The Hidden Harbor Mystery

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Immediately Frank ran over to his brother. “Maybe it’s the tall fellow we think is the professor! Let’s take the Indian relics and have a talk with him!”

  Fortunately, the valued artifacts had been locked in the convertible’s trunk. The boys lifted out the carton and set out. Soon, with flashlights off, they were treading carefully around the pond.

  “Sh!” Frank warned the boys and stopped. “I thought I saw something move in the swamp!”

  The searchers peered intently ahead. Everything appeared motionless. Again they went forward. Out of nowhere, it seemed, a gleam of light darted about in the swamp just ahead. As the boys crept steadily closer, they made out a familiar hat.

  “Must be Rand!” Joe hissed. “He’s examining something in his hand.”

  Wordlessly Frank motioned Joe to move up on one side of the man, and Chet the other. The boys set themselves to surround him in hopes of preventing a sudden flight.

  “Help—help!”

  A strangled cry followed by a heavy splash came from the dark pond behind them!

  The long-coated man straightened up and started forward. But he stopped when the three boys broke from cover and dashed toward the pond in the direction of the cry. Now a child’s terrified scream rent the night air.

  Joe, in the lead, reached the bank of the pond first, and beamed his flashlight full ahead. To his astonishment, Grover and little Timmy were running back and forth, wailing and looking in panic toward the water.

  “Quick, quick!” cried Timmy as Joe came up. “Some devil just pulled Mr. Blackstone under the water!”

  CHAPTER XVII

  Underwater Prison

  “WHERE did Mr. Blackstone go down?” cried Joe. At the same time, Frank and Chet crashed through the bushes onto the bank of the pond.

  “Th-there!” Timmy pointed to a swirl in the dark water about twenty feet from shore.

  Chet held two flashlights while the Hardys plunged in. They submerged and stroked downward. Joe, groping his way through the underwater darkness, suddenly grasped what felt like clothing.

  He could barely make out the shape of a heavy-set person. Samuel Blackstonel Seizing one of the big man’s arms, Joe tried to push upward. But he could make no progress. Blackstone was being dragged deeper!

  While Joe kept tugging, Frank spotted his brother, glided in, and grasped Blackstone about the waist. Suddenly the boy came in contact with something soft and slippery, that was tightly clamped around the victim’s body and holding him down!

  “The monster!” Frank thought.

  With all his might he wrenched at the slimy form until its grip was loosened. Though it wriggled back threateningly, Joe pulled Mr. Blackstone free.

  Their lungs bursting, the swimmers bore the unconscious man to the surface. Chet quickly waded in and helped haul all three to shore.

  “Timmy,” ordered his grandfather, “you run up to the house and bring back help. Git, now!”

  Meanwhile, Frank loosened Mr. Blackstone’s clothing and administered artificial respiration. Joe, Chet, and Grover worriedly looked on, watching for signs of life.

  Finally, to everyone’s vast relief, Mr. Blackstone gasped, sputtered, and began breathing.

  “Easy, sir,” Frank cautioned him. “Just lie still and rest.”

  Joe turned to the elderly servant. “Did you see what happened? Tell us everything.”

  “I was taking my walk, as I do every night, when me and Timmy met Mr. Blackstone on the path. He hurried to the edge of the pond like he saw something. Next thing we knew, he gave a yell, and something dragged him right into the water!”

  Now the waiting group heard excited voices, then a series of lights could be seen winding toward them through the brush.

  In a moment three of Mr. Blackstone’s servants, carrying flashes, blankets, and axes, and led by little Timmy, reached the bank.

  “Quick! Cut two saplings,” Frank directed.

  When this was done, the Hardys and Chet constructed an improvised stretcher, and Blackstone was lifted onto it and carried up to his house.

  “Rand,” he muttered incoherently as the boys and Grover waited in his spacious bedroom for the family physician to arrive. “Rand—did it.”

  Frank, Joe, and Chet stared at one another in puzzlement. They listened as Blackstone rambled on, “Rand—sent note—meet him at pond—talk over our differences—Rand did it.”

  At that moment the doctor entered and hurried to the man’s bedside. After a quick examination, he warned, “Mr. Blackstone mustn’t talk or be questioned. I must ask you all to leave.”

  The boys and Grover filed out. Joe whispered, “But Professor Rand couldn’t have been responsible! He wasn’t near the pond.”

  “Grover,” Frank asked, “where does Mr. Blackstone keep his mail? We’d like to see that note from Professor Rand he just mentioned. I assure you we’re trying to help Mr. Blackstone.”

  “He might not like it if I do what you ask,” the butler objected.

  “We’ll have to take that chance,” Frank said.

  The servant nodded and led them downstairs to the study where the Hardys had witnessed the quarrel between the cousins. Grover handed Frank a spindle of papers from the desk. On top was a hand-printed note signed, “Ruel.”

  “I’ll keep this for evidence,” the boy told Grover. “I’ll write a receipt for it.”

  After doing this, the three boys hurried back to camp. There Frank drew Professor Rand’s map from the glove compartment of the convertible, and compared the printing to that on the note.

  “Not the same!” Joe explained. “The note’s a fake! Whoever sent it probably thought forged printing wouldn’t be detected. But on this map Rand uses a little flourish at the beginning of each word.”

  “We must find Rand,” Frank said soberly. “He’s innocent, but not in Blackstone’s eyes.”

  The boys headed for the pond. Off in the swamp they noticed the solitary light still moving about.

  Joe started forward, but Frank restrained him, saying, “No—leave him there. Follow me.”

  The boy led the way to the Rand property and into the underground passage. They then entered the beverage room and lighted the lamp. Frank took care to leave the door ajar.

  “Now,” he said, “we’ll wait for the professor here. He’ll probably come home this way.”

  Some time later the boys heard the door to the passage creak open. Slow, weary footsteps came along the corridor. Abruptly, the steps stopped in front of the beverage room.

  “He’s seen the light!” Joe whispered.

  The Hardys and Chet shrank back behind the door, which moved inward. A tall figure in a raincoat and a floppy hat stepped toward the table.

  Quickly Frank pushed the door shut, and the boys stood against it.

  “Wh-what!” The man whirled.

  “Please sit down, Professor Rand,” said Frank. “We’re sorry to startle you, but it’s very important that we have a talk with you.”

  The tall man sank into a chair. Recovering his composure somewhat, he exclaimed, “Talk with prowlers and intruders! Never!”

  “You are Professor Rand?” Frank queried.

  “Of course I am. Who are you? And why are you snooping around?”

  Pleasantly Frank made introductions, and explained that the boys had been retained by Bart Worth. “He asked us to help him prove that a certain story printed in his newspaper about the old Blackstone family was the truth.”

  Rand nodded. “What has that to do with me?”

  Joe replied, “Mr. Blackstone nearly drowned in the pond tonight. Somebody or something pulled him in, and he’s blaming you!”

  The professor looked shocked. “How terrible! I did not realize that cry I heard was Samuel’s. I was about to see who it was when I spotted you boys going toward the pond.” Rand added emphatically, “Samuel and I may be at odds, but I would not resort to such tactics.”

  “You may be in danger yourself from the same thing,” Frank told Rand
. “You and Mr. Blackstone both claim this pond and the land around it. We boys have a hunch your cousin’s assailant may be a person who has a nefarious interest in this property.”

  The boys then told of someone’s locking them in Rand’s room. The professor’s startled reaction convinced them he had not done it. “To think the scoundrel followed me in and out of the house,” he said worriedly.

  “His accomplice must have locked the closet door from the tunnel side,” Frank added. “They probably planned to harm us later, and didn’t expect us to escape!”

  “It was a close shave!” Joe murmured.

  “We believe the person is doing all he can to block us,” Frank said. “As you know, Professor, we must prove that the Blackstone fortune was made originally by smuggling. We understand the bulk of it is buried at the mouth of a hidden harbor.”

  “Humph! It’s true,” Professor Rand broke in, “if that’s what you want to know. The pond between our properties was old Clement’s harbor.”

  “So we’ve learned. But we need proof,” Frank told him. “If you’ll furnish some, we may be able to give you a start toward unearthing the Indian village you’re looking for.”

  The scholar’s eyes lighted with interest and surprise, although he asked dubiously, “How do I know you can do what you say?”

  In answer, Frank handed over the professor’s own map, while Joe held out the arrowhead and hide scraper.

  This time Rand did not restrain his enthusiasm. “Wonderful! Perfect! Where were these found?”

  “In a spot not far away from where we found plenty of other relics,” Joe spoke up. “But we left most of them undisturbed.”

  There was a moment’s silence while the professor weighed the offer. Finally he said, “I agree to the trade. And I’ll carry out my end of the bargain first.”

  The Hardys and Chet listened eagerly as the professor went on. “I never had the slightest interest in the disputed property until I realized the area near the pond was probably the site of an old Indian village. Before excavating, I wanted a clear title to the land, and that started my quarrel with Samuel. He claimed I actually intended to dig for the buried fortune.”

  “Didn’t you?” Joe asked.

  “Not at first. But when nobody would underwrite the excavation, I decided I would have to find the treasure myself in order to finance it. Then, because I wanted no interference, and Samuel is so touchy about his family name, we agreed to cover up our disagreement. I ‘disappeared’ so I could hunt undisturbed for the money I hope to find.”

  “Both of you want the property for different reasons,” Frank said. “Mr. Blackstone’s mainly concerned about anyone else finding the treasure, because of the family papers concealed with it. Is our deduction right?”

  Professor Rand nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Do you know where the fortune is, sir?” Joe asked suddenly.

  “I’ve known it all my life, but it hasn’t done me any good.”

  “Why not?” Chet burst out.

  “I once read in a letter of my grandmother’s that it was buried beneath a giant cypress at the mouth of the Hidden Harbor. The problem is, where was the cypress?”

  For a moment, all four frowned in deep thought.

  “I know!” Frank exulted.

  Professor Rand, Joe, and Chet turned to him eagerly. “Tell us, pal!” Chet begged.

  “Each time we’ve made a search of the pond, I’ve noticed a section of tangled root ends,” Frank explained, “and, way underneath, a long irregular outline I knew was a huge fallen tree. That must have been the cypress which once stood beside the old channel at the harbor’s mouth!”

  “What are we waiting for?” Joe cried out.

  The professor, as excited as the boys, hurried with them toward the beach. Soon the four, carrying tools, lights, diving equipment, and a metal detector, made their way eagerly back to the edge of the pond. Frank offered to dive first.

  “Look out for the monster!” Joe warned.

  Quickly Frank put on his outfit. He attached the lamp to his forehead and slung the metal detector at his belt. Then, taking a long-handled spade, he submerged.

  Deeper and deeper Frank stroked. His lamp showed up the enormous fallen tree’s mass of roots. Suddenly the detector began to click!

  Frank swam under the huge roots and jabbed the spade into the silt. The steel tool thudded against something solid. Adjusting his lamp, Frank saw by its murky gleam what appeared to be the corner of a wooden chest.

  “The treasure!” he thought elatedly. “The box is probably made of cypress wood to protect a metal chest!”

  The object proved to be out of Frank’s reach. Tough, gnarled roots well over a hundred years old had grown so closely around the chest that try as he might, Frank could not move it by hand or shovel.

  Disappointed, he turned back through the tangle of roots. As Frank twisted in and out, his air line became fouled. It was tightly snagged between two roots! Frank struggled to free the line, but to no avail.

  “Joe and the others expect me to stay down for a while,” the trapped boy thought frantically. “Unless I can signal, they won’t come after me until it’s too late!”

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Dangerous Cargo

  HOLDING his breath, Frank again fought desperately to free his air line from the binding roots. He thrashed his arms and legs in a futile effort to jerk it loose.

  At last he worked one hand down to his lead-weighted belt, where his fingers tore open a small plastic compartment. From it he plucked a white ping-pong ball, which he sent bobbing through the roots toward the surface of the pond. This ball was a trouble signal the Hardy brothers had worked out.

  “If only Joe’s light picks it up!” Frank thought.

  At the pond’s edge, meanwhile, Joe, Chet, and Professor Rand watched the smooth surface.

  “I’m actually going to see the long-lost family fortune,” the professor declared. “I can hardly believe it!”

  “Also,” responded Joe, who stood by in his diving apparatus, “we’ll have this case licked!”

  Suddenly Chet exclaimed, “A white bubble!”

  The next instant Joe spotted the ping-pong ball. “Frank’s in danger!” he cried out and plunged underwater. He stroked down, his light beam piercing the dark water. As he approached the fantastically twisted cypress roots, Joe caught sight of Frank, struggling to free himself.

  Joe drew his knife and moved in, cutting a path as he went. The two stout roots holding Frank gave way before the razor-sharp blade. Seizing his brother’s limp arms, Joe maneuvered him through the roots to the surface.

  For a moment the treasure was forgotten completely, while Chet and the professor worked to revive Frank. Luckily he had held his breath a long time, and had swallowed very little water. In a little while he was sitting up and being rubbed vigorously with a towel.

  “I saw part of a chest,” Frank told the others. “It’s enmeshed in the silt and tree roots. We’ll have to blast it out.”

  The boys suggested that they obtain dynamite and return the following day. Professor Rand agreed to the idea but reminded them that the next day was Sunday. “No stores will be open. We’ll have to wait until Monday.”

  The group agreed to keep the matter a secret, then separated. The boys went back to their campsite, had a late snack, and bedded down on the sand under the open sky.

  Monday morning was clear and sunshiny, as they headed for town in the yellow convertible.

  First, Frank parked in front of a drugstore and went into the phone booth to call the Sea City police. In a few minutes he came back and reported, “They’ve had no luck tracking down those thugs who attacked us in the hotel.”

  The trio decided to enlist the editor’s help in obtaining the dynamite. They went to his office and told of their discovery at the pond. Highly excited, Bart was glad to accompany the trio to make the purchase.

  “Anything to retrieve that chest,” he exclaimed as they entered Larchmont’s
only hardware store. Bart made his request to an elderly clerk.

  “Dynamite, hey!” the shopkeeper repeated in a loud voice of surprise. Other customers turned to look. “One thing we don’t have. Just a minute, though.”

  The clerk went to the cellar doorway and shouted down the stairs. “Henry! Folks here need some dynamite! Know where they can get some?”

  Uneasily, the Hardys, Chet, and Bart glanced at the curious faces peering at them.

  “What say?” came a voice from the cellar.

  “Dynamite,” roared the clerk. “Folks here want to do a little blasting!”

  “Oh, dynamite!” Henry shouted back. “They can get it in Dobbsville!”

  “Thanks very much,” said Bart, and the four hastily left the store.

  As they stepped into the car, Joe noted ruefully, “Well, if anyone in town doesn’t know we need dynamite, they will in a few minutes!”

  “You said it. Around here they don’t need a loud-speaker!” Chet grinned.

  Bart Worth directed the way to Dobbsville. Once there, he and the Hardys entered the hardware store, while Chet went off to make a purchase of his own. He returned with a paper bag just as the others were gingerly placing a small wooden case marked dynamite on the rear floor of the convertible.

  “Dangerous cargo,” Chet remarked.

  “It sure is,” Bart agreed, then asked the Hardys, “Do you fellows know how to handle this stuff?”

  Frank nodded. “Dad has taught us about explosives.”

  “Right now,” Chet put in, “let’s eat!” Happily the stout boy pulled out some huge sandwiches filled with several layers of ham, lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese. “I got four of these for our lunch.”

  “Looks like a seven-course meal!” Joe teased.

  Bart smiled. “I’d like to join you boys, but I have to do an errand, You go on ahead. I’ll take a taxi back and meet you at the pond in an hour.”

  A few minutes later the Hardys and Chet were heading for Larchmont. The car crossed a crystal-clear brook winding through a shady stand of pines set back on a knoll.