Frank Hardy was still dissatisfied. He had really wanted to remain behind and probe the mystery of the house on the cliff further. He held no stock in the ghost theory. The shrieks and the mocking laugh, he was sure, were of human origin. But what could have been the motive? It may have been that some boys had been in the house when they arrived and had simply seized the opportunity to play a joke on them.
"In that case," he muttered to himself, "the story will be all over the Bayport high school by Monday and we'll be kidded within an inch of our lives for running away. We should have stayed behind."
Something told him, however, that this was no ordinary schoolboy prank. The incident of the fallen ceiling had unnerved him slightly. It was only by good luck that none of them had been seriously hurt. Of course, it may have been entirely accidental, but it seemed to have happened at a strangely opportune time. Then the recollection of the shrieks and the mocking laugh came back to him again and he shivered as he recalled the maniacal intensity of the tones.
"If it was any fellow like ourselves he was a mighty good actor," Frank said to himself. "I've heard of a person's blood running cold, but I never knew what it meant until I heard those yells."
Suddenly his motorcycle began, as he termed it, "acting up." It coughed, lurched, backfired explosively, and then the engine died.
"What a fine time for a breakdown," Frank said, as he dismounted.
Joe drew up alongside. "What's the matter?" he called.
"Engine broke down."
"Gosh, aren't you lucky!" exclaimed Joe, grinning. "There's a shed over at the side of the road. Bring it over under cover."
He pointed to a tumble-down shed near by. Frank realized that it might take some time to discover the trouble, so he trundled the motorcycle over to the refuge his brother had indicated. In the meantime, Chet Morton had looked back, to find that the others were not following him, and had decided to return. The roar of his machine could be heard through the rain as he rode back toward them.
In the shelter of the shed, Frank first of all took off his coat and cap, which were dripping wet, and hung them up on a projecting board. Then, as Joe and Jerry stood by, glad of the chance to get in out of the rain, he rolled up his sleeves and prepared to find the source of the trouble.
They could hear Chet calling for them, as he drove along the road in the rain.
"Thinks we're lost," laughed Joe. He went over to the front of the shed and hailed their companion. "Come on up here!" he shouted. "Had a breakdown."
Grumbling audibly, Chet dismounted and came over toward the shed.
In the meantime, Frank had opened the tool box of his motorcycle.
The others were startled by a sudden exclamation. Frank was staring at the tool box, with a bewildered expression on his face.
"My tools!" he exclaimed. "They're gone!"
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The other boys crowded around. The tool box was empty.
"Did you have them when you left Bayport?" asked Joe.
"Of course I did. I never go anywhere without them. Who on earth could have taken them?"
"You can have mine," offered Joe, going over to his own motorcycle. He snapped open the tool box on his machine and then gave a shout of astonishment.
"Mine are gone too!"
CHAPTER IV
The Chase in the Bay
The boys stared at one another in bewilderment.
"I know my tool box was full when I left home," said Frank.
"And so was mine," came from Joe. "I was using the pliers just before we started out."
"Where could they have gone?"
"They must have been stolen while the motorcycles were in the shed at the Polucca place," Chet suggested.
"It's the only time they could have been taken," declared Frank. "It was the only time they were left unguarded."
Joe was frankly puzzled.
"But we didn't see any one around the place," said Jerry.
"No–but there was some one there. We heard those shrieks and the laugh. Some one stole those tools while we were in the house."
"It's some kind of a practical joke, that's what I'm beginning to think," declared Frank. "Let's go back and get those tools."
"Not on your life," objected Jerry deijisively. "This is a little too much. First of all we hear those shrieks, and then the house almost comes down around our ears, and now we find that the tools have been stolen by somebody we didn't see. We're safer away from there."
Biff Hooper nodded agreement.
"That's what I think. There's something queer about that house. We'll get into trouble if we go butting in any more."
"But we want our tools!"
"Good night!" Chet exclaimed. "Perhaps mine are gone too." He ran out of the shed over to the road and hastily examined the tool box on his machine. Then he straightened up with an audible sigh of relief.
"Thank goodness, they're here! Guess whoever took the others figured he had enough."
"I'm going back!" declared Frank.
"If you do, you'll have to excuse me," Chet said. "You're welcome to use my tools to fix up your machine, but I won't go back with you."
"Me neither," chimed in Jerry and Biff simultaneously.
Frank and Joe were silent. They wanted to go back to the Polucca place and investigate the matter further, but they did not want to break up the party, so they decided it would be better policy to remain with their companions.
"All right," Frank said. "Lend me a pair of pliers and I'll have this trouble fixed up in no time."
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He went over to Chet's motorcycle and got the desired tools. Then he began to tinker with his machine. It was only a minor defect, and a few minutes' work sufficed to repair the damage. In the meantime it was apparent that the rain was letting up, and by the time the Hardy boys took their motorcycles out of the shed and regained the road, it had died away to a mere drizzle.
"This has been some holiday!" Chet muttered, as he mounted his machine again. "I'm going home. Jerry, you and Biff had better come up to our place for dinner. How about you and Joe, Frank?"
"Thanks just the same, but we couldn't We promised to be back home this afternoon."
"There's a side road turns off here that makes a nice short-cut to our farm. I guess I'll go that way. There should be room for three on this bike, with a little crowding."
Jerry and Biff Hooper clambered on the motorcycle with Chet Morton and started off. The Hardy boys followed on their own machines until they reached the side road, about a hundred yards away. There the others left them, after shouting good-bye. Frank and Joe watched Chet's motorcycle, heavily loaded, disappear into the mists that hovered over the road, and then they prepared to continue their 'journey back to Bayport.
The shore road dipped at that point and wound down along the edge of the bay in a deep spiral, which brought them at one point almost back to the cliff at the top of which the Polucca place was located, although by now they were nearer the water's edge. From there the road sloped directly down to the shore, then ran along the edge of the bay and in toward the city.
Frank looked up toward the top of the cliff that loomed high above them. They could not see the Polucca place from where they were, as it was on the high ground and almost masked by trees, but the mystery of the place still preyed on their minds.
"I'd like to go back there yet," said Frank suddenly. "That affair of the tools has me guessing."
"Me too. But I think we'd better go on home. We can come back some other time and look for them."
"One minute I think it was only a practical joke of some kind. And the next minute I think it's something a whole lot deeper than that. There's something strange going on up there."
"There were sure a lot of strange things going on when we struck the place-that's certain. I can hear those shrieks yet."
"Well, I guess you're right, Joe. We may as well go on home. But I'd like to get to the bottom of it."
"Whoever stole those tools made quick work of it. We weren't in the house very long.''
"It proves that it wasn't a ghost, anyway."
"I never did believe in the ghost theory. No, some human being took those tools. And he was watching us, too. He saw us put the 'bikes in the shed and he took the tools while we were in the house."
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"Unless they were taken after we left the bikes under the trees in the first place."
"He wouldn't have had time. We only stepped into the front room and then we all came out after that first shriek. No, the tools were taken when the bikes were in the shed."
The boys rode on. The rain had ceased now, but the road was greasy and they had to call on all their skill to keep from skidding as they drove down the steep road toward the bay, so they did not talk again until they reached the more level highway at the shore.
A sound out in the bay attracted Frank's attention and he looked out over the rolling sweep of waters. He could see a powerful motorboat plunging through the waves about a quarter of a mile out. It was just coming into view around the base of the cliff, and as Frank looked he saw the nose of still another boat emerging into sight. Each craft was traveling at high speed.
"Looks like a race!" remarked Joe.
The Hardy boys stopped their motorcycles and watched the two boats. But it was soon apparent that this was no friendly speed contest. The boat in the lead was zigzagging in a peculiar manner, and the pursuing craft was rapidly overhauling it. The staccato roar of the powerful boats was borne to the lads' ears by the wind.
"See! The other boat is chasing it!" Frank exclaimed. He had caught sight of the figures of two men standing in the bow of the pursuing craft. They were waving their arms frantically.
The first boat turned as though it were about to head inshore at the cliff and then, apparently, the helmsman changed his mind, for at once the nose of the boat pointed out into the open bay again. But the moment of hesitation had given the pursuers the chance they wanted, and swiftly the gap between the racing craft grew smaller and smaller.
The Hardy boys saw that there was but one man in the foremost craft. He was bent over the wheel. In the other boat they caught sight of one figure who had snatched up an object that appeared to be a rifle. To their amazement they saw him aim at the man in the leading craft. Then, across the water, they heard the sharp report.
The lone figure in the first boat dropped out of sight. Whether he had been hit or not the boys could not tell. But the craft did not slacken speed. Instead, it still continued to race madly through the waves.
But the pursuers rapidly drew closer until at last the boats were running side by side. They were so close together that it appeared as if a collision were imminent.
"The whole crowd of them will be killed if they aren't careful!" muttered Frank.
Then, just when it seemed that both boats must crash together, the pursuing craft, as though it had given up the chase, veered abruptly away and headed out toward the middle of the bay.
The speed of the other boat decreased. The roar of its exhaust became intermittent.
"Engine trouble!" suggested Joe.
But there was more than engine trouble.
With startling violence, a sheet of flame leaped high into the air from the motorboat. There was a stunning explosion and a dense puff of smoke. Bits of wreckage were thrown high into the air, and in the midst of it all the Hardy boys, horrified, saw the figure of the man they had noticed before, as he was hurled into the water.
The whole boat was swiftly ablaze. Hardly had the wreckage begun to fall back into the water with spasmodic patterings and splashes than the craft was in flames from bow to stern.
"Look!" shouted Frank. "He's still alive!"
The man of the boat had been killed by neither the rifle shot nor the explosion.
They could see him struggling in the water not far from the blazing craft. His head was a dark oval above the water and he was slowly trying to swim ashore.
"He'll never make it!" gasped Joe.
"We'll have to try to save him!" answered his brother.
CHAPTER V
The Rescue
The Hardy boys knew that they had no time to lose.
It was evident from the struggles of the man in the water that he was not an expert swimmer. So far, he had not seen the boys, but they could hear him shouting for help, possibly thinking, however, that it was in vain, for it was a lonely part of the bay and the nearest farmhouse, outside of the deserted Polucca place, was more than half a mile down the road.
"Quick!" shouted Frank. "I see a rowboat up on the shore."
His sharp eyes had discovered a small boat almost hidden in a little cove some distance away at the bottom of a steep declivity that was the beginning of the cliff. It could not be reached by going along the shore, and the boys saw that they would have to go along the high ground and then descend to it, for a huge rock that jutted out of the deep water cut the cove off from the more open part of the beach.
They left their motorcycles on the side of the road and hurried back up the slope, then cut down across a narrow strip of weeds and grass until they came to the top of the declivity. They could still see the victim of the explosion struggling in the waves. The man had seized a piece of wreckage and was able to remain afloat, but the boys knew it was only a matter of time before his strength would give out.
"Looks to be almost all in," remarked Frank.
"I wonder if he's anybody we know," came from his brother.
"It isn't likely." Frank reached out suddenly and caught hold of Joe's arm. "Look out there or you may break a leg."
"It certainly is mighty slippery," answered Joe, as he managed to regain his footing. He had come close to going heels over head on the rocks.
Slipping and scrambling, they made their way down the slope toward the little cove. Rocks went rolling and tumbling ahead of them. The distance was only a few yards, but the slope was steep and a false step might result in broken bones.
But they reached the bottom in safety and there they came upon the rowboat. It was battered and old, but evidently still seaworthy.
"Into the water with her!" said Frank.
They seized the boat and the keel grated on the shingle as the little craft was launched. Swiftly, they fixed the oars in the locks and then they scrambled into their places.
They began to row with strong, steady strokes out toward the man in the bay. He had seen them, and was now shouting to them to hurry.
"He'd be better off if he kept quiet," Joe said. "He's only wasting his strength."
Evidently this thought occurred to the victim of the wreck, or else he was becoming weaker, for his cries died away and the boys did not hear him again.
Frank thought he may have gone beneath the waves, and he cast a quick look around. But the fellow was still in view, clinging desperately to his bit of wreckage.
The motorboat in the background was still blazing fiercely. Flames were shooting high in the air and the craft was plainly doomed. A great pillar of smoke was rolling into the sky from the burning boat.
As for the other motorboat, Frank could hear the roar of its exhaust as it continued its flight out into the bay. For a while he could see its dim shape, when he turned around once in a while, but then the fleeing boat disappeared into the mist and the gloom.
The boys exerted all their strength and the little rowboat fairly leaped over the waves.
Both were good oarsmen and it was not long before they had drawn close to the man in the water.
But it looked as though they would be too late.
When they were only a few yards away Frank looked around, to shout encouragement to the victim of the wreck. Even as he looked, he saw the man wearily give up his grasp on the piece of wreckage to which he had been clinging. Frank had a glimpse of the white face and the despairing eyes and then the man sank slowly beneath the waves.
"He's drowning, Joe!" shouted Frank, as he bent to his oar again.
With a mighty effort they brought the boat close by the place where the man had gone down.
Frank leaped to the side of the boat and •peered down into the depths. He began taking off his coat, preparatory to diving to the rescue.
Then the fellow came to the surface again, gasping for breath, but so weak that he could scarcely make a struggle. He emerged from the water, right beside the boat and Frank leaned over, grasping him by the hair. This sufficed to prevent the man from sinking for the second time, and Frank managed to get a grip on the collar of his coat.
Then, with Joe helping and in imminent danger of upsetting the boat, he managed to drag the stranger to the side of the craft.
The fellow was a dead weight, for he had lapsed into unconsciousness when Frank seized him, but somehow they contrived to get him into the boat, and there he lay, sprawled helplessly, more dead than alive.
"We'd better get him to shelter some place and revive him," said Joe. "We can't do much for him here."
"How about that farmhouse down the bay!"
''The very place. Where is it?"
They finally located the farmhouse, a snug little building back off the main road some distance down the bay. It meant considerable rowing, but there was a life at stake.
The blazing motorboat near by was a roaring mass of flames. Then it began to sink beneath the waves. There was a great hissing sound and a heavy cloud of steam as the craft sank lower and lower into the water, its blazing embers blackening to the touch of the sea. Swiftly, at last, the boat disappeared. Its' stern seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then it slid quickly down into the waves and the only trace was a widening pool of oil and scattered wreckage on the surface of the water.
But the Hardy boys were too busy to give more than passing notice to the spectacles.
Their immediate problem was to get the stranger under shelter.
Frank decided that there was no necessity for first aid. The man had been conscious when he rose from the water the first time, so there could not be much water in his lungs. He had simply given in to exhaustion and fatigue resulting from his long struggle in the waves.
They headed the boat down the bay, in a direct line with the little farmhouse, which they could see nestling among the trees. They had already spent much energy in rowing out to the rescue of the stranger, but they fell to the new task with a will. Bowing with machine-like precision, they felt the little boat respond to every effort, and it fairly leaped along. This time they had the wind and the waves with them and they made good time.
The man they had rescued lay face downward in the bottom of the boat. He was a slim, black-haired fellow. His clothes, which of course were soaked with water, were cheap and worn, the sleeves being frayed at the cuffs. They could not see his face, but they judged him to be young. He was still unconscious.
Frank let Joe take his oar for a moment, and crouched down beside the stranger. He turned the man over and the limp form lolled about as helplessly as a bag of salt. As they had surmised, he was a young fellow, with sharp, clean-cut features. He wore a cheap shirt, open at the throat.
Frank pressed his ear to the fellow's chest and listened for signs of life. Finally he straightened up, with a mutter of satisfaction.
"His heart's beating all right," he told Joe. "He's alive, at any rate. Just all in. He'll come to after a while."
He returned to his oar and the little boat skimmed over the waves on toward the farmhouse in the distance.
The boys rowed until the muscles of their arms were aching, but at last they drew near the shore and finally the pebbles grated underneath the keel. Frank leaped out and dragged the boat part way up on the beach. Then, between them, they carried the unconscious man up the rocky shore toward the farmhouse.
They found a path that led through a field up to the back door of the house, and although their burden was heavy they managed to carry the still figure, limp and motionless, across the field.
A gaunt, kindly-faced woman came hurrying out of the house at their approach, and from the orchard near by came a man in overalls. The farmer and his wife had seen them.
"Laws! what's happened now?" asked the woman, wide-eyed, as they came up to her.
"This man was mighty nearly drowned out in the bay," explained Frank. "We saw your house–"
''Bring him in,'' boomed the farmer. "Bring him indoors."
The woman ran ahead of them and held the door open. With the farmer giving aid, the boys carried the unconscious man into the house and placed him on a couch in the comfortably furnished living room. The farmer's wife glanced dubiously at the stream of water that dripped from the victim's clothes, for she was a tidy soul and she had just scrubbed the floor that morning, but her better nature overcame her housewifely instincts and she hastened out to the kitchen to prepare a hot drink.
"Best rub his hands," suggested the farmer. He was a burly man with a black beard. "It'll bring the blood back to his cheeks. One of you take off his boots and we'll wrap his feet up in warm flannels."
For the next five minutes the house was a scene of excitement as the farmer and his wife bustled about and the Hardy boys rubbed industriously at the hands and feet of the unconscious man, trying to restore him to consciousness. At last there was a sign of reviving life.
The man on the couch stirred feebly. His eyelids fluttered. His lips moved, but no words came. Then the eyes opened and the man stared at them, as though in a daze.
"Where am I?" he muttered faintly.
"You're safe," Frank assured him. "You're with friends."
"Pretty-near-cashed in-didn't I?"
"Yes, you pretty nearly drowned. But you're all right now."
"It was Snackley!" said the stranger, as though talking to himself. "Snackley got me - the rat!"
CHAPTER VI
Snackley
At that moment the farmer's wife appeared, bringing a drink of hot ginger and water, which the man on the couch gulped down gratefully.
"We'll put him in the spare room, Mabel," decided the farmer. "He needs a good warm bed more'n anything else just now. I'll look after him, if these boys here will help me."
"I–I think I was shot–" muttered the stranger. He motioned weakly toward his side.
Frank leaned over.
"Why, there's blood on his coat!" he exclaimed.
A hasty examination showed that the stranger was right. There was a bullet wound in his right side. It was evidently not serious, merely a flesh wound, but it had bled freely and the man was weakened.
Gently, the boys helped removed his clothing, and with warm water and a sponge the farmer bathed the wound. The bullet had passed right through the fellow's coat after searing a path across his side. Disinfectant was then applied, the stranger gritting his teeth with pain, and after that the bandage were put in place.
"Now we can put him to bed. Can you walk stranger?"
The man made an effort to rise, and then fell back weakly upon the couch.
"I'm afraid–I can't!"
"All right, then, we'll carry you. Give me a hand with him, lads."
Between them, they carried the wounded man upstairs into a plain but comfortably furnished room. Here he was put to bed and covered with warm blankets. With a sigh of relief, he closed his eyes.
"He's weak from loss of blood. That's mostly what's the matter with him," the farmer said. "We'll let him have a good sleep."
They left the room, and when they went out into the kitchen again the Hardy boys told the farmer and his wife of the strange adventure they had just been through. The farmer listened thoughtfully.
"Queer!" he observed. "Mighty queer!" Then, glancing significantly at his wife, he said: "What’d you think of it, Mabel?"
"I think the same as you, Bill, and you know it. Most like it's been another of them smuggling mix-ups."
The farmer nodded. "I've an idea it's somethin' like that."
"Smuggling!" exclaimed Frank.
"Sure! There's quite a bit of smuggling goes on around Barmet Bay, you know. Leastways, there has been in the past few months. That's been my suspicions, anyway. I've seen too many motorboats out in the bay of late, and I've heard too many of 'em prowlin' around at night. If it's not smugglin' it's some other kind of unlawful business."
"Do you think this fellow may have been shot in some kind of a smugglers' quarrel?"
The farmer shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe. I ain't sayin' nothin'. It ain't safe to say any-thin' when you don't know for certain. But I wouldn't be a mite surprised."
Mr. and Mrs. Kane, as they introduced themselves, were just about to have dinner, and they invited the Hardy boys to stay. This the lads were glad to do, as they were very tired by their exertions of the morning, and were already feeling the pangs of hunger.
They sat down to the simple but ample meal, typical farm fare of roast beef and baked pork and beans, with creamy mashed potatoes, topped off with a rich lemon pie, frothy with meringue, and fragrant coffee. During the meal they discussed the strange affair of the bay. The Hardy boys did not mention their experiences at the Polucca place, for they had learned that one of the chief requisites of a good detective is to keep his ears open and his mouth shut and to hear more than he tells. Aft that, one mystery was enough for one dinner.
"I'd like to find out more about this affair," said Frank, when the meal was concluded and Mr. Kane sat back luxuriously in his chair and puffed at his pipe. "Perhaps that fellow is awake now."
"Wouldn't do any harm to see. You might ask him some questions. I'm just as curious about it as you are yourself."
They went upstairs. The stranger was sleeping when they looked into the room, but the slight noise they made awakened him and he gazed at them dully.
"Feeling better?" Joe asked.
"Oh, yes," replied the stranger weakly. "I must have lost a lot of blood, though."
"That was when they shot at you just before the boat blew up," said Frank.
The man in the bed nodded, but said nothing.
"What's your name, stranger?" asked Mr. Kane bluntly.
The man in the bed hesitated a moment.
"Jones," he said, at last.
It was so evidently a false name that the Hardy boys glanced at one another, and the farmer scratched his chin doubtfully.
"How come you to be in such a mess as this?" he asked, at last. "What were they shootin' at you for?"
"Don't ask me, please," said the mysterious 'Jones. "I can't tell you. I can't tell you anything."
"I suppose you know these young fellers saved your life?"
"Yes - I know-and I'm very grateful. But don't ask me any questions. I can't tell you anything about it."
"You won't even tell them? Not after they saved your life?"
Jones shook his head stubbornly.
"I can't explain anything about it. Please go away. Let me sleep."
Frank and Joe signaled to the farmer that it would be best if they withdrew, so they left the room and closed the door. 'When they went back downstairs the farmer was grumbling to himself.
"I'm hanged if he ain't the most close-mouthed lad I've ever seen!" he declared. "You saved his life and he won't tell you why he come to be racin' around the bay in a motorboat with fellows shootin' at him."