The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe missing chumsThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: The missing chumsAuthor: Franklin W. DixonIllustrator: Walter S. RogersRelease date: January 31, 2024 [eBook #72840]Most recently updated: April 30, 2024Language: EnglishOriginal publication: Bedford, MA: Applewood Books, 1928Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSING CHUMS ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: The missing chumsAuthor: Franklin W. DixonIllustrator: Walter S. RogersRelease date: January 31, 2024 [eBook #72840]Most recently updated: April 30, 2024Language: EnglishOriginal publication: Bedford, MA: Applewood Books, 1928Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Title: The missing chums
Author: Franklin W. DixonIllustrator: Walter S. Rogers
Author: Franklin W. Dixon
Illustrator: Walter S. Rogers
Release date: January 31, 2024 [eBook #72840]Most recently updated: April 30, 2024
Language: English
Original publication: Bedford, MA: Applewood Books, 1928
Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSING CHUMS ***
THE HARDY BOYSTHE MISSING CHUMSBy FRANKLIN W. DIXONAuthor ofThe Hardy Boys: The Tower TreasureThe Hardy Boys: The Secret of the Old MillILLUSTRATED BYWalter S. RogersNEW YORKGROSSET & DUNLAPPUBLISHERSMade in the United States of AmericaCopyright, 1928, byGROSSET & DUNLAP,Inc.All Rights ReservedThe Hardy Boys: The Missing Chums
THE HARDY BOYS
By FRANKLIN W. DIXON
Author ofThe Hardy Boys: The Tower TreasureThe Hardy Boys: The Secret of the Old Mill
ILLUSTRATED BYWalter S. Rogers
NEW YORKGROSSET & DUNLAPPUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
Copyright, 1928, byGROSSET & DUNLAP,Inc.
All Rights Reserved
The Hardy Boys: The Missing Chums
HE CRAWLED ON HANDS AND KNEES.
HE CRAWLED ON HANDS AND KNEES.
HE CRAWLED ON HANDS AND KNEES.
The Three Strangers
"You certainly ought to have a dandy trip."
"I'll say we will, Frank! We sure wish you could come along."
Frank Hardy grinned ruefully and shook his head.
"I'm afraid we're out of luck. Joe and I may take a little trip later on, but we can't make it this time."
"Just think of it!" said Chet Morton, the other speaker. "A whole week motorboating along the coast! We're the lucky boys, eh, Biff?"
Biff Hooper, at the wheel of his father's new motorboat, nodded emphatically.
"You bet we're lucky. I'm glad dad got this boat in time for the summer holidays. I've been dreaming of a trip like that for years."
"It won't be the same without the Hardy Boys," returned Chet. "I had it all planned out that Frank and Joe would be coming along with us in their own boat and we'd make a real party of it."
"Can't be done," observed Joe Hardy, settling himself more comfortably in the back of the boat. "There's nothing Frank and I would like better—but duty calls!" he exclaimed dramatically, slapping himself on the chest.
"Duty, my neck!" grunted Frank. "We just have to stay at home while dad is in Chicago, that's all. It'll be pretty dull without Chet and Biff around to help us kill time."
"You can put in the hours thinking of Biff and me," consoled Chet. "At night you can just picture us sitting around our campfire away up the coast, and in the daytime you can imagine us speeding away out over the bounding main." He postured with one foot on the gunwale. "A sailor's life for me, my hearties! Yo, ho, and a bottle of ink!"
The boat gave a sudden lurch at that moment, for Biff Hooper had not yet mastered the art of navigation and Chet wavered precariously for a few seconds, finally losing his balance and sitting down heavily in a smear of grease at the bottom of the craft.
"Yo ho, and a bottle of inkAnd he nearly fell into the drink,"
"Yo ho, and a bottle of inkAnd he nearly fell into the drink,"
"Yo ho, and a bottle of inkAnd he nearly fell into the drink,"
"Yo ho, and a bottle of ink
And he nearly fell into the drink,"
chanted Frank Hardy, as the boys roared with laughter at their chum's discomfiture.
"Poet!" sniffed Chet, as he got up. Then, as he gingerly felt the seat of his trousers: "Another pair of pants ready for the cleaners. I ought to wear overalls when I go boating." He grinned as he said it, for Chet Morton was the soul of good nature and it took a great deal more than a smear of grease to erase his ready smile.
The four boys, Frank and Joe Hardy, Chet Morton and Biff Hooper, all chums in the same set at the Bayport high school, were out on Barmet Bay in theEnvoy, the Hooper motorboat, helping Biff learn to run the craft. Their assistance consisted chiefly of mocking criticisms of the luckless Biff's posture at the helm and sundry false alarms to the effect that the boat was springing a leak or that the engine was about to blow up. Each announcement had the effect of precipitating the steersman into a panic of apprehension and sending his tormentors into convulsions of laughter.
Biff had made good progress, however, as he had been with the Hardy boys on previous occasions in their own motorboat, theSleuth, and he had picked up the rudiments of handling the craft. He was anxious to be a first-rate pilot before starting up the coast on his projected trip with Chet Morton the following week. He had an aptitude for mechanics and he was satisfied that he would have a thorough understanding of his boat by the time they were ready to start.
"If the coast guards find two little boys like you roaming around in a great big motorboat they're likely to give you a spanking and send you back home," laughed Frank. "I'll bet you'll be back in Bayport inside of two days."
"Rats!" replied Chet, inelegantly, if forcefully. "If our grub holds out we'll be away more than the week."
"There's no danger of that. Not with you along," Joe remarked, and deftly dodged a wad of waste that Chet flung at him. Chet Morton's enormous appetite was proverbial among the chums.
"Just sore because you can't come along with us," Chet scoffed. "You know mighty well that the two of you would give your eye-teeth to be on this trip. Oh, well, we'll tell you all about it when we get back."
"A lot of comfort that will be!"
"A leak!" roared Chet suddenly, pounding Biff on the back. "The boat has sprung a leak. Get a pail!"
"What!" shouted Biff, in alarm, starting up from the wheel. Then, for the fifth time that afternoon, he realized that he had been fooled and he sank back with a look of disgust on his face.
"Some time that boatwillspring a leak and I won't believe you," he warned, settling down to his steering again.
"I'll be good," promised Chet, sitting down and looking out over the bay. "Say, there's a big brute of a motorboat coming along behind us, isn't it?"
"I'll say she's big," Frank agreed, looking back. "I don't remember ever having seen that boat around here before."
"Me neither," declared Joe. "I wonder where it came from."
The strange craft was painted a dingy gray. It was large and unwieldy and did not ride easily in the water. Although that boat was some distance in the wake of their own craft the boys could distinguish the figures of three men, all seated well up toward the front. Biff glanced back.
"It's a new one on me," he said. "I've never seen it before."
"Sure has lots of power, anyway," Chet commented. The roar of the engine could be plainly heard across the water. In spite of its clumsy appearance, the big boat ploughed ahead at good speed, and, as Bill had theEnvoy, his craft, throttled down, the second boat was slowly overtaking them.
"Let's wait till they get abreast of us and give them a race," Chet suggested.
"Not on your life," objected Biff. "I'm only learning to run this tub and I'm not in the racing class yet. Besides, there are too many other boats out in the bay this afternoon. I'd be sure to run into one of them."
The boys watched as the other craft overtook them. The big motorboat ploughed noisily ahead, keeping directly in their wake.
"I wonder if the man at the helm is asleep," said Frank. "He doesn't seem to be making any attempt to pull over."
"He's awake, all right," declared Chet. "I can see him talking to the man beside him. He won't run us down. Don't worry—not with Captain Hooper at the helm, my hearties!"
The roaring of the pursuing craft suddenly took on a new note and the big boat seemed to leap out of the water as it increased its speed and bore rapidly down on theEnvoy. Spray flew about the heads of the helmsman and his two passengers and a high crest of foam rose from either side of the bow. Biff Hooper shifted the wheel slightly and theEnvoyveered in toward the shore. To the surprise of the boys, the other boat also changed its course and continued directly in their wake.
"The idiots!" exclaimed Biff.
"I don't get the idea of this at all," muttered Frank Hardy to his brother. "What are they following us so closely for?"
Joe shrugged. "Probably just trying to give us a scare."
The other boat was now almost upon their craft. It nosed out to the right and drew alongside, coming dangerously close. The boys could see the three men clearly and they noticed that all three scrutinized them, seeming to pay particular attention to Chet and Biff.
The men were unsavory looking fellows, unshaven, surly of expression. The man at the helm was sharp-featured and keen-eyed, while the other two were of heavier build. One of the pair wore a cap, while the other man was bare-headed, revealing a scant thatch of carroty hair so close-cropped that it seemed to stick out at all angles to his cranium. This man, the boys saw, nudged his companion and pointed to Biff, who was too busy at the helm of his own craft to notice.
"Not so close!" yelled Chet, seeing that the other boat was running broadside in dangerous proximity to theEnvoy.
In reply, the man at the helm of the other craft merely sneered and brought his boat in until the two speeding launches were almost touching sides.
"What's the idea?" Joe shouted. "Trying to run us down?"
Biff Hooper shifted the wheel so that theEnvoywould edge away from the other boat, and in this effort he was successful, for a gap of water was soon apparent between the speeding craft. But in escaping one danger he had risked another.
Two sailboats that had been flitting about Barmet Bay that afternoon were racing with the wind, and they now came threshing along with billowing canvas, immediately into the course of the motorboat. Biff had seen the sailboats previously and had judged his own course accordingly, but in his efforts to get away from the mysterious launch he had unwittingly maneuvered theEnvoyinto such a position that a collision now seemed inevitable.
The sailboats seemed to loom right up before him, not more than a hundred yards away. They were racing close together, one boat but a nose in the lead. They were scudding along with the wind at high speed and the motorboat roared down upon them.
Biff Hooper bent desperately over the helm. He was so close that no matter which way he turned it seemed impossible that he could miss one or the other of the sailboats. If he turned to the right he would crash into them head-on; if he turned to the left he would run before them and a general smash-up might be the result.
The men in the sailboats were also aware of their danger.
The boys had a glimpse of one man waving his arms. One of the boats veered out abruptly and the yardarm swung around. The sailboat was lying directly in the path of theEnvoy.
The roaring of the engine, the threshing of the sails, the warning shouts of the boys, all created a confusion of sound. The white sails seemed to loom high above the speeding boat. A hideous collision appeared to be inevitable.
Quick Thinking
Every second was precious.
Frank Hardy realized the full extent of their peril and in the same moment he realized the only way of averting it.
Without a word he sprang toward the helm, brushing Biff Hooper aside. In this emergency, Biff was helpless. Swiftly, Frank bore down on the wheel, bringing the boat around into the wind. At the same time, he opened up the throttle so that theEnvoyleaped forward at her highest speed.
The motorboat passed just a few inches in front of the bow of the first sailboat; so close, Chet Morton said afterward, that he "could count every stitch on the patch in the sailcloth." But the danger was not yet over. There was still the other sailboat to be considered. It was pounding along immediately ahead of them; the man at the tiller was making frantic efforts to get out of the way, but the danger lay in the fact that in trying to guess the possible course of theEnvoyhe might make a false move that would have him shoot directly across its path.
Frank swung the helm around again. Once more, theEnvoyveered to the left so sharply that a cloud of spray drenched the boys. Another shift of the wheel and the motorboat zig-zagged safely past the sailboat and on out into open water.
Not one of the boys had uttered a word during this. They had been tense and anxious, but now that the peril of a smash-up had been averted, they sank back with sighs of relief.
"I sure thought we were headed for Davy Jones' locker that time!" breathed Chet.
Biff Hooper looked up at Frank.
"Thanks," he said. "I'd have never got out of that mess if you hadn't taken the wheel. I was so rattled that I didn't know what to do."
"After you've run the boat a few more weeks you'll get so used to it that it'll be second nature to you. But that sure was a tight squeeze," Frank admitted. "It mighty near meant that you wouldn't have had any motorboat left to go on that trip with."
"It mighty near meant that we wouldn't have been left to make the trip at all," Chet declared solemnly. "What say we go home? I've had enough excitement for one day."
"It's beginning to rain, anyway," Biff remarked, glancing up at the sky. "I guess we may as well go back."
The sky had clouded over in the past hour and the eastern sky was black, while scurrying masses of ragged clouds flew overhead before the stiffening wind. A few drops of water splashed into the boat, then came a gust of rain, followed by a light shower that passed over in a few minutes. The big motorboat that had crowded them had disappeared.
"A real storm coming up," Frank said. "Let's make for the boathouse."
TheEnvoyheaded for Bayport.
"I'd like to tell those three fellows in that other boat what I think of them," declared Biff. "They got us into that jam. They were crowding me so close that I didn't have a chance to keep an eye on the sailboats."
"I still can't see why they drew up alongside," Joe observed. "They seemed mighty inquisitive. Gave us all the once-over."
Chet offered a solution.
"Perhaps they thought we were some one else and when they found out their mistake they went away."
"But theydidn'tgo away," Frank pointed out. "They kept crowding us over. And one of them pointed at Biff."
"At me?"
"Yes."
"I didn't notice that."
"He seemed to recognize you and was pointing you out to the other men."
"Well, if he recognized me I can't return the compliment. I never saw any of them before in my life."
"He was probably pointing you out as a unique specimen," ventured Joe, with a grin. "Probably those fellows are from a museum, Biff. They'll likely make an offer for your carcass after you're dead and they'll have it stuffed and put it on display in a glass case. That's why they were so interested."
Joe's suggestion elicited warm words from Biff and a friendly struggle ensued. Inasmuch as Biff Hooper was the champion boxer and wrestler of Bayport High, Joe was at a disadvantage, and paid for his derogatory remarks by being held over the side by the scruff of the neck and given a ducking until he pleaded for mercy.
By the time the boys reached Bayport it was raining heavily, and after leaving theEnvoyin the boathouse they raced up the street to the Hardy boys' home. The barn in the back yard was a favorite retreat of the chums and there they spent many of their Saturday afternoons. The barn was fitted up as a gymnasium, with parallel bars, a trapeze, boxing gloves and a punching bag, and was an ideal refuge on a rainy day. The thrilling experience with the sailboats and the mystery of the strange motorboat were soon forgotten.
Phil Cohen and Tony Prito, school chums of the Hardy boys, drifted in during the afternoon, as well as Jerry Gilroy and "Slim" Robinson. This comprised the "gang," of which the two Hardy boys were the leading spirits.
Frank and Joe Hardy were the sons of Fenton Hardy, an internationally famous detective. Mr. Hardy had been for many years a detective on the New York police force, where he was so successful that he went into practice for himself. His two sons already showed signs of inheriting his ability and in a number of instances had solved difficult criminal cases.
The first of these was the mystery of the theft of valuable jewels and bonds from Tower Mansion, an old-fashioned building on the outskirts of Bayport. How the Hardy boys solved the mystery has already been related in the first volume of this series, entitled, "The Tower Treasure."
In the second volume, "The House on the Cliff," the Hardy boys and their chums had a thrilling experience in a reputedly haunted house on the cliffs overlooking Barmet Bay. This was the starting point of an exciting chase for smugglers, in which the Hardy boys came to the rescue of their father after undergoing many dangers in the cliff caves.
The third volume of the series, "The Mystery of the Old Mill," which precedes the present book, relates the efforts of the Hardy boys to run to earth a gang of counterfeiters operating in and about Bayport and their efforts to solve the mystery surrounding an abandoned mill in the farming country back of Barmet Bay.
Frank Hardy, a tall, dark-haired boy of sixteen, was a year older than his brother Joe, and usually took the lead in their exploits, although Joe was not a whit behind his brother in shrewdness and in deductive ability.
Mrs. Hardy viewed their passion for detective work with considerable apprehension, preferring that they plan to go to a university and direct their energies toward entering one of the professions; but the success of the lads had been so marked in the cases on which they had been engaged that she had by now almost resigned herself to seeing them destined for careers as private detectives when they should grow older.
Just now, however, detective work was farthest from their thoughts. Frank and Tony Prito were engaged in some complicated maneuvers on the parallel bars, Joe was taking a boxing lesson from Biff Hooper, and Phil Cohen was trying to learn how to walk on his hands, under the guidance of Jerry Gilroy and Slim Robinson.
As for Chet Morton, the mischief-maker, he was sitting on the window-sill, meditating. And when Chet Morton meditated, it usually meant that a practical joke was in the offing.
"I'll bet you can't 'skin the cat' on that trapeze, Jerry," he called out suddenly.
Jerry Gilroy looked up.
"Skin the cat?" he said. "Of course I can."
"Bet you can't."
"Bet I can."
"Can't."
"Can."
"Do it, then."
"Watch me."
As every boy knows, "skinning the cat" is an acrobatic feat that does not necessarily embrace cruelty to animals. Jerry Gilroy was not unjustly proud of his prowess on the trapeze and Chet Morton's doubt of his ability to perform one of the simplest stunts in his repertoire made him resolve to "skin the cat" as slowly and elaborately as lay within his power.
He grasped the trapeze bar with both hands, then swung forward, raising his feet from the floor, bending his knees. Chet edged forward, presumably to get a better view of proceedings, but at the same time he tightened his grip on a long, flat stick that he had found by the window ledge.
Jerry slowly doubled up until his feet were above his head, immediately below the bar, and then commenced the second stage of the elaborate back somersault, coming down slowly toward the floor. At this juncture the rear of his trousers was presented as a tempting mark to the waiting Chet. This was the stage of the feat for which the joker had been waiting and he raised the flat stick, bringing it down with a resounding smack on his human target.
There was a yelp of pain from Jerry and a roar of laughter from Chet. Doubled up on the bar as he was, Jerry could not immediately regain the floor, and Chet managed to belabor him twice more before the unfortunate acrobat finally found his footing. There he stood, bewildered, rubbing the seat of his trousers, with a rueful expression on his face, while Chet leaned against the wall, helpless with laughter.
The other boys joined in the merriment, for they had stopped to witness the incident, and after a while Jerry achieved a wry smile, although he looked reflectively at his tormentor as though wondering just what form his revenge should take.
No one enjoyed Chet Morton's practical jokes more than he did himself. He whooped with laughter, wiped the tears from his eyes, and leaned out of the window, spluttering with mirth.
"Oh, boy!" he giggled. "The expression—on your—face—!" Then he was away again, leaning across the window-sill weakly, shaking with laughter.
Jerry Gilroy tiptoed quietly up behind him. A quick movement and he lowered the window until it was against Chet's back.
The practical joker suddenly stopped laughing, and turned his head.
"Hey! What's the matter?" he inquired.
He was pinned down by the window and he could not see Jerry picking up the flat piece of board that had been the instrument of torture a few minutes previously. But a suspicion of the truth came to him, and a roar of laughter from the other boys warned him that vengeance was due.
It came.
Smack!
Chet Morton wriggled and squirmed, but he was pinned helplessly by the weight of the window against his shoulders, and he presented a more tempting target for Jerry's ministrations with the flat stick, and a more stationary target as well, than Jerry had presented for him.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
He roared with pain and, helpless as he was, danced vainly on the floor in his efforts to escape. Jerry Gilroy belabored him across the rear with that stinging stick until his desire for revenge had been fully satisfied, while the other boys howled with glee at the manner in which the tables had been turned.
Finally, when Jerry tossed the flat stick away and joined the others in their laughter, Chet managed to raise the window and escape.
"Can't see what you're all laughing at," he grumbled, as he sat down carefully on a near-by box. Then he rose hurriedly and rubbed the tender spot.
"He laughs best who laughs last," quoted Jerry Gilroy.
"Guess I've got to get home," announced Biff, a moment later, and soon he and the others were on their way, dodging through the rain.
Then Frank and Joe put the barn in order and went into the house. They felt particularly carefree and never dreamed of the news they were to hear or of how it was to affect them and their chums.
A Shady Trio
"I am sure my man is in Chicago. I know for a fact that he went West, and the Windy City would naturally be his hiding place."
Fenton Hardy tapped the library table reflectively with a pencil. Mrs. Hardy put aside the magazine she had been reading.
"Are you going to follow him?"
"I'll trail him right to the Pacific Coast if necessary."
Frank and Joe Hardy, who had been standing by the window, disconsolately watching the rain streaking down the pane, looked around.
"Who is he, dad?" asked Frank.
"One of the cleverest and most daring bank robbers in the country. I've been after him for almost a year now and it's only been within the last few weeks that I've ever come anywhere near catching him."
"What's his name?"
Fenton Hardy laughed. "I've made you curious, eh? Well, this chap has about a dozen names. He has a new alias every week, but so far as the police are concerned he's known as Baldy Turk, because he's as bald as an egg. He and his gang held up a bank in a small New Jersey town about a month ago and got away with over ten thousand dollars in broad daylight. That's how I managed to get trace of him again. Even the police didn't know Baldy Turk was mixed up in the affair because he was wearing a wig that day, but he double-crossed one of the members of his gang out of his share in the loot."
"And that fellow told the police," ventured Joe.
Mr. Hardy shook his head.
"Not the police. He didn't dare go near them because he was wanted for two or three robberies himself. But he came to me and tipped me off as to where Baldy Turk could be found. He wanted revenge. I went to New York, where Baldy was in hiding; but evidently some of his friends knew I was on his trail and he disappeared before I could lay my hands on him."
"Where did he go then?" asked Frank, with interest.
"He hid out on Long Island for a while, but I managed to pick up the trail again and went after him, but he was too smart for me. He got away in a fast automobile and took a couple of shots at me in the bargain. I managed to get the number of the car and traced it to Manhattan and later found that Baldy Turk had left the East altogether. He bought a ticket to Cleveland, doubled back to Buffalo and managed to shake me off."
"What makes you think he is in Chicago?"
"Because another member of his gang went to Chicago just a week ago. So I imagine Baldy Turk was to meet him there. In any case, Chicago is a thieves' paradise, so it seems logical that Baldy Turk would make for there."
"And you're going after him! Gee, I wish I could go," declared Joe.
Fenton Hardy smiled.
"It's no job for a boy," he said. "Baldy Turk is a bad man with a gun. If I ever do find him it will take some maneuvering to get the handcuffs on him, I'll tell you."
"You'll be careful, won't you, Fenton," said Mrs. Hardy anxiously. "I'm always frightened whenever I know you're after one of these desperate criminals."
"I'll be as careful as I can, Laura," promised her husband; "but in my business I have to take chances. Baldy Turk knows I'm after him and he doesn't mean to be caught if he can help it. He or any of the men in his gang would shoot me on sight. There's a standing reward of five thousand dollars out for Baldy and, besides, the Bankers' Association have promised me a handsome fee if I can get him behind the bars and break up the gang."
"I won't rest easy in my mind until you're back home safe," Mrs. Hardy declared.
"Don't worry about me," replied her husband, going over to her and patting her shoulder reassuringly. "I'll get back safely all right, and Baldy Turk will be in jail if I have to chase him all over the States. The boys will look after you while I'm away."
"You bet we will!" Frank promised.
"I'm sorry it keeps you from going on that motorboat trip with Chet and Biff," Mr. Hardy remarked. "Perhaps you can arrange another jaunt after I come back."
"We're not worrying about that, dad. We don't mind staying at home."
"That's the spirit," approved their father.
"When do you leave?" Frank asked.
"I'm waiting for a letter from a friend of mine in Chicago. If he writes as I expect he will write, I should be away by the day after to-morrow."
"Then let Baldy Turk watch his step!" observed Joe.
"We'll both have to watch our step," answered Mr. Hardy, smiling. "If I don't get him, he'll probably get me."
"Well, I'm betting on you."
Mrs. Hardy shook her head doubtfully, but said nothing. She knew that her detective husband had escaped death at the hands of desperate criminals many times in the course of his career and there seemed to be no reason why he should not bring Baldy Turk to book just as he had captured many other notorious criminals in the past; but this time she had a vague premonition of danger. She knew that her husband would laugh at her fears if she expressed them, so she remained silent.
The rain had stopped, as Frank noticed when he glanced out the window again.
"It's clearing up. What say we go out for a spin, Joe?"
"Suits me."
"Let's go."
"Don't be late for supper," warned Mrs. Hardy, as the boys started out the door.
"We'll be in time," they promised, and the door closed behind them.
The Hardy boys went out to the shed where they kept their motorcycles. Both Joe and Frank had machines, given to them by their father, and in their spare time they spent many hours speeding about the roads in and around Bayport.
Their native city had a population of about fifty thousand people and was on the Atlantic coast, on Barmet Bay. There were good roads along both northern and southern arms of the bay, besides the State highway and the numerous country roads that led through the farming country back of Bayport.
Chet Morton, whose father was a real estate dealer with an office in the city, lived on a farm some distance off the road along the north arm of the bay, Chet making the daily journey to school and back in a roadster that had been given to him by his father. Chet was as proud of his roadster as the Hardy boys were proud of the motorboat that they had bought from the money they had received as reward for solving the Tower Mystery.
"Where shall we go?" asked Joe, as the Hardy boys rode out of the lane.
"Let's go to the Morton farm and see Chet."
"Good idea. I wonder if he's able to sit down yet," replied Joe, alluding to Chet's practical joke earlier in the day.
The motorcycles roared and spluttered as the boys sped along the gleaming pavements of the city. They rode through the main streets, threading their way easily through the traffic until at last they were at the outskirts of Bayport. Finally they left the city behind and reached the road leading toward the Morton farm. The leaves of the trees were still wet with rain and the luxuriant grass by the road-side glistened with the heavy drops. The air was cool and sweet after the storm. The roads had dried quickly, however, and the boys experienced no inconvenience.
They reached the Morton farmhouse in good time and Chet's sister, Iola, answered their knock. Iola was a pretty girl of about fifteen, one of the few girls at whom Joe Hardy had ever cast more than a passing glance. He lowered his eyes bashfully when she appeared in the doorway.
"Chet just left in the car about ten minutes ago," she said smilingly, in answer to their inquiry. "It's strange you didn't meet him."
"He probably went by the other road. We'll catch up to him."
"Won't you come in?"
"N-no thanks," stammered Joe, blushing. "Guess we'll be going."
"Oh,docome in," said Iola coaxingly. "Callie Shaw is here."
"Is she?" Frank brightened up at this intelligence, and at that moment a brown-eyed, dark-haired girl about his own age appeared in the hall.
"Hello!" she called, smiling pleasantly, and displaying small, even teeth of a dazzling whiteness.
"Let's go," muttered Joe, tugging at Frank's sleeve. He was incurably shy in the presence of girls, especially Iola.
But Frank did not go just then. He chatted with Callie Shaw for a while, and Iola tried to make conversation with Joe, whose answers were mumbled and muttered, while he inwardly wished he could talk as freely and without embarrassment as his brother. At length Frank decided to go and Joe sighed with relief. The girls bade them good-bye after again urging them to come inside the house, and the boys departed.
"Whew!" breathed Joe, mopping his brow. "I'm glad that's over."
Frank looked at him in surprise.
"Why, what's the matter? I thought you liked Iola Morton."
"That's just the trouble—I do," answered Joe mysteriously, and Frank wisely forbore further inquiry.
They mounted their motorcycles again and rode down the lane, out to the road. Hardly had they gone more than a few hundred yards, however, than Frank suddenly gestured to his brother and they slowed down.
Pulled up beside the road was an automobile, and as the boys drew near they saw that three men were in the car. The men were talking together and they looked up as the boys approached.
Something in the attitude of the trio aroused Frank's suspicions, and this prompted him to ride slower. There seemed no apparent reason why the men should have pulled their car up beside the road, for they were not repairing a breakdown and they were still a little distance from the lane leading to the Morton farmhouse. Then, as the motorcycles slowly passed the car and the three men sullenly regarded the two boys, Frank suppressed an exclamation of surprise.
The three men in the car were the three men who had pursued the boys in the motorboat earlier in the day!
Frank and Joe drove past, conscious of the scrutiny of the unsavory trio in the automobile. The men did not speak, although Frank noticed that one of them drew his cap down over his eyes and muttered something to one of his companions.
When they had gone by, Joe glanced back. The man were paying no further attention to them, but were leaning close together, evidently having resumed their interrupted conversation. There was something stealthy and secretive in their demeanor that was far from reassuring.
"Did you recognize them?" asked Frank, when they were out of earshot.
"I'll say I did! The same gang that followed us in the motorboat."
"I wonder what they're up to."
"Up to no good, by the looks of them."
"That's a queer place to park their car—so close to the Morton farm, too."
"They look like a bad outfit to me," remarked Joe.
"I'd like to know more about them. There was something funny about the way they chased us in the boat. And don't you remember how closely they looked at Chet and Biff? It seems funny to see them hanging around the farm."
"Well, they haven't done us any harm. I suppose it's none of our business—but I'd sure like to know what their game is. Let's find Chet and tell him."
They increased their speed and before long overtook Chet Morton on the shore road. But Chet laughed at their fears.
"You're too suspicious," he said. "They had probably just stopped to fix a tire when you came along. However, we'll go back to the farm and see if they're still on hand."
But when the boys drove back to the Morton farm they found that the mysterious trio in the automobile were no longer in sight.
The Send-Off
On Monday, Chet Morton and Biff Hooper set out on their motorboat trip up the coast. They were well equipped with provisions and supplies and had been up since six o'clock that morning getting the boat in readiness.
The Hardy boys went down to the dock to bid them good-bye, and although they chaffed the adventurers and laughed with them, neither Frank nor Joe could repress the disappointment they naturally felt at being unable to go with their chums.
Chet was busy stowing away the last of the provisions and Biff was tuning up the engine when the Hardy boys arrived. In a few minutes Tony Prito, at the helm of his own motorboat, arrived on the scene with Jerry Gilroy and Phil Cohen. Then, down the dock, came tripping Iola Morton and Callie Shaw.
"Hail, hail, the gang's all here!" roared Chet, when he saw them.
"Oy, what a fine day you pick for your trip!" exclaimed Phil Cohen, looking up at the clouds. For the sky was overcast and there was no sun.
"That's all right," answered Chet. "We made up our minds to start to-day and we'd start if there was a thunderstorm on."
"Brave sailors!" mocked Callie Shaw, with a smile.
"How long will you be away?" shouted Frank.
"Until the grub runs out."
"That should be about next December," ventured Iola. "It looks to me as if you have enough provisions there to last you a year."
"Not with Chet Morton on the trip, we haven't," grunted Biff Hooper, looking up from the engine. "We'll be lucky if it lasts us a week. I've seen him eat before."
"I'll do my share," Chet promised modestly.
"We should have had the City Band down to give you a proper send-off," Joe Hardy remarked.
"It doesn't matter. We'll forgive you this time. But be sure and have the band here to welcome us when we come back."
"You'll be back by to-morrow night," declared Iola. "I know you! Why, I'll bet you'll both be scared green when darkness comes on. One night will cure you of sleeping in the open."
"Rats!" replied Chet good-naturedly. "I'm not afraid of the dark."
"Cut out the jawing and let's get started," said Biff Hooper. "No use hanging around here. Are you ready?"
"All set!"
"Let's go then. Good-bye, everybody."
"Good-bye!" every one shouted. Frank and Joe cheered, the girls clapped their hands, and theEnvoyslowly moved away from the dock, with Chet Morton and Biff Hooper waving to their chums.
Tony Prito swung his motorboat around.
"I'll go along with you to the end of the bay," he shouted.
Frank glanced at Joe.
"Why didn't we think of that?"
"It isn't too late yet. Let's get the boat."
"Would you and Iola care to come?" said Frank to Callie. "We're going to get our boat and follow them down the bay a bit."
"Oh, that'll be great!" exclaimed Callie. "I'd love to go. Wouldn't you, Iola?"
"I'll say!" Iola replied, slangily.
They hurried down from the dock and went along the roadway back of the boathouses until they came to the boathouse where Frank and Joe kept their craft.
In a few minutes, theSleuthwas nosing its way out into Barmet Bay, but already Chet and Biff were a considerable distance in the lead.
"We'll have to step on it," said Joe.
"We'll catch them, all right. There isn't a boat on the bay can beat theSleuth."
The engine roared and the boat seemed fairly to leap out of the water as it plunged forward. Spray dashed over the bows as the fleet launch headed out in pursuit of the others.
Frank glanced at the sky.
Biff and Chet had certainly chosen a bad day for their departure. The sky had been none too promising at dawn, but now it was clouding over with every promise of a downpour, and there was a heavy cloud on the horizon. Then, too, there was a suspicious absence of wind, and the bay was in a flat calm.
"I wish they'd picked some other day," he remarked quietly to Joe. "It looks like squally weather out at sea."
"I don't like the looks of the sky myself. However, they're away, so there's no use saying anything. It might alarm Iola."
TheSleuthwas rapidly overhauling the other boats, although Tony and Biff were engaging in a spirited race down the bay. The girls enjoyed the swift progress and were laughing with excitement as they saw the distance narrowing between Frank and the others.
Suddenly a low rumble of thunder caused Frank to glance up at the sky again. With remarkable rapidity, the huge cloud he had previously noticed had spread over the entire sky, causing gloom to spread over the bay. A few white caps were apparent on the surface of the water and there was a splatter of rain.
"Guess we'd better turn back," he said, turning to the others.
"Why, what's the matter?" asked Callie.
"Storm coming up."
The girls had been so intent on the chase that they had not noticed the lowering clouds, but now Callie gave a murmur of astonishment.
"Why, it's going topour! And I haven't brought my slicker with me. We'll be drenched."
"But what about Biff and Chet?" exclaimed Iola.
"I think they'll turn back too when they see what they're heading into," replied Frank. "It looks like a bad storm."
As though in corroboration of his words, a sheet of lightning and a violent clap of thunder heralded the beginning of the downpour. The wind came in from the sea with a violence that surprised them, came whistling down across the bay over a wide line of tossing whitecaps, driving before it a leaden wall of rain.
The two motorboats in the lead were blotted from view, although Frank had seen that Tony Prito was already turning back before the gloomy wall of rain hid him from sight. Slowly, he brought the motorboat around.
The moaning of the wind rose in volume. Waves slapped at the sides of the boat. White spray rose above the bows. The sky was black. The speeding craft fled before the oncoming storm.
But the wall of rain swept down upon them with a whistle and a howl. The streaming sheets of water poured from the dark sky, whirled onward by the raging wind. The boat rocked in the tossing waves.
Frank crouched at the helm, his jaw set, his face stern. The girls huddled in the stern, seeking protection from the sudden downpour.
Joe found a sheet of tarpaulin in a locker, and gave it to the two girls, who draped it over their heads, and it afforded them some shelter. The boat was swaying madly as it ran on through the huge waves that surged on every side.
Frank could scarcely see Bayport ahead through the blinding rain and gloom.
"Where is the other boat?" shouted Joe, above the clamor of the storm.
Frank looked back.
Tony Prito's boat had disappeared. Frank wondered how the other boys were faring. He had every confidence that Tony would make land in safety, for the Italian lad was skilful at the helm and he had iron nerves, but he was not so sure that Biff Hooper and Chet Morton would weather the gale so easily. Biff had only mastered the rudiments of motorboating and a storm such as this was enough to test the mettle of the most skilful sailors.
He wondered if he should not turn back and go in search of Biff and Chet. When he had last seen them they had been heading directly into the teeth of the gale, out to the open sea. Surely they would not be foolhardy enough to go on!
He glanced back and when he saw Iola's frightened face he knew that it was impossible to turn back now, for he was responsible for the safety of the girls and there was grave peril in braving the storm just then. He opened the throttle further and felt theSleuthrespond as it leaped ahead into the tossing whitecaps through the shifting screen of rain.
Thunder rolled and crashed. Lightning flickered across the gray void and rent the dark sky in livid streaks. The waves were tossing like white-crested monsters seeking to devour them. Frank peered through the raging gale and he could vaguely discern the city lying ahead. A few lights were twinkling feebly, for the storm brought the darkness of twilight with it.
The gale had sprung up so suddenly that they had been entirely unprepared. Frank devoutly wished that he had taken heed of the warning given by that ominous sky before he started out in the motorboat. He was greatly alarmed for the safety of the girls, because he knew that the storm was one of the worst that had ever swept over Barmet Bay.
"We'll be lucky if we make it!" he muttered to himself. Then, to reassure the others, he turned and grinned.
"We'll make it, all right!" he shouted, the wind whisking the words away so that the others scarcely heard him.
A great wave broke over the side. The boat reeled as though it had been struck by a giant hand.
No Word from the Chums
Frank Hardy bore down on the helm as the boat heeled over. For a breathless second he thought the craft would be swamped. Water poured over the gunwales. The girls screamed. Joe was thrown off his balance and went sprawling into the stern.
But theSleuthwas staunch. In a moment it recovered, righted itself, and surged on through the storm. Frank breathed a sigh of relief. The engine throbbed steadily and, although the boat was rocking and swaying in the turbulent sea, it was drawing nearer shore and already he could distinguish the line of boathouses through the downpour.
For all its violence, the storm was brief. The wind began to die down, although the rain continued as though the heavens had been opened up. In a few minutes Frank was able to pick out his own boathouse and he headed theSleuthdirectly for it. The sturdy craft sped swiftly toward the open doorway, then Frank shut off the engine and the boat came to rest.
"Some trip!" remarked Joe, shaking himself like a dog emerging from the water, so that spray flew from his clothing in every direction.
"My hair is all wet, and I won't be able to do a thing with it," mourned Callie Shaw, with feminine concern for her appearance first of all. In spite of the shelter afforded by the tarpaulin, both girls were thoroughly drenched. As for the boys, their clothing clung limply to their bodies. Frank clambered out of the boat and moored it fast, while Joe helped the girls up onto the landing.
"We're mighty lucky to be back at all," Iola Morton said. "I was sure the boat would be swamped."
"It takes a pretty big storm to swamp our boat," boasted Joe. "Although, to tell the truth, I was pretty nervous for a while."
"I was so frightened I couldn't speak," confessed the girl. "I do hope Chet and Biff turned back. They would never get through that storm alive."
Frank went to the door.
"No sight of them yet," he reported. Then he peered through the driving screen of rain again. "Just a minute—I hear a boat coming this way."
"Perhaps it's Tony."
"I hope it's one or the other. I couldn't see theNapoliat all after the rain started."
In a few minutes they discerned a motorboat heading inshore. It was Tony Prito's craft, theNapoli.
"Good!" exclaimed Joe. "Chet and Biff should be along, too. They won't start on that trip to-day."
"I should hope not!" exclaimed Iola.
But when Tony's boat drew near the entrance of the boathouse on the way to its own shelter a short distance away, Tony shouted to Frank:
"All safe?"
"Everybody O.K.! How about you?"
"We're all right. Had a tough time getting back, though."
"So did we," Frank shouted. "Did Biff turn back?"
Tony shook his head. "Not a chance. We signaled to him that he'd better come back but he just shook his head, and Chet pointed to the end of the bay. They kept right on going. The last we saw of them they were heading right into the storm."
"Good night!" Frank exclaimed. "They'll be swamped."
"They're taking an awful chance. Oh, well, perhaps they gave in after all. They may have headed in toward one of the villages along the shore. They'll probably be back."
"Let's hope so!" exclaimed Iola. "I won't have a minute's rest until I'm sure they're safe."
Tony went on toward his own boathouse, with Jerry Gilroy and Phil Cohen, drenched to the skin, sitting ruefully in the stern. The Hardy boys and the two girls left the boathouse and were fortunate enough to meet a school chum who happened to be driving past in his car, so they drove home in shelter from the rain. Frank and Joe got off at their home after the chum had volunteered to drive the girls home.
"And I'll make it snappy, too," he promised. "I guess you're in a hurry to get into dry clothes."
"I feel like a drowned rat," declared Callie. "And I suppose I look like one too."
After the others drove away, the Hardy boys went into the house and made a complete change of clothes so that, fifteen minutes later, in dry garments, they were feeling at peace with the world. When they went downstairs again to tell their parents of the adventure they had just experienced, they found Mr. Hardy just snapping the catch of his club-bag, while a packed suitcase stood near by.
"Going away now?" they asked, in surprise.
"Off to Chicago. I just got a fresh clue as to Baldy's whereabouts."
"He's there all right, is he?"
The detective nodded. "I'll just have time to catch this train."
Mrs. Hardy entered the room at that moment.
"I telephoned for a taxi." Her face was troubled. "I do wish you didn't have to make this journey, Fenton."
Mr. Hardy laughed.
"You've never worried about me so much before, Laura. I've gone away on cases as bad as this dozens of times without causing you as much anxiety."
"I know—but somehow I have a feeling that this case is a good deal more dangerous than any of the others."
"I'll be back in a few days, never fear." Mr. Hardy turned to his sons. "Look after your mother while I'm away, boys. Don't let her get worried."
"There's nothing to be worried about, dad. You'll get your man all right."
Mrs. Hardy shook her head. "Youwillbe careful, won't you, Fenton? From what you've told me of this Baldy Turk I imagine he wouldn't stop at anything if he thought you were going to catch him."
"He's a pretty tough character, but I guess I can handle him," said the detective lightly. "Well, here's my taxi. I'll have to be going. Good-bye." He kissed his wife, shook hands with the boys, then picked up his suitcase and club-bag and departed. From the front doorway they watched him clamber into the waiting taxi. He waved at them as the car got under way, then it went speeding out of sight along the shimmering pavement.
Mrs. Hardy turned away. "I expect he'll think I'm foolish for worrying so much about him this time, but I have a queer sort of feeling that this Baldy Turk is the most dangerous criminal he has ever had to deal with."
"He'll deal with him, mother," declared Frank, with conviction. "Trust dad to know what he's doing. He'll clap the handcuffs on Baldy Turk in no time. There's nothing to worry about."
"Well, I hope you're right," she replied. "Still, I can't help but be anxious—"
With that she let the matter drop, and her fears for Fenton Hardy's safety were not expressed again, although the boys knew that anxiety still weighed heavily upon her mind. By evening, however, she appeared to be in better spirits and the boys did their best to amuse her and make her forget their father's absence and his perilous errand.
Next day the boys went down to the boathouse where Biff Hooper kept theEnvoy, but there was no sign of the craft. The storm of the previous day had lasted well into the afternoon and there had been no doubt in their minds but that Chet and Biff had set back for Bayport, but the absence of the motorboat indicated otherwise.
"Let's go up to Morton's farm and see if they did come back," Frank suggested.
"Iola was saying that Chet promised to send a post card from the first village they stopped at. They were to have spent the night at Hawk Cove and he said he'd drop a line from there so that his folks would know everything was all right."
Hawk Cove was a small fishing village on the coast and, under normal conditions, Chet and Biff should have reached the place early the previous evening. A postal card would have caught the morning mail to Bayport.
"Let's go, then," Frank said. "If they went on to Hawk Cove and wrote from there we'll know that everything is all right."
"I'm with you."
The Hardy boys brought their motorcycles out of the shed and drove out toward the Morton farm. They made speed on the run because both were anxious to learn if anything had been heard of their chums. But when they reached the farmhouse and saw Iola's worried face as she greeted them at the door they knew without being told that no word had been received from Chet.
"They didn't turn back," said Iola, almost tearfully. "We waited all afternoon and evening expecting Chet back, but he didn't come. They must have gone straight ahead into the storm."
"Did the post card come?" asked Joe.
She shook her head.
"We haven't heard from him at all. And Chet promised faithfully he'd write to us from Hawk Cove. The card should have been in the morning mail. Chet always keeps his promises. I'm so afraid something dreadful has happened."
"Oh, there's no need to be alarmed," consoled Frank. "Perhaps the storm delayed them so that they didn't reach Hawk Cove until it was too late to catch the mail. Or perhaps they stopped off at one of the other fishing villages down at the entrance to the bay. A dozen things might have happened. You'll probably hear from him to-morrow—or to-night, perhaps."
"That storm was too terrible!" declared the girl. "They should never have gone on. They should have turned back when the rest of us did."
"I guess they didn't want to turn back once they had started," ventured Joe. "Biff doesn't like to admit he's licked."
"Neither does Chet," the girl replied. "They're both headstrong and I guess they thought we'd make fun of them if they had to come back to Bayport and start over again."
"Well, we'll be back to-morrow. I'm sure you'll hear from him by then," said Frank reassuringly. "And if we hear anything we'll let you know."
"Please do."
The Hardy boys walked back to their motorcycles. When they were out of hearing Frank remarked in a low voice:
"I don't like the looks of this, at all! I'm beginning to think somethinghashappened."
Missing
No word came from Chet Morton or Biff Hooper the following day. Although the parents of the chums tried to allay their fears by assuming that the lads had not stopped off at Hawk Cove after all or had neglected to write, as is the way of boys the world over, when three days passed without further news, the situation became serious.
"They were wrecked in that storm, I know it!" declared Iola Morton, with conviction, when the Hardy boys called at the farmhouse on the third day. "Mother is almost frantic and daddy doesn't know what to do. It isn't like Chet to make us wait this long for some word of where he is, particularly when he knew we'd be anxious."
"The Hoopers are terribly worried about Biff," Joe put in. "We went over there last night to see if they had heard anything. Mr. Hooper had telephoned to nearly all the fishing villages up the coast, but none of them had seen anything of the boat."
Iola turned pale.
"They hadn't seen the boat at all?"
Frank shook his head.
"Either the boys were wrecked or they were swept out to sea," said the girl. She turned away and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. She was on the verge of breaking down. "Oh, can'tsomethingbe done to find trace of them?"
"It's time we were getting busy," Frank agreed. "I think we'd better organize a searching party."
"With the motorboats?" asked Joe.
"Yes. We can take our boat. Perhaps Tony Prito will be able to come along with theNapoliand we'll get the rest of the fellows. We can cruise along the bay and up the coast and perhaps we'll find some trace."
"Will you do that?" asked Iola, brightening up. "Oh, if you only will! At least we'll know that some one is searching for them."
"I've been thinking that possibly their boat got wrecked and they were washed up on an island or on some part of the coast a long way from any village," Frank observed. "I don't think they've been drowned. They are both good swimmers and it would take a lot to kill either of them."
"Well, if we're going to go we may as well get started."
"All right, Joe. We'll take some grub with us and count on staying until we find some trace of them. Perhaps two or three days."
A sudden thought struck Joe.
"How about mother?"
Frank whistled.
"Gosh—I'd forgotten! But perhaps she can get some one to stay with her. Seeing it isn't a pleasure trip we're going on, she might let us go."
"Oh, I hope she does!" exclaimed Iola. "As long as we know you boys are out searching for Chet and Biff we'll be a lot easier in our minds."
"Well, let's go back home and see what arrangements we can make," Frank said briskly. "The sooner we get away, the better."
The lads mounted their motorcycles and turned toward the city. The idea of organizing a searching party for the missing chums had occurred to Frank previously, but he had been waiting, hoping against hope that some word might be received regarding the two boys. The fact that Mrs. Hardy would be left alone at home had been the one circumstance that had prevented him from starting out in search of the chums before this, but now the situation seemed to warrant action at all costs.
"If mother is afraid to stay at home alone, I guess the trip is off," he said to Joe. "But when she knows how serious it is, I don't think she'll mind."
"I don't like to leave her alone, myself," replied Joe. "But some one has to organize a searching party. I've been more worried about Chet and Biff than I'd like to admit."
"Me too."
When the lads returned to the house they found Mrs. Hardy opening the morning mail. She had a letter in her hand as they entered the living room and she glanced up with a smile of pleasure.
"We're going to have a visitor."
"Who?"
"Your Aunt Gertrude!"
Frank glanced at his brother.
Well did they know their Aunt Gertrude. She was a maiden lady of middle-age who spent the greater part of her life in a sort of grand circuit series of visits to all her relatives, far and near. Aunt Gertrude had no fixed place of abode. Accompanied by numerous trunks, satchels and a lazy yellow cat by the name of Lavinia, she was apt to drop in at any time in the course of a year, brusquely announcing her intention of remaining for an indefinite stay. Then she would install herself in the guest room and proceed to manage the household until the hour of her departure.
Aunt Gertrude was formidable. Her word was law. And, because she was possessed of a small fortune and a sharp tongue, none dared offend her. Relatives had discovered that the best plan was to suffer her visits in silence and pray for her speedy departure.
Now she was coming to visit the Hardys.
"Aunt Gertrude is coming? Isn't that great?" exclaimed Joe.
Mrs. Hardy looked at her son suspiciously. The Hardy boys had never been known to evince much enthusiasm over Aunt Gertrude's visits before. The worthy lady had a habit of regarding them as though they were still in swaddling clothes and she invariably showed a tendency to dictate as to their food, their hours of rising and going to bed, their companions, and their choice of literature. Many a Sunday afternoon she had thrust on them a weighty volume of Pilgrim's Progress and sat guard over them as they miserably strove to pretend an interest in the allegorical adventures of Bunyan's hero.
"I didn't think you cared for Aunt Gertrude," ventured Mrs. Hardy when she saw that both Frank and Joe were beaming with satisfaction.
"When will she be here?"
"This afternoon, according to her letter. She never gives one a great deal of notice."
"She couldn't have come at a better time. For once in her life, Aunt Gertrude will be useful," Frank declared, and with that, he told his mother of their desire to organize a searching party for the missing chums.
Mrs. Hardy had been deeply concerned over Chet and Biff since their departure from Bayport and now she agreed that a search should indeed be conducted.