash for the cars. Hastily packing up the baskets, they left
their refuge and ran across the grass to the cars parked out by the
gate. Everyone found a place, and within a few minutes the picnic
grounds were deserted.
The lull in the storm had been only temporary. Rain came down in
torrents before they had gone more than half a mile along the Shore
Road, and some of those in open cars who had not taken the precaution of
putting up the tops, received a second drenching. Frank and Joe, in
their roadster, accompanied by Callie Shaw and Iola Morton, were more
fortunate, and they soon arrived on the outskirts of Bayport without
mishap.
The picnic party broke up without further ceremony, the cars scattering
in various directions as the boys of the class drove the girls home.
Frank and Joe drove Callie to her aunt’s store in Bayport and Iola
decided that she would wait there for Chet, who was to drive her home
that evening. In their wet clothes, the picnickers presented a sorry
sight, but all in all they agreed that they had had a good time which
even the thunderstorm could not spoil.
When Frank and Joe Hardy reached home and changed their clothes, their
mother was sympathetic.
“It’s too bad,” she said, as she prepared a hot supper for them. “You
had all been counting on that picnic.”
“Well, we had half a picnic, at any rate. We can be thankful for that
much,” Frank observed. And then, when their mother was in the kitchen,
he added to his brother: “I don’t call the day wasted.”
“You mean Ducroy?”
“Yes. We learned that he’s up to some funny business. I’d like to know
what it’s all about.”
“Something crooked, I’ll be bound,” declared Joe.
“Ten thousand dollars apiece, he said. That’s a lot of money. I’m sure
Giles Ducroy and his two precious friends could never earn that much
money honestly.”
“It must be crooked. The big reason Ollie Jacobs and Newt Pipps objected
to the scheme was because there was danger in it and they might be
shot.”
“Maybe they intend to rob a bank,” ventured Frank.
“I wish we knew. Still, perhaps it was all just talk. They were half
drunk, you know.”
“Yes, I thought of that.” Frank shook his head. “Still, now that Giles
Ducroy is out of work, he might be turning his hand to some kind of
thievery.”
“Do you think we ought to tell dad?” Joe suggested.
“Not yet. After all, those men were drinking and it might have been
nothing more than drunken chatter. Perhaps Ducroy was only bragging and
trying to make a big fellow of himself by telling them he could help
them make so much money. We don’t know what they were talking about in
the first place. We’d just look foolish if we went to dad with our story
and nothing came of it.”
“He couldn’t do anything, anyway. No more than we can.”
“All we can do,” said Frank, “is to watch and wait.”
“We’ll watch, all right. We’ll try to check up on Giles Ducroy and find
out what he’s up to. We have one big advantage—he doesn’t know we
overheard what they were saying in the cabin.”
“He doesn’t know we were within miles of the place.”
“I’m puzzled about that conversation. If there was nothing in it,” said
Joe, “why did they pick such an out-of-the-way spot to have their
meeting?”
“It may have been because of the liquor. It’s against the law to have
it,” Frank pointed out. “Perhaps we were only listening in on a drinking
party after all.”
“I don’t think so. I have a pretty strong belief that there was more
than that behind it. Giles Ducroy and that other pair are a bad
combination. When you see those three together it means there is some
trouble being hatched.”
Their mother came in just then with the tea things, so the boys turned
the conversation to other matters. Mrs. Hardy wanted to know what was
next on their program, now that school was over and the class picnic a
thing of the past.
“Graduation exercises,” said Frank promptly. “Next week, at the high
school.”
“I must get a new dress,” Mrs. Hardy declared.
“You’ll certainly have to get all dolled up to come and see your sons
step up for their diplomas,” agreed Joe laughingly. “It only happens
once in a lifetime, you know.”
“I’m glad to see you graduate, but in a way I’m sorry,” confessed their
mother. “It means you’re growing up and you soon won’t be my boys any
longer.”
“We’ll always be your boys, even if we live to be a hundred,” declared
Frank, putting an arm about his mother’s waist.
“Have you decided what you want to do after the holidays are over?” she
asked. “You know I’ve been counting on having you both go through
college.”
The boys looked serious.
“We’ll have to think about that,” Joe said. “Still, there’s lots of
time. A whole summer ahead of us.”
“Be sure and think seriously about it,” their mother warned. “It is a
serious matter. Your whole future will depend on your decision.”
“Maybe by the end of the summer we’ll feel different about going to
college,” said Frank. “Just now I’m so glad to be out of school that I
never want to see another study book again as long as I live.”
“Me, too,” declared Joe.
Their mother smiled indulgently, and the matter of the boys’ future
plans rested at that.
CHAPTER IX
Missing Mail
The night of the graduation exercises at the Bayport high school
arrived, differing little from similar events in past years but of
profound importance to the members of the graduating class and their
parents.
Mr. and Mrs. Hardy were there, very proud of their two boys, and Mrs.
Hardy beamed with pleasure when Frank and Joe, dressed in their finest
clothes and looking very uncomfortable, stepped up to receive their
diplomas. Chet Morton was so nervous and embarrassed that he stumbled on
the way to the platform and ended by dropping the diploma when it was
handed to him.
All the girls looked their prettiest, the boys looked their handsomest,
the principal of the school excelled himself in the speech he had made
at every graduation for the past fifteen years, various prominent
citizens expressed their pride in the young people, and Callie Shaw, as
class valedictorian, won the hearts of all by her valedictory address.
There were other numbers on the program, including a violin solo by Iola
Morton, an exceedingly vigorous recitation by Biff Hooper, an accordion
solo by Tony Prito and—to cap it all—the antics of a burlesque
orchestra organized by Chet. In this, Chet was in his element, wearing a
fireman’s hat and a huge false mustache. Frank and Joe Hardy, wearing
stovepipe hats and red wigs, alternated at a bass drum; Jerry Gilroy, in
a coat that reached to his heels, performed upon a saxophone that
wouldn’t work and from which Chet produced a string of sausage at the
critical moment; Phil Cohen tortured a flute that was capable of but one
note. The burlesque orchestra assaulted the ears of the audience for
some time, with no music whatever, but with such earnestness that the
hearers were doubled up with laughter.
This was the high spot of the program, so far as the boys were
concerned, and it ended the graduation exercises. When they left the
school that night they all felt a little sad, as they knew they were
leaving it for all time, “unless,” Chet Morton said, “they invite us
back some day when we’re very famous to address the students on ‘The
Secret of Success.’”
“In the meantime,” said Frank, “what are we going to do this summer?”
“I’d like another outing,” Joe volunteered.
“Too much excitement for me,” returned Chet. “Last summer we were going
to have a nice quiet trip down the coast, and look what happened. We got
mixed up with a gang of smugglers and had no end of trouble.”
“It finished up happily enough, didn’t it?” said Frank. “Even if you did
get lost!”
“This summer, I’d like to have a nice quiet holiday in a nice quiet
cabin, with a good beach, where we can swim and loaf around and eat and
sleep and not have anything to worry about.”
“Sounds attractive,” Joe admitted. “Where are you going to find this
place, and how can we get there?”
“How about Cabin Island?” suggested Biff Hooper.
The others were thoughtful.
“You’ve had worse ideas, Biff,” said Chet Morton. “Do you think Mr.
Jefferson will let us go there?”
Frank laughed.
“Why not? Didn’t we find his missing stamp collection? Didn’t he say we
could have the use of the island and the cabin any time we wished? There
won’t be any trouble so far as that’s concerned.”
“I think an outing to Cabin Island would be the real thing,” Joe
declared. “What do you say to organizing a trip? We can take the
motorboats, use Cabin Island as our headquarters, then work out from
there so we can go wherever we wish.”
“You have a head on your shoulders,” Chet approved. “When we get tired
of camping we can go exploring. When we get tired of the motorboats we
can loaf around Cabin Island.”
“Joe and I have the summer free,” said Frank. “After that, we’ll either
go to college or go into business with our father.”
“Don’t you know yet?”
“We want to go in with dad,” said Joe promptly. “But he and mother seem
bent on having us go to college. I think we’ll have a lot of arguing
yet.”
“In the meantime, don’t let it spoil your summer,” advised Chet. “Well,
if you want to go on this outing, be sure and count me in. We can dig up
some of the other fellows and we ought to have a bang-up good time.”
“You can’t dig up many of them,” came from Joe.
“Why not? Any fellow ought to jump at a chance like that.”
“Well, some of them wouldn’t be allowed to leave home—got to work and
all that. And some are on the ball team and have to practice when they
aren’t playing a game. And Dick Roylet and his crowd are going on an
auto tour.”
“Well, we’ll get somebody—if we go,” put in Frank.
Next day when the Hardy boys told their parents about the outing they
had planned, Mr. and Mrs. Hardy glanced at one another.
“Don’t you think you had better be making your preparations for going to
college?” suggested Mr. Hardy.
“If you wait too long, perhaps you may not be able to get in,” their
mother ventured.
“Do we have to go to college?” asked Frank.
Mr. Hardy looked dubious.
“You know, your mother and I have always had that in mind for you.”
Joe groaned.
“I’ll make a rotten lawyer.”
“And I’m sure I’ll be a pretty punk doctor,” declared Frank. “Dad, won’t
you let us go into business with you? We like detective work. It’s the
only thing we’ll ever be happy at. Haven’t we done fairly well with the
cases we’ve had so far?”
“Yes, you’ve done well. I’ll admit that. Still—I think I’d rather see
you go in for something else.”
“Would you want us to go in for something we wouldn’t enjoy?” said Joe.
“A person can’t be a success in his work unless he really likes it.”
“That’s true,” returned Mr. Hardy, weakening a little. “Well, I must
have time to think it over.”
Frank offered a suggestion.
“Let us go on our outing first, and by the time we come back we can
settle the whole thing. We’ll be back in plenty of time to go to
college, if you really insist that we go.”
Mrs. Hardy nodded. “I think that’s fair enough, Fenton,” she said to her
husband.
“All right, then,” agreed the detective. “We’ll let the matter rest for
the time being, and as soon as you boys return from your trip we’ll go
into it thoroughly. But you must promise to abide by my decision. I
don’t want to send you to college against your will, but I do want to do
what’s best for your future.”
“We understand that,” said the boys. “It’s for our own good. But we _do_
want to be detectives.”
Mr. Hardy smiled.
“You seem to have your minds made up, at any rate. Well, let it go at
that. Have your outing and enjoy yourselves. Then we’ll settle the whole
matter, once and for all.”
However, the lads had little time in which to proceed with their plans
for the outing. They did not see Chet Morton that afternoon and the trip
was not discussed with any of the other lads they met. Next morning, as
they were having breakfast, their father came into the dining room.
“After breakfast is over,” he said, “come into my study. I want to have
a little talk with you.”
“We’ll be there.”
When their father had gone, they fell to wondering why he wanted to see
them.
“I can’t think of any mischief we’ve been into—except breaking that
pane of glass in the garage,” said Joe.
“He wouldn’t scold us for that. I intended to put in a new pane of glass
to-day.”
“There’s something in the wind.”
They hurried through the remainder of the meal, anxious to learn the
reason for the summons. When they went into the study, Mr. Hardy was
reading a long typewritten letter which he placed to one side.
“I’ve been asked to handle a case,” he explained at once, “and I thought
maybe you could help me a little. Sometimes you hear of things that I
mightn’t learn about. This is a serious case and just now I’m trying to
make up my mind how to go about it.”
“What has happened, Dad?” asked Frank.
“I received this letter this morning from the postal authorities,
explaining the circumstances. It seems that several bags of valuable
mail have disappeared from one of the hangars at the airport near here.”
“Stolen?”
“They couldn’t have disappeared any other way. The mail, as you know, is
very carefully guarded. In this instance, the train that was to take the
mail into the city was a few minutes late and the sacks were accidently
left unguarded. When the train arrived it was found that the mail had
disappeared. The matter is being kept quiet for the time being, in the
hope that we may get a clue. But so far the whole business seems to be a
complete mystery.”
“Haven’t they any idea who stole it?” asked Joe.
“No idea at all. The only men around, so far as they know, were the
usual airport officials and pilots. Practically all of them are above
suspicion. From the looks of the case, I’m inclined to think some
outsider may have been hiding near by, watching his chance, and when he
saw the sacks left unguarded he simply seized them and cleared out.”
Frank leaned forward in excitement.
“I think we can help you a little,” he declared. “We may know something
about that very robbery.”
“Already?” exclaimed Fenton Hardy, astonished.
Frank and Joe thereupon told their father about their adventure in Beach
Grove on the day of the picnic. They told that they had seen Giles
Ducroy and his two companions near the old cabin, how they had followed
the men and listened to their conversation.
“Ducroy was trying to get these other chaps to go in with him on some
crooked deal, and they were afraid because they said it was too
dangerous,” explained Frank. “Ducroy told them they’d make ten thousand
dollars apiece out of it. Perhaps that was what he meant. He planned to
steal some of the mail bags.”
Fenton Hardy was interested.
“Certainly a suspicious conversation,” he admitted. “Still, the mail
bags weren’t worth any thirty thousand dollars, if what the post office
people tell me is correct. They were worth about two thousand dollars at
the most. Besides, Giles Ducroy is already under suspicion.”
“Has he been arrested?” asked Joe.
Fenton Hardy shook his head.
“When the theft occurred, the authorities first thought of Ducroy,
because they knew he had been discharged and was probably looking for a
chance of revenge. So their first action was to investigate his
movements on the day of the robbery.”
“And what did they find?”
“He wasn’t near Bayport at all. He was in Philadelphia—at least, he has
such an alibi.”
“Can he prove it?” asked Frank.
“He had two witnesses to prove it. So nothing could be done against
Ducroy.”
“I’d like to know who those witnesses were,” said Frank. “I don’t
believe he was in Philadelphia at all.”
The boys were openly dubious about Ducroy’s alibi.
“He’s a slick one, Dad,” declared Joe. “He may look dumb, but he’s not
as dumb as he looks.”
CHAPTER X
Looking for Clues
The news that Giles Ducroy had a proven alibi to clear himself of
suspicion in the affair of the stolen mail sacks disconcerted the Hardy
boys for a time.
When their father told them about the robbery their first thought was
that Ducroy and his two companions were the guilty parties, for the
theft seemed to be linked up in some manner with the conversation the
lads had overheard in the cabin at Beach Grove. However, there now
remained the fact that Ducroy had an alibi, and also the fact that the
mail sacks were by no means worth the amount the former pilot had
mentioned to his companions.
“Just the same,” declared Frank that afternoon, “I’m convinced that
Ducroy had something to do with the affair, alibi or no alibi.”
“Perhaps the mail sacks weren’t stolen by Ducroy,” suggested Joe.
“Perhaps he went to Philadelphia, so he would be able to prove an alibi,
and left Newt Pipps and Ollie Jacobs to commit the actual robbery.”
“It could have been worked that way. I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Joe.
Let’s take the roadster and drive back down to Beach Grove. I’d like to
take another look at that cabin. Perhaps we’ll find a few clues there
that may help us.”
Joe was impressed by this suggestion, and in a short time the Hardy boys
were speeding down the Shore Road in their car. When they reached the
grove they left the roadster and made their way through the woods down
the path toward the little cabin.
“We didn’t have the opportunity to look through the place when we were
here before,” Frank pointed out. “They may have left something behind, a
few notes or plans for instance, that will give us a better idea of what
they were talking about.”
“It’s a mighty suspicious thing that a robbery should occur at the
airport so soon after Giles Ducroy and his friends were talking about
some crooked scheme.”
“That’s the way I feel about it.”
The boys entered the cabin. The door was unlocked and the place was
deserted. It was sparsely furnished with only a small wooden table, two
broken chairs and a few boxes.
“Nothing much here,” Frank remarked. “Still, it won’t do any harm to
look around carefully.”
Joe came upon an empty bottle over in a corner, perhaps the bottle from
which the men had been drinking on the afternoon of the picnic. Frank’s
attention was attracted by a number of cigarette stubs on the table.
“Sometimes a little thing like a cigarette turns out to be a mighty
valuable clue,” he observed, examining the stubs. Most of them were very
short, but on one, a trifle longer than the rest, he found the letters
“RE.” The rest of the word had been obliterated with the burning of the
cigarette.
“I wonder what make of cigarettes they were smoking,” he said. He
searched the cabin thoroughly and at last he found what he was looking
for. Beneath one of the boxes he saw a crumpled paper package. He picked
this up, unfolded it, and examined it carefully.
The package had once held cigarettes, and across the front he saw the
name, “Red Ribbon Cigarettes.”
“Not much of a clue there,” laughed Joe. “All gone up in smoke.”
“You never can tell,” returned his brother, pocketing the package.
“Better be careful. If mother finds that package in your pocket she’ll
think you’ve been smoking.”
“Mother knows us well enough to know we don’t smoke,” Frank said. “I
have a hunch that this little package may come in handy some day.”
Although the boys searched the bare little cabin high and low, they
found nothing else that might help them. Their search for clues appeared
to have been a failure.
“Ducroy and his friends were too wise to leave any notes that might
incriminate them,” Joe said, as they went away. “I guess we’ll have to
tackle the case from another angle.”
“Dad’s handling it to the best of his ability, and I guess he will be in
a position to get information that we’ll never run across. All we can do
is to keep our ears open and, if we hear anything, let him know.”
The boys returned to Bayport, somewhat disappointed; but when they were
near their home they dismissed the mail bag mystery from their minds,
for they met Chet Morton and Biff Hooper.
“Just who we were looking for!” exclaimed Chet. “We called at the house,
but your mother said you had gone out.”
“What’s up?” asked Joe.
“Why, Biff and I thought it would be a fine afternoon to take a little
boat trip. I thought we could go down to Cabin Island and see that
everything is in shape. We can find out what we need to take down there
for our outing. I know we left some kitchen dishes and other things
there last winter, but they may be gone by now. We can look the place
over and make a list of what we’ll have to bring along.”
“You’re going on the trip, aren’t you?” asked Biff.
“Sure, we’re going. I guess it isn’t too late in the day to go down to
the island, Chet. Come on with us and we’ll take the car back to the
garage.”
The Hardy boys drove back to the house with the other lads, told their
mother that they were going down to Cabin Island in the boat, and
started off for the boathouse. The lads did not take any food with them,
for the Hardy boys’ motorboat, _The Sleuth_, was a speedy craft and was
quite capable of taking them to Cabin Island and back by evening.
It was a warm, sultry afternoon, and the lads were glad to be out on the
cool bay, away from the sweltering heat of the city. It had been an
unusually close day, and there had been occasional rumbles of distant
thunder.
“We’re going to have a thunderstorm to-night, I’ll bet,” said Biff, as
the boat nosed down the bay.
“I don’t think it’ll break before we get back,” said Frank. “It’s a long
way off yet.”
_The Sleuth_ drummed along smoothly, and Joe lolled at the wheel. Once
they left the narrow end of the bay upon which the city nestled in the
glaring sunlight, there was a stiff breeze, vigorous and refreshing.
“Oh, boy!” gloated Chet. “This is the life!”
“It sure is!” the others agreed.
By the time they came within sight of Cabin Island, leaving Bayport far
behind, they could see rolling black clouds in the east, and the murmur
of thunder had become more continuous.
“We shan’t be able to stay long, I’m afraid,” remarked Frank. “That
storm is coming up more quickly than I thought it would.”
“Oh, it’s hours away yet,” scoffed Chet. “You’ll see.”
“Let’s hope so. Anyway, we won’t lose time. We’ll just go up to the
cabin and take a quick look around. I don’t want to get caught out in a
bad storm. _The Sleuth_ is a good little boat, but the waves run mighty
high in the open bay around here.”
Those who followed the adventures of the Hardy boys in “The Mystery of
Cabin Island,” are aware that the island, which was owned by Elroy
Jefferson, a wealthy antique dealer of Bayport, lay far down Barmet Bay
in a little cove. There was a large cabin, built by Mr. Jefferson, fully
equipped and furnished, but not occupied by the owner because it had
been built for the use of his wife and son. They had died, and the
associations of the island had been so painful to him that he had never
gone near the place again. However, grateful to the Hardy boys because
they had recovered his stolen automobile and because they had solved the
mystery of a valuable stamp collection that had been purloined from him,
he had turned over the key of the cabin to them with full permission to
make use of the place on any of their outings.
They ran the motorboat into the little boathouse and made it secure,
then clambered up the familiar path toward the cabin. They had last been
on the island in the winter time, when everything was blanketed with
snow. Now it was doubly beautiful with its grassy, wooded slopes and its
tall trees, among which the cabin stood.
“Make it snappy,” cautioned Frank. “That storm looks worse every
minute.”
He opened the cabin door and they stepped inside. The chimney, which had
been damaged during a storm the previous winter, had been repaired by
some workmen whom Elroy Jefferson had sent to the island, and the place
had been thoroughly cleaned. Some new furniture had been installed and
on going to the kitchen the boys found a full supply of dishes, kettles,
frying pans, cutlery—everything they could possibly need except
provisions.
“He must have expected us to come here during the summer!” exclaimed
Joe, in delight. “He certainly hasn’t overlooked anything.”
“Mighty good of him, I’ll say!” Chet declared, and his sentiment was
echoed by the others. “We have nothing to worry about in the way of
kitchen equipment, at any rate. We’ll need only blankets and grub.”
“I think we’ll have a fine outing here.” Frank looked out the window.
“Well, we’ve found that we don’t have to worry about the kitchen end of
it. Now let’s be going. The storm is right overhead.”
When the boys stepped outside again, all saw that Frank’s desire for
haste was well-founded. There were white caps rolling on the bay and the
sky was growing black. Even as they started down the path there was a
flash of lightning and an ear-splitting crash of thunder. Then followed
a gusty shower of rain. The trees were bending before the rising wind.
“We’ll never make it!” shouted Frank. “No use trying to get back to
Bayport now.”
“What’ll we do?” asked Chet.
“I guess we’d better go back to the cabin.”
“We haven’t any food, no blankets, no oil in the lights. We’ll probably
be stranded here all night.”
“This is a fine lookout,” grumbled Biff. “I wish I hadn’t come.”
As the boys looked out over the bay they could see a sweeping wall of
rain approaching above the stormy waters. His companions realized that
Frank Hardy was right. They could not hope to brave the perils of that
storm by venturing a return to Bayport that night. On the other hand,
the prospect of being stranded on the island without food was far from
pleasing.
Rain was pouring now. Another lightning flash zigzagged its way through
the clouds. Another thunderclap crashed forth.
“Do you think we can reach the village?” shouted Joe.
Frank had almost forgotten about the little village on the mainland not
far away which they had visited several times during the winter. Amos
Grice, the storekeeper, was a good friend of theirs and his hospitality
was preferable to spending a night in a dark cabin, without food or
blankets.
“We’ll try it, anyway. If we get into the shelter of the shore I think
we can make it all right. Come on fellows!”
The others followed Frank down the steep path to the boathouse, where
all clambered into _The Sleuth_. The engine roared as the boat sped out
into the rolling waves, this time Frank taking the wheel.
Smash!
A great wave broke over the bow, drenching the boys to the skin. The
full force of the wind caught them as they rounded the point of the
island. They were plunging out into a raging waste of waters.
“We’ll never make it!” groaned Chet.
CHAPTER XI
News from the City
Frank Hardy set his jaw with grim determination as he drove the
motorboat into the storm. It was too late to turn back.
The storm had swept up with such speed that Frank realized now that he
had underestimated it. The wind was terrific and the waves were high.
They battered against the staunch little boat, drenching the boys with
flying spray.
Frank headed toward the mainland, but then he saw that he could not hope
to find shelter from the wind along the shore. The waves were rolling in
and dashing against the rocks. The motorboat would have no chance there.
It would be flung hither and thither and battered to pieces.
“Nothing for it but to head right into the wind, I guess,” he shouted,
above the howl of the storm.
The other boys were crouching in the bottom of the boat, out of the
flying spray. The boat seemed to quiver with successive shocks as it
bucked the waves.
The rain was driving into their faces. Through the downpour Frank could
not even see the little village toward which they were bound. He wished
they had remained on Cabin Island.
_The Sleuth_, although small, was a strong and well-built craft. The
engine throbbed faithfully. None of them dared think of the consequences
should the engine fail.
The bow of the craft cut through the rolling waves like a knife. Thunder
rolled overhead. The sky was black. The boys could scarcely see the
shore. Driving against the wind and the tide, the boat could make little
speed, and headway seemed slight.
Nevertheless _The Sleuth_ was edging slowly down the bay, coming ever
closer to the little village. Frank peered through the raging storm,
hoping to catch sight of the little huddle of houses on the shore.
Lightning flared in the dark sky. Frank held the boat steadily into the
wind.
They were all drenched to the skin. Although no one said a word, Frank
could see that the others were frightened. As a matter of fact, he was
none too confident of the outcome himself.
“It all depends on the engine,” he muttered. “If that fails, we’re done
for.”
But the engine had been thoroughly overhauled just the previous week. He
was grateful for the foresight that had enabled him and Joe to take this
precaution.
Joe crept to the side of his brother.
“Do you think we’ll get there, Frank?” he shouted.
Frank nodded. “It’s dirty weather, but we ought to make it all right.”
Just then he caught sight of the little break in the shoreline that
indicated the cove where the village was located. They were still far
out, and to reach the village the boat must run diagonal to the waves.
This was the hardest test.
The buffeting _The Sleuth_ had previously received was as nothing to
what she now suffered. Time and again the boys held their breaths,
certain that the boat was about to capsize. Great waves would crash
against it, the boat would cant far over on her side, her bow would be
buried in the water. Then, like a live thing, _The Sleuth_ would shake
herself free, rise above the waves, and go plunging on.
The boys clung to every available hold, fearful of being washed
overboard.
Suddenly Joe gave a shout of warning:
“Watch out!”
A great roller was bearing down on them. They ducked, waited——
Crash!
A huge sea of green water engulfed them. For a moment the boat was
completely buried beneath the wave. It slipped far over. Frank felt his
feet washed from beneath him. He clung to the wheel with all the
strength at his command, held his breath through what seemed an eternity
of waiting.
Then the motorboat labored free of the wave, slowly righted itself. The
water receded. The craft was weighted down by the water that still
remained in it, but all the boys were safe. Chet was suffering from a
cut across the forehead, where he had been flung against one of the
seats; Biff was clutching his wrist, which had been wrenched in his
desperate effort to retain his grip on an iron ring; Joe was gasping for
breath after his immersion in the water; Frank felt a dull pain in his
side, where he had been dashed against the wheel.
More dead than alive, the boys held on. But the village was now in plain
view. They had gone through the worst of the storm, and the waves were
now hurling the boat in toward the cove.
Frank steered toward a little dock, where the angry waters were dashing
themselves angrily against the timbers. He saw a man clad in oilskins
running out on the dock, gesturing to them and pointing toward the
shore. There was a little boathouse in the cove, and then the man ran
from the dock over toward the boathouse, still gesturing.
There was shelter for them. The motorboat would have been dashed to
pieces had they tied up to the dock. Frank saw the door of the boathouse
open and he drove directly toward it. A great wave caught the craft and
it shot forward. A turn of the wheel and he was headed into the narrow
opening. He switched off the engine, and then _The Sleuth_ slid gently
into the slip.
Tired, exhausted, drenched, the boys clambered out of the boat. The man
in oilskins was waiting for them. He seized a rope Frank flung to him
and snubbed it around a post.
“Well, now, that was a narrow squeak, if ever I saw one!” he declared in
a familiar, nasal voice. “Wust storm we’ve had on this bay for ten
years, and you’d be caught in it. You’re mighty lucky, my lads.”
They looked up. They knew that voice well.
“Amos Grice!” exclaimed Frank.
At the sound of his name, the man looked around. Then he recognized the
refugees.
“Well, if it ain’t the Hardy boys!” he shouted in welcome. “And Chet and
Biff!”
“You certainly did us a good turn that time,” declared Joe.
Amos Grice was soon shaking hands with them, asking a score of
questions. How had they come to be out on the bay in the storm? Had they
been at Cabin Island? Had they been frightened? How did the boat get
half full of water? And so on and so forth. He was a kindly old man,
this village storekeeper. He now led the way out of the boathouse.
“Come up to the store,” he said. “Come up and put on some dry clothes.
You’re soaked to the hide, all of you. Come up and tell me how it
happened.”
“Nothing much to tell, Mr. Grice,” explained Frank. “We were on Cabin
Island this afternoon when we saw the storm coming up. We knew there was
no chance of getting back to Bayport in time, so we thought we’d run
over here, but the storm broke too suddenly for us.”
“It did break sudden,” admitted the storekeeper. “It broke sudden and
fierce. I’ve never seen a worse storm in ten years.”
He took them up to the store, and in a warm kitchen at the back he bade
them dry themselves by the fire while he hustled about and procured dry
clothing. Amos Grice was a bachelor, and while his living quarters were
crude, they were neat and comfortable. He was genuinely delighted to see
the boys, and he soon busied himself at the stove preparing supper.
After a hearty meal the lads were feeling more comfortable and their
hazardous adventure on the bay did not seem quite so perilous as they
looked back on it.
“I guess we won’t be able to get back to the city to-night,” said Frank
regretfully.
Amos Grice snorted.
“I wouldn’t hear of it!” he declared. “Couldn’t think of it! Just
suicide to try it. No, sir, you lads have got to spend the night with
me, and glad I am to have you. It’s seldom enough I have company here.”
“As long as you have room for us——”
“Of course I have room for you. There’s two big beds in the spare room,
and you’re more than welcome.”
A bell occasionally tinkled out in the store, and Amos Grice bustled
away to wait on a customer. However, there were few people in the little
village and the night was so wild and stormy that nearly everyone was
staying indoors, so the interruptions were few.
They chatted with the old man all that evening, sitting by the fire, and
eventually he showed them to a big room where the beds were already
made.
“Now,” he said, “sleep as long as you wish and I’ll have some breakfast
for you in the morning. No doubt your parents is worryin’ about you, and
I’d phone ’em if I could, to let ’em know you’re all safe and sound. But
the telephone wires is down somewhere along the line. They’ll likely be
fixed by morning.”
“Dad and mother will certainly be worrying about us,” said Joe.
“Can’t be helped,” returned Amos philosophically. “They’ll feel all the
better when they know you’re safe.”
The boys were tired and they fell asleep quickly. In the morning when
they awakened the sun was shining in the window. The storm was over. Out
in the kitchen a fire crackled in the stove and they could hear Amos
Grice moving about. There was a savory aroma of bacon and eggs and
coffee.
“He’s certainly a good scout!” declared Chet, as they dressed.
“Can’t be beat,” agreed Biff.
When the boys were washed and dressed, they went out into the kitchen.
“Sleep well?” inquired Amos.
“You bet!”
“That’s good. Breakfast is ready. Pull your chairs up to the table and
get on the outside of some bacon and eggs. There’s plenty, so don’t be
afeared to ask for second helpin’s.”
“Is the telephone working, Mr. Grice?” asked Frank. “I’d like to call
them up at home if I can.”
“Yep, the phone is workin’ again,” the storekeeper assured them. “I
know, because I was callin’ the operator this morning. Big doin’s in
Bayport last night.”
“What was that?” asked Joe, interested.
“Big robbery at the airport. One of them airplanes was robbed of a lot
of mail worth more’n twenty thousand dollars, so the telephone operator
was tellin’ me.”
The Hardy boys looked at one another in amazement. A second robbery at
the airport! Impulsively, Frank exclaimed:
“Ducroy again!”
CHAPTER XII
Under Arrest
“What’s that?” demanded the storekeeper abruptly, in response to Frank
Hardy’s inadvertent exclamation.
“Nothing,” answered Frank. “I was surprised—that’s all. You see, there
was a robbery at the airport only a day or so ago.”
“Another one, eh? Well, they oughta watch that place more careful,
that’s all I can say. People won’t be sendin’ their letters by airplane
if they think they’re goin’ to be stolen all the time.”
“That’s a case for you fellows,” said Biff.
Neither Biff nor Chet were aware of the depth of the Hardy boy’s
interest in the airport robberies.
“Did the operator tell you anything more about that affair, Mr. Grice?”
asked Frank, after a pause.
“Nothin’ more than what I’ve told you. She just said there was a big
robbery and twenty thousand dollars’ worth of mail had been stolen last
night.”
Joe went to the telephone. After some delay he managed to get the Hardy
home in Bayport on the wire. His mother’s voice answered.
“Hello, Mother! This is Joe talking.”
Her voice had an unmistakable note of relief as she answered:
“Joe! Oh, I’m so glad to hear your voice again. Your father and I have
been greatly worried about you. Where are you? What happened? Why didn’t
you come home last night?”
“Don’t worry, Mother. We were caught in the storm and we couldn’t get
back. We’re quite safe. We’re at Mr. Grice’s place, down below Cabin
Island.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that. When are you coming home?”
“We’re coming back to-day. Would you mind telephoning to Mrs. Morton and
Mrs. Hooper? Tell them that Chet and Biff are with us and that they’re
all right too.”
“I’ll do that, Joe. Just a minute. Your father wants to speak to you.”
Joe waited a moment. Then he heard his father’s voice.
“Hello, Son. You’ve given us a pretty bad scare.”
“We’re sorry, Dad, but we got caught in the storm.”
“Let me in on this, Joe,” begged Frank; and when Joe had put the
telephone in his brother’s hand the older Hardy boy continued: “Hello,
Dad! Worried you and mother, did we? Sorry. But we’re all right. Will
tell you about it when we get back.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re all right. Now listen. I want you and Joe to come
home at once.”
“Sure. We are just going to leave.”
“Come back to Bayport at once. Something has happened.”
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
“I’ll tell you when you reach here. But don’t lose any time.”
“Is it about the airport robbery?” asked Frank.
“How did you know there was a robbery at the airport?” demanded his
father in an anxious tone.
“We heard it this morning through Mr. Grice.”
“Well, it’s connected with the robbery, but it’s a little worse than
that. Come right home, mind now.”
“All right, Dad. We’ll leave right away.”
Frank hung up the receiver and turned to the others. He was puzzled.
“I guess we can’t hang around here this morning. Dad wants us back right
away. He seems awfully anxious.”
“Anything wrong at home?” asked Joe quickly. “Mother didn’t say so.”
“Everything’s all right there, I guess. But Dad has something on his
mind. He said he’d explain it when we got home.”
“Shucks!” grumbled Amos Grice. “And I counted on takin’ you lads out
fishin’ this morning.”
“I guess we’ll have to call it off, Mr. Grice. Some other time,
perhaps.”
Chet Morton sighed and ate another slice of bacon.
“I guess we’ll all catch it when we get home. Was your Dad sore, Frank?”
“No, he didn’t seem angry. I can’t imagine what’s wrong. Well, I guess
we’ll have to bail out the boat right after breakfast and start for
home.”
After they had eaten, Amos Grice helped them bail out the motorboat. It
had stood the storm well, in spite of the terrific battering it had
received. The old storekeeper was disappointed because his young guests
could not remain with him longer, and when they thanked him heartily for
his kindness he waved their gratitude aside.
“A pleasure,” he told them. “I’m always glad to see you. Any time you’re
down this way, be sure and drop in.”
“We’ll pick better weather next time, Mr. Grice,” laughed Chet.
“In fair weather or foul, you’re always welcome.”
They got into the boat and started off. The storekeeper stood on the
dock and waved to them as they departed. Then he turned and walked
slowly up toward his store.
Joe came up and sat beside Frank, who was at the wheel.
“What do you think has happened, Frank?”
“I can’t imagine. It has something to do with the robbery last night,
I’m sure.”
“But why should dad want us back right away?” Joe insisted.
Frank shrugged. “It beats me. Perhaps he has some work for us to do,
helping him trace the thieves.”
“Maybe that’s it. I sure hope so.”
Frank was silent for a while. Then he said:
“I wonder if Giles Ducroy and his friends will have an alibi this time.”
“It will have to be a mighty good one. Just think of it! Two mail thefts
in a row. Whoever did last night’s job must know the run of the airport
pretty well.”
“Whoever committed the first robbery knew the lay of the land too. If we
solve the first one we’ve solved them both.”
“We?” said Joe. “I don’t think _we’ll_ have much chance to solve it.
This is dad’s case. I’ll bet it won’t take him very long to clear it up,
either.”
But, with all their conjectures, the Hardy boys had no suspicion of the
real reason for their summons back to Bayport. Had they known what had
caused that note of urgency and anxiety in their father’s voice, they
would have been dumbfounded. A stunning surprise awaited them.
They passed Cabin Island and headed out of the cove into the open bay.
The water was still rough from yesterday’s storm, but there was little
wind. After a while the city came in sight far in the distance, shining
in the sunlight, beneath a pall of smoke from the factory chimneys.
It was a few minutes before twelve o’clock when the boys finally arrived
at Bayport and ran _The Sleuth_ into the boathouse. To their surprise
they saw that a man was lounging in the doorway. He was a big man, with
a fat, stolid face, and he was chewing at an unlighted cigar, his thumbs
in his vest pockets.
“Good mornin’, boys,” he rumbled.
They recognized him as Detective Smuff, of the Bayport police
department, a worthy if unintelligent officer. Frank could not imagine
why Smuff should be in the boathouse, apparently waiting for them, but
he grinned amiably at the detective.
“Hello, Mr. Smuff! It is an unexpected surprise to find you here.”
Smuff nodded portentously. “It is?” he asked.
“Last person in the world we ever thought would come down to welcome
us,” declared Chet. “I tell you, Mr. Smuff, we sure appreciate this. It
isn’t often we have a reception committee on the job when we come back
from a little outing.”
“Well,” said Smuff, “I’m on the job this time.” He turned to the Hardy
boys. “I’ve been sent down here to give you a message as soon as you got
in,” he informed them.
“A message!” exclaimed Joe. “Who from?”
“The chief. He wants to see you down at headquarters.”
The Hardy boys stared at the detective in amazement.
“The chief? Wants to see us?” ejaculated Frank.
“Yep.”
“What about?” demanded Joe.
Smuff looked very mysterious. “You’ll know all about it when you get
there,” he said.
“You’re going to be pinched for staying out all night,” laughed Chet.
“That’s a fine thing to do, Smuff—pinch our chums the minute we get
back to town. A fine reception committee you are!”
“I didn’t say anybody was pinched,” returned Smuff cautiously.
“Well,” said Frank, “this _is_ a surprise! Won’t you tell us what it’s
all about?”
Smuff shook his head. “My orders,” he explained, “was to come down here
and wait for you and to tell you to come up and see the chief right
away.”
“Why not let us wait until after lunch? We want to go home and eat and
change our clothes.”
“Orders is orders,” insisted Smuff firmly. “The chief wants to see you
right away.”
“All right,” sighed Joe. “I suppose we’ll have to go. But I wish I knew
what it was all about.”
“Me, too,” rejoined his brother.
Biff, who had been tying up the boat, came forward.
“He probably wants to fire Smuff, here, and give you jobs on the
detective force,” he suggested, with a grin.
Smuff glowered. “My job is good for a long time yet,” he observed
pompously.
“Come on,” said Frank. “There’s no use standing here arguing about it.
We’ll go with you, Smuff.”
“I have my car right here at the door,” said the detective.
“That’s service,” chirped Chet. “Biff and I will run along home. Our
parents will be worrying themselves sick if we don’t show up. So long,
fellows! If Smuff claps you into a cell, we’ll come and bail you out!”
Chet and Biff hastened off down the street while the Hardy boys
clambered into Smuff’s car. The detective wedged himself in behind the
wheel and they drove the few short blocks to police headquarters.
Here they were ushered into the private office of Chief Collig himself,
a fussy little man with a vast sense of dignity. The chief was sitting
at a huge desk, scanning a large number of photographs of criminals, but
he stacked these to one side as Detective Smuff brought the boys in.
“Good day, Chief,” said Frank easily. “Detective Smuff, here, said you
wanted to see us.”
“I did,” snapped Chief Collig.
“Well, here we are.”
“You’re wanted,” said Collig briefly.
“Wanted?” asked Frank. “What do you mean?”
“You’re wanted by the postal authorities. I have orders to place you
under arrest.”
The lads were so astonished that they could scarcely speak. Under
arrest? This was the last thing either had expected.
“What for?” gasped Joe. “What’s the idea?”
“You know about the airport robbery, don’t you?” demanded Chief Collig.
“Yes, we know about it. But——”
“Well, they say you did it. I have orders to arrest you both.”
CHAPTER XIII
Circumstantial Evidence
The Hardy boys were absolutely dumbfounded. The charge of theft seemed
so absurd that they were at first tempted to laugh. But they saw that
Chief Collig was in deadly earnest. His face was serious and his eyes
regarded them sternly.
“The postal people have evidence against you lads,” he said. “A mail
sack with about twenty thousand dollars’ worth of mail was stolen. They
took out a warrant against you this morning.”
“Why, this is the craziest thing I ever heard of!” declared Frank hotly.
“Us? Mixed up in that mail robbery? Why, we weren’t even near Bayport
when it happened.”
“How do you know so much about when it happened?” asked the chief
quickly.
“We were away down the bay all last night and we heard it over the
telephone this morning.”
“Pretty good alibi,” said the chief. “And what time do you think the
robbery occurred?”
“Last night.”
“Well, it didn’t happen last night. It happened yesterday afternoon,
early. And you boys didn’t leave here in your motorboat until late in
the afternoon. The robbery wasn’t discovered until last night. Where
were you yesterday afternoon?”
“Why, we went in our roadster down to—” began Joe, but a warning kick
from Frank silenced him. It would not do to tell Chief Collig that they
had been in Beach Grove, seeking clues against Ducroy and his friends in
the deserted cabin.
“Where did you go in your roadster?” asked Chief Collig.
“We went for a drive,” admitted Joe lamely.
“Where to?”
“Well,” said Joe, “we went down the Shore Road.”
“To the airport?”
“No.”
The chief pursed his lips. “You parked your car in Beach Grove,” he
said. “I have a witness to prove it. And from there you walked through
the bush to the airport.”
“We didn’t!” snapped Frank.
“Where did you go, then?”
“We just took a walk through the grove.”
“Can you prove it?” asked the chief.
“You’ll have to take our word for it, that’s all I can say.”
The chief shook his head. “I can’t take your word for it,” he returned.
“The evidence against you is too strong.”
“Are you going to lock us up?” Frank asked.
“You’re under arrest. That’s my duty.”
“Won’t you let us go home first? We’d like to talk this over with our
father.”
“He knows about it,” said Collig.
“But we want to see him, anyway. You come with us, Chief. We won’t try
to run away.”
The chief considered this for a moment. “I guess there ain’t any harm in
that,” he decided finally. He got up, put on his uniform cap, and led
the way out of the office.
A department automobile was waiting at the curb and Chief Collig ordered
the chauffeur to drive to the Hardy home on High Street.
“What makes you think we’re mixed up in this business?” Joe inquired.
“Is it just because we were out on the Shore Road yesterday?”
The chief shook his head. “We didn’t know that until later,” he said.
“After we began checking up on you two lads we found that you had been
on the Shore Road.”
Frank was surprised.
“What made you check up on us? Why should you suspect us? We have never
been in trouble before.”
“I know that,” returned Chief Collig. “You would never have been
suspected hadn’t it been for the clues.”
“Clues?”
“There were clues found after the robbery. I think you’ll have a hard
time explaining them.”
Beyond that, Chief Collig would volunteer no further information. The
boys were puzzled and apprehensive. The chief’s mysterious reference to
clues made their position seem more serious than they had at first
imagined. Conscious though they were of their own innocence, they
realized that their visit to Beach Grove made it almost impossible for
them to prove an alibi and they readily saw that they might find
themselves in a bad plight.
At the Hardy home they found Fenton Hardy awaiting them. Mrs. Hardy
seemed anxious and frightened, particularly when she saw Chief Collig,
but her husband managed to allay her fears.
“It’s all a bad mistake, Laura,” he assured her. “The boys have done
nothing wrong. We’ll go into the matter thoroughly and see where the
trouble lies.”
He ushered Chief Collig and his sons into the study, then closed the
door.
“Well, Chief,” said the great detective easily, “this seems to be a bad
mix-up. I didn’t meet the boys when they arrived this morning because I
knew you wanted to have a talk with them and I didn’t wish to interfere.
How do things stand now?”
“They’re under arrest,” returned Collig. “They wanted me to bring them
home so they could see you, and I consented.”
“Under arrest, are they? Well, that’s bad. I thought they would be able
to prove an alibi.”
“They can’t,” said the chief. “It isn’t my doing, Mr. Hardy. The post
office people took out this warrant and if I didn’t arrest them,
somebody else would.”
“I quite understand that, Chief.” Mr. Hardy turned to his sons. “Well,
boys, this looks pretty bad. What have you to say?”
“It’s a big surprise to us, Dad,” said Frank. “The first we heard of the
robbery was over the telephone this morning. We don’t know anything more
about it than that. I think you know well enough that we’re innocent.”
Mr. Hardy nodded. “I’m quite sure of that. The fact is, however, that
there is some damaging evidence against you. It will have to be
explained. When were you at the airport last?”
“We’ve never been at the airport, Dad.”
“You’ve never been there at any time?”
“No,” said Frank. “We started out to visit the airport one day, but that
was the time Giles Ducroy’s plane crashed when we were still some
distance away. We turned back and returned to town.”
“Where were you yesterday afternoon?”
“We took the car and went for a drive out the Shore Road, to Beach
Grove.”
“Did anyone see you? Can anyone prove it?” inquired Mr. Hardy, eagerly.
Frank shook his head. “No one saw us, so far as I know. You’ll just have
to take our word for it.”
“That’s quite enough for me,” admitted Mr. Hardy. “But the police
require something more substantial than that.”
“What’s all this about clues?” demanded Joe. “Chief Collig says they
found some clues at the airport that seemed to connect us with the
robbery. What were they?”
“We found a sweater, for one thing,” declared Chief Collig. “It was a
blue sweater, with white trimmings.”
“I had a blue sweater with white trimmings,” said Frank promptly.
“Where is it now?” asked the chief.
“I lost it.”
Chief Collig nodded grimly. “You lost it at the airport. That’s where it
was found.”
“My sweater? Found at the airport?” exclaimed Frank, dumbfounded.
“There are plenty of blue sweaters like Frank’s,” scoffed Joe. “How do
you know it was his?”
“Because,” returned the chief, “his name was in it. It was on a tag
inside the collar.”
Frank was silent for a moment. He realized how damaging the discovery of
the sweater might be.
“I did have a tag with my name on it, stitched inside the collar of my
sweater,” he admitted. “I guess it must be mine, all right. But I didn’t
leave it there. I lost the sweater more than a week ago. I left it out
in the barn one night and I haven’t seen it since.”
“Well,” said Chief Collig, “the sweater has been found. It was lying in
the airport, in a place where you—where the thieves lay in hiding until
the mail bags were left unguarded.”
“Anyone could have put the sweater there,” declared Mr. Hardy. “The
person who took Frank’s sweater from the barn could have done that.”
“We have more evidence than that,” insisted the chief. He turned to Joe.
“Let me see the soles of your shoes?”
Mystified, Joe elevated his feet. The chief looked at the soles, then
referred to a paper which he removed from his pocket.
“You’ll find it hard to explain _that_,” he said, and placed the paper
on Fenton Hardy’s desk.
Joe’s shoes had been bought at an exclusive sporting goods store in
Bayport just a few days previously. They were new, and of an original
design, the rubber soles were stamped in a peculiar manner. Probably no
more than a few pairs had been sold since the shipment arrived.
The paper which Chief Collig produced had a penciled drawing which
corresponded to the stamped design on the soles of Joe’s shoes.
“That drawing,” explained the chief, “was made from the footprints found
at the scene of the robbery. What size of shoe do you wear?”
“Size six,” returned Joe.
“These footprints were made by a size six shoe. I went to the shoe
dealers in town and I found that only one merchant handles shoes of that
type. He says they are a new kind of shoe and that he has sold only one
pair of sixes since they arrived. And he sold that pair to you. How do
you explain that?”
“I didn’t leave the footprints there,” insisted Joe doggedly. “Someone
else must have a pair of those shoes, same size as mine.”
“You are wearing the only pair of those shoes ever sold in Bayport,”
declared Chief Collig. “The footprints were found at the airport in the
mud. And there’s something else.” He took an object from his pocket and
held it out in the palm of his hand. “Do you recognize that?”
“My knife!” exclaimed Frank.
“You admit it, eh?” The chief grunted with satisfaction. “You see the
initials on it. J. H. to F. H.?”
“Joe gave it to me for Christmas, and he had the initials engraved on
it.”
“I suppose,” sneered the chief, “you lost the knife at the same time you
lost your sweater?”
“To tell the truth, I did.”
Fenton Hardy was pale and distressed.
“This looks very bad,” he said to his sons. “Have you any idea how the
sweater and the knife came to be there, Frank?”
“None at all, Dad, unless the person who stole them from me left them at
the airport.”
“And you, Joe? How about the footprints?”
“All I can say is that somebody else must have a pair of shoes like
mine. Neither Frank nor I ever went near the airport.”
“I think,” said Fenton Hardy, “it wouldn’t be a bad idea if we went out
to the airport now. We’ll have to look over the ground.”
CHAPTER XIV
Held for Trial
Chief Collig accompanied Fenton Hardy and the two boys out to the
airport, taking them there in his own car. The road entering the grounds
was under guard, and the big hangars were closely watched, the
authorities evidently taking no chances on a repetition of the robbery.
However, Chief Collig was readily admitted and the party proceeded to a
hangar where a newspaper photographer was busy taking pictures.
“I’d like to see those footprints, Chief, if you don’t mind,” said Mr.
Hardy.
“They haven’t been touched,” said Chief Collig. “I gave strict orders
they weren’t to be disturbed.”
Close by the hangar wall a few boards covered the ground. The chief
raised them, and in the ground beneath they could see the clear imprint
of a foot. The marks of the rubber sole were identical with those made
by Joe’s shoes.
“Let’s see how your foot fits that,” suggested the chief, turning to
Joe.
Without hesitation, Joe stepped forward. He placed his right foot in the
print. It fitted exactly. When he removed his foot there had been not
the slightest change in the original print in the ground.
“Yet you said you were never here before!” exclaimed the chief.
“I still say it,” Joe insisted.
“Then how do you account for that footprint? Same size, same marks, same
everything.”
“Somebody must have had a shoe just like mine. That’s all I can say.”
The chief sniffed dubiously. Then Fenton Hardy, who had been examining
the footprint, made a suggestion.
“Joe,” he said, “I want you to stand in the earth right beside that
other footprint. Just walk across there, stand for a moment, and move
away.”
Wondering, Joe obeyed. When he had done as his father asked, there were
several new footprints in the soft earth. Mr. Hardy looked at them
closely.
“What do you think of that, Chief?” he asked.
Chief Collig looked down at the footprints.
“Not much difference, so far as I can see,” he grunted.
“Not _much_. But there _is_ a difference, isn’t there?”
“The footprints Joe just made don’t seem as heavy as the other one,”
admitted the chief.
“They certainly aren’t. You can see how light the impressions are in the
earth. That first footprint is pressed down quite heavily. You couldn’t
help but see it, and I think it was meant to be seen. Joe’s natural
footprints, on the other hand, are scarcely visible.”
“What of it?” demanded the chief.
“I mean,” said Fenton Hardy, “that the footprint you found here is not
Joe’s natural footprint at all. It’s all very well to say that the size
and the sole markings are identical, but there is more to a footprint
than that. The first footprint was made by a very heavy person, as you
can see by comparing it with the footprints Joe made just now.” He
turned to his son. “How much do you weigh, Joe?”
“One hundred and twenty-five pounds,” Joe answered promptly.
“That’s not very heavy. But that first footprint was certainly made by a
person weighing considerably more than that. The earth here is no harder
now than it was at the time of the robbery, because it has been covered
over by the boards, so I think the test proves itself. Then, to go
further, wasn’t there another footprint, Chief? You have shown us only
one, the conclusion being that the thief was a one-legged man.”
“There’s another footprint,” declared Collig. “Here it is.” He pointed
to an impression in the earth a short distance away.
Fenton Hardy took a small folding measuring rule from his pocket and
measured the distance between the two original prints. Then he measured
Joe’s footprints.
“More proof,” he said finally. “The distance between these first two
prints is a good seven inches more than the distance between Joe’s
actual footprints. That proves that the man who wore those shoes was a
good deal taller than Joe, with a longer stride. It also proves that
when he made that heavy print in the mud he was not simply standing
still, which might have caused the print to be heavier by reason of his
weight. Otherwise his feet would have been close together. He was
walking, just as Joe was walking a moment ago.”
Chief Collig was puzzled. Fenton Hardy’s deductions came as a rude
shock, for the chief had already made up his mind that the Hardy boys
were guilty and the evidence had seemed conclusive to him. He was not a
man who admitted a mistake readily and he clung obstinately to his
original belief.
“I don’t care how you figure it out,” he said roughly. “Your boys can’t
explain how that sweater and the knife got here. And they can’t prove an
alibi. I’m not going to let them go just because one footprint is a
little bit heavier than the other.”
“You mean we’re still under arrest?” asked Frank anxiously.
The chief nodded. “You’re under arrest,” he said. “We’d better be
starting back to the city.”
Fenton Hardy patted Frank’s shoulder.
“Never mind, Son,” he said. “I’m afraid I can’t convince Chief Collig
just now, but at any rate I’m sure of your innocence. And we’ll prove it
yet.”
There was nothing more the detective could do. They left the airport and
got back into the chief’s car. Gloomily, they drove back to the city.
That afternoon, Frank and Joe Hardy were arraigned before a magistrate
and, after the evidence had been presented, they were held for trial on
the serious charge of robbing the air mail.
“Held for the robbery!” cried Joe, aghast.
“It’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of,” declared his brother.
“What would we rob the mail for?”
“Gee, Frank, this will give us a black eye all right.”
“Don’t I know it? But I don’t think our real friends will believe a word
of it.”
“Just wait till the newspapers come out. They won’t do a thing but spill
it all over the front page!”
“That’s the worst of it. It will make mother feel pretty bad.”
“Yes, and when Aunt Gertrude hears of it she’ll say ‘I told you so.’”
“It’s a blamed shame, that’s what it is. I’d like to get back at the
Chief for this.”
“So would I.”
This development caused a sensation in Bayport. When the afternoon
papers came out with headlines, “Noted Detective’s Sons Held For Air
Mail Theft,” friends of the boys and of Fenton Hardy could scarcely
believe the news. On every hand people said, “There must be some
mistake. The Hardy boys would never do a thing like that.” Scarcely
anyone outside the police department could be found who actually
believed the lads were guilty.
Nevertheless, this did not make the situation any easier for Frank and
Joe Hardy. They were in jail, and the prospect of release seemed remote,
because bail had been set in the heavy sum of fifty thousand dollars.
Fenton Hardy was not at all rich, and although he would have placed his
entire fortune at the disposal of his sons, he was finding it difficult,
if not impossible, to raise the big sum required for bail. He called on
the boys late that afternoon and visited them in their cell, ruefully
confessing that he had been unable to raise the money.
“I’m sorry, boys,” he said. “I hate to see you stay here in jail,
particularly when I’m sure you’re innocent. But you won’t be here long.
I’ll do my best to borrow the money to-morrow.”
“Don’t worry about us, Dad,” urged Frank. “Fifty thousand dollars is a
lot of money.”
“Mighty slim evidence they’re holding us on,” complained Joe. “If they
would only bring us to trial right away, we’d be acquitted sure.”
Just then they heard a disturbance in the corridor. Two men were arguing
with one of the guards.
“But I tell you, we _must_ see them right away!” demanded a familiar
voice. “It’s an outrage! A scandal!”
“You’ve got to have a permit from the chief,” expostulated the guard.
“Permit! Bah! Here’s your permit! Now can we get past?”
“Hurd Applegate!” exclaimed Frank, in astonishment.
Two elderly men came hastening down the corridor toward the cell, a
guard following close behind. One of them was indeed Hurd Applegate, the
wealthy and eccentric man whose family treasure had been recovered by
the Hardy boys, as related in the first volume of this series; “The
Tower Treasure.” The other man was none other than Elroy Jefferson, the
owner of Cabin Island.
“This,” declared Elroy Jefferson, standing in front of the cell and
brandishing a newspaper, “is a shame! Nothing less than a shame!”
“A scandal!” fumed Hurd Applegate.
“A shame _and_ a scandal!”
“You’re right, Elroy!” declared Mr. Applegate. “It is a shame and a
scandal. I never heard of anything so disgraceful. The Hardy boys in
jail! Impossible! And bail set at fifty thousand dollars! An outrage!”
“Idiotic!” raged Mr. Jefferson. He bowed to Mr. Hardy. “How do you do,
Mr. Hardy. Mr. Applegate and I were just talking about our stamp
collections when the boy came with the afternoon paper. We read it. We
saw the headlines. ‘Hardy Boys in Jail.’ And at once I said: ‘This is an
outrage!’”
“You did, Elroy,” affirmed Hurd Applegate. “And I said: ‘This is a
scandal.’”
“Yes, Hurd, you said it was a scandal. And it _is_ a scandal. So we put
on our hats and came down here immediately.”
“It’s mighty good of you to visit us. You are—” began Frank, when Elroy
Jefferson interrupted him impatiently.
“Good of us to visit you!” he stormed. “Do you think we came down here
just to visit you? Do you think we’re going to let the Hardy boys stay
in jail? Are we going to let them stay in jail, Hurd?”
“We are not!” said Mr. Applegate firmly.
Elroy Jefferson drew two slips of paper from his pocket.
“When we read in the paper that bail had been set in the outrageous
amount of fifty thousand dollars, what did I do, Hurd?”
“You wrote a check,” said Mr. Applegate.
“I wrote a check. For twenty-five thousand dollars. And what did you do,
Hurd?”
“I wrote one too. I insisted on it.”
“You insisted on it. You wouldn’t let me go bail for the boys myself.
The sentiment does you credit, Hurd, but I would gladly have gone bail
for the full amount.”
Frank and Joe sprang to their feet.
“We can’t let you do that!” exclaimed Frank. “That is awfully good of
you——”
“Good of us!” snorted Mr. Jefferson. “Do you hear that, Hurd? They say
it’s good of us. After what they’ve done for us!”
“It’s a pleasure,” declared Hurd Applegate.
“And now,” concluded Mr. Jefferson grandly, “if you will come with us
we’ll go upstairs and turn over these checks as bail. The idea! The
Hardy boys in jail! Most senseless thing I ever heard of! Why didn’t you
call me up on the telephone? I would have been down here inside five
minutes.”
“Me too,” chimed in Hurd Applegate. “I would have made it in three
minutes, because I live closer.”
“Come along,” said Elroy Jefferson. “Let’s all get out of here.”
The two old gentlemen, fuming, led the way down the corridor, Elroy
Jefferson waving the two checks that were to gain the Hardy boys their
release.
CHAPTER XV
On the Trail of Ollie Jacobs
Thanks to the generosity of Elroy Jefferson and Hurd Applegate, the
Hardy boys were quickly released on bail. The two old stamp collectors
scoffed when the lads sought to thank them.
“We’re not giving away fifty thousand dollars,” declared Hurd Applegate.
“We know you won’t run away. And we know that when your case comes to
trial you’ll be able to prove your innocence. So why should we let you
stay in jail when you don’t deserve it?”
“Especially after what you did for us in the past,” said Mr. Jefferson.
“We’re glad we can return the favor.”
That night, at home, the boys discussed the case with their father.
Owing to the arrest of his sons, Fenton Hardy had been told by the
authorities that his services in the airport mystery would no longer be
required. This was a bitter blow, although he realized that the
officials were justified in their action. But he resolved to continue
the investigation on his own account.
“I’ll do all I can to clear you,” he promised. “And you must do all you
can to clear yourselves. As it stands, they haven’t a very strong case
against you, but it’s strong enough to be unpleasant. Our big chance
lies in capturing the real robbers.”
“I’m sure that evidence was planted by Giles Ducroy,” declared Frank.
“Just wait until I get my hands on that skunk!” added Joe.
“I’m afraid you won’t lay your hands on him very easily,” said their
father. “I wanted to have a few words with him myself, but he seems to
have disappeared.”
“Disappeared!” exclaimed Frank, in surprise.
Mr. Hardy nodded assent. “He hasn’t been seen around Bayport for several
days.”
“How about Newt Pipps and Ollie Jacobs?” asked Frank. “Are they still in
town?”
Fenton Hardy seemed somewhat surprised at mention of these two names.
“Is that who Ducroy has been hanging around with?” he asked. “A bad
gang! No, now that you mention it, Pipps and Jacobs have cleared out
too. They haven’t been seen in Bayport for more than a week.”
“That looks bad,” said Joe. “If they weren’t up to something queer they
wouldn’t have cleared out.”
“I’ll tell you where you may be able to find that pair,” said Mr. Hardy.
“Do you know the Raven Roadhouse out on the Claymore Road?”
“I’ve heard of the place,” admitted Frank. “It’s supposed to be a mighty
tough hangout, isn’t it?”
“Bad enough. Well, I’ve been checking up on Ollie Jacobs and Newt Pipps
and I’ve learned that they make that place their headquarters. If you
make inquiries there you may be able to find something about them.”
“We’ll make the inquiries, all right!” declared Frank. “I’m sure they
know something about this business. What do you say, Joe? Let’s go out
there right now and see what we can learn.”
“I’m with you.”
“Better be careful,” advised Fenton Hardy. “This roadhouse is a tough
place and Jacobs and Pipps will likely have some friends there, so don’t
give yourselves away.”
“We’ll watch our step,” promised Frank. “Don’t worry. We’ve got to clear
up those mail robberies to clear ourselves, and I think the quickest way
to go about it is to follow up the Ducroy gang. If they’re not mixed up
in it from the start I’m a mighty bad guesser.”
The Hardy boys lost no time preparing for their journey out to the Raven
Roadhouse, which was located some five miles from Bayport. Within half
an hour they had said good-bye to their parents and had clambered into
their roadster.
They drove down High Street, on through the business section of Bayport,
and out to the highway. Frank was at the wheel.
“It was certainly mighty white of Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Applegate to go
bail for us,” he said.
“They’re real friends,” Joe agreed. “The least we can do now is to clear
up this business and show them that their confidence in us wasn’t
misplaced.”
“We’ll do the best we can, although it doesn’t look very easy right now.
That gang didn’t miss any bets in planting the evidence against us.”
“All the more reason why we should get them, and get them right. After
what we heard in the cabin, I don’t think there’s much doubt that Ducroy
and his crowd had something to do with the robberies.”
“Well,” said Frank, “we’ll go easy, and with any luck we ought to get
some clues that we can follow up.”
They thought they would get to the roadhouse quickly, but a quarter of a
mile on came to a detour sign. The road ahead was closed for repair.
“Just our luck,” grumbled Frank. “I know this road was open yesterday.”
“We’ve got to go around the old Rundle farm,” answered his younger
brother. “That’s a dirt road, too, all the way.”
“Hope it isn’t muddy. It used to have some pretty bad mud holes in it
when it rained.”
Fortunately for the Hardy boys, the detour road proved dry. The worst of
the holes had been filled with cracked stone, so they got through
without much difficulty.
In due time the Hardy boys approached the Raven Roadhouse. It was a
long, rambling building, set back some distance from the road and
approached by a winding driveway.
“I guess the best plan is simply to go in and ask about them,” said
Frank.
He drove up to the front of the roadhouse. There were no guests present
at this hour of the day. A fat man was lounging indolently against a
veranda pillar.
The boys got out of the car.
“Too early,” grunted the fat man. “The fun doesn’t start here until
after dark.”
“We’re not guests,” returned Frank. “We’re looking for somebody.”
A guarded expression crossed the fat man’s face.
“Who?” he asked abruptly.
Frank looked at Joe. “I don’t know whether we should tell him or not.”
Joe, taking his cue, looked dubious. “We weren’t supposed to tell.
Still, it mightn’t do any harm.”
Frank looked around mysteriously. Then he lowered his voice:
“Have you seen Newt or Ollie around lately?”
The fat man regarded him shrewdly.
“Why do you want to know?”
“We have a message for him.”
“Who from?”
Frank shrugged. “Why should we tell you?”
The fat man was silent. Then he said:
“Is it from Sam?”
“Maybe. I’m not talking.”
The fat man seemed impressed.
“Well, you know how to keep your mouth shut anyway,” he said. “And
that’s more than lots of people know. I guess you’re regular, all right.
Well, I can put you in touch with Ollie Jacobs.”
“How about Newt?”
“He’s not here. I don’t know where he is right now.”
“Where is Ollie, then?”
“Down the road. You know where Greenfield village is, eh?”
Frank nodded. “About two miles farther down the road.”
“Well, that’s where you’ll find Ollie. He’s at the hotel. The clerk will
find him for you.”
“Thanks. We’ll go on to Greenfield, then.”
“If you’d like to wait here,” suggested the fat man, “Ollie should be
back in an hour or so.”
The Hardy boys had no desire to wait. They were on the trail of the
elusive Ollie Jacobs and it did not suit their purpose to meet him face
to face at the Raven Roadhouse. They thanked the fat man, got back into
the car and drove away.
Within a few minutes they reached Greenfield. It was a meagre little
village with a few unprosperous-looking stores and a ramshackle hotel.
“We’ll have to go easy here,” said Frank. “It won’t do to have Ollie
Jacobs see us.”
“What should we do? Wait out in front of the hotel?”
“He would probably see us first. No, I think it would be better to go
inside and take a look around. Once we locate him we can keep out of
sight and then follow him later.”
They parked the roadster in front of the hotel and went inside. The
Clerk, a seedy little man with shifty eyes, regarded them with
suspicion. By way of explaining their presence, the Hardy boys bought
some newspapers and a few chocolate bars, then sat down in the lounging
chairs in the main office.
“We’ll just sit tight for a while,” whispered Frank. “If Ollie Jacobs is
in the hotel, he’ll probably pass through here on his way out.”
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than Joe gave his brother a
sharp nudge and hastily began to unfold one of the newspapers. Frank
glanced up. Coming down the stairs was Ollie Jacobs.
The man did not see the boys, or at least did not recognize them, for
Frank quickly lowered his head, then he, too, spread out a newspaper so
that it concealed him from view. Thus, to the man descending the
stairway, the two lads appeared intent on the papers, and their faces
were completely hidden.
Another man was coming down the stairs a few steps behind Ollie Jacobs.
When the pair reached the office, instead of going toward the door, they
sauntered over and sat down a few feet from the Hardy boys.
Frank and Joe were trembling with excitement. Behind the newspapers they
were safe from observation.
“I won’t go a cent over eight thousand, and that’s final,” they heard
Ollie Jacobs saying.
“We’ll split the difference,” returned the other man, in a wheedling
tone. “Make it nine thousand dollars cash.”
“Nothing doing! I’ll give you eight thousand dollars. Take it or leave
it.”
“An airplane for eight thousand dollars!” exclaimed the other. “I can’t
do it. I’d be losing money.”
Ollie Jacobs laughed. “Even at eight thousand, you’ll be making a good
profit.”
“Eighty-five hundred,” pleaded the bargainer.
“I’ve made my offer and I won’t raise it a nickel. I’ll give you eight
thousand dollars in cash the moment the airplane is turned over to us.
You have the machine within five miles of here, you say. Well, I can
have the money within half an hour and we’ll close the deal. So make up
your mind, for I can’t be wasting time. If I can’t buy your airplane I
can easily find another one.”
Ollie Jacobs got up from his chair. The other man rose quickly and
seized him by the arm.
“All right. All right,” he said hastily. “It’s just downright robbery,
but I’ll sell you the plane for eight thousand. I won’t be making a
cent.”
“That’s your lookout,” returned Jacobs coolly. “You don’t have to sell
it.”
“I’ll have the plane ready for you at my farm. As soon as you turn over
the money, the machine is yours.”
“The money will be in your hands within half an hour. Are you going to
the farm now?” said Jacobs.
“I’ll go there right away and get the plane in shape.”
“Be sure you have the tanks full of gas. I want everything to be in
perfect running order. That’s the only condition of sale. I want the
plane to be in readiness.”
“You can step right in it and start flying the minute you buy it,”
insisted the other man. “And you’re getting a bargain, let me tell you.
There isn’t a better machine on the market. If you bought that plane
from the factory it would cost you fifteen or twenty thousand dollars.”
“A new plane would cost that much. Yours isn’t worth five. It’s an old
crate, almost falling to pieces. You’ve been flying it for more than
four years now. Well, the deal is made. You go to the farm and get the
machine ready. I’ll be over to take possession in half an hour.”
The two men went out the door and descended the steps. Apparently Ollie
Jacobs did not notice the roadster belonging to the Hardy boys, for,
after halting for a moment on the sidewalk, he strode briskly down the
street in a direction opposite to that taken by his companion.
Frank lowered his newspaper and looked at Joe.
“What do you make of that?” he demanded.
“Ollie Jacobs buying an airplane! That fellow never had eight thousand
dollars of his own in all his life.”
“He seems to have it now,” said Frank. “There’s something in the wind.”
“I think we’d better follow him.”
They sprang to their feet.
“There’s no time to lose,” Frank agreed. “I’d like to know what Ollie
Jacobs is planning to do with that plane!”
CHAPTER XVI
Mysterious Plans
When the Hardy boys left the hotel they saw Ollie Jacobs about a block
away, walking quickly down the street toward the outskirts of the
village. As unobtrusively as possible, they followed him. They soon
found that there was little need for caution, as Ollie Jacobs evidently
had no suspicion that he was observed, and not once did he look back.
Leaving the sidewalk, their quarry struck out along a country road in
the direction of an abandoned house. Here, instead of passing by, he
vaulted the fence, crossed the unkempt yard, and disappeared into the
building.
“We’ll have to go carefully,” said Frank. “I’ll bet he’s meeting the
others there.”
“That’s where he intends to get the eight thousand dollars, I suppose.”
“Chances are, they’re watching. We’d better go around by the back way.”
At the end of the street, therefore, the Hardy boys did not follow the
road, but instead made a detour through the fields, coming around at the
rear of the old house. There they made their way carefully across the
yard. They knew that they risked detection in so doing, but they were
obliged to take this chance.
Luck was with them. They crossed the yard in safety, evidently
unobserved by anyone in the house.
They crouched beneath a window and listened. From inside the house they
could hear human voices. Frank raised himself slightly and peeped
through the window. The room was empty. The voices seemed to be from the
front of the house.
He gestured to Joe, and silently they crept on to the next window. Here
they had better luck. The window was partly open and they could clearly
hear the voices of the men in the room beyond.
The first voice they heard was that of Ollie Jacobs.
“Well,” he was saying, “I guess we can each chip in and make up that
money. The plane is waiting for us.”
A familiar voice answered:
“Eight thousand dollars is a lot of dough. But it will be worth it in
the long run.”
Frank and Joe exchanged glances. They recognized the voice. Giles
Ducroy!
“Are you sure the plane is all right?” demanded the third man—Newt
Pipps.
“It’s old, but it’s plenty good enough for our purpose,” returned
Jacobs. “She’ll hold four or five men.”
“I don’t want to go flying in some old rattletrap that’ll bust all to
pieces in mid-air and kill us all,” demurred Newt.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be in charge of the plane,” declared Ducroy. “I could
fly a baby carriage if it had wings. Your precious neck is safe enough.”
“Well, here’s twenty-five hundred dollars,” said Jacobs. “That’s my
share.”
“And here’s mine,” said Newt.
“And I’ll make up the other three thousand,” said Ducroy. “You never
spent money any better. If this pans out all right it will bring us
fifty thousand dollars at least.”
“You say it’s the twenty-eighth or twenty-ninth?” asked Ollie Jacobs.
“Yes,” answered Ducroy. “Pay day is on the first of the month, and they
always send the money a day or two ahead.”
“It’ll be a big haul if we get away with it,” declared Newt Pipps. “But
it’s certainly risky.”
“You’ve got to take chances to make big money,” Ducroy answered. “Fifty
thousand dollars isn’t to be sneezed at.”
“I’m satisfied,” said Ollie Jacobs. “I think we can get away with it.
Fifty thousand dollars looks mighty good to me. I think we ought to go
right over to the farm, buy this plane, and start out.”
“Where do we go first?” asked Newt.
“There’s an airport about thirty miles from here,” Ducroy said. “It’s
just a small flying field—the Riverside Field, they call it. We can
take the plane there and wait until everything is ready.”
“What if we’re caught?” asked Newt. “The police in Bayport are on the
lookout for us, you know that. If they find out where we are, it will
ruin everything.”
“We have the plane, haven’t we? If they find out where we are, we’ll
simply fly somewhere else, and dodge them. I have everything all figured
out. We’ll be quite safe.”
“Then let’s get going,” said Ollie Jacobs impatiently. “We’re just
wasting time by arguing here.”
There was a scuffling of feet, then the slam of a door. After a few
moments the Hardy boys peeped around the side of the house and saw the
three men going down the road in the direction of the village.
“It looks as if we’ve stumbled on something,” said Joe.
“I wonder what they’re going to do with that airplane. One thing is
certain—there’s something in the wind for the twenty-eighth or
twenty-ninth of this month.”
“What date is this?”
“The twenty-sixth.” Frank watched the receding figures of the men. “I
suppose we ought to follow them.”
Joe demurred.
“Why should we? There’s no chance of losing them now. We know the name
of the airport they’re bound for, and we can go there in the car and
wait for them.”
“That’s right. We’ll go on to Riverside Field and keep an eye on them
from there. But first of all, I think we ought to call up dad and let
him know what we’ve learned.”
Joe agreed that this was a sound suggestion. The boys waited until the
trio were out of sight, then hastened on toward the village. Their first
concern was a telephone, and as they did not want to go to the hotel, in
case some of Ollie Jacobs’ friends might be within earshot, they lost
some time seeking the telephone exchange, which they finally located in
the rear of the post office.
There they put through a call to their father in Bayport. After a wait
of about ten minutes, the call was answered. The operator turned to
them.
“Mr. Hardy is not at home. Will anyone else do?”
“Anyone at that number,” assented Frank.
He picked up the receiver and heard his mother’s voice.
“Hello, Mother. This is Frank calling.”
“Yes, Frank. Where are you?”
“We’re at a little village just outside the city. Where is Dad?”
“He left for New York an hour ago,” answered Mrs. Hardy. “He just
received a telegram calling him to New York on special business.”
Frank was disappointed.
“That’s tough luck. We had some news for him. Well, we’ll just have to
carry on alone. If we’re not home to-night, don’t worry about us. We’ve
picked up some information that may clear up all this fix we’re in.”
“Don’t stay away too long, Frank,” said Mrs. Hardy. “The police were
making inquiries a little while ago.”
“The police? Why?”
“They think you may have run away. They’re afraid you have jumped bail.”
This news came as a stunning shock to Frank.
“Why, that’s nonsense!” he exclaimed hotly. “We’ll be back as soon as we
can, and if they make any more inquiries you can tell them so. And when
we do come back, they won’t have any further excuse for holding us, for
we’ll have the real mail robbers with us.”
“I hope you are right, Frank. If your father comes back, I’ll tell him
you called.”
“All right, Mother. And don’t worry about us. We’ll be back home as soon
as we can get away.”
Frank hung up the receiver and paid the cost of the call. When he turned
toward Joe, however, he found his brother standing in the door, gazing
up at the sky.
“They’re away already!” exclaimed Joe excitedly. “Look!”
Frank ran to the door. Joe was pointing up at the clouds. High above
them soared an airplane, drumming its way toward the south.
“I saw it rise,” said Joe. “It took off from one of those farms back of
the village. It’s Ducroy’s crowd, sure as guns.”
“On their way to the flying field already. Well, we’d better be moving.”
They hurried down the street toward the hotel, where they had left the
roadster. On the way, Frank told Joe the result of his telephone call.
Joe too was disappointed that they had not been able to get in touch
with Fenton Hardy.
“It means we have to play a lone hand, that’s all. What do you think we
should do next, Frank?”
“I think we ought to tell the authorities.”
“We’ll warn them to watch the airplane hangars on the twenty-eighth and
twenty-ninth,” said Joe. “But we mustn’t lose sight of Ducroy and his
cronies.”
They looked back. The airplane was merely a blur in the distance. The
boys realized that they had no time to lose. They scrambled into the
roadster. Frank threw in the clutch and the car shot forward. Within a
few minutes they were speeding down a road toward the south in the
direction of the Riverside Field.
CHAPTER XVII
Dangerous Business
When the Hardy boys arrived at Riverside Field they looked in vain for
Giles Ducroy and his friends. But the trio were not in sight, and there
was but one airplane on the flying field. It was a small two-seater.
“It can’t be their plane,” said Frank. “Ollie Jacobs said it would hold
four or five men.”
“Perhaps they haven’t arrived yet,” Joe suggested.
“They had only thirty miles to go. They should have been here long ago.”
“We can go up to one of the hangars and ask what planes have come in.”
Frank was dubious. “If Ducroy or any of the others are hanging around,
we’ll be spotted. Our game is to keep out of sight.”
They sauntered over to the solitary little airplane in the middle of the
flying field. A mechanic in grimy overalls was busy tinkering at the
understructure of the machine.
“Is this the only plane here?” asked Frank politely.
The mechanic looked up. “It’s the only one out on the field,” he
answered. “If you can see any more, let me know.” He grinned, and then
waved toward one of the hangars. “An old crate just flew in a few
minutes ago.”
“Where from?”
“How should I know? Airplanes, unless they’re on the mail run, aren’t
like trains. Looked to me like a privately owned machine.”
The Hardy boys glanced significantly at one another. They had no doubt
that this was Ducroy’s plane.
“Is the pilot in there now?”
The mechanic nodded. “Him and two other guys.”
Frank and Joe thanked their informant and made a wide detour across the
flying field so as to approach the hangar at the far side. They had no
desire to meet Giles Ducroy and his friends just now. They came around
to the rear of the hangar without being observed and while they were
looking about for a means of entrance other than by the front, Joe
discovered a small door at the side.
He tried the door. It was unlocked. Joe edged it open and peeped in.
There was the plane, at rest in the hangar, and standing beside it were
Giles Ducroy, Newt Pipps, and Ollie Jacobs. They were talking in low
tones. Even as the boys watched they saw Ollie Jacobs move away from the
others.
“It won’t take long,” he said. “I’ll do some telephoning and find out
all I can.”
“Make sure of the date!” advised Ducroy.
Ollie Jacobs left the hangar. For a moment the Hardy boys were
panic-stricken at the thought that he might look back and see them
pressed against the side of the building, but Jacobs strode away without
once glancing behind.
“I wish we could learn something definite,” whispered Joe. “This thing
of following them around is beginning to get on my nerves. They are
bound to catch sight of us, sooner or later.”
“We certainly can’t follow them around like this,” agreed Frank. “If
they don’t see us, we’re liable to lose them anyway. If we can only find
out what game they’re up to!”
They peeped through the opening in the door again. But Ducroy and Newt
Pipps had withdrawn a little way to one side and were talking in
undertones, their words inaudible.
In about ten minutes, Ollie Jacobs returned. He hastened into the
hangar, and Ducroy looked at him expectantly.
“Well,” the boys heard Ducroy saying, “did you learn anything?”
“I sure did,” returned Ollie Jacobs. “It’s all settled. And we don’t
have to wait as long as we thought we might.”
“That’s good,” declared Ducroy, rubbing his hands together with
satisfaction. “What did he say?”
“The shipment will come on the night of the twenty-eighth.”
“As soon as that!” exclaimed Newt Pipps.
“We’ll be ready for it,” snapped Ducroy. “We’ll force him down not far
from here.”
“It will be at night, eh?” said Pipps.
“Of course. All the better, too. I’d think twice before I’d try this
trick in daylight.”
“I guess you’re right,” admitted Newt feebly. “Although I don’t like the
idea of it at any time. You’re sure we’ll have only one man to handle?”
“Only one man. And there are three of us. We’re not taking a chance of
failing.”
“How are we going to force him down?” asked Ollie Jacobs.
“Leave that to me,” answered Ducroy confidently. “There’s more than one
way of doing that.”
“Let’s go and eat,” Newt suggested. “I’m half starved.”
“That’s a good idea,” Ollie agreed. “There’s a little restaurant near
here. What do you figure on doing, Giles? Do you think we should stay
right here at the airport until the twenty-eighth?”
“No,” said Ducroy firmly. “I don’t. The authorities are apt to find us
if we stay in one place for any length of time. We’ll have to keep
going. We’ll move around from one place to the other until the time
comes. We can’t afford to be nabbed now. And after the twenty-eighth
we’ll clear out for good.”
The three men moved up toward the front of the hangar, left the
building, and went on across the flying field toward a small restaurant
in the distance. There was a little lunch counter near by but the men
ignored it for the more pretentious eating place.
Frank and Joe Hardy slipped quickly into the hangar through the side
door. Instead of clearing up the mystery that puzzled them, the
conversation they had just overheard confused them more than ever. That
some criminal coup was in the wind for the night of the twenty-eighth
was no longer in doubt, but what it was and where it was to take place
still remained unrevealed.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” said Frank, as he looked at the
airplane in the hangar; “but I know we’ve got to be on hand if we can
possibly manage it.”
“How can we be on hand if they’re going to keep flying from place to
place for the next two days?” asked Joe.
“We’ve got to keep track of them somehow.” Frank moved about, inspecting
the airplane. “I’d just like to reserve a back seat in this plane for
the next forty-eight hours.”
“That idea isn’t as silly as it sounds!” declared Joe. “Why can’t we?”
Frank laughed. “How can we? They’d simply kick us out, for we’d
certainly be seen.”
“Not if we went about it right.” Joe was excited as the possibilities of
his idea became more apparent. “Why can’t we be stowaways? Don’t you
remember the time we hid ourselves in the back of the automobile when we
solved the Shore Road mystery? We could hide here too. I’ve heard of
airplane stowaways before.”
“It’s a nervy idea,” said Frank. “I wonder where we could hide?” He
moved down toward the rear of the plane. Suddenly he halted. “Just what
we want, Joe! Here’s an opening.” He thrust the sliding door aside and
looked into the dark interior. The tail of the plane was hollow and he
could see a substantial hiding place. Considerable space was available
for freight or baggage and, inasmuch as Ducroy and his friends were
travelling light, there was plenty of room for the two boys.
“How about it?” asked Joe.
“I’m game. But how about food? We’ll be in there for quite a while, you
know.”
“We’ll get sandwiches and water. Some blankets too, for that matter.
We’ll simply stow away in there and make ourselves comfortable. Then, if
anything happens, we’ll be right on hand.”
“We’ll be right on hand too if the plane crashes,” Frank reminded his
brother. “Perhaps we’ll weight it down too much.”
“I don’t think so. This plane is designed to carry baggage, and if that
space is empty, we’ll never be noticed. I think we can get away with it,
provided we have any luck at all. It’s easily our best chance of keeping
in touch with Ducroy and his gang. If they’re going to be flying around
the country trying to dodge the authorities, we shan’t have much chance
of keeping our eyes on them in our car.”
“That’s right, too.” Frank made up his mind. “I’m with you, Joe. And
now’s our chance. Let’s get water and sandwiches and get into the plane
while we have time.”
It seemed a mad scheme, but the brothers knew the importance of keeping
close to Ducroy and his friends. Some crime had been planned for the
night of the twenty-eighth, and the Hardy boys knew they must not lose
track of their quarry for a moment. It would have been obviously
impossible to follow the meanderings of the airplane from the ground.
They hastened over to the little lunch counter and laid in a stock of
provisions. Several bottles of milk, a huge bottle of water, some cake
and a stock of sandwiches constituted their supplies. At the lunch
counter they spied two heavy automobile robes, and as it was too late to
return to their own roadster, they bought the robes and entrusted the
lunch counter man with the duty of driving their own car to a garage for
safe-keeping. This he promised to do. Doubtless he wondered the reason
for the boys’ purchases, but he was a man who believed in minding his
own business and he exhibited no surprise or curiosity.
Frank and Joe hurried back into the hangar. They tossed the robes into
their hiding place in the plane, arranged them comfortably, then stowed
away the food and water.
“All set?” asked Frank finally.
“All set.”
Joe began to scramble into the plane.
“Just in time, too,” said the brother.
“Why?” asked Joe, in a muffled voice, as he crouched back on one of the
automobile robes.
“Giles Ducroy and his friends are coming back across the flying field.”
Frank got into the plane. Quickly he closed the door. The two boys
waited apprehensively. Had their presence been detected? Would the
lunch-counter man mention having seen them? Would Ducroy glance into the
baggage compartment before leaving?
But nothing happened. They heard the three men come into the hangar.
They heard them moving about, evidently preparing for departure.
Finally, they heard Ducroy’s voice:
“Get in. We’re away again.”
The plane was trundled out on the field. A moment later the motor
roared, the machine bumped its way across the field, then the bumping
motion ceased and the Hardy boys knew that they were in the air.
CHAPTER XVIII
The Warning Message
Although their flight as stowaways in the airplane was one of the most
dangerous and perilous adventures that had ever befallen the Hardy boys,
it was at the same time the most monotonous.
Back there in the darkness they could see nothing and they could hear
very little except the roar of the engine. They were not uncomfortable
and they did not suffer from lack of air, but it was not a pleasant
sensation to reflect that they were high above the earth, wholly at the
mercy of the rascals up in the front of the plane.
The plane dipped and rose, banked and turned. There were racks,
presumably for the accommodation of baggage, to which the lads clung, so
that at no time were they thrown off balance.
“If we get to tossing around in here, they’ll notice something wrong,”
said Frank.
Their weight was evenly distributed and presumably Giles Ducroy did not
see that his plane was somewhat tail-heavy. If he did, it is probable
that he blamed the airplane itself, for it was strange to him.
After about an hour in the air, the boys were obliged to seize the
racks, for the nose of the machine tilted downward and they were almost
flung ahead as the plane descended. Finally there was a slight shock,
and the plane bumped its way over a field. They could hear men’s voices,
then the engine was shut off. They judged that Ducroy and the others
were clambering out.
“Now,” they heard Ducroy saying, “I guess it’s safe enough for me to go
and telephone.”
“Who are you going to telephone to?” asked Newt Pipps.
“I’m going to call up Jed. He’s at the Bayport airport. I’ll tell him to
be ready for the night of the twenty-eighth so he can call us up when
the time comes.”
“I don’t like the idea of having so many outsiders in on this,” Newt
grumbled. “It means we’ll have to split the loot too many different
ways.”
“Outsider!” snapped Ducroy. “Jed isn’t an outsider. How could we get
along without him? We’re going to make a killing before long, and a lot
of the credit will be due to him.”
“You’re right,” agreed Ollie Jacobs. “Shut up, Newt. We can’t get along
without Jed. If you were half as much help as him we’d get along fine.
You’re always kicking about something.”
This reprimand silenced Newt Pipps for the time being. The Hardy boys,
listening, heard the three men move away.
When the footsteps and voices could no longer be heard, Joe heard
Frank’s voice from the darkness:
“I wish I knew how long they’re going to be away. I’d like to get out of
here and stretch my legs.”
“So would I. It’s mighty cramped in here. But if they’ve just gone to
telephone I don’t think we should take the chance.”
Frank opened the door in the side of the plane and looked out.
“I can see them now. They’re walking across the field toward one of the
hangars.”
“Where are we?” asked Joe.
Frank shook his head. “I don’t know. There seems to be a fair-sized town
close by, but I’ve never seen the place before. I can see factory
chimneys and church steeples.”
“Let’s have something to eat.”
Joe opened their package of sandwiches, a bottle of milk, and the bottle
of water. Each ate of the frugal meal with enthusiasm, for they were
hungry by now. When they had eaten they felt better, and in spite of the
discomfort of their quarters they began to enjoy the novelty of the
adventure.
“If only Chet and the other fellows could see us now!” said Joe.
“They’d be green with envy.”
“I’m not sure our position’s enviable.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet, by any means,” agreed Frank. “Ducroy
and the others are apt to find us at any time. We’ll have to sit mighty
tight.”
“If only we knew what they’re up to! It must have something to do with
the Bayport air field. They’ve evidently got a confederate there,
keeping in touch with him by telephone.”
“I think,” said Frank, “I’ll get out and stretch my legs a bit.” He
opened the door a little wider and was just about to scramble out when
he gave an exclamation and hastily drew back again, closing the door.
“What’s the matter?” whispered Joe.
“They’re coming back!”
Both boys were silent. They could hear voices, gradually growing louder.
Frank wondered if he had been seen. Ducroy, Newt Pipps and Ollie Jacobs
had not been more than a hundred yards away when he opened the door.
“There’s no room in the hangars,” Ducroy was saying, “but we’ll stay
here overnight just the same. There’s a hotel not far from the field.
Then, in the morning, we’ll get under way again.”
“What time?” asked Jacobs.
“About eight o’clock. We’ll have breakfast and then start again.”
“I don’t see why we can’t stay right here until we’re ready for the big
job,” grumbled Newt Pipps. “What good does it do flying around from
place to place?”
“If the police pick us up you’ll wish we had kept going,” declared
Ducroy. “We can’t afford to be nabbed now. We’ve simply got to keep
clear of the cops until the night of the twenty-eighth. After that we’ll
scatter, and each take his own chance. The police will be looking for us
hot enough then.”
“They sure will,” agreed Ollie. “Well, let’s go on over to the hotel.
The plane is all right here, ain’t it?”
“Sure. It’s safe enough overnight. We’ll come back after breakfast and
get under way again.”
The men moved off. After a while, when Frank Hardy peeped out again, he
saw them going through a gate on the far side of the flying field,
evidently heading toward the town. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“That’s a bit of luck,” he said to Joe. “We don’t have to stay cooped up
in here all night. As long as we get back here well before they show up
in the morning everything will be fine.”
“Where can we stay? We can’t go to the hotel. I don’t think it’s even
wise to go into the town at all. If they ever catch sight of us it will
spoil everything.”
Frank scrambled out of the plane. He walked about, enjoying the feel of
solid ground beneath his feet again. Joe followed, and immediately
turned a handspring to express his delight.
“Makes you feel good, doesn’t it?” said his brother, grinning.
“I’ll tell the world it does, Frank! Gee, I feel as cramped as a sardine
in a tin.”
“So do I.” Frank stretched himself. “Say, we were mighty lucky they
didn’t discover us.”
“Right you are. If they had—well, there is no telling what they would
have done.”
“They might have killed us, Joe.”
“Oh, maybe not as bad as that. But they might have tied us up in the
woods and left us there.”
“They are a bad crowd.”
“I agree with you.”
The brothers took a look at their surroundings from every side.
“We’d better move away from the plane,” advised Frank. “Some of the
mechanics at the hangars may see us and tell Ducroy. I think our best
bet is to go to that farmhouse on the other side of the field.”
“Perhaps we can use the telephone there, if they have one.”
In the fading light, the boys crossed the field, climbed over the fence
and made their way toward the farmhouse. As they entered the barnyard, a
collie dog ran toward them, barking. He was a friendly animal, however,
and as he approached he wagged his tail and fawned on them. A stout,
cheery-looking man was standing in the doorway of the house.
“Hello, boys,” he shouted. “What can I do for you?”
“Have you a telephone?” asked Frank.
The farmer nodded. “You’re welcome to use it,” he said, then added: “As
long as you pay the charges.”
“We’ll do that all right.”
The farmer led them into the house and indicated the telephone in the
hall.
“Talk away,” he said. “I saw you coming over from the flying field,” he
remarked shrewdly. “Why didn’t you use the telephone there?”
“Private reasons,” replied Joe.
The farmer did not move away while Frank put in a call for Chief Collig
at Bayport. At mention of the chief’s name he seemed interested, and
when Frank finally got the chief on the wire, he listened with all his
ears.
“Chief Collig?” asked Frank. “This is Frank Hardy speaking.—No, we
haven’t jumped bail.—What’s that?—We’ll be back in good time.—The
reason I’m calling you is to warn you to keep a good watch on the
airport on the night of the twenty-eighth.—I can’t tell you why.—There
is going to be some trouble.—I don’t know anything more about it than
that.—It will be worth your while to make use of this warning.—Where
am I speaking from? I can’t tell you. And listen, Chief, will you call
up my mother by telephone and let her know that I called you and that
Joe and I are all right?—Thanks. Good-bye.”
When Frank rang off, he saw that the farmer was regarding him curiously.
“Looks as if you boys are smarter than you seem,” he remarked. “What are
you? Detectives?”
“I suppose you might call us that,” admitted Frank. “But we’d be obliged
if you would say nothing to anyone at the airport about us.”
“You can trust me,” returned the man. “I can keep my mouth shut. Where
are you staying to-night?”
“We don’t know yet,” said Joe.
“If you’d like to stay here, we have a spare room, and you’re welcome to
it,” the farmer volunteered.
“That’s mighty good of you. We were just wondering where we would find a
place to sleep. We have to be up and out by seven o’clock, though.”
“I get up at five, myself,” laughed the farmer. “Come on into the
kitchen and I’ll have my wife fix up something to eat. You’re more than
welcome to stay with us overnight. I’m dyin’ to know what you lads are
up to, but I guess I’d better not ask too many questions.”
“You’ll read all about it in the papers,” laughed Frank, “if everything
works out the way we want it to.”
CHAPTER XIX
The Twenty-Eighth
The next day was the twenty-seventh and the Hardy boys knew that they
had another day to put in before Ducroy and his friends would be ready
for the mysterious _coup_ for which they had laid so many plans.
Frank and Joe were up early, and after a substantial breakfast at the
farmhouse they said good-bye to the good-natured farmer and his wife,
then hastened across the fields toward the airport again. There were a
few signs of life about the hangars; some mechanics were busy at a plane
out in the field; a new machine was preparing for a take-off. But the
Ducroy plane was deserted and the lads saw that they were in good time
to conceal themselves again.
With a fresh supply of water and sandwiches which they had obtained at
the farmhouse, they went casually over to the plane, looked around to
see that they were not observed, and then, when the coast seemed clear,
they slipped quietly into their hiding place.
“Another day ahead of us!” said Frank. “I wish this was the morning of
the twenty-eighth instead of only the twenty-seventh.”
“We’ll get through somehow. I hope they don’t keep flying around all
day. It gets mighty monotonous being cooped up like this in here.”
Frank made himself more comfortable on his automobile robe.
“We could be worse off. We have lots to eat and drink, and we don’t have
to worry about steering the plane.”
“I like to see where I’m going,” said Joe dubiously.
“As long as Ducroy stays sober he isn’t a bad pilot,” returned Frank. “I
guess the other pair will see that he’s fit to take the controls before
they’ll fly with him. Their necks are just as precious to them as ours
are to us.”
“Guess we’d better keep quiet now. They may be along any minute.”
The lads lapsed into silence. In about half an hour they could hear
voices and then came footsteps.
“Just a short jump to-day,” they heard Ducroy saying. “Just a short
jump, and then we’ll lay low until to-morrow night.”
“Where are we going?” asked Newt Pipps quickly.
“You’ll know when we get there.”
“I wish we could have stayed here,” insisted Newt. “I could have stood
another two hours’ sleep easily.”
“If we stick around here we’ll be liable to find ourselves sleeping in
jail,” said Ollie Jacobs. “I got the scare of my life when that cop came
up and spoke to us.”
“I thought we were sunk,” admitted Ducroy. “He had been eying us for
quite a while and I was getting nervous. I was sure he had spotted us.”
“You stood him off all right. That was pretty good, telling him we were
stunt pilots on our way to Hollywood. He swallowed it, hook, line, and
sinker.”
“Just the same,” observed Ducroy, “you see how easy it is to run into
trouble. If that cop had been a little wiser we might have been in the
jug right now. And if he starts talking to some other cop and describes
us, we may find ourselves in trouble yet. So the sooner we get out of
here the better.”
This sentiment seemed to find favor with the others, for there was
considerable bustling around as they prepared to take off again. In due
time the propeller began to whirl, the engine burst into a roar, the
plane quivered. The boys heard a shout from Ducroy, and then the
airplane moved slowly off across the field.
It bumped and rocked along, its progress becoming smoother as it
gathered speed; then it left the ground, the body of the plane tilted a
little as it began to climb. After a while it banked, circled about,
then straightened in swift flight.
It was hot and stuffy back in the compartment where the Hardy boys had
hidden themselves, but they comforted themselves by remembering that
Ducroy had said this was to be only a short jump. After that, the
rascals evidently planned to lie in hiding until the night of the
twenty-eighth.
The plane drummed along at a good speed for some time. Then the nose
dipped so suddenly that the lads were flung forward. Their weight being
thrown ahead, the tail was suddenly lighter and the plane went into a
sudden dive. They heard a yell of alarm from one of the men in the
forward part of the machine, but the plane straightened out as swiftly
as it had lost balance. Frank and Joe had been frightened for the moment
but they soon regained their accustomed positions again and clung
tightly to the racks while the plane descended in sweeping circles.
It went into a long glide finally, then the wheels bumped against the
ground. It rose into the air, bumped again, then taxied across a field
until it gradually came to a stop. The motor was suddenly shut off.
“What happened?” they heard Newt Pipps shout in alarm.
“Lost control there for a minute,” Ducroy answered. “She went into a
dive a lot faster than I had figured on.”
“I thought we were going to crash,” declared Newt shakily.
“Not with me at the controls,” boasted Ducroy. “I don’t know what went
wrong, but it didn’t take me long to straighten her out.”
“It was just as if we had some baggage in the back and it shifted
forward,” said Ollie Jacobs.
The Hardy boys were breathless with apprehension. Perhaps Ducroy would
be tempted to investigate!
“Well, there’s no baggage,” insisted Ducroy. “It’s just the plane. I’m
not quite used to it yet.”
“I’ll be glad when this business is over,” said Newt. “I don’t like this
flying business, anyway. Solid earth is good enough for me any day. When
this job is over and I get my share of the money it’ll be a long time
before anyone tempts me into an airplane again.”
“Where are we now?” asked Ollie. “This isn’t a flying field.”
“It’s better,” returned Ducroy. “This is an abandoned farm. We’re quite
safe here. If anyone comes to investigate, we’ll just say we ran out of
gas and have to wait here for a while until we get a fresh supply.”
“We’ll stay here until to-morrow night, then?” asked Newt.
“There’s a little village about a mile away. We can go there and stay
overnight and loaf around to-morrow. It’s a lot better than hanging
around a flying field where people are apt to ask questions.”
“This suits me all right,” said Ollie Jacobs. “I didn’t like the idea of
hopping around from place to place the way we were doing. The plane is
safe enough here, I guess.”
“A few farmers may drop around to have a look at it, but I don’t think
there’s any danger of anyone stealing it,” said Ducroy. “We might as
well go on into the village.”
“I’m hungry,” declared Newt. “This flying gives me an appetite. Let’s go
and get something to eat.”
The Hardy boys listened as the voices diminished in the distance. When
they could no longer hear the trio, Frank opened the side door and
peeped out. He could see Ducroy and the others climbing over a fence at
the other side of a wide field. The men went out to the road and then
trudged on toward a little village lying in a hollow about a mile away.
The boys breathed sighs of relief as they scrambled out.
“This is luck!” said Frank. “No more flying until to-morrow night.”
“I hope we don’t have to stay inside the plane until then. Those fellows
are apt to come back at any minute.”
“I don’t think so. You heard what they said. They intend to stay here
until to-morrow night. As long as we show up here in good time to hide
ourselves before they leave, we’re all right.” Frank strode up and down
the field, taking the kinks out of his legs. “Let’s take our sandwiches
and go over to that abandoned farmhouse. We can stay there quite
comfortably until it’s time to leave.”
Joe agreed. “We’ll have to keep an eye on the road. We can’t afford to
let them see us getting into the plane and we can’t afford to let them
start without us.”
“We’ve stayed with them so far and we’ve got to stay with them to the
finish,” declared Frank. “I only wish we knew where this business is
going to end.”
They took their package of food from the plane and went across the field
toward the farmhouse. It had been abandoned for some years and was in a
bad state of repair, but it sufficed for their purpose. The boys spent
the greater part of the day exploring the place, and toward
mid-afternoon Frank suggested that they might as well sleep there that
night. They went back to the plane, which had been undisturbed, and
removed the automobile robes, bringing them back to the house.
“We’ll have to sleep on the floor to-night,” laughed Frank.
“I don’t care where we sleep, as long as we get these rascals where we
want them.”
They found a spring down in the orchard, and the cold spring water
served to make more palatable the sandwiches the farmer’s wife had made
for them that morning. Toward evening they went into one of the upper
rooms of the house and looked out over the field toward the plane. There
they saw three figures walking across the field.
“I hope they’re not going to start off again,” said Joe, in alarm.
“They’ve probably just come back to see if the plane is all right.”
The three men were Giles Ducroy and his companions, and their errand was
evidently as Frank had suggested. Ducroy went over the plane very
carefully. Then he went toward the back and suddenly pulled open the
door in the side. The boys saw him peer into the interior of the plane.
“Boy, isn’t it lucky we didn’t stay there!” exclaimed Joe.
“I hope he doesn’t find that water bottle. We left it there. Remember?”
But Ducroy’s inspection was brief. He drew back, closed the door again
and turned to the others with an expressive gesture. Frank and Joe
realized that he had merely made the inspection to satisfy the others
that there was no baggage in the plane. Evidently the water bottle had
gone unnoticed.
The trio stayed only a few minutes, then went back across the field
again toward the village.
“That’s that!” said Frank. “We’re all right now until to-morrow night.
We’ll go over some time in the afternoon, hide ourselves and then wait
for things to happen.”
The boys stayed in the empty farmhouse that night, and they slept
soundly in the automobile robes, despite the hardness of the floor. The
gray light of dawn was just shining through the window when Frank heard
a sound that awakened him with a start.
It was the throbbing roar of an airplane engine!
He got up and scrambled over to the window. When he looked out he was
just in time to see a figure clambering into the cockpit of the plane
out in the field. Then the machine began to move across the pasture; its
speed increased; it rose from the ground, skimmed above the fence, rose
higher and higher into the air and then headed far off beyond the
village.
Joe, in the meantime, had been aroused by the noise of the engine, and
he too witnessed the airplane’s flight.
Disheartened and discouraged, the boys looked glumly at one another.
“I guess that means we’re licked,” said Joe, at last.
CHAPTER XX
That Night
After all their precautions, the sailing away of the airplane without
them was a bitter pill to swallow. The Hardy boys had been so confident
that the men would remain in this place until the night of the
twenty-eighth that this early morning flight took them completely by
surprise.
“We’ve lost them now,” said Frank. “We don’t know where they’re going or
where this hold-up, or whatever it is, is going to take place. And we
don’t even know where we are ourselves.”
“It’s tough luck. After all the trouble we went to!”
“I guess the only thing we can do now is go back to Bayport and do our
best to warn the post office authorities. I have a pretty good hunch
that the gang are planning another air mail robbery. Why else would they
use a plane?”
“Not much use staying here,” agreed Joe. “They certainly stole a march
on us that time.”
They got dressed and left the empty house. Neither said very much, for
they were discouraged beyond measure. All their discomfort of the past
two days seemed to have gone for nothing. They realized that the defeat
was not their fault, because they could not anticipate that Ducroy and
his cronies would leave that morning when they had definitely planned to
remain in the vicinity all day; but there remained the unescapable fact
that the quarry had eluded them.
“Perhaps the police in the village recognized them and they had to clear
out,” suggested Joe.
“I guess that’s the reason. I can’t think of any other.”
They trudged down the lane that led out toward the village road. Their
immediate plan was to reach the village, find out where they were, and
then return to Bayport as soon as possible.
“There’s just a slim chance we may be able to catch them yet if we tell
the post office authorities all we know,” Frank pointed out. “But we
haven’t much time to work in.”
The sky was overcast and cloudy that morning, in harmony with the mood
of the Hardy boys. They found it difficult to be cheerful after the
reverse they had just suffered.
“I’ll bet there isn’t even a railway here,” grumbled Joe.
“And our roadster is miles away.”
“What a fine fix we’re in!”
“Perhaps they’ll come back,” remarked Frank, trying to be optimistic.
“They’re gone for good.”
The Hardy boys crossed a rustic bridge over a stream and went up the
dusty road into the village. It was only a small farming town and there
were few people in sight. Several cars were parked in front of the small
hotel.
“We might as well go in here and have breakfast,” suggested Joe. “Our
sandwiches are all gone.”
They went into the hotel and entered the dining room. In spite of the
disappointment they had suffered, their appetites still held good and
they managed to make away with a goodly supply of ham and eggs,
flapjacks and syrup, toast and coffee. The meal over, they felt better.
After paying the check at the desk, they sat down to consider future
plans.
The clerk told them that the village was about one hundred miles from
Bayport, and that the nearest railway was four miles distant. If they
hired a man from the garage to drive them to the station they could
catch a train that would bring them to Bayport late that afternoon.
“I guess it’s the best we can do,” said Frank. “Mighty flat ending to
our adventure.”
“Perhaps it isn’t over yet.” Joe was looking out into the street.
Suddenly he clutched his brother’s arm. “Look, Frank! Do you see what I
see?”
Frank looked out. He gasped with astonishment.
Across the street, lolling in the doorway of a grocery store, was a
familiar figure. There was no mistaking the battered hat, the shabby
clothes, the mournful and unshaven features.
“Newt Pipps!”
“He’s still here.”
At that moment the Hardy boys were perhaps the most delighted and amazed
lads in the United States.
“They left him here,” said Frank. “Why, this means the others will be
coming back!”
“Unless they’ve ditched Newt altogether.”
“They wouldn’t do that,” said Frank, meeting Joe’s objection. “He knows
too much. He knows all about this crime they have been planning. Ducroy
and Ollie Jacobs would be afraid to get rid of him now.”
“That’s right, Frank. We gave up hope too quickly. The other pair will
probably be coming back to the farm to-day.”
“We’d better get back there just as quickly as we know how. We don’t
want to be caught napping now.”
Newt Pipps was still standing in front of the grocery store. Apparently
he had no intention of moving on. The Hardy boys knew they were risking
discovery if they went out the front entrance, so they scouted around
until they found a back door to the hotel and departed unobtrusively.
They cut across the yard, went down a lane, and soon found themselves on
the road leading back to the farm.
They were about half way back to the farm when they heard a distant
droning noise. Frank looked up.
“Here comes the plane!”
A speeding shadow in the sky quickly resolved itself into the shape of
an airplane, which gradually approached and began to descend in wide
spirals. The boys left the road and took to the shadow of the trees, for
although they knew there was little chance of being recognized from the
air, they were taking no risks. The plane came lower and lower, then
skimmed across the fences, coming to rest in the field near the old
farmhouse.
“If this isn’t luck!” exclaimed Frank.
“They probably went away to get gas and oil. Now, if they’ll only give
us a chance to get back in our hiding place again everything will be all
right.”
They went on cautiously, toward the field. They had just come to the
entrance of the lane leading down toward the farm when they heard
voices. Frank and Joe scrambled into the hedge and hid themselves.
They were not a moment too soon.
Giles Ducroy and Ollie Jacobs clambered over the fence, only a few yards
away.
“Everything is all set now,” Ducroy was saying. “We’re all fueled up,
the plane is in first-class shape, and we’re all ready for the big job.”
“We’ll go back and pick up Newt now,” said Ollie Jacobs.
“He gives me a pain,” grumbled Ducroy. “If it wasn’t that he has been
with us from the start I’d be tempted to drop him right now. Imagine
being too frightened to go on that flight with us this morning.”
“Newt is yellow.”
“He certainly is. Well, as long as he comes with us to-night and does
his part, I don’t care how yellow he is about flying.”
“Shall we come back here right away?”
“No. Some of these villagers might get suspicious. We’ll hang around
town until it gets dark. Then we’ll set out. I know the exact time and
place we can count on meeting this fellow and the whole thing ought to
be over in twenty minutes.”
“Good,” said Jacobs.
The two men went on down the lane. They had not seen the Hardy boys
hiding in the hedge. When they reached the road they turned in the
direction of the village and in a few moments were lost to view.
Frank and Joe crawled out of the hedge.
“On the trail again,” said Frank.
“We shan’t have to stay hidden in the plane, after all. This is luck.”
They hastened down the lane to the farmhouse. Unwittingly, the rascals
had played into their hands. They now knew that Ducroy would not start
on the mysterious mission until after darkness had fallen, and they
resolved to be in readiness.
“Just when we had given up hope,” said Frank, “everything gets clear
again!”
“Clear enough so far,” agreed Joe. “We won’t take any chances on
slipping up again. We’ll be hiding in that plane at sundown.”
The boys went back to the house and there they remained for the rest of
the day. They found that from one of the upper windows of the building
they could have an uninterrupted view of the road leading to the
village, and they made frequent visits to this window in order to make
sure that Ducroy and his companions would not steal a march on them.
However, the afternoon dragged past with no sign of the trio, and it was
evident that they were following their original program of loafing about
the village.
The airplane, which had evidently escaped notice, rested alone in the
field.
Toward the latter part of the afternoon the clouds which had been
gathering all day gathered overhead and there was a light shower of
rain. It passed over, but the weather became cool and blustery.
“A bad night for flying,” remarked Frank.
“If Ducroy can chance it, so can we.”
“That’s right. I hope they don’t call it off.”
“Not after waiting this long,” said Joe. “Ducroy has set his heart on
this affair. It’ll take a mighty stormy night to make him quit at the
last moment.”
The afternoon seemed endless, but at last Frank turned to his brother.
“We may have quite a while to wait, but I think we ought to go over to
the plane now.”
“I don’t mind waiting. I’d rather wait an hour or so than be left
behind, as we thought we were this morning.”
“Let’s go, then.”
The boys left the house and went over to the field. The airplane was
apparently just as Ducroy and Jacobs had left it. There was no sign of
anyone on the village road.
The Hardy boys climbed into their hiding place and made themselves as
comfortable as possible. For the time being, they left the door open for
the sake of fresh air. Minutes went by. The sky grew darker and the wind
rose. Once in a while a gust of rain spattered against the wings of the
machine.
At last Joe crouched forward.
“Here they come! I see a light down the road.”
He reached out and closed the door.
Breathlessly, the Hardy boys awaited the next move in their perilous
adventure.
CHAPTER XXI
West of Bacon Hill
The Hardy boys soon heard footsteps as the three men approached the
plane.
“I wish the weather was better,” Newt Pipps complained. “I’m afraid
something will happen.”
“I wish you’d keep quiet,” snapped Ducroy. “If you’re so scared why did
you come in with us at all?”
“I need the money.”
“And you don’t want to earn it. I’m doing all the work. All you and
Ollie have to do is throw the ropes over the side when I give the word
then get your guns ready for the hold-up.”
“We may lose him in the dark,” whined Pipps.
“I know every foot of his route,” returned Ducroy. “He’ll come right
over the two church steeples in Jasonville, then strike west of the
light on Bacon Hill.”
These places were new to the Hardy boys. They had never heard of either
Jasonville or Bacon Hill. They listened while the trio made the final
preparations for flight. It did not take long. In a few minutes they
heard the propeller whirring. The engine roared, there were a few shouts
as the men took their places, and then the plane bumped off over the
uneven ground.
It gathered speed, then the bumping ceased as the plane rose. It cleared
the fence at the end of the field, circled somewhat slowly, and rose
higher.
For a time the plane flew a direct course, then it banked and circled.
There was no doubt in the minds of the Hardy boys now that Ducroy and
his companions meant to hold-up another airplane, but how this hold-up
was to be managed they had not the least idea. It was very confining
inside the body of the plane, for the night was hot and sultry despite
the rain. The roar of the engine drowned out all other sounds.
Suddenly the plane dipped. Joe, who had relinquished his grip on the
rack, was thrown forward. The machine lost balance and nosed down
accordingly. Ducroy quickly straightened it out and Joe tried to edge
back toward his brother in the darkness.
He found, however, that his wrist was tightly held.
Panic-stricken, he groped forward. His shirt sleeve had been caught in
the steering gear running from the controls back to the rudder at the
tail of the plane.
While he tried to extricate himself the plane began to buck and sway in
the wind.
Frank, realizing that something was wrong, switched on a small
flashlight he had with him, and moved slowly forward. The beam of light
fell on Joe’s shirt sleeve. When the boys saw what was wrong they made
desperate attempts to release the sleeve, but it was now firmly
entangled in the gear.
Suddenly the roar of the motor died. Ducroy had shut off his engine. The
plane was nosing down toward the earth in a thrilling dive. Wind sang in
the struts.
“What’s the matter?” shouted Newt Pipps, in terror.
“Steering gear jammed!” answered Ducroy sourly.
“We’ll be killed!”
“Hold steady, you fool!” growled Ollie Jacobs. “What’s the matter,
Giles, can’t you get her out of it?”
Ducroy was working frantically at the controls.
“Something wrong somewhere. This old bird’s tail is as heavy as lead. I
can’t move the rudder.”
The gear was moving in response to his efforts at the controls. Frank
seized Joe’s sleeve and gave a quick wrench. The movement of the gear
had loosened the sleeve somewhat and it abruptly came loose.
At the same moment there was a shout of satisfaction from Giles Ducroy.
“She’s working again. Say, next time I land I’m going to see if we
haven’t some ballast aboard. There’s something radically wrong back
there.”
“We won’t need the plane after this haul,” declared Jacobs. “If we get
through this trip all right we’ll be set for life.”
The Hardy boys scrambled back to their places. The nose of the plane
suddenly raised. The engine began to roar again. Ducroy then brought the
machine out of its breath-taking dive. It flattened out and raced on
again.
Frank and Joe were panting with excitement. Each realized how near they
had been to death. With the rudder useless, the plane would have crashed
nose down into the earth and they would have perished instantly.
From then on, the boys clung to the rack with every movement of the
plane. That one hazardous experience had been sufficient warning.
Suddenly, above the noise of the engine, the Hardy boys heard a shout
from one of the men. Then they became aware of a new sound. A steady,
distant drumming was apparent.
“The other plane!” they reflected.
The machine banked, swept about in a great circle. The big moment was at
hand. The drumming of the other plane became clearer.
“Stand by!” they heard Ducroy yell.
The plane bucked as it was caught in a gust of wind, then it shot
forward and began to climb. The drumming of the other plane was now
quite audible, mingling with the roaring of their own machine. It seemed
to be below them and in front of them.
Ducroy was evidently jockeying for a strategic position, for the plane
rocked and swayed, banked and turned, dipped and rose again.
“Ready!”
There was an answering shout from Ollie Jacobs.
“Over she goes!”
The boys heard a rattling sound from the forward part of the plane. What
it was they could not imagine.
An instant later, the drumming of the plane below ceased abruptly.
Their own plane swung around. Ducroy cut off his engine and went into a
dive.
“We’ve got him!” they heard Ollie Jacobs shouting. “There he goes. Look!
He’s diving.”
“Don’t lose sight of him!” shouted Ducroy.
“He’s heading for a field. Nose her down. We’re right behind him,
Giles!”
The plane dived swiftly.
From below, the boys heard a distant crash.
“He’s on the ground. Watch out, Ducroy. Come up behind him.”
The plane banked, flinging the two boys violently to one side. It
lurched, dived again unsteadily.
“Get ready!” ordered Ducroy. “Don’t let him get away. Can you see him,
Ollie?”
“I can’t see him, but I can see the plane. It’s right ahead. Get your
gun, Newt.”
“I’m ready,” quavered Newt Pipps.
Gradually, the plane settled down. There was a bump as the wheels
touched the earth. The plane rebounded high into the air, for Ducroy had
slightly miscalculated in the darkness. The engine roared again. The
wheels once more touched the ground, and the plane rocked on over the
uneven surface. Finally it came to a stop. The Hardy boys heard a
scrambling from the front of the machine.
“All out!” Ducroy was shouting. “Now, boys, make quick work of this.
Grab the bags and get back here as quickly as you can. Don’t waste any
time. Get into the plane again and wait for me. I’ll get back and start
her again. We’ll be in the air before he knows what it’s all about.”
The Hardy boys could hear them running across the field. Frank reached
for the catch, flung the door open. He and Joe scrambled out of the
plane.
The scene was illuminated by a cloudy moon. There was just sufficient
light for them to see a wrecked and crumpled airplane in the field some
distance ahead. A pilot was painfully extricating himself from the
wreckage. Ducroy and the others were running toward him with drawn
revolvers.
The Hardy boys, too, were armed. Realizing that their antagonists were
desperate men, they had taken the forethought to provide themselves with
revolvers before leaving Bayport. Each lad gripped his weapon.
“It’s the hold-up!” said Frank quickly. “Let’s break it up.”
“Just a minute!” declared Joe. “They want to get away in this plane. If
we can’t handle them they’ll make a getaway in spite of us. Let’s fix it
so they can’t.”
He ran toward the front of the plane, scrambled up into the cockpit. Joe
knew something of machinery, and it took him only a few seconds to break
an important wire connection that rendered the engine useless for the
time being.
“That’ll fix ’em,” he said jubilantly, as he ran back to Frank, who was
waiting impatiently. “Now we can take a hand in this little game.”
They ran toward the wrecked plane just as Ducroy and his cronies leveled
drawn revolvers at the pilot.
“Put up your hands or we’ll shoot!” ordered Ducroy.
CHAPTER XXII
Captured
Caution prevented the Hardy boys from going closer to the fallen plane.
They had not been seen by Ducroy or the others, and they now realized
that it would be folly to play into their hands at this moment. They
were outnumbered and they saw that they might easily be disarmed if they
took reckless chances. Frank suddenly halted and grasped Joe by the arm.
“We’re foolish to come out in the open like this. We’re just as liable
to be shot.”
“That’s what I’ve been thinking,” replied Joe. “What do you think we’d
better do?”
“They’ll be coming back to the plane. I think we ought to wait here for
them and hold them up when they come back. They’ll be off their guard
then and probably they’ll be loaded down with stuff from the other
plane.”
Without further parley, the lads turned and ran back. In the gloom they
had not been seen. They crouched in the shadow of the disabled plane and
watched the activities of the others.
The pilot, after his first shock of surprise, had quickly thrown up his
hands. Ducroy and the others advanced toward him.
“What’s the idea?” the lads heard the pilot saying.
“We haven’t time to talk to you,” growled Ducroy, holding a revolver
against the man’s body. “We want those mail bags you have here.”
“Bandits, are you?” snapped the pilot “You’ll suffer for this. You tried
to kill me!”
“You’re not dead yet,” said Ollie Jacobs callously.
“You flung a rope down from your plane and it tangled up in my propeller
shaft. It’s just by luck that I wasn’t killed in the crack-up. Just
wait. You’ll pay for this night’s work.”
“We’ll get paid,” chuckled Ducroy. “Get in there, Newt, and heave out
those mail bags.”
The pilot was helpless under the menace of the drawn revolvers. He was
forced to stand by while Newt Pipps scrambled into the plane, found the
mail bags, and began throwing them out to the ground.
“I’ll take care of this fellow,” said Ducroy. “Ollie, you can start
bringing those bags up to the other plane. Work fast. Some of these
farmers around here may have heard the plane crash and they might be
along any minute to investigate.”
Ollie Jacobs, pocketing his revolver, sprang forward and seized two of
the heavy mail bags. He flung them over his shoulder and hastened back
toward the plane, where the Hardy boys awaited him.
Nearer and nearer he came. The boys crouched in readiness.
Jacobs reached the plane. He did not see the lurking shadows. He was
just reaching forward to open the door of the baggage compartment for
the reception of the stolen mail bags when Frank Hardy stepped out and
swiftly pressed a revolver against his side.
“Up with your hands, Jacobs! Not a word out of you!”
Ollie Jacobs gave a strangled exclamation of surprise. Then he dropped
the mail bags. His arms shot into the air.
“Who—who are you?” he stammered.
“Keep quiet! One word out of you——” Frank prodded him with the
revolver to emphasize his command.
Ollie Jacobs was frightened into silence. From where they were standing,
the scene could not be observed by Ducroy. Frank and Joe backed their
captive up against the side of the plane and bade him be quiet.
A moment later they heard Ducroy shouting.
“Ollie! What’s keeping you? Hurry back here and get these other bags.”
Jacobs stirred restlessly, but Frank jammed the revolver against his
ribs. He was helpless, and he knew it.
“Ollie!”
Ducroy was becoming angry.
“What on earth has happened to him? Here, Newt! Keep this man covered
while I go and see what’s the matter.”
A moment later the Hardy boys heard Ducroy running toward the plane. He
came around the side, muttering to himself. Joe was waiting in
readiness. He leaped out and thrust his revolver against Ducroy’s chest.
“Hands up, Ducroy!”
Ducroy gave a shout of dismay, stepped back, but when he saw the
revolver he raised his arms.
“Get back over here beside Jacobs.”
Reluctantly, Ducroy did as he was told. Frank went swiftly through the
pockets of each man and disarmed them both.
“Now,” he said to Joe, “if you’ll keep this pair covered, I’ll go back
and attend to friend Newt.”
Joe, with a revolver in each hand, eyed his captives warily. But Ducroy
and Jacobs, unarmed, had too much respect for the menacing weapons and
the determined boy who held them, to make any rash break for liberty.
Frank, his revolver in readiness, went over toward the other plane where
Newt Pipps was holding the pilot at bay. At the sound of his footsteps,
Newt called out:
“What’s the matter, Ducroy? I thought I heard you shout.”
“Everything’s all right,” growled Frank.
Apparently, Newt was deceived, for he did not look around. It is certain
that he got the shock of his life when he felt a revolver muzzle pressed
against his back and heard a stern voice say:
“Up with your hands, Newt! Drop that gun immediately!”
With a squeal of amazement, Newt Pipps whirled around, lowering his
weapon as he did so. At the same moment the pilot, who had been watching
his chance, sprang forward, seized the fellow’s wrist and wrenched the
weapon from him. There was a brief struggle, and Newt Pipps was
overpowered.
“The others are back at the other plane,” Frank told the pilot. “My
brother has them covered.”
“Good!” said the aviator, dealing Newt a hearty kick. “Now get along
there, you!”
They propelled the luckless Newt ahead of them across the field until
they reached the other plane, where they found Joe still on guard over
his captives.
“Try to rob the air mail, would you?” gloated the pilot, as Newt was
lined up beside the others. “You mighty nearly got away with it, too.
But not this time!”
Ducroy leaned forward, peering at his captors in the gloom. It was then
that he recognized the Hardy boys.
“I thought so!” he muttered bitterly. “The Hardy boys! Although how on
earth the two of you got here is beyond me.”
“This means jail!” moaned Newt Pipps. “Oh, why did I ever let myself be
argued into this! I knew we’d never get away with it! I said so from the
start!”
“Shut up,” snarled Ollie Jacobs. “Shut up and take your medicine like a
man. We’re licked; but we would have been well away if it hadn’t been
for those Hardy boys.”
“You lads certainly came along in the nick of time,” said the pilot of
the mail plane. “You couldn’t have got here better if you had planned it
from the start. There is about fifty thousand dollars in cash in those
mail bags. That’s what this gang were after. They circled my machine and
dropped a tangle of ropes over the propeller. I had to make a landing,
and nearly lost my life in the bargain.”
“We did plan it from the start,” Frank told him quietly. “We have been
following these men for three days, trying to find what they were up
to.”
“Following us!” cried Ducroy. “How could you follow us? We’ve flown
hundreds of miles in the last three days.”
“And we flew with you. We’ve been quite comfortable back in the tail of
the plane.”
A startled exclamation burst from Ducroy.
“So that’s what was wrong! I thought there was something mighty queer
about the way that machine was acting. And I never even looked! The two
of you right on our trail from the start!”
His ejaculations of surprise and disgust were echoed by Ollie Jacobs and
Newt Pipps. As for the pilot, he was hilarious in his admiration of the
Hardy boys.
“You were trailing them all the way!” he exclaimed. “Well, that’s the
best I’ve ever heard. And they thinking they’d make a neat clean-up!
Boys, when I report this to the post office department you’ll hear some
fine things said about yourselves for this night’s work.”
Joe rummaged about in the plane and found a length of rope. He cut this
into convenient pieces, and while Frank covered the three bandits with
his revolver, Joe and the pilot made quick work of binding them hand and
foot.
The trio had just been safely trussed up when they heard the clatter of
an automobile in a road near by, saw the beam of headlights, and then
they heard a hoarse voice:
“What’s going on over there?”
“Who are you?” shouted the pilot.
“I’m the sheriff of this here county, and I want to know what
monkeyshines are going on over there. I have a shotgun with me, and I’m
ready to use it; hurry up and answer.”
“You’re as welcome as the flowers in May, sheriff,” yelled the pilot
jubilantly. “Come along with your shotgun. We’ve got some prisoners here
for you.”
CHAPTER XXIII
Back in Bayport
Beyond an occasional robbery of a hen roost the worthy sheriff had
experienced few cases of crime in the county during his time of office,
and when he discovered who the prisoners were and why they had been
captured he was one of the most astounded and bewildered men in the
world.
“Robbin’ the air mail!” he stammered. “Why, these fellers must be
desperate criminals!”
“They’re not very desperate now, sheriff,” laughed the pilot.
“What d’you want me to do with ’em?” asked the man of the law
doubtfully.
“Lock ’em up.”
“I don’t know as I’m responsible.” The sheriff was not anxious to be
given charge over three mail robbers.
“You’re responsible, all right, until the government takes them off your
hands,” returned the pilot abruptly. “You take these men and lock them
up in your village jail, and make mighty sure they don’t get away from
you, either. This crime took place in your county, so you can just get
busy and do your duty.”
The sheriff looked very unhappy about it, and kept Ducroy and his
companions carefully covered with the shotgun, as though fearing they
might break loose at any moment. Assistance soon arrived, when a number
of farmers and people from the village, attracted by the crash of the
mail plane, came clambering over the adjacent fences. In a remarkably
short space of time a crowd had collected. Everybody talked at once,
everybody asked questions, and general excitement prevailed.
“What’s the excitement?”
“Airplane busted, eh?”
“Anybody killed?”
“Gosh, Jed, look at the sheriff! What’s he up to, anyhow?”
“Don’t know nothin’ ’bout it, Asa. But somethin’ is plumb wrong, that’s
certain.”
“Don’t go too close to the shebang, Billy, she might bust up on you.”
“First time I ever did see an airplane come down like that.”
“Me, too. Glad I come along just in time. I wouldn’t go up in one of ’em
for a million dollars.”
“Nor me.”
The sheriff, becoming bolder, announced to all and sundry that he had
just captured three mail robbers at great risk of his own life and
called on his fellow villagers to help him take the trio safely to jail.
Ducroy, Ollie Jacobs, and Newt Pipps were consequently surrounded and
led out of the field, bundled into an automobile where they were guarded
by the sheriff, armed with his shotgun, and two husky villagers armed
with clubs, then hustled off to town.
The pilot turned to the Hardy boys. A number of people had remained at
the scene and were busy inspecting the wrecked plane and asking
questions. The majority of the villagers, however, had hastened in the
wake of the sheriff and his prisoners.
“Where are you boys from?”
“Bayport,” Frank told him.
The pilot was surprised.
“Why, that’s where I’m bound for.”
“I guess you won’t get there to-night,” said Joe pessimistically.
“I’ve got to get there to-night. I’m carrying the air mail, and it must
get through somehow.” The pilot looked at Ducroy’s plane. “I wonder if
this old crate will make it.”
“It was running fairly smoothly to-night,” said Frank eagerly. “Do you
think you could take off and reach Bayport to-night?”
“Why not? Here, take those mail bags and put them in the plane. We’ll
make a try at it, anyway.”
While Frank stowed away the mail bags, Joe showed the pilot the wire
connections he had broken in order to prevent Ducroy from getting into
the air.
The pilot laughed. “Pretty smart,” he said approvingly. “Even if you
hadn’t succeeded in holding them up, they wouldn’t have got very far.”
He quickly repaired the broken connection.
“Now,” he said, “I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t be able to take
off from here and reach Bayport in good time to-night. And won’t my
chief’s eyes pop out when I tell him the story of _this_ trip!”
Frank ran around to the front of the plane and gave the propeller a
flip. The motor began its clamor again and the pilot waved his arm
joyously.
“Climb in!” he shouted. “We’re away!”
The Hardy boys lost no time “climbing in,” and while the curious
villagers scattered in all directions, the pilot “gave her the gun” and
the plane began to move slowly off across the field. Although it was a
cloudy night, the pilot had some instinct which told him the right
direction, and he brought the plane off the ground just in time to avoid
a fence that seemed to rise suddenly before them. He cleared the fence,
cleared the telephone wire beyond the road, just skimmed over the tops
of some trees, and then climbed swiftly beyond the danger level.
The boys enjoyed this ride considerably more than they had enjoyed their
flights in the tail of the plane. The cold air stung their faces. They
found goggles and flying helmets in the seats, and when they donned them
they were more comfortable.
Lights of the village flashed far beneath them, and as the plane rose
higher in the air they saw lights in the darkness many miles on all
sides. Far to the north they could see a dull haze of lights from a
distant city. Over to one side they could see a speeding beam of light
followed by a little string of twinkling stars, which they identified as
a train, racing across the countryside.
The plane roared on swiftly and the thrill of that night flight was
sufficient reward to the Hardy boys for all the discomforts they had
undergone. They were riding high above the world, which seemed to have
disappeared altogether save for the twinkling beams and blobs of light
scattered over its black surface.
They saw the pilot gesture. He was pointing ahead.
The Hardy boys could see a widening pencil of light which cut through
the blackness of the night. It was the beacon light of the Bayport air
field, still many miles ahead, but visible from their great height.
Beyond that they could see the twinkling flash of a lighthouse at the
mouth of Barmet Bay.
In due time the lights of Bayport came into view, a yellow glow, and to
the west they could see the airport, clearly illuminated, a huge glowing
rectangle.
The pilot juggled with the controls. The nose of the plane tilted
downward. The machine dived in a breathless rush.
Then it banked, and the plane circled the airport, dropping steadily
downward as though descending an invisible spiral. The flying field
seemed to rise up to meet them. The hangars, the other planes, the tiny
figures of men on the field, all became visible. There seemed to be an
unusually large number of people about, and the pilot turned and shouted
something to the boys, but they could not distinguish what he said,
because of the roar of the engine.
Finally the plane straightened out, then glided swiftly down toward the
field. It struck the ground with a shock, then bounced and bounded on
toward the hangars.
There was a big crowd at the airport. People were running down the field
toward the plane. By the time the pilot cut off his engine, by the time
the propeller stopped turning and the plane came to a stop, a mob had
surrounded the machine.
Frank and Joe looked wonderingly at one another.
“Looks like a reception committee!” said the pilot. “The sheriff must
have telephoned to Bayport about his prisoners.”
The Hardy boys stood up. They heard shouts:
“There they are!”
“That’s them!”
“Turn around a little—let’s get a picture!”
The Hardy boys and the pilot had a confused impression of half a dozen
cameras leveled at them. Flashlight powder began to explode until the
whole scene was as bright as day. An enterprising reporter scrambled up
over the side of the plane.
“Interview!” he clamored. “Give me the story, boys! What happened?”
The pilot brushed him aside.
“You boys will have your story in a minute,” he promised. “If you’ll all
come up to the office we’ll tell you the whole yarn.”
Chief Collig, at the head of a detail of officers, appeared just then
and managed to get the crowd under control, so that the pilot and the
Hardy boys were able to get out of the plane. Several airport officials
ran up. The pilot saluted.
“Had a forced landing near Jasonville, sir,” he reported to one of these
officials, an elderly man. “The mail is safe.”
“Good work, Benton,” said the other. “Come up to the office and tell us
what happened. We’ve been mighty curious for the past half hour, since
we heard about this hold-up.”
The Hardy boys never forgot the short journey to the office building of
the airport. It had all the aspect of a triumphal procession. Scores of
people had invaded the flying field, and the police were kept busy
keeping the crowds back. Seemingly, the news of the hold-up had spread
quickly in Bayport and the flying field suddenly became the Mecca of
everyone who could make his way to the airport.
In the office, surrounded by reporters, photographers, police officers,
and airport officials, Benton, the pilot, briefly told his story of the
hold-up.
“As you know,” he said, “the mail to-night was especially valuable. Cash
for a number of payrolls was being sent to one of the Bayport banks from
its head office in New York. Somehow, these men must have got wind of
it, so they flew out to meet me, tossed a tangle of ropes down on my
propeller shaft, then held me up when I crashed. They were just clearing
out with the mail bags when these boys appeared on the scene and turned
the tables. If it hadn’t been for them, the rascals would have made a
clean getaway. Their story is much more interesting than mine.”
Frank and Joe Hardy were then asked to tell the story of their
adventures. While the newspapermen scribbled hastily and made frequent
dashes to the telephones to inform their city editors of the facts, the
boys quietly told how they had decided to follow Ollie Jacobs, how they
had learned of the purchase of the airplane, and how they had concealed
themselves in the machine and accompanied the rascals in their journeys
about the countryside. When they had finished, a veteran post office
inspector stepped forward and shook hands with them.
“I hardly need say that your good work will be recognized by the
department,” he said. “Your persistence and courage certainly averted a
serious robbery, and I am going to recommend that you be suitably
rewarded.”
“The only reward we want,” returned Frank, “is to be cleared of the
charges against us. You know, we’re out on bail on a charge of robbing
the mail several days ago.”
“Why, didn’t you know that you were cleared of that?” exclaimed the
inspector. “Your father, Fenton Hardy, came to the airport to-night,
shortly before the news of the hold-up was reported, and arrested two
mechanics. It seems they had been in touch with Ducroy and his
companions by telephone, tipping them off to the time this money
shipment was expected. When your father took them away they confessed
that they had helped Ducroy manage the other two thefts here, and that
Ducroy had deliberately planted evidence against you boys.”
“Charges against them have been withdrawn,” broke in Chief Collig
abruptly. “The Hardy boys have been cleared of all suspicion. So far as
I’m concerned, I never believed them guilty in the first place.”
CHAPTER XXIV
Vindicated
The Hardy boys had cleared up the great airport mystery, which had been
a nine days’ wonder in Bayport.
Newspapers carried many columns describing the adventures of the boys in
trailing the airmail thieves and the entire city united in praising them
for their good work. But the boys felt that no praise could equal the
delight they felt when they knew they had been cleared of the unjust
charges that had been laid against them.
“I knew it! I knew it all along!” declared Hurd Applegate, as he sat in
Fenton Hardy’s study the next morning. “It was absolutely ridiculous to
arrest them in the first place. Wasn’t it, Elroy?”
Elroy Jefferson, who had come to the Hardy home with Mr. Applegate,
nodded affirmatively.
“Quite ridiculous,” he agreed. “I am indeed glad that the whole affair
has been cleared up so thoroughly. The boys have been vindicated, the
air mail has been saved, and the rascals are in jail. Excellent.”
“When I arrested those two confederates at the airport last night,” said
Fenton Hardy, “it didn’t take long to get the whole story out of them.
They saw that the game was up. They told me that Ducroy had engineered
the whole business. As for planting the evidence against the boys, he
got Newt Pipps to steal a sweater and a knife from the garage and he
left those near the scene to incriminate Frank.”
“How about the footprints?” asked Joe. “How did he manage that?”
“He noticed that you were wearing the new shoes, so he got a similar
pair, of the same size, in another town. After all, you can hardly blame
the police, with all that evidence, particularly when you had no alibi.”
“The reason we couldn’t explain our alibi,” said Frank, “was because we
had been out to a cabin in Beach Grove that afternoon looking for
evidence against Ducroy and the others. We thought we’d keep quiet about
that until we learned a little more about them.”
“You took a great many chances,” said Mr. Hardy gravely. “If I had known
you were flying around the country in the tail of an airplane operated
by three mail robbers, I wouldn’t have been very easy in my mind.”
“Now, Fenton, don’t start worrying about that now,” advised Elroy
Jefferson. “The boys have done excellent work and they’ve come through
it quite safe and sound, which is all that matters.”
“We want to thank you and Mr. Applegate for going bail for us,” said
Joe. “If you hadn’t put up the money we would have had to stay in jail
and the mail robbers would probably be at large yet.”
“Don’t thank us,” snapped Hurd Applegate. “We didn’t risk any money. We
knew you were innocent. I think I’m sufficient judge of character to
know a crook when I see one.”
The boys soon would need to know this to learn “What Happened at
Midnight.”
“The bail money was returned to us this morning,” said Elroy Jefferson.
“The police were quite apologetic.”
“The postal department has been apologetic too,” said Fenton Hardy. “As
you remember, when the boys were arrested they relieved me of my
assignment to work on the case, so that when I went out to the airport
last night, following up the information the boys had sent on here by
telephone while I was away, I was really exceeding my authority.
However, the post office people now admit they were mistaken and have
asked me to hold myself in readiness to accept other cases if they
should arise.”
“Excellent! Excellent!” said Hurd Applegate. “Everything has turned out
wonderfully for all concerned.”
“Except for Giles Ducroy and his gang,” remarked Frank.
“Too bad about them!” growled Hurd. “They’re safely locked up in jail,
where they belong. Serves ’em right. Don’t you think so, Elroy?”
“Absolutely!” agreed Elroy Jefferson. “It is a fitting end to the great
airport mystery.”
THE END
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