The struggle was short and bitter.
Malloy tugged at the revolver, trying to draw it from his pocket. Fenton Hardy dug his knee sharply against the man and Malloy loosened his grasp, with a groan of pain. The detective snatched the revolver free and then flung himself back, leveling the weapon at Malloy.
"Not a word out of you!" he whispered.
Malloy's hands rose in the air. He did not titter a sound. He was sitting helplessly on the floor, his mouth opening and closing as he painfully drew breath. He was beaten.
The detective spied a knife in a leather sheath at the smuggler's belt so he reached forward and seized the weapon.
Then, still keeping Malloy covered with the revolver, he walked slowly backward until he reached Joe's side. "Without removing his eyes from the smuggler, Fenton Hardy bent down and sliced at the ropes that bound his son.
The knife was sharp and the ropes soon fell apart. Joe leaped from the chair, casting aside the rope ends, and took the proffered knife, Then, while his father still covered Malloy, he went over to Frank and set him free.
Still without saying a word, Fenton Hardy motioned toward the bed and indicated by signs that the smuggler was to lie down on the cot. A gesture of refusal on the part of Malloy was met by a vigorous forward thrust of the revolver and the smuggler hastily retreated.
The ropes on the bed had not been cut, so they were still available for trussing up Malloy just as Mr. Hardy had been bound. The boys did the job with neatness and despatch and they even gagged the smuggler with his own handkerchief and one of the ropes from the chairs.
Within five minutes their erstwhile guard was lying helpless on the bed, bound hand and foot and gagged so firmly that only a muffled and subdued muttering escaped him.
"What now?" asked Frank, in a low tone.
"We can't go out by the cove," replied his father. "There are two men down there now signaling to the motorboat. We'd better go upstairs."
"Where does that lead to?"
"Outside. It will bring us into the shed neaf the house."
Fenton Hardy moved over toward the door.
"We haven't any time to lose," he said. "I have the revolver. If we meet any one-"
He opened the door cautiously and peeped out. There was no one beyond. There was nothing but a flight of steps leading upward into darkness.
The detective went forward, his sons following close at his heels.
Step by step they made their way on up in the darkness, for Joe had closed the door behind them and Frank did not dare make use of the flashlight.
At last Fenton Hardy came to a stop. He was fumbling at something immediately above.
Then the boys saw a faint opening which grew larger above them and resolved itself into a square of grey light against which the head and shoulders of their father were fully silhouetted. Fenton Hardy had raised the trapdoor that concealed the entrance to the underground caves and passages.
Mr. Hardy looked out carefully. There are no sign of the smugglers. He proceeded to the very top of the steps, then moved clear of the stairway.
Frank and Joe followed, rising out of the ground like mysterious spirits of the earth, and the three stood in the shelter of the shed.
It was a dark night and the trees were moaning in the wind from the sea. Immediately before them rose the gloomy mass of the house on the cliff. There were no lights.
In the direction of the lane they could heap dull sounds, no doubt from the truck that the smugglers were loading with goods which were to be disposed of by the man called Burke.
"Safe so far," whispered the detective to his sons.
They moved out of the shed, after closing the trapdoor, and stood in the shadows.
"We can't go by way of the lane," whispered Frank.
"There's a prisoner in the cellar of that house," said Fenton Hardy. "I hate to gn •without setting him free."
"A prisoner?"
"I heard them talking about him."
"Why can't we go to town for help?"
"Once they find us gone they'll clear out."
"But three of us can't do much against this gang. They'll just capture us all again."
The detective considered this for a moment. At last he sighed.
"Yes, the risk is too great!" he said. "And I've let you take too many risks already. We'd better go back to town." Having arrived at this decision, they moved slowly across the grass of the yard, heading toward the bushes that flanked the lane. The great bulk of the old stone house loomed heavily and darkly in the night.
Then, suddenly, they heard a harsh sound that struck terror into their hearts-the clatter of the trapdoor being raised!
CHAPTER XXII
Into the Haunted House
A hoarse shout came through the darkness.
"Chief! Redhead! They've got away, Watch for 'em!"
Some one was scrambling through the opening in the shed, bellowing in a frantic voice, warning the other smugglers of the escape.
"Into the house!" snapped Fenton Hardy. He began to run swiftly across the yard toward the big gloomy house. Frank and Joe followed.
The man in the shed saw the moving figures.
The darkness was pierced by a flash of crimson and a revolver barked three times.
From the lane came sounds of running feek A man was shouting:
"What is it? What's the matter?''
"They've got away! Hardy and them boys! They've escaped. Look! There they are now -running across the yard!"
The revolver spoke again. But the shots wild, for the detective and his sons were soon lost to view in the shadows of the house. With the uproar growing in volume behind them, they fled for the shelter of the building. It was their only refuge. If they attempted to escape to the road they would be almost certain of meeting some of the smugglers. They could not go back down the passageway. If they retreated they would be driven, to the verge of the
Fenton Hardy sped around to the back door and flung it open. The fugitives raced into the kitchen and closed the door behind them.
Out of the darkness came a frightened voice.
"Who's there?"
It was so sudden and unexpected that their pulses leaped.
They made no answer.
"Who's there, I say? Is it you, Redhead?"
Still they did not reply. Fenton Hardy crept through the darkness in the direction of the voice.
"Speak! Quick! Speak, or I'll fire!"
The boys heard a sudden, scrambling sound. Their father had thrown himself upon the other man. The boys rushed in on the two struggling figures.
There was a deafening roar and a streak of flame. The man of the house had been armed with a shotgun, and in the struggle it had exploded.
Fortunately, the Hardy boys were not standing in the path of the shot. But the noise had attracted the attention of the smugglers outside the house, and in a few seconds the back 'door was flung open.
"They're in here!" some one yelled. "They're in the house!"
Fenton Hardy flung to one side the man with whom he had been struggling.
"Upstairs!" he called out to the two boys and ran on into the next room.
A feeble light was burning, a candle standing in its own grease near the bottom of the staircase. Up these stairs they fled, Joe pausing long enough to extinguish the candle. The room was plunged into darkness just as the first of the smugglers rushed through the doorway.
Fenton Hardy waited at the top of the stairs until the boys joined him.
Somebody in the room below lit a match.
The detective fired directly at the spluttering light. There was a muttered exclamation. The match was immediately extinguished by the smuggler who had been so incautious as to reveal his whereabouts in this manner. A whispered conversation followed.
"He's at the top of the stairs!" said one of the smugglers. "We can't rush him. He's cot a revolver."
"Only one!"
"Yes. The kids aren't armed."
"Wait till he uses up his ammunition. Then we'll get him."
There was another whispered colloquy and then the smugglers apparently withdrew toward the doorway leading into the kitchen. Then, in a moment, a perfect fusillade of shots broke out.
But Fenton Hardy and the boys had withdrawn past the turn in the staircase and were well protected. They could hear the uproar of gunfire as the smugglers riddled the stair» case with bullets.
"That should have finished 'em!" they could hear Snackley saying. "If they're on the stairs at all they're as dead as mutton by now."
"Best be careful," muttered one of the men. "Hardy has a gun."
"Where did he get it?"
"From the guard. They tied him up."
"Lucky they didn't get away altogether. Wait till I talk to Malloy!"
"He was tied fast to the bed when we came back up the stairs. They had taken his gun and gagged him. He said they had just gone, so we made after them and came up through the trapdoor. They were just getting out of the shed when we saw 'em."
"What a fine chase we would have had if they had got out into the woods. Well, we have 'em trapped now."
Whispers followed. The boys listened. Once they heard some one say:
"The back stairs-"
Frank turned to his father.
"They're going to rush us by the back stairs!"
"I hadn't thought of that," said Mr. Hardy. "I wonder if there is any way of reaching the attic."
Frank took the flashlight from his pocket and switched it on. Just a few yards away he could distinguish a flight of stairs leading up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. At the same time he could hear a stealthy noise at the bottom of another flight of steps that led to the kitchen.
"Hurry!" he whispered, and the three moved silently down the hall until they reached the steps.
Joe went up first and Frank followed with the light, while Fenton Hardy stood at the bottom of the steps to cover their retreat with the revolver.
When Joe reached the trapdoor he pushed at it. At first it proved stubborn and would not open. There was an anxious moment while he strove to force it open but in spite of all his efforts it would not budge.
"What's the matter!" asked Frank from below.
"It won't open."
Frank went on up the few remaining steps and added his efforts to those of his brother. Together they shoved at the trapdoor, and at last it moved, then opened, falling back with a loud crash.
There was a yell from the stairs.
"Hurry up, men! They're getting into the attic."
A rush of thudding footsteps followed as the smugglers raced up the steps. Joe scrambled through the opening and Frank followed. Fenton Hardy was only half way up the steps, however, when the first smugglers reached the hallway. The detective fired directly at them.
The smugglers who were in the lead fell back in a desperate attempt to reach cover, and in so doing they collided with those behind. For a few moments confusion prevailed, and Fenton Hardy took advantage of it to spring up the few remaining steps, scramble through the opening and fling the trapdoor back into place.
The Hardys found themselves in the inky darkness of the attic. Frank switched on the flashlight, and in its glare they saw that they were in a dusty chamber immediately below the loof. Old boxes and rubbish lay about
"Where did they go?" they heard one of the smugglers ask.
"Into the attic," replied another. "Now we've got them where we want them."
"That's what you said last time."
"They can't get out of there. We’ve got them cornered."
Snackley's voice broke in.
"Hardy!" he shouted.
Mr. Hardy did not answer.
"Listen, Hardy!" went on Snackley. "We'll give you one minute to come down out of there."
Still no answer.
"The floors are thin, Hardy I We can fire right through 'em. You can't get out. We have you cornered. Better come down."
Frank flashed the light from side to side. It was evident that the smuggler spoke the truth. They were indeed cornered.
An interval of silence followed. Then came:
"Your last chance, Hardy!"
Frank flashed the light upon his father. Mr. Hardy was inspecting the chamber of the revolver. He held out the weapon with a gesture of despair. There were no more shells.
A shot sounded from below and a bullet ripped its way savagely through the flooring but a foot or so away from where the three sat.
Another bullet tore through the wood of the trapdoor.
The Hardys sprang hack and, making aa little noise as possible, pressed themselves against the sloping walls of the attic, keeping as far away from the trapdoor as they could.
A few more shots resounded. The bullets were unpleasantly close.
Then Snackley spoke again.
"What do you think of it now, Hardy? Are you and your boys ready to come down?"
They did not answer, for they knew that if they did their voices would reveal where they were standing and might bring a bullet. When they did not reply Snackley spoke to his men.
"Let 'em have a few more 1"
An angry chorus of revolver shots followed. In the midst of the uproar some of the smugglers secured a long pole and pushed against the trapdoor with it. Before those above could avert the danger the trapdoor was flung wide open. It fell back with a crash.
A hand appeared through the trapdoor, holding a revolver, and then the head and shoulders of one of the smugglers followed. He peered into the darkness, holding the weapon in readiness. Some one had switched on a light in the hall so that the man's figure could be clearly seen.
"'Come out of it!" he snapped, pointing the revolver directly at the dim figure of Frank, "Come out of it, or I'll shoot!"
Further resistance was useless.
With sinking heart Frank advanced toward' the edge of the opening in the floor, while Joe and Fenton Hardy followed, with arms upraised. The smuggler backed his way down the steps, still keeping them covered, until he reached the bottom of the stairs.
The Hardys descended, conscious of an array of leveled revolvers that covered every movement. They saw Snackley standing in the forefront of the crowd. They were captured again.
CHAPTER XXIII
Rescue
Snackley stepped forward.
"So!" he sneered. "You pretty nearly got away with it, didn't you?"
The captives did not answer. They were sick with disappointment. Just when escape had been within their grasp the smugglers had outwitted them.
"You bit off a little more than you could chew when you stacked up against me," bragged Snackley.
"What'll we do with 'em, chief?" asked one of the man.
"Take them back to the cave. We'll get them out to Li Chang right away. If they get away again there'll be trouble for you. Keep an eye on them."
"Shouldn't we tie them up?*'
"There's no rope. It doesn't matter. Put a bullet through the first one that makes a false move. You hear that?" he said, turning to Fenton Hardy. "The first one that tries to escape gets a bullet through him."
The three were surrounded by the smugglers. The light shone on their evil, bearded faces and glittered on the drawn revolvers. Fenton Hardy's useless weapon had been snatched from him.
"Downstairs!" snapped Snackley. "Get downstairs with you."
He prodded Frank with the barrel of his revolver as he spoke. The Hardy boys moved toward the stairs, their father in the rear. One of the smugglers went ahead in case the prisoners should by chance make some desperate break for freedom.
When they reached the lower room they paused while the man ahead lit a match. The electric light had been broken. Hardly had the match flared than there came the sound of thudding feet through the kitchen and the back door banged noisily.
Some one rushed into the room, gasping for breath. The light revealed him to be another of the smugglers.
''Police!" he exclaimed, in terror. ''They 're coming down the lane!"
A babel of voices followed. The smugglers came tumbling down the stairs in their haste. With one bound Snackley leaped forward and seized the man by the collar.
"What!" he exclaimed. "What's that yon Bay? Police?"
"Down the lane!" gasped the man. "They came down the road in a car and they're closing in on the house. I saw them."
With a yell, Snackley flung the man to one side.
"Down into the cave!" he roared. "Quick!''
Confusion prevailed. In the resulting uproar the match went out and the room was plunged into darkness.
Frank resolved on a daring move. He was standing directly beside one of the smugglers, and as soon as the light went out he sprang at the fellow, dashing the revolver from his grasp. It clattered on the floor.
"Help!" roared the fellow, as they grappled together.
Fenton Hardy had also been watching for his chance, and he sprang through the darkness at Snackley. He collided heavily with the chief of the smugglers and they rolled on the floor in a desperate struggle.
It was impossible to distinguish friend from enemy in the darkness. Joe plunged into the midst of the surging figures and his fist smashed against the face of one of the smugglers, who gave a howl of pain.
Then, outside the house, another uproar burst forth.
Some one was banging on the front door. Men could be heard shouting to one another.
Snackley made a desperate effort and managed to get to his feet. He struck out with both fists and managed to break free from the detective. He whirled to one side, stumbled out into the kitchen, and then reached the back door. He flung the door open.
Almost instantly a dark figure appeared in the doorway. It was the figure of a man in the uniform of a state trooper with drawn revolver and Snackley shouted the warning to the smugglers in the other room.
"The police!" he roared. "Every man for himself I Make your getaway!''
The trooper shot through the doorway at him, but Snackley dodged to one side. There was a rush of footsteps from the other room as the rest of the smugglers raced out into the kitchen. The officers tried to hold them back, but they were too many for him and he was hurled against the wall.
Utter confusion prevailed. The place was in absolute darkness and out in the yard shots, shouts and hoarse imprecations mingled in an indescribable uproar.
One of the smugglers managed to reach the shed. He flung open the trapdoor and descended the steps. Some of his companions followed, and in the darkness and excitement their escape was unnoticed.
Half a dozen police officers were in the yard. They had been attracted to the house by the sound of the shots when the Hardys were pursued by the smugglers, and they had planned to surround the place. They would have succeeded in capturing the entire gang had it not been for the man on guard outside.
Back in the living room of the house Frank was still struggling with his antagonist. The man was strong and heavy, a rough-and-tumble fighter, and the boy soon found that he had his lands full. They struggled desperately in the darkness, the smuggler frantic with the fear of capture, Frank grimly resolved that the man should not get away.
Fenton Hardy headed toward the door leading into the kitchen. Just then a figure brushed by him. He made a grab for the man, but the fellow evaded him and raced toward the other side of the room.
The detective gave chase. The fugitive kicked open a door and ran toward the front of the house. Mr. Hardy could follow him quite easily by the sound of his footsteps. '
The fugitive scurried into a front room and banged the door behind him. Mr. Hardy launched himself against the door, which had a lock that snapped when the door shut. For a moment he was balked. Then he stepped back a few paces and rushed at the door, plunging against it with his shoulder. The woodwork splintered. Another rush, and the 'door fell open. The detective reeled into the room.
His fugitive had disappeared.
But the room was faintly lighted, as there was a wide window, and in the gloom the detective could see a dark patch in the floor. It was a trapdoor leading evidently to the cellar.
He went down through the opening, finding a flight of stairs which he descended. He could hear footsteps receding through the darkness but he made his way across the uneven floor of the cellar.
The detective stopped and listened. He heard the hurrying footsteps as the smuggler went on to the far end of the cellar. Then, to his great surprise, he heard a voice. In the distance he saw a faint glow of light. Then he saw that the cellar was divided into two parts and that the fugitive had entered a small room.
He crept closer.
"What's happening?" he heard some one. say in a weak voice.
"Everything," snarled a voice which he recognized as that of Snackley. The detective's heart leaped. "Everything is happening. The police are here."
"The police!"
"Yes-the police-state troopers, federal officers and all. But don't think you're going to have a chance of squealing on us. I'm going to fix you, as I should have done a long while ago."
The other voice rose, replete with terror.
"No! No! You won't do that, Snackley! Let me live!"
Fenton Hardy crept swiftly over to the door. He saw Snackley standing by a small cot in a cell-like room. On the cot crouched a haggard man whose hands were handcuffed he-hind him. His feet were shackled to one leg of the iron cot.
Snackley, with a grim look of cruelty on his face, was raising a heavy cluh he had picked up.
There was no time to lose. The detective sprang through the doorway.
He plunged at Snackley just as the smuggler raised the cluh to strike.
Snackley reeled against the wall, with Fenton Hardy at his throat. Desperately, the smuggler tried to raise the weapon, but the detective had seized his wrist. They swayed to and fro, stumbling about on the muddy floor. Mr. Hardy had the advantage in that he had taken Snackley by surprise. He pinned the smuggler against the wall, twisting his wrist. The club fell to the floor.
Snackley plunged forward and they lost their footing, rolling about in the mud. Suddenly, Fenton Hardy wrenched his arm free, sprawled over and managed to seize Snackley's revolver. He pressed it against Snackley's 'side.
The smuggler gave in. He flung his arms above his head.
"I'm licked," he muttered sullenly.
They got slowly to their feet, Fenton Hardy keeping a watchful eye on the captive. Upstairs they could hear the uproar continuing as the police still gave battle to the smugglers.
"Upstairs!" snapped the detective curtly. Without taking his eyes off Snackley he said to the man on the cot.
"We'll come back for you later-Mr. Jones."
CHAPTER XXIV
The Round-Up
The Hardy boys, in the meantime, were in the thick of the struggle.
Frank fought desperately with the smuggler he had assailed in the living room of the house, while Joe raced across the yard toward the trapdoor leading to the underground caves. He found that although three of the smugglers had been captured by officers in the yard and that as many more were fighting to escape, none of the police had as yet learned of the trapdoor down which some of the men had disappeared.
With a shout to a near-by officer who had just succeeded in clapping the handcuffs on one of the smugglers, Joe made his way down the stairs. He heard the officer running over to the edge of the trap and saw the gleam of the flashlight.
"Some of them got out this way!" Joe shouted back to the officer.
The man called to one of his companions and then footsteps clattered on the stairs as Joe went on.
He reached the door that opened into the chamber where his father had been a prisoner, but on entering the room he found it empty. There were evidences of hasty flight and the door on the far side of the room was wide open.
"Secret passages, eh!" exclaimed one of the officers, as he came into the room. He was a state trooper in uniform.
Joe led the way out through the opposite door and down the stairs that led toward the bottom of the cliff. The trooper who had spoken illuminated the way with his flashlight and they clattered on down the stairs until they reached the storage room. Here, everything was in confusion. The escaping smugglers had evidently endeavored to take with them what goods they could, probably the smaller packages containing drugs, for boxes and parcels were overturned and strewn about the floor.
"You seem to know this place pretty well," said one of the troopers, as Joe led the way across to the opposite door and stepped out onto the landing.
"I've been here before-got in this way," he answered. "There's a water cave below this passage. They've probably made their getaway in the boat."
They hastened down the passageway came at last to the cave. As Joe expected, the; boat was gone.
"They got away," he said, in disappointment, as the trooper turned the flashlight on to the channel between the rocks.
There was a shout from the darkness of the cove.
"Give us a light!" they heard.
Joe gave a shout of joy. It was Tony Prito's voice!
Then Joe and the troopers with him heard the steady beat of a motorboat.
Joe seized the flashlight and ran out along the path leading to the entrance of the cave.
The motorboat was not many yards away. Tony had been searching for the channel.
"Bight this way!" Joe called out. "Head toward the right of the cave and you'll be in deep water. A little further! Good!"
As the motorboat drew nearer he saw that it was filled with men and that a rowboat was being towed behind.
"We got 'em," cried Tony exultantly. "They were just getting out of the cove in the boat when we came up."
"Who is with you?" asked Joe.
"Police. The rest of them went up the shore road in a car."
"We've caught the whole gang then. They raided the house and got the rest of the smugglers. We thought these fellows had made a getaway."
"No chance. Although it was mighty close. They pretty nearly slipped out of the cove right under our noses."
The boat came to a stop beside the natural wharf of rock. One or two of the officers, revolvers in hand, clambered out. Three of the smugglers had been captured while trying to escape from the cove in the rowboat.
"If they'd got out we would never have caught them," said Joe. "They were heading out toward a ship."
"A ship!" exclaimed one of the officers, a burly man in plain clothes. He stepped forward. "Did they say anything about a ship?"
"A man named Li Chang has a ship lying in wait outside the bay," said Joe. "I heard them talking about it."
"Good!" exclaimed the burly man. "Now we'll capture the whole outfit." He turned to Tony. "I suppose your boat is good for another little run."
"I'll say it is, sir!"
"I want as many officers as we can spare," said the burly man. "We'll go out and find that ship. Li Chang, did you say?" he added, turning to Joe.
"That was the name."
"I know his ship. We've been trying to catch that villain for years. Darst, go on up and see how the rest of the men made out at the house on the cliff and take as many officers as they can spare. There's a passage up through the rocks, I take it?"
"Regular staircase all the way, sir," remarked Darst, one of the raiding officers.
"Good! Don't lose any time.''
The three smugglers were taken out of the boat and handcuffed, then escorted up the stairs, while the burly man, who was the chief of a squad of federal agents undertaking a drive against the smugglers on that part of the coast, remained with the motorboat.