Frank and Joe agreed wholeheartedly. Dr. Montrose switched on an overhead bulb, revealing an assortment of discarded articles. There were several battered trunks, a rusty bird cage, and piles of yellowing newspapers. Everything was coated with a thick layer of dust.
“No intruder has been up here or we’d see his footprints.” The doctor chuckled.
Although the brothers had to agree, Frank and Joe still looked behind every piece big enough to conceal a person—or a typewriter. They found nothing suspicious.
When they returned to the second floor, Frank pointed to a latched door at one end of the hall.
“We haven’t looked in there,” he said.
“Just a small closet,” Dr. Montrose replied casually. “No one could hide in it.”
He proceeded down the spiral stair well to the first floor, with Joe following. Frank, lingering behind, determined to check the closet himself.
Moving quickly down the hall, he opened the door and peered inside. The next instant a tall figure loomed up out of the pitch-dark space.
Before Frank could take action, he was seized by powerful hands. The boy started to yell, then the sound was choked off by his assailant’s crushing grip. The man was almost a head taller than Frank, and in the dim light of the hallway it was impossible to see his face.
Frank fought furiously to free himself. The locked pair swayed and stumbled in a wordless struggle. Then one hand of Frank’s opponent grasped the boy’s throat and banged his head against the closet door jamb.
The impact sent a flash of pain shooting through Frank’s skull. With a groan, he blacked out!
CHAPTER XVI
Signals
MEANWHILE, Joe and Dr. Montrose had reached the first floor. It was a moment before they realized that Frank was not behind them. Then they heard sounds of a commotion upstairs.
“Hey! What’s going on?” Joe cried. He ran back to the staircase and dashed up two steps at a time. The doctor followed, pantingly urging caution.
By the time they reached the second floor, the scuffling noises had ceased. Frank was nowhere in sight.
“Frank!” Joe yelled. “Hey, Frank! Where are you?”
The closet door stood ajar. Dr. Montrose switched on the hall light and Joe peered inside. The place was empty.
“He must be up here somewhere!” Joe exclaimed frantically.
They peered into every bedroom and both bathrooms, but found no trace of the other Hardy boy. Then Joe noticed a clothes chute in one wall of the hallway and yanked it open.
“It leads down to the cellar,” Dr. Montrose explained. “But surely he didn’t—”
Without waiting to hear more, Joe dashed downstairs again. “Which way to the cellar?” he shouted over his shoulder.
“Through the kitchen!” Dr. Montrose answered, hastening down the steps behind him.
Joe sped on and descended the cellar steps, pausing only long enough to flick on the light switch. The basement was like a huge cobwebby tomb.
Only a single light bulb was working, but Joe noticed a wooden partition at one end of the basement with the words, LAUNDRY ROOM, in faded paint on the door. He struggled with the latch a moment, then yanked the door open.
“Frank!” he cried in mingled relief and alarm.
His brother lay stunned at the bottom of the clothes chute. Joe slipped one arm under Frank’s shoulders and raised him to a half-sitting position. In doing so, Joe felt a sizable bump on the back of his brother’s head.
Dr. Montrose had arrived on the scene by this time and hastily examined Frank.
“Frank’s had a nasty blow,” he murmured, “but I think he’s coming around.”
After the doctor and Joe had chafed the victim’s wrists for a few moments, Frank opened his eyes and groaned.
“O-oh, my head! ... Wh-where am I?”
“Down in the cellar, pal,” Joe replied. “Take it easy for a bit, and then tell us what happened.”
After collecting his wits, Frank related how he had looked into the closet and been taken off guard by his huge assailant. “Where is he now?”
“Not upstairs, that’s sure,” Dr. Montrose pointed out.
Joe pointed to an open window above the laundry tubs. “That’s how the guy escaped. After he dumped Frank into the chute, he must have slid down behind him and ducked out.”
The doctor looked at the boys blankly. “But what did he want? There is nothing of great value in the house.”
The Hardys exchanged puzzled glances. They were wondering the same thing. It occurred to both boys that the intruder evidently had some knowledge of the layout of the house.
Dr. Montrose and Joe assisted Frank upstairs and made him comfortable in a lounge chair. Here the doctor gave him a whiff of spirits of ammonia and a glass of water. In a few minutes the young sleuth felt fully recovered, except for a throbbing bump on his head.
“I think you’d better call the police, Dr. Montrose,” Joe suggested.
“Yes, I’ll do that, but it seems foolish if the fellow didn’t take anything. Probably he was just a tramp who broke in to get some food. I’ll take a look.”
The physician hurried off to the kitchen but returned in a minute. “That was the answer, all right. The fellow took a lot of food.”
Dr. Montrose dismissed the subject, then asked why the boys had come.
“On several counts, but we’ll make it brief,” Frank replied. “First, a friend of ours is looking for a certain kind of typewriter that isn’t for sale around here. We heard that you have one.”
“A typewriter?” The doctor’s piercing eyes glinted with surprise. “Why, no—no indeed. I’ve never thought of having one.”
“Next,” Frank went on, “we’ve been tremendously interested in what happened at Mrs. Velman’s home. We’d like to hear your theory on it.”
Dr. Montrose smiled. “I’m afraid that I haven’t any,” he replied.
“But you did tell Mrs. Velman and her sister to take sleeping pills right before the robbery!”
The doctor frowned. “I do not like your insinuations,” he said darkly. “I know nothing about the robbery.” He suddenly arose, indicating the interview was at an end. The boys said good night and left.
As soon as their convertible was rolling homeward, Frank said, “Well, do you think our suspicions about the doc should be washed out?”
“No indeed,” Joe declared. “I’m sure he’s mixed up in this mystery somehow.”
“You found something?” Frank asked.
For answer Joe reached into his pocket. “Look at this. It was on the floor in the laundry room.”
He held out a gold cuff link, set with a bluish amber tiger, and on the reverse side were the Oriental characters meaning Hong Kong.
“It’s the mate to the one Iola found at the cave!” Frank exclaimed. “You think this is Dr. Montrose’s?”
“Could be,” Joe answered. “Or at least it belonged to the man who attacked you, and he was no housebreaker. He’s a pal of Dr. Montrose!”
“A long guess,” Frank replied, then smiled. “But a good one. That guy could even be the safecracker!”
“The question is, could he be Chinese and what’s Dr. Montrose’s part in all this?” Frank queried.
“And I’d like to know,” Joe put in, “is he one of the people interested in the Hai Hau? Or, if Dr. Montrose owns the cuff links, is he tied up in any way with one or another of the rival groups and why?”
“And, Joe, don’t forget that Dad said the Chameleon was looking for cuff links like those we have. That could mean the owner might lead us to that man Balarat.”
“First we must prove who the owner is,” said Joe.
“I think we should check on the doctor’s credentials,” Frank declared.
Joe concurred. “For a starter, let’s find out if that fancy diploma in his office is on the level. Let’s see. It was Ardvor College.”
The next morning there was just time enough for Joe to write a letter of inquiry
to Ardvor College. Frank, meanwhile, phoned Chief Collig to brief him on all the Hardys’ suspicions up to date regarding Dr. Montrose.
“I’ll put a detail on the doctor at once,” the officer promised. “Your story is amazing. And I’ll get in touch with your father if you’re in a hurry.”
“Thanks.”
Joe licked the envelope of his letter and applied an airmail and a special-delivery stamp.
“Hey, come on! It’s almost ten o’clock!” Frank urged, with a glance at his wrist watch. “We can drop the letter off on our way to the pier!”
The Hai Hau was ready to pull out as the Hardys arrived on the dock. They climbed aboard and Joe went forward to help Chet with the bowlines.
Two last-minute passengers, a husband and wife, showed up a moment later, breathless and clutching picnic bags. Biff and Frank took their fares and assisted them to embark.
“Another full boatload!” Biff beamed.
Frank grinned with satisfaction. “Nice going. Well, let’s shove off!”
The day’s cruises went off without a hitch. Secretly Frank and Joe kept wishing that they could have worked on the mystery, and radioed Aunt Gertrude several times for news. None came and finally the brothers arrived home at suppertime.
Later that evening they were talking to Aunt Gertrude about Dr. Montrose when the alarm buzzers sounded. The visitors proved to be Biff Hooper and Tony Prito. Both were highly excited.
“What’s up?” Joe demanded.
“Plenty!” Tony was panting for breath. “You remember that yarn Clams Dagget told us about seeing lights on Rocky Isle?”
“Sure. What about them?” Frank said. “They’ve been seen again?”
“Yes. This time by Biff and me. We were out in my Napoli and spotted those lights ourselves! They were blinking on and off, as if someone was sending a message in secret code!”
CHAPTER XVII
The Cliffside Cave
“Wow!” Joe cried. “Let’s get going, fellows! Now’s our chance to find out who’s sending secret signals from Rocky Isle!”
“We’ll have to wait for Chet and Jim,” Biff put in. “They’ll be right over.”
“Okay. We can all go in the Sleuth,” Frank said.
Chet’s noisy jalopy pulled up outside a few moments later. Jim was with him. The other boys rushed out, some sliding into the Hardys’ convertible, the others into Chet’s “hot rod.” They drove to the town pier.
“Let’s make sure the Hai Hau’s all right before we leave,” Frank suggested.
The boys found that Detective Smuff and Patrolman Con Riley had been assigned as police guards for the junk. Seeing the pair, Joe and Frank looked at one another. The two officers were not known as the most astute men on the force.
“Guess Chief Collig didn’t have any others to spare,” Joe remarked with a shrug.
The junk’s owners went on and hurried to the boathouse where the Sleuth was berthed. Within minutes the craft was kicking up a frothy wake in the moonlight as the group sped out the bay and neared Rocky Isle. It loomed up as a black mass on the horizon, with its lighthouse beacon sweeping the darkness at one-minute intervals. At the moment there was no sign of the blinking signals on the opposite side of the island.
“Maybe we’ve missed the senders,” Frank said glumly to his boatmates. He was at the wheel of the Sleuth.
A second later a light suddenly gleamed from the western cliff!
“There it goes!” Joe exclaimed, watching intently so he could translate the message. The light shone steadily for a few moments, then winked on and off rapidly. “That wasn’t Morse code—or International!” Joe added tensely.
Jim Foy nodded. “It must be a secret one!” His companions agreed.
The light disappeared as they approached closer. Frank had fixed its approximate position in mind, and steered toward the jumbled mass of rock that sheered upward from the island’s northern shore.
“It’s starting again!” Biff exclaimed. Once, twice, three times the blinking signal stabbed the darkness. Still it made no sense to the boys.
“If only we can get close enough to see who’s sending!” Joe muttered.
He broke off as the group became aware of the sudden drone of a powerful boat engine. The sound was coming from the direction of the island, but the boys could detect no running lights. Seconds later, they could make out the dim form of a large speedboat. It was zooming straight toward the Sleuth!
“It’ll ram us broadside!” Chet cried.
“No, it won’t!” Frank said grimly, setting his jaw.
He tooted the Sleuth’s horn, which echoed back from the cliff. Still the darkened boat aimed for the boys. Frank turned the wheel to give the other craft plenty of room. It veered, still obstructing the Sleuth.
“That pilot’s crazy!” Tony cried out, then yelled, “Look where you’re going!”
The oncoming speedboat continued to change course whenever Frank did. Finally he decided on a daring move to outwit the person determined to crash into them.
Frank steeled his nerve and held course and speed as the other boat bore down on the Hardy craft. Then, at the very last second, he gunned the Sleuth’s engine and threw the wheel hard over!
With an earsplitting din, the big powerboat hurtled past, missing them by inches! The Sleuth heeled crazily aport in its wake.
Chet was trembling like a leaf. Biff, Tony, and Jim gave weak gasps of relief. Joe felt cold trickles of perspiration run down his back.
“Terrific, Frank! You rate a medal for fast thinking!” Joe called, as his brother sped on. This time the speedboat did not come in pursuit.
“What was that guy’s idea?” Biff asked. “In fact, there were two men in that boat. Wonder who they were.”
“I think they have something to do with the signaling and were trying to scare us away from Rocky Isle,” Frank suggested.
“Then that’s all the more reason for going there,” Joe determined.
“I’ll say,” Tony broke in angrily. “How about our finding those guys and asking what their murderous scheme was all about?”
“Oh, no!” Chet spoke up. “I aim to stay in one piece now that they’re gone. Let’s just take a look at the cliff and call it quits.”
“That seems wise,” Jim Foy said softly.
Frank headed toward the cliff once more, watching intently for any sign of another attack. But the place was quiet.
Suddenly lights flashed again high up on the cliff. They seemed to be coming from some recessed ledge, just below the craggy outthrust of the cliff’s overhanging brow. Then the signals blacked out abruptly.
“Slow down!” Joe called. “Think that speedboat could be luring us into a trap?”
“Maybe. Fellows, get out your flashlights and beam them around.”
His companions did as directed. No boat or waiting figures showed up. The signaling had stopped. The boys held a hurried conference and concluded that by the time they could climb the cliff the mysterious signal sender would have vanished.
“Let’s go home,” Chet pleaded, yawning, but still sweeping the cliff with his light. “I—” The sleepy boy suddenly jumped up and cried out, “Hey, that looks like the entrance to a cave up there!”
His friends stared at the spot on which the beam of his flashlight was trained. “Oh, man, am I ever going spelunking in there! ... No, not tonight,” Chet added quickly as he saw the look of amazement on the other boys’ faces.
Since there seemed to be no reason for remaining longer, Frank headed the Sleuth toward Bayport. Conversation revolved around the lights and the cave. “There might be a connection,” Chet offered.
“And,” Biff drawled, “those signals might just be on the level and have something to do with the Coast Guard.”
Joe grinned. “More likely those phony coastguardmen.”
The Sleuth plowed on. As it came in sight of the Hai Hau, Jim Foy cried out, “Good night! What’s up?”
The dock’s floodlight illumined a str
ange scene. Figures could be seen in wild commotion on the junk’s fore- and afterdecks!
Frank brought the Sleuth to the dock in a hurry and leaped out.
“It’s the Chinese!” Tony cried out, as he and the others raced aboard the Hai Hau.
In the junk’s stern, George Ti-Ming was exchanging fisticuffs with two other Chinese, while Officer Con Riley fought to separate them. The Hardys recognized Ti-Ming’s opponents as two of the men who had wanted to buy the Hai Hau in Staten Island.
Up forward, another hand-to-hand battle was going on. Frank made out the huge figure of Chin Gok locked in combat with two smaller adversaries. The face of one was contorted with pain. Detective Smuff was trying to pry them apart, and in doing so, was catching the brunt of their blows.
Frank waded into the fray on the foredeck. He yanked Chin Gok around by one arm and dealt him a smashing right to the jaw. Chin Gok’s eyes went glassy and he reeled back against the cabin wall.
Tony, meanwhile, had shot a short, jarring left chop to the ribs of another of the battlers, who had not yet recovered from the surprise of this new and unexpected intervention. Jim’s fists, too, were dealing out equal punishment to the other Chinese.
Joe, Biff, and Chet were busy with the fighters in the stern sheets. Within minutes, the battle of the Hai Hau had been brought under control and all six of the bruised and panting Chinese were only too willing to subside.
“What was this fracas all about? And why here on the Hai Hau?” Frank demanded.
Smuff and Riley looked shamefaced, and the latter said, “This guy”—he pointed to Ti-Ming —“came aboard to look around with a couple of friends. I didn’t see any harm in that.”
“Riley’s telling you right,” Smuff spoke up. “Then these other guys arrived with the same story. First thing we knew a fight started.”
At that moment a police car raced up to the pier. Chief Collig and two other officers stepped out and raced onto the junk.
“It’s all right, Chief,” Smuff spoke up. “Riley and I have the situation under control. Pretty bad fight.”
The chief looked hard at his men and said that a bystander had telephoned headquarters about the fight. To the Chinese, Chief Collig said:
The Mystery of the Chinese Junk Page 10