Chet burst into peals of laughter, and the others, in spite of their sympathy for the inquisitive one in his plight, could restrain themselves no longer. The boys shrieked with merriment, Towser barked and leaped in renewed fury, and Detective Smuff came waddling up, audibly wondering what it was all about.
A whistle from Jack Dodd, as soon as he was able to stifle his laughter sufficiently, attracted Towser's attention. He stopped barking and looked inquiringly at his master.
"Down!" shouted Jack.
Obediently, the dog lay down.
"He won't hurt you."
The man in the tree, somewhat reassured, began to descend. The dog, beyond a low growl or two, paid no further attention. The moment the spy reached the ground he started for the fence at a run, scrambled over it and headed across the field toward the open road.
"What was he doing?" asked Detective Smuff suspiciously.
"Watching us," Jack returned. "Seems as if half the people in the county have their eye on us since those cars were stolen. I think that chap is cured."
"He should be," said Smuff, gazing respectfully at Towser. "If any one bothers you after this, let me know. Us regular detectives can't have any one buttin' into our work like that."
He glanced severely at the Hardy boys as he spoke.
"We certainly can't," said Joe innocently. Then, as Detective Smuff glared, he turned to his companions. "Come on, fellows. Let's take a look through the woods on the other side of the road. We might find some trace of the cars there."
Gus Montrose
Detective Smuff walked back as far as the road with the boys, and then clambered into his car, where another detective on the Bayport force was waiting for him.
"You're just wastin' your time hunting through the woods," he told the boys heavily. "A car couldn't get down there, anyway, and we've hunted through there pretty thoroughly in the second place."
"It'll give us something to do," Frank said cheerfully.
"Keep you out of mischief, I guess," agreed Smuff, as though this were some consolation at any rate. He nodded to the boys and the car sped off toward Bayport.
"Dumb but good-hearted," said Chet.
"He isn't a bad sort," Joe remarked. "He's no great shakes as a detective, that's sure, but there are lots worse."
The boys crossed the road and struck off down a narrow trail that led through the undergrowth into the woods on the sloping land between the Shore Road and Barmet Bay. For the most part there were steep bluffs lining the bay, but at this point the declivity was more gradual.
"I think he's right about searching down through here," said Jack Dodd dubiously. "A car could never get down into this bush."
"A car mightn't but the car thieves might," Frank pointed out. "It seems mighty queer that none of the stolen cars have been traced at either end of the Shore Road. Those automobiles stolen the other night should have been picked up in one of the three towns on the branch roads. Smuff said the thefts were discovered in plenty of time to send out warning."
"It does seem strange. Out of so many cars, you'd imagine at least one or two would have been traced outside Bayport."
"I have a hunch that this whole mystery begins and ends right along the Shore Road," said Frank. "It won't hurt to scout around and see what we can find. Maybe there's a hidden machine shop where they alter the appearance of the autos."
"I was reading of a case in New York City not long ago," remarked Joe, as they pushed along. "The auto thieves got cars downtown and drove them to some place uptown. The police followed half a dozen gangsters for two weeks before they got on to their trick, which was to drive into an alleyway that looked as if it came to an end at the back of a barn. They found that a section of the side of the barn went up like a sliding door. The thieves would drive in with a stolen car. Inside the old barn was an elevator running down to a cellar. In the cellar was a machine and paint shop and five or six workmen down there could so alter a car in a few hours that the owner himself couldn't tell his own machine."
"Can you beat it!" exclaimed Chet. "Gee, it's a wonder they wouldn't work at something honest!"
Among the woods on the slope the boys wandered aimlessly. The sun cast great shafts of light through openings in the leaves above and once in a while they could catch glimpses of the blue waters of the bay in the distance.
Frank was in the lead. He was proceeding down a narrow defile in the forest when the others saw him suddenly stop and turn toward them with a finger on his lips, cautioning silence.
They remained stock-still until he beckoned to them, and then moved quietly forward, their feet making no noise in the heavy grass.
"I heard voices," Frank whispered as they came up to him.
"Ahead?" asked his brother.
Frank nodded.
"We'll go easy."
He moved on cautiously and the others followed. In a few moments they heard a dull murmur of voices and smelled the unmistakable odor of a wood fire. So far they could see no one, but soon the faint trail wound around in the direction of a clearing ahead and those in the rear saw Frank crouch among the bushes, peering through the leaves.
Quietly, the others came up. The four boys gazed through the undergrowth at the scene in the grassy clearing.
Three men were seated about a small fire, over which one was holding a tin pail suspended from a green branch. They were unshaven, frowsy-headed, untidy fellows, and they sprawled on the ground in careless attitudes.
"Tramps," whispered Chet, but Frank pressed a restraining hand on his arm.
There was one thought in the minds of the four boys—that this trio might be the automobile thieves!
"Not far from Bayport, are we?" growled one of the men.
"Not many miles farther on," replied the man holding the branch.
"It's the first time I've ever been in these parts."
"It ain't so bad," volunteered the third man, lighting his pipe. "Easy pickin's around the farmhouses. It didn't take me ten minutes to rustle that grub to-night."
"You did well, Bill," said the man at the fire, glancing at a package of food near by.
"I wonder where that guy is that we met on our way in here? He gave us a funny look."
"He minded his own business, anyway."
"Good thing for him that he did. I don't hold with bein' asked questions."
"Me neither. A good rap over the dome for anybody that wants to know too much—that's my motto."
"Is that mulligan ready?"
"Not yet. We'll be eatin' in about five minutes."
Frank turned and gestured to the others, indicating that they might as well withdraw. It seemed clear to him that these men were simply tramps preparing their evening meal in the shelter of the woods, and nothing would be gained by making their presence known.
Jack Dodd and Joe turned and moved silently away, but the luckless Chet had not gone two paces before he tripped over a root and fell sprawling on the ground, with a grunt of pain and surprise.
One of the tramps looked up.
"What was that?"
"Somebody in the bushes," said another.
The two men scrambled to their feet and came directly toward the boys. Jack and Joe took to their heels, but Frank waited to help Chet up and the delay was fatal. The tramps came crashing through the bushes and caught sight of them.
"Kids, eh?" roared one. He sprang toward Frank and caught him by the shoulder. The other seized Chet. Joe and Jack were out of sight beyond the trees by now and the tramps were evidently unaware of their presence.
"Take your hands off me," said Frank coolly.
Somewhat taken aback, the tramp regarded him for a moment in a surly manner.
"What do you mean by spying on us?" he demanded.
"We weren't spying on you."
"What brings you around here, then?"
The other tramp had abandoned the pail of stew at the fire and came through the bushes toward them.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "What's goin' on here?"
"A couple of kids spyin' on us," said Frank's captor, and tightening his grip on the boy's shoulder.
"We oughta skin 'em alive," declared the newcomer. "How long have you been hiding in them bushes, boy?"
"We just came up a minute ago and when we heard voices we looked to see who was there. We were just going away."
"You were, eh? What were you going away for?"
"It wasn't any of our business if you wanted to cook your supper in the woods."
This answer seemed to placate the tramps, for they glanced from one to the other, seemingly reassured.
"You weren't going for the police?" asked one suspiciously.
Both boys shook their heads.
"Did somebody send you here?"
"No. We were just wandering through the wood and we came on your fire."
"That fellow we met a little while ago didn't send you here, did he?"
"We haven't seen anybody," said Frank. "What did he look like?"
"Thin, hard-lookin' guy with a hook nose."
"We haven't seen any one like that."
"He was prowling around here a little while ago," said the tramp, in a more friendly tone. "I guess you boys are all right. If we let you go will you promise not to run and tell the police?"
"Oh, sure!" piped Chet, in vast relief.
"We're not doin' any harm here. We're just three poor chaps that's out of work and we're on our way to Bayport to look for a job," whined one of the others. "You wouldn't set the police on us, would you?"
"It's none of our business who you are or what you're doing," Frank assured them. "We won't mention seeing you."
"All right, then." His captor released his grip on Frank's shoulder. "Beat it away from here and don't bother us again."
The two boys lost no time in making their way out of that vicinity. The three tramps stood watching until they disappeared beyond the trees at the bend in the trail, then went back to their fire.
Some distance away, Frank and Chet came upon the other boys, who had halted and were devising ways and means of rescue.
"Golly!" said Joe, "we thought you were in for it. We were just going to toss up and see who would go back to find out what had happened to you."
"Why couldn't you both come back?" Chet asked.
"We thought if one of us went back he might be caught too, and that would still leave somebody to go for help."
"Good idea. They were only tramps. Gave us a bit of a scare," said Chet airily. He had been almost frightened out of his wits. "We just talked right up to them and they let us go."
"I wonder who is this hook-nosed man they were talking about," said Frank. "They seemed to be worrying more about him than about us."
"A hook-nosed man?" exclaimed Jack Dodd. "What about him?"
"You remember when they were talking by the fire, they mentioned meeting somebody on their way into the wood. They asked us about him, and seemed to think he may have sent us in to spy on them."
"Thin, hard-looking chap," Chet remarked, remembering the description the tramp had given.
"Why, that must be—but it couldn't behim!" exclaimed Jack.
"Who?"
"Gus Montrose. The hired man that Dad discharged a little while ago. I was telling you about him. The description fits him exactly."
"I thought he went away," said Joe.
"We haven't seen him since he left the farm, but I've always had an idea he was prowling around."
Just then Frank clutched Chet's arm.
"Listen!"
The boys halted. They could plainly hear the sound of snapping twigs and a scuffing that indicated the approach of some one on the trail ahead. A moment later, a man came into view.
He stepped out from among the trees and came to a stop, staring at the lads, plainly astonished at seeing them. Then he wheeled about and sprang into the bushes. They could hear him plunging through the undergrowth as he disappeared.
Although they had only a momentary glance, the boys readily identified him as the man the tramps had mentioned. Disreputably clad, he was a thin man with a cruel mouth and a hooked nose.
"Gus Montrose!" exclaimed Jack Dodd.
The Missing Truck
"Let's tackle that fellow!" exclaimed Frank Hardy. "We can ask him about your fishing rod, Jack."
Frank scrambled into the bushes, where Gus Montrose had disappeared, and in a moment his companions were hurrying after him. But although Frank had lost little time making up his mind to question the former hired man, Montrose had been too quick for him. The fellow was nowhere to be seen.
"Shall I call to him?" asked Jack Dodd.
"You can if you want to," answered Frank. "I doubt if he'll answer."
"Might scare him into running faster," suggested Joe.
"I reckon he's running about as fast as he can now."
"Gus! Gus Montrose!" yelled Jack. "Come back here! We want to talk to you!"
All listened, but no reply came to this call.
"Silence fills the air profound," came soberly from Joe.
"So much noise it would wake a tombstone," added Chet.
Again Jack called, and with no better results.
"Let's all yell together," suggested Joe.
This was done, but no answer came back.
"Sorry, but I've got a date elsewhere," mimicked Joe. "Be back next month at three o'clock."
"That fellow is no good, and I know it," murmured Frank. "An honest man would come back and face us."
"Listen!" cried Jack, putting up his hand.
All listened with strained ears.
"Don't hear a thing—" began Chet.
"I hear it," interrupted Frank.
A snapping and crackling sound among the bushes ahead lured the boys on and they went plunging through the woods. They failed to catch sight of the quarry, however. Evidently Montrose was well acquainted with this part of the country, for after a while the sounds of his retreat died away.
Frank, who was in the lead, came to a stop, realizing that further pursuit was useless. In a few minutes the others came up, panting.
"Did he get away?" asked Joe.
Frank nodded. "He was too quick for us. When he knew we were after him he didn't lose any time."
"I wish we had been able to talk to the rascal," said Jack Dodd. "I would have had a few things to tell him."
"Probably we wouldn't have got much satisfaction out of him, anyway," Frank remarked. "Still, you could have asked him what he knew about that fishing rod."
"It's something to know that he's still hanging around this part of the country," pointed out Chet. "He has evidently been lying low since he left your farm."
"He's up to some mischief, I'm sure of that."
"Probably built himself a shack somewhere in the woods," suggested Joe.
"Well, we may run across him some other time. It's getting late and I think we'd better be starting home," said Frank.
Chet and Joe agreed that it was about time, and as there seemed little to be gained by continuing the search for Gus Montrose or for any evidence of the stolen cars, the boys retraced their steps back through the woods until they reached the Shore Road. Their motorcycles had been parked in the shelter of the trees.
"About time for my supper, too," said Jack Dodd. "If you're out this way again, look me up and we'll make another search through the woods."
His friends promised to do this and, bidding Jack good-bye, they mounted their motorcycles and were soon roaring off in the direction of Bayport. They had spent more time in the wood than they had been aware of, and were anxious to get back to the city without being too late for the evening meal. Mrs. Hardy seldom scolded, but the boys had vivid recollections of Aunt Gertrude's acid remarks on similar occasions.
They emerged on an open stretch of road where a sand embankment sloped steeply down to Barmet Bay. The beach lay beneath them at the foot of the sheer declivity and the waters of the bay sparkled in the rays of the late afternoon sun.
A movement on the beach caught Frank's eye and he brought his motorcycle to a sudden stop.
"What's the matter?" asked Joe, swerving wildly to avoid piling headlong into Frank's machine.
"Run out of gas?" inquired Chet, putting on the brakes.
But Frank had dismounted and was walking over to the side of the road, out on to the top of the embankment.
"There's somebody down on the beach."
"What of it? Somebody swimming or fishing. Do you mean to say you stopped just because of that?"
But Frank was gazing down the steep, sandy slope.
"There's something queer about this," he said slowly. "There are two men down there, lying on the sand."
Joe and Chet, immediately interested, came running over. The three boys looked down at the two figures on the beach far below.
"They're not asleep," said Joe. "One of them seems to be rolling around."
"They're tied!" shouted Frank. "Look! You can see the ropes! I was wondering what was so queer about them. Those men are tied hand and foot!"
Joe was examining the embankment at their feet.
"Why, they've been rolled down the side!" he exclaimed. "Look where the sand has been disturbed!"
True enough, sand and gravel at the top of the slope showed a distinct depression, and all the way down the embankment this depression continued, as though a heavy object had slid to the bottom.
From the beach below came a faint shout.
"Help! Help!"
The men on the shore had seen them.
"We'd better go down," said Frank. "I wonder if there isn't a path of some kind around here."
"Let's slide!" Chet suggested.
"We're liable to break our necks tobogganing down this slope. No, there should be a path."
Frank ran along the top of the embankment toward a clump of trees a few yards away, where the slope was not so steep, and there he found a foot-path that led a winding course down the side of the hill toward the beach. It wound about across the face of the slope and covered twice the distance they would have had to go if they had adopted Chet's suggestion, though it was a great deal surer. They emerged on the open shore eventually and saw the two bound figures lying on the beach not fifty yards off.
In a short time the boys were bending over the prostrate victims. The men, who were clad in overalls, were bound hand and foot with heavy rope, at which the lads slashed vigorously with their pocketknives.
The strands fell apart and the two men were able to sit up, rubbing their limbs, which had been chafed by the ropes in their efforts to free themselves.
"I thought we'd be here all night!" declared one of the men, a plump, grimy young fellow about twenty years of age.
"Mighty lucky thing for us that you saw us," said the other, who was older in appearance. "We shouted and shouted. At least a dozen cars must have passed along the road and no one saw us."
They got to their feet.
"What happened?" asked Frank. "How on earth do you come to be down here, tied up like this?"
"Hold-up!" said the older man briefly. He looked up toward the road, an anxious expression on his face. "I don't suppose you met a truck along the road anywhere?"
The boys shook their heads.
"It's gone, then," said the younger man with a gesture of resignation. "Six thousand dollars' worth of goods!"
"We'll have to get back to town and report this."
"We can take you back," said Frank quickly. "We have motorcycles up on the road."
"Fine. Let's hurry!"
The two men started back toward the path at a rapid gait and the three boys hurried along. As they ascended the slope, the plump young chap explained what had happened.
"We're truck drivers for the Eastern Importing Company, and we were bringing a load of silk into Bayport," he said. "Right at the top of the embankment we were held up by those two men."
"How long ago?" Joe asked.
"A little over an hour ago. They stepped out of the bushes, each man masked and carrying a revolver. Bill was at the wheel and I was on the seat beside him. They made him stop the truck and then they made us get down into the road. When we did that, one of the hold-up men covered us with his revolver while the other tied us up. He made a good job of it, too, I'll tell the world. We couldn't move hand or foot."
"How did they get you down onto the beach?"
"They rolled us down the embankment! Don't we look it?"
The clothes of both men had been badly tattered and torn, while their arms and faces also gave evidence of the bruises and lacerations they had suffered in their descent.
"I thought we'd roll clean into the bay," said the other man. "If we had, it would have been all up with us."
"We'd have been drowned, without a chance to save ourselves," his companion agreed. "As it was, we came pretty close to the water's edge, banged and battered from that toboggan slide, and then we just had to lie there until somebody came along and set us free. At first we thought some one would surely see us from the road, but as car after car went by we began to lose hope.
"I was afraid it would get dark and then no one would be able to see us, even if they did chance to look down this way. It wouldn't have been very pleasant, staying out on that beach all night."
"Did you see where the truck went to?" asked Frank.
The men shook their heads.
"The hold-up men drove away in it—that's all we know," said one.
"It took us a few minutes to recover our senses after the slide down the embankment, and by that time the truck was gone. Whether it went on toward Bayport, or turned around, we can't tell," added the other.
"It certainly didn't pass in the other direction," said Chet.
But Frank was dubious.
"We were down in the woods quite a while, remember," he pointed out. "It might have gone by during that time."
They regained the road.
"Perhaps we can find the marks of the tires," suggested Joe.
Assisted by the two men, the lads searched about in the dust of the roadway, but so many cars had passed in the intervening time that all trace of the truck had been obliterated.
"No use searching now," said the driver. "If you lads will get us into Bayport we'll report the case to the police."
They abandoned the quest and in a short time the party had arrived in the city, Frank and Joe taking the two men as passengers on their motorcycles. At the police station, the hold-up was duly reported and immediately word was flashed to the police in other cities and to officers out in the country.
But to no avail.
By nine o'clock that night there had been no report on the missing truck. It had not passed through any of the three cities at the other end of the Shore Road, and Bayport police were positive it had never entered the city. The truck, with its six thousand dollar cargo, had utterly disappeared.
Following Clues
This new sensation soon had Bayport by the ears.
Although the owners of private cars had been content to leave the matter of their stolen property in the hands of the police, the Eastern Importing Company went a step farther. They not only demanded the fullest official investigation, but they retained Fenton Hardy to take up the case, as well. They were by no means resigned to losing a valuable load of silk without a struggle.
In his study, next day, Mr. Hardy called in his sons and told them the importing company had asked him to do what he could toward recovering the stolen goods.
"Aside from my fee," he said, "they are offering a reward of five hundred dollars if the silk is returned to them. What I want to ask you is this—do you think there is any chance that the truck driver and his assistant may have been lying?"
The boys scouted this theory.
"I don't think so, Dad," returned Frank. "They told a perfectly straight story. As a matter of fact, they were so anxious to get to Bayport and report the robbery that it was some time before we could get them to tell us what actually happened."
"And they could never have tied themselves up as thoroughly as they were tied," Joe declared.
"Men have been known to rob their employers before this," said Mr. Hardy. "We can't afford to overlook any possibilities."
"I think you can afford to overlook that one, sir. These men were honest, I'm sure of that."
"Well, Frank, I'll trust your judgment. I've investigated the records of the two men and they have never had anything against them, so I suppose it was an honest-to-goodness hold-up."
"It was real enough. We could see the marks in the embankment where they had been rolled down from the road," put in Joe.
"I'm sorry they couldn't give a better description of the hold-up men. All they could say was that they were both of medium height and that they wore masks. It isn't very much to go on. However, I may be able to get a line on the case when they try to get rid of the silk. The stuff is bound to turn up sooner or later and I may be able to trace it back to the thieves."
However, although Fenton Hardy devoted the next two days to the case, he made little progress toward locating either the missing truck or its cargo. As in the case of the other stolen cars, the truck seemed to have vanished into thin air, and although its description was broadcast all through the state, and police officials and garage mechanics were asked to be on the lookout for it, the mystery remained unsolved.
One evening toward the latter part of the week, the Hardy boys mounted their motorcycles and rode down High Street in the direction of the Shore Road. This was in accordance with a plan made earlier in the day.
"It stands to reason that if any of the cars ever got out into the state, at least one or two of them would be found," said Frank. "I have a mighty strong hunch that the whole mystery begins and ends right along that road."
"Perhaps those tramps we saw in the woods might have something to do with it."
"They may have had something to do with the hold-up, although it's not very probable. They looked as if they'd been sitting around that fire for quite a while, and it was a good distance from the place where the truck was robbed. However, it won't hurt us to do a little sentry duty and keep an eye on the Shore Road. We may have our trouble for nothing, but you never know what will turn up."
The lads drove out the road to a point mid-way between the scene of the truck hold-up and the Dodd farm. It was growing dark by the time they drew their motorcycles beneath the shelter of some trees.
"We might as well wait right here," said Frank, making himself comfortable on the grass. "If we see anything suspicious we can follow it up."
In the heavy shade, the boys could not be seen from the road. They talked in whispers. They had no clear idea of what they expected to find, but they were convinced that the Shore Road hid the mystery of the stolen automobiles, and their experience in previous cases had taught them that patience was often rewarded.
A few cars passed by, some bound toward Bayport, others in the opposite direction, but they were obviously pleasure cars and there was nothing about them to arouse suspicion. Once in a while, through the trees on top of the bluff, the boys could see the twinkling lights of a boat out on Barmet Bay. In the summer night, the silence was only broken by the trilling of frogs in the ditches along the road.
Presently they heard voices.
There was no one approaching along the highway, but as the voices grew louder they appeared to come from a field beyond the fence. At that moment the moon appeared from behind a cloud, and in its ghostly light, the Hardy boys distinguished two figures moving toward them in the meadow.
Silently, the lads crouched in the shadow of the trees, watching.
"This is a good night for it," growled one of the men.
"It's a good night if we don't get caught."
Joe's hand tightened about Frank's arm.
"What are you worrying about? We won't get caught. It isn't the first time we've got away with it."
"Yes, I know. But, somehow, I'm nervous to-night. I'm afraid we'll land up in the police court some of these fine days."
"If you're scared, go on home. I'll go on alone," said the first man scornfully.
"I'm not scared! Who says I'm scared?"
"Well, if you're not scared, shut up. I know we're breakin' the law, but we've never been caught yet."
The men scrambled over the fence. The boys saw that the first fellow was carrying two long poles and that the other carried a bag over his shoulder.
"Have you got all the stuff?"
"Yes."
"We'd better not walk along the road. Somebody's liable to spot us. Keep to the shadow and then we'll cut down into the woods."
The men hastily crossed the road in the moonlight. They were only a few yards away from the boys but, fortunately, did not see them. In the dim light, the watchers could not distinguish the features of the pair.
"There's a path here somewhere, isn't there?" asked one.
"Don't you remember it? If it hadn't been for that path the other night we'd have been nabbed."
"That's right. You know this country pretty well."
"I should. I've lived around here long enough."
About fifty yards away, the men turned down toward the woods and vanished in the darkness of the trees. Their voices receded. Frank and Joe scrambled to their feet.
"Come on," said Frank, in excitement. "We'll follow them."
"Do you think they're the thieves?"
"I'm sure of it. They're up to some kind of monkey-business, anyway. We'll find out where they're going."
In the soft grass the boys made not a sound as they sped along in the shade of the trees toward the path the two men had taken. They found it without difficulty, a fairly well defined trail that was quite visible in the moonlight. The lads plunged into the depths of the woods and there the moonlight did not penetrate. They had to feel their way forward, moving slowly in order to keep their progress silent.
After a while they could hear the voices of the two men again, not far ahead.
"Go easy," one was saying. "You never know who's likely to be prowling around here these nights."
"Too many police been nosing around these parts to suit me."
"We've got to take those chances."
The boys emerged into a clearing on the slope just in time to see the two men disappearing into the heavy wood on the opposite side. The clearing lay wide and deserted in the bright moonlight.
"They're up to some mischief," said Frank. "We'll have to be careful they don't see us."
"I wonder what those long poles are for!"
"They're not fishing poles. Too short and straight for that."
"Well, we'll soon find out. I think we're on the trail of something big."
"I'm sure of it."
The boys sped across the clearing and went on down the trail through the dark wood beyond. They were drawing closer to a brook now and they could plainly hear the lapping of the water against the rocks in the distance. In this vicinity there were several brooks flowing down into Barmet Bay.
Frank suddenly came to a stop.
"Look!" he said.
The boys peered through the gloom.
Beyond the branches of the trees they saw a glimmer of light. It disappeared, then shone again, steadily.
The Great Discovery
"I'll bet that light's a signal light," whispered Joe Hardy to his brother.
The boys watched the yellow gleam among the trees. Then, slowly, the light began to move. It swung to and fro, as though it was being carried by some one, and finally vanished.
Frank led the way down the path. In a few minutes they heard a snapping of twigs that indicated that the two men were not far ahead. The path dipped sharply, down a rocky slope, sparsely covered with underbrush. Then the brook came into view.
They could see the pair clearly now. One of the men was carrying a lantern; the other bore the long poles and the bag. Drawn up on the side of the brook, below the rocks and just above its mouth, the boys distinguished a small boat.
They crouched in the shelter of the bushes, and watched as the man who carried the lantern put the light down and strode over to a clump of trees from which he presently emerged, carrying a pair of oars. He dumped them into the boat with a clatter, which aroused the wrath of his companion.
"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded fiercely. "Want to rouse up everybody from here to Bayport?"
"I forgot," the other answered apologetically.
"Don't forget again."
"There's nobody around, anyway."
"Don't be too sure."
He fitted the oars in the rowlocks quietly, and the pair pushed the boat out into the brook.
"What shall we do?" whispered Joe. "Tackle them?"
"Wait a minute."
Hardly were the words out of Frank's mouth before he heard a rustling in the bushes almost immediately behind him. He looked around, startled, and saw a shadowy figure flit among the bushes, then another and another. He was so astonished that he almost cried out. Where had these newcomers appeared from? Who were they?
The Hardy boys pressed close to the ground as the three figures passed so close by them that they could almost have reached out and touched them. Not a word was said. The three men made their way silently past, in the direction of the brook.
"All right," said one of the men at the boat. "I guess we can start out now."
At that instant, the three newcomers sprang out from the depth of the brush.
There was a wild yell from the man bent over the boat.
"Come on, boys!" shouted one of the attackers. "We got 'em!"
Trembling with excitement, the Hardy boys looked on. They saw the three men close in. One of the fellows at the boat made a dash for liberty but he was tripped up and flung heavily into the brook. The other fought back, but he was quickly overpowered. The struggle was sharp but brief, and in a few minutes the two men were prisoners and were taken out into the moonlight.
"You came once too often, Jed," said one of their captors. "We've been watchin' for you."
"You ain't got anythin' on us," said Jed.
"Oh, yes we have! Caught you red-handed. Any of your pals around?"
"Just the two of us."
"Boat, lantern and everything, eh? You were too sharp for us most of the time, Jed, but we were bound to catch you sooner or later."
Greatly puzzled by this dialogue, wondering who the newcomers were and wondering why Jed and his companion had thus been captured, the Hardy boys rose slightly from their hiding place to get a better view of proceedings.
Just then they heard a heavy footstep in the bushes immediately behind them.
They dropped again to the earth, but it was too late. They had been seen.
"Who's there?" growled a husky voice, and some one came plunging in through the bushes toward them.
Frank got to his feet and scrambled wildly for safety. Joe did likewise. The man behind them gave a loud shout.
"Here's some more of 'em!" he called.
Joe tripped over a root and went sprawling. In the darkness it was almost impossible to see a clear way to safety. Frank paused to help his brother to his feet, and their pursuer was upon them. He seized Frank by the coat collar.
One of the other men came crashing through the underbrush.
"I've caught 'em!" announced their captor. "Two more."
The newcomer emerged from a thicket and pounced on Joe.
"Good work!" he said exultantly.
The Hardy boys were hauled roughly out of the bushes and down into the moonlight, where the two captives were being held.
"Caught 'em hiding right in the bushes," said the man who had discovered them, tightening his grip on Frank's collar.
"Boys, eh?" said the leader, coming forward and peering closely at them. "Since when have you had boys helping you, Jed?"
The prisoner called Jed looked at the Hardy boys suspiciously.
"I never saw 'em in my life before," he growled.
"What are they doing here, then?"
"How should I know?" asked Jed. "I tell you I don't know anything about them."
"Why were you hiding in those bushes?" demanded the leader, of Frank.
"We were watching those two men," Frank returned promptly, indicating Jed and his companion.
"Watching them? Helping them, you mean."
"We don't know yet what they were up to. We were watching the Shore Road for automobile thieves and we saw those men going down into the woods, so we followed them."
The boys were still completely mystified. Just what errand had brought Jed and the other man to this lonely place at that hour of night, and just who were their captors, remained a puzzle to them.
"You didn't come here to spear fish?"
"Spear fish?" exclaimed Frank.
"Don't be so innocent. You know Jed and this fellow were coming down to spear fish by night-light, and it's against the law!"
The whole situation was now clear. Frank and Joe felt supremely foolish. Instead of trailing two automobile thieves, they had merely been following two farmers of the neighborhood who had been engaged in the lawless activity of spearing fish by night. This explained the mysterious conversation and their allusions to fearing capture. The other men were nothing more or less than game wardens.
"We didn't know," said Frank. "We thought perhaps they were the auto thieves."
The game wardens began to laugh.
"You were on the wrong track that time, son," said one. "I guess they're all right, Dan. Let them go."
The man who had stumbled on them in the bush released Frank reluctantly.
"They gave me a start," he said. "Hidin' there so quiet. I was sure they were with this other pair."
"Never saw either one of them before," repeated Jed.
"Well, if you stand up for them, I guess they're telling the truth. You boys beat it out of here and don't go interfering with our work again. You might have scared these two away if they'd caught sight of you."
"I wish we had seen 'em," said Jed. "We wouldn't be in this mess now."
"You'd have been caught sooner or later. You've been spearing fish in the brooks and ponds around here for the past three weeks, and you know it. You'll stand a fine in police court to-morrow."
The Hardy boys did not wait to hear the rest of the argument. Sheepishly, they left the group, thankful to be at liberty again, and retraced their steps up the trail through the wood until they again reached the road. Neither said a word. This inglorious end to the adventure had left them crestfallen.
They mounted their motorcycles and drove back to Bayport. The house was in darkness. Quietly, they went up the back stairs and gained their bedroom.
"Spearing fish!" said Frank in a disgusted voice, as he began to unlace his boots.
He glanced at Joe, who was grinning broadly. Then, as they thought of their cautious pursuit of the two fishermen and of their certainty that they had found the automobile thieves at last, they began to laugh.
"The joke is on us," snickered Joe.
"It sure is. I hope the game wardens don't tell any one about this."
"If Chet Morton ever gets hold of it we'll never hear the end of the affair."
But Chet, who had a way of picking up information in the most unexpected quarters, did hear of it.
Fish
One of the game wardens chanced to live near the Morton farm, and as he was on his way into Bayport next morning to give evidence against the two men arrested, he fell in with Chet and in the course of their conversation chanced to mention the two boys who had so neatly blundered into the trap the previous night.
"Said they were lookin' for auto thieves," he chuckled.
"What did they look like?" asked Chet, interested.
"One was dark and tall. The other was about a year younger. A fair-haired chap."
Chet snorted. The Hardy boys! No one else.
"What are you laughin' about?" asked the game warden.
"Nothing. I just happened to think of something."
On his way to school, Chet stopped off at a butcher's shop long enough to purchase a small fish, which he carefully wrapped in paper. He was one of the first students in the classroom and he watched his opportunity, putting the parcel in Frank Hardy's desk. Then, before the Hardy boys arrived, he put in the time acquainting his chums with the events of the previous night, so that by the time Frank and Joe came in sight there was scarcely a student in the school who did not know of their blunder.
"It sure is one on the Hardy boys," remarked Tony Prito.
"I'll say it is," returned Biff Hooper. "They don't usually trip up like that."
"Trip up? They never do—that is, hardly ever," put in another pupil.
"They are the cleverest fellows in this burg," came from one of the other students. "Of course, everybody falls down once in a while."
"Just the same, it must gall them to think of how they were fooled."
"You bet."
Frank and Joe did not at first notice the air of mystery and the grinning faces, as they entered the school yard, but they were soon enlightened. A freshman, apparently very much frightened, came over to them at Chet's bidding.
"Please," he said, "my mother wants to know if you'll call at our house after school."
"What for?" asked Joe.
"She wants to know if you have any fish to sell."
Whereupon the freshman took to his heels. There was a roar of laughter from a group of boys who were within hearing. The Hardy boys flushed. Then Chet approached.
"Hello, boys," he said innocently. "You look sleepy."
"Do we?"
"What's the matter? Been up all night?"
"No. We got lots of sleep."
"Fine. Little boys shouldn't stay out late at night. It's bad for 'em. By the way," continued Chet airily, "I'm going out fishing to-night. I wonder if you'd like to come and sit on the shore and watch me."
Frank took careful aim with an algebra and hurled it at the jester, but Chet dodged and took to flight, chuckling heartily.
"Fish!" shrieked Jerry Gilroy, from a point of vantage on the steps.
"Fresh fish!" roared Phil Cohen.
"Whales for sale—ten cents a pound," chimed in Biff Hooper.
"How on earth did they hear about it?" gasped Joe. "We're in for it now."
"Just have to grin and bear it. Let's get into the classroom."
Pursued by cries of "Fish!" the Hardy boys hastened into the schoolroom and sat down at their desks, where they took refuge in study, although the bell had not yet rung.
Chet came in.
"Not in police court this morning?" he asked politely. "I heard you had been arrested for spearing fish last night."
"Just you wait," retorted Frank darkly.
He thrust his hand into his desk for a book and encountered the package. In another moment he would have withdrawn it, but a suspicion of the truth dawned on him. He knew that Chet was a practical joker and, with a chance like this, almost anything might be expected. So, thinking quickly, he left the package where it was and took out a history. By the expression of disappointment on Chet's face he knew his suspicions had been correct.
There were still a few minutes before school opened.
"Get him out of the room," whispered Frank to his brother, as Chet went over to his own desk.
Mystified, Joe obeyed.
"Well," he said to their chum, "we can stand a bit of kidding. Come on out and I'll tell you all about it."
They went out into the hall. Frank took the package from his desk. The odor was enough. If ever a fish smelled fishy, it was that fish. One stride, and he was over at Chet's desk. In a moment the package was nestling among Chet's books and Frank was back at his own desk, working busily.
The bell rang.
The students came into the classroom, Chet among them. He sat down, chuckling at some private jest, and began opening his school bag. Mr. Dowd, the mathematics teacher, entered for the first class of the day. Mr. Dowd was a tall, lean man with very little sense of humor, and Chet Morton was one of his pet aversions.
He went up to his desk and looked around, peering through his glasses.
"First exercise," he announced. Most of the students had their textbooks in readiness, but Chet usually took his time. Mr. Dowd frowned. "Morton, where is your book?"
"Right here, sir," replied Chet cheerfully. He groped in the desk and took out the textbook. With a sickening thud, the package dropped to the floor.
Chet's eyes bulged. He recognized it in an instant. A guilty flush spread over his face.
"What have you there, Morton?"
"N-n-nothing, sir."
"Don't leave it lying there on the floor. Pick it up."
Chet gingerly picked up the package.
"Your lunch?" suggested Mr. Dowd.
"N-no, sir. I mean, yes, sir."
"Just whatdoyou mean? Why are you looking at it with that idiotic expression on your face?"
"I—I didn't expect to find it there, sir."
"Morton, is this another of your jokes? If so, I wish you'd let us all enjoy it. Do you mind telling us what's in that package?"
"I—I'd rather not, sir. It's just a—a little present."
"A little present!" Mr. Dowd was convinced, by Chet's guilty expression, that there was more behind this than appeared on the surface. "Open it this instant."
"Please, sir—"
"Morton!"
Miserably, Chet obeyed. Before the eyes of his grinning schoolmates, he untied the string, removed the paper, and produced the fish. There was a gasp of amazement from Mr. Dowd and a smothered chuckle from every one else.
"A fish!" exclaimed the master.
"Y-yes, sir."
"What do you mean, Morton, by having a fish in your desk?"
"I—I don't know, sir."
"You don't know? Don't you know where the fish came from?"
Chet Morton, for all his jokes, always told the truth. He did know where the fish came from.
"Yes, sir," he answered feebly.
"Where?"
"Hogan's butcher shop."
"Did you buy it?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you brought it to school with you?"
"Yes, sir."
The master shook his head in resignation.
"You're quite beyond me, Morton," he said. "You have done a great many odd things since you've been in this school, but this is the oddest. Bringing a fish to school. Your lunch, indeed! Stay in for half an hour after school." Mr. Dowd sniffed. "And throw that fish out."
"Yes, sir."
Chet departed in disgrace, carrying the fish gingerly by the tail, while his classmates tried to stifle their laughter. Half way across the hall the unfortunate Chet met the principal, who spied the fish and demanded explanations. These not being satisfactory, he ordered Chet to write two hundred lines of Latin prose. By the time the jester returned to the classroom, after consigning the fish to the janitor, who put it carefully away with a view to taking it home so his wife could fry it for dinner, he was heartily regretting the impulse that had made him stop at the butcher shop.
For the rest of the morning he was conscious of the smothered snickers of the Hardy boys and his chums.
Just before the recess period a note flicked onto his desk. He opened it and read:
"He laughs best who laughs last."
Chet glared and looked back at Frank Hardy. But that youth was innocently engaged in his studies. There was a twinkle in his eye, however, that told better than words just who had written the note.
The New Car
As days passed and the Shore Road mystery was no nearer solution, police activity was redoubled. Motorists became caustic in their comments and Chief Collig felt it as a reflection on his force that no clues had been unearthed.
The matter, however, was not wholly in the hands of the Bayport force, inasmuch as the Shore Road was beyond Chief Collig's jurisdiction, and the state troopers were also made aware of their responsibility. So, with local police, detectives and troopers on the case, it seemed that the auto thieves could scarcely hope to evade capture.
However, the search was in vain. Not a trace of the missing cars could be found. Even Fenton Hardy had to confess himself baffled.
"Looks as if there's a chance for us yet," said Frank Hardy.
"Looks to me as if there isn't. How can we hope to catch the auto thieves when every one else has fallen down on the job?" demanded his brother.
"We might be lucky. And, anyway, I've had an idea that might be worked out."
"What is it?"
"Come with me and I'll show you."
Mystified, Joe followed his brother out of the house and they went down the street in the direction of a well-known local automobile agency.
As they walked, Frank explained his plan. At first Joe was dubious.
"It couldn't be done."
"Why not? All we need is a little capital, and we have that. Then if we have nerve enough to go through with the rest of it, we may be lucky enough to trap the thieves."
"Too many 'ifs' and 'may bes' to suit me," demurred Joe. "Still, if you think we could get away with it, I'm with you."
"We may fail, but our money won't be altogether wasted. We've always wanted a car, anyway."
"That's true. We'll go and look this one over."
Arriving at the automobile agency, they were greeted by the manager, who knew them well.
"What is it this morning, boys?" he asked, with a smile. "Can I sell you a car to-day?"
He meant it as a joke, and he was greatly surprised when Frank answered:
"It all depends. We'll buy one if you can make us a good price."
"Why, that's fine," said the manager, immediately becoming businesslike. "What would you like to see? One of the new sport models?"
"No," replied Joe. "We're in the market for a used car."
"We heard you had Judge Keene's old car here," added Frank.
"Why, yes, we have. He turned it in and bought a new model. But you wouldn't want that car, boys. It looks like a million dollars, but it's all on the surface. I'll be frank with you—Judge Keene said the engine was no good, and I agree with him. It was put out by a new company that went bankrupt about a year later. They put all their money into the bodies of the cars and not very much into the engines. You would be wasting your money."
"We want a good-looking car, cheap," insisted Frank. "I don't care so much about the engine. It's the looks that count this time."
The manager shook his head.
"Well," he said, "I suppose you lads like to have a car that'll knock everybody's eye out, and I'm not denying this is a dandy-looking boat. But I won't guarantee its performance."
"We don't care, if the price is right. Where is it?"
The manager led the boys to the back of the showrooms, where they found a luxurious-looking auto. It looked, so Joe afterward said, "like a million dollars." With a fresh coat of paint it would have seemed like a model straight from the factory.
"What do you think of it?" Frank asked his brother.
"A peach."
"Boys, I hate to see you buy this car," the manager protested. "Take the money and put it into a good, standard car that you can depend on. You'll have more trouble running this automobile than the looks are worth. If you weren't friends of mine I wouldn't waste my time telling you this, for I'm anxious to get this mass of junk off my hands. But your father would never forgive me if he thought I'd stung you boys with a cement mixer like this one."
"It's the looks that count with us," said Frank. "How much do you want for it?"
"I'll sell it to you for four hundred dollars."
"Four hundred!" exclaimed Joe. "Why, that looks like a three-thousand-dollar car!"
"It looks like one, but it isn't," said the Manager. "You'll be lucky to drive a thousand miles in it before the engine gives out."
"We won't drive any thousand miles in it," Joe remarked mysteriously.
"Don't let any one else have the car, and we'll go and get the money," Frank told the man.
They left the manager smoothing his hair and pondering on the folly of boys in general, although he was secretly relieved at having got rid of the imposing looking car, which he had regarded as a dead loss.
Going directly to the bank, the boys withdrew four hundred dollars from their account, after cautioning the teller not to mention the matter to their father.
"We're going to give him a little surprise," said Frank.
"All right," said the teller, wondering what the boys wanted with such a large sum, "I won't tell him."
Back to the agency they went, handed over the money, and drove out in state, Frank at the wheel of their new possession. The car was indeed a splendid-looking vehicle, having excellent lines, good fittings, and a quantity of nickel trimmings that enhanced its luxurious appearance. Frank soon found that the manager had spoken correctly when he said that the value was all on the surface, for the engine began giving trouble before they had driven two blocks.
"However," he said to his brother, "this old boat may earn us a lot more than the money we paid for it, and if it doesn't we'll have plenty of fun tinkering around and putting a real engine in it."
They drove into the yard of their home. Aunt Gertrude spied them first and uttered a squawk of astonishment, then fled into the house to inform Mrs. Hardy of this latest evidence of imbecility on the part of the lads. Their mother came out, and the boys admitted that the car was theirs.
"We're not extravagant, Mother," they protested. "We got it for a certain reason, and we'll tell you all about it later. The old boat isn't as expensive as it looks. We picked it up cheap."
Mrs. Hardy had implicit confidence in her sons and when they said there was a reason behind the purchase she was content to bide her time and await their explanations. She was curious to know why they had made this extraordinary move, but was too discreet to ask any questions.
With the car in the garage, the boys went downtown again and bought several cans of automobile paint. And, for the rest of the week, they busied themselves transforming the automobile into "a thing of beauty and a joy forever."
Their parents were puzzled, but said nothing. Aunt Gertrude was frankly indignant and at mealtimes made many veiled references to the luxury-loving tendencies of modern youth.
"It's not enough for them to have motorcycles and a motorboat, but now they must have an automobile!" she sniffed. "And it's not enough for them to buy an ordinary flivver—they must have a car that a millionaire would be proud to own."
Secretly, the boys considered this a compliment. They felt that their aunt would be vastly surprised if she knew the low price they had paid.
"Wait till she sees it when we have it painted," said Frank.
Their chums, too, were unable to imagine what had possessed the Hardy boys to purchase a so large and expensive-looking car. Frank and Joe did not enlighten them. They had bought the car for a certain purpose and they were afraid that if they confided in any one, their plans might leak out. So they busied themselves with painting the new car, and said nothing of their intentions to any one, not even to Chet Morton.
At last the work was finished.
On Friday night after school Frank applied the last dab of paint, and the brothers stood back to survey their handiwork.
"She's a beauty!" declared Joe.
"I'll tell the world!"
The automobile was resplendent in its fresh coat of paint. The nickel glittered.
"Looks like a Rolls-Royce."
"A car like that would tempt any auto thief in the world."
"I hope it does."
"Well, we're all set for Act Two," said Frank. "I think we'll go out to-night. Our bait is ready."
"I hope we catch something."
With this mysterious dialogue, the boys went into the house for supper.
They were so excited over their impending journey that they could scarcely take time to eat.
"Some mischief on foot," commented Aunt Gertrude.
In the Locker
The massive roadster rolled smoothly out of the garage that evening and the Hardy boys drove down High Street, greatly enjoying the attention their new car attracted. Freshly painted, the automobile had not the slightest evidence of being a second-hand car. It was long and low-slung, with a high hood, and there was a big locker at the back.
The upholstery was in good condition and the fittings were ornate and handsome. All in all, it was a car to arouse the envy of all their chums, and one that would arouse the covetousness of any auto thief.
This was precisely what the Hardy boys were counting on.
They drove about the streets until it was almost dark. They met Biff Hooper and Tony Prito, who exclaimed over the luxurious appearance of the roadster and immediately wanted a ride, but the boys were obliged to refuse.
"Sorry," said Frank. "We'll take you out any other time but to-night. We have business in hand."
"I'd like to know what it's all about," remarked Biff. "You two have been mighty mysterious about something lately."
"Some time you'll understand," sang out Joe, as they drove off.
They headed out the Shore Road.
It was getting dark and the headlights cut a brilliant slash through the gloom. Leaving Bayport behind, the boys drove about two miles out until they came to a place where a grassy meadow beside the road provided a favorite parking place for motorists who wished to descend the path leading down through the woods to the beach below.
"This is about as good a place as any," said Frank.
"Suits me."
He drove the car off the road onto the grass. It came to a stop.
"Any one around, Joe?"
Joe looked back.
"No other cars in sight," he reported a moment later.
"Then make it snappy."
Any one observing the roadster at that moment would have seen the two boys clamber out, but in the gloom they would not have seen what followed. For the boys suddenly disappeared.
The roadster remained where it was, parked by the road, in solitary magnificence.
A few minutes later an automobile passed by. It belonged to a Bayport merchant, out for an evening drive. He saw the splendid car by the roadside and said to his wife:
"Somebody is taking an awful chance. I wouldn't leave a fine-looking automobile like that out here without some one to watch it. I guess the owner is down on the beach. If one of those auto thieves happens along there'll be another good car listed among the missing."
"Well, it's their own lookout," returned his wife.
They drove past.
But the roadster was not deserted, as it seemed. So quickly had the Hardy boys concealed themselves that, even had any one been watching, it would have been difficult to follow their movements.
The roadster, having been built for show, had a large and roomy locker at the back. By experimenting in the privacy of the garage and by clearing this locker of all odds and ends, the boys found it was just large enough to accommodate them both.
Here they were hidden. They were not uncomfortable, and the darkness did not bother them, for each was equipped with a small flashlight.
"You didn't forget your revolver, did you?" whispered Frank.
"No. I have it here," answered his brother. "Have you got yours?"
"Ready in case I need it."
Although there would seem to be no purpose in spending an evening crouched in the locker of a parked roadster, the Hardy boys had laid definite plans. From the morning they had bought the car they had perfected the various details of their scheme to capture the auto thieves on the Shore Road.
"Most of the cars have been stolen while they were parked on the Shore Road," Frank had argued. "It stands to reason that the auto thieves are operating along there. Since the first few scares, not many people have been parking their cars along there, so the thieves have taken to stealing cars in town and to hold-ups. If we park the roadster, it's ten chances to one the thieves won't be able to resist the temptation."