Mystery of Smugglers Cove

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “And I’m not telling you!” Wester screamed. “No one knows where it is but me. If you’re so smart, figure it out yourself!”

  Further discussion brought no results, and Lieutenant Mishkin stood up. “We’ll take these people in,” he said. “Their poaching days are over.” Then he turned to the Hardys.

  “One of the ecological groups should give you a medal. You’ve helped save an endangered species, the Everglades alligator. Our chopper is back at the camp. You can have a ride to Flamingo if you want. We’ll return your boat and gear later.”

  The Hardys decided to accept the offer. All of those in the house went outside and walked on the board across the moat where the snapping lizards lay poised below waiting for someone to fall in. But everyone made it safely to the other side.

  “I’ll have these ‘gators transferred to the alligator pool,” the lieutenant said. “That’s probably where they came from, anyway.”

  “That’s right,” Morphy confirmed. “Tom and his men dug the trench on Mr. Wester’s orders and then brought them here.”

  “We thought nobody would be able to get across,” Fatso explained. “But the Hardys found a way. How’d you do it?” he asked Frank and Joe in a surly tone.

  “We used a rope provided by Mother Nature, and tied it between two trees,” Joe replied with a grin. “See it there?” He pointed.

  Fatso squinted. “You must have seen too many Tarzan movies!”

  The group trekked back to the poachers’ camp. There the Hardys put their gear, including their boots, into the skiff they had rented. The poachers’ craft and the blue outboard Morphy had used were still there. The rangers took them in tow and, after loading the prisoners onto the patrol launches and informing headquarters about the capture, they started down Moss Tributary.

  Frank and Joe, meanwhile, boarded the helicopter.

  “I’m glad I noticed you on the roof,” the pilot declared.

  “So are we,” Frank stated emphatically. “We couldn’t have handled the gang and the alligators at the same time.”

  The chopper took off and the boys saw how the terrain extended for mile after mile in a maze of swamps, tall grass, mangroves, and small streams meandering through the wilderness.

  When they landed in Flamingo, the boys shook hands with the pilot. “Thanks for the ride,” Frank said. “We really appreciate not having to come back the slow way with our boat. ”

  The pilot grinned. “It was a pleasure. Next time you’re in the Everglades, don’t forget to look us up. And if we’re ever troubled by poachers again, we’ll call you!”

  After eating a hearty meal of roast beef sandwiches and cole slaw, the Hardys caught the ferry to Key Blanco.

  “How about that creep Wester stealing the picture from his own brother!” Joe commented.

  Frank nodded. “It’ll be an unbelievable shock to Raymond when he finds out. And to top it all off, we haven’t been able to come up with the portrait!”

  Once the ferry docked in Blanco City, the boys walked to the Wester home on Smugglers Cove. The housekeeper opened the door.

  “We heard about Mr. Wester’s arrest on the radio!” she sputtered. “Oh, this is just terrible. We had no idea about his criminal activities, believe me!”

  “Harrison Wester was very smart,” Frank said. “He covered his tracks extremely well.”

  “Until you boys uncovered them,” the housekeeper said.

  “We happened to find his headquarters in the Everglades,” Frank replied modestly. “But the credit for his arrest goes entirely to the park rangers. By the way, are Chet and Biff here?”

  “Yes. They’re out on the patio.”

  The boys found their friends reclining in wicker chairs watching the sunset. Chet jumped up when he saw them. “Welcome back!” he boomed. “We hear you cracked the case!”

  The Hardys told their friends what had happened and Chet beamed.

  “I’m proud of you!” he exclaimed. “Too bad we didn’t have a chance to help. It was no fun to be stuck in this place with nothing to do, you know. ”

  “You don’t look unhappy to me.” Joe pointed to a tall glass of lemonade and a plate showing the remnants of cherry pie. “Matter of fact, I think you enjoyed your vacation.”

  “I admit we did a little skin diving,” Chet said sheepishly. “Figured we’d check out the terrain before you got back. You’ll join us, won’t you?”

  “Sounds great,” Joe said. “But our case isn’t finished. ”

  Biff banged his fist in the palm of his other hand. “You haven’t found the picture!”

  “That’s right,” Frank replied. “Wester admits that he arranged the theft, but he didn’t tell us what he did with the portrait.”

  “Well, at least you cleared yourselves,” Chet spoke up. “Even if you don’t know where the painting is, you can prove you didn’t take it!”

  “We haven’t given up on it yet,” Joe declared.

  “But you don’t know where to look,” Chet said. “Seems to me you’re fresh out of clues.”

  The Hardys nodded glumly. Not only were they disappointed about their failure, they were also wondering if another case would ever come their way. They had no idea that soon they would travel to the South Pole to solve the mystery of The Stone Idol.

  Suddenly Joe jumped up. “Wait a minute, fellows,” he said. “I just had a brainstorm. Come with me!” He led the way to the living room fireplace. Reaching up, he unhooked the landscape from the wall and examined it.

  “What on earth are you doing?” Biff asked.

  “Checking the frame,” Joe replied. “As I suspected, it’s been taken apart.” He applied pressure at the joints and tried to separate it at the corners. The landscape stayed in place, but another canvas fell to the floor from behind!

  Joe retrieved it and held it up. His companions saw the face of a man with sharp features, black hair, and a stern expression. He wore an old-fashioned military uniform with a high collar and epaulets on the shoulders.

  “I don’t believe it!” Chet cried out. “Is this the Bolivar portrait?”

  “It sure is,” Frank said. “I’ve seen pictures of him in books. That’s what he looks like.”

  Biff scratched his head. “How did you know where to find it, Joe?”

  “Wester’s an art collector,” the boy replied. “I was sure he wanted to keep the picture and hide it in a safe place after collecting the insurance mon ey.”

  “But he has a lot of paintings,” Chet spoke up. “What made you check this particular one?”

  “Remember the first night we were here? He mentioned then that the missing painting was the same size as the landscape, and that he wanted to hang them side by side. Then he said, ‘I can just see it now.’ That was a private joke on us!”

  “Of course!” Chet slapped his forehead with the palm of his right hand. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Frank grinned, then surveyed the portrait. “Simón Bolívar,” he said. “The Liberator of South America!”

  “Liberated by Joe Hardy!” Biff added.