The Hidden Harbor Mystery

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Stop!” ordered Chet. “Here’s the place for our submarine sandwiches.”

  Laughing, the boys parked off the road and got out. Soon they were sprawled on the soft pine needle carpet of the grove, where they could just see the sunlight flashing on the front of the convertible.

  To Chet’s amusement, the Hardys relished the four hearty sandwiches as much as he.

  “Wow! I must’ve been hungry!” Joe chuckled.

  A short time later they were en route again. Suddenly Joe exclaimed, “I smell something burning. Whew!” The next instant he cried, “Pull over, Frank! Quick!”

  Frank swerved the big car onto the shoulder. It lurched to a stop. “Look in the back!” Joe shouted. “The dynamite!”

  To their horror, a crude string fuse, inserted into the box, was sputtering up to the lid. Joe leaped over the seat, yanked the string, and flung it from the car.

  “I thought I heard a car slow up while we were eating,” he said grimly. “But it never came into view.”

  “It probably dropped someone off,” Frank reasoned. ‘‘He,could have put in that fuse, working on the road side of the convertible to keep out of our sight.“

  “He waited until he saw us coming back,” Joe added. “Then he lighted the fuse and slipped into the woods across the road.”

  “Yes. Where his pal in the car will pick him up again,” Frank concluded. “Remember, everybody in Larchmont knew we’d gone to Dobbsville for the explosive. Some of the gang followed us, although there was no car in back of us before we parked.”

  Shaken, the boys went on. Soon they were speeding along the fishermen’s road toward their camp.

  Here they encountered the tall figure of Professor Rand pacing nervously up and down. “I’m so excited, I couldn’t sit at home and wait!” he confessed.

  “We’re all set. Operation Dynamite’s under way!” Joe announced.

  In a matter of minutes the small procession headed for the pond. Chet toted the rucksack of diving gear. Professor Rand carried digging implements and the metal detector. Frank and Joe took turns carrying the box of dynamite.

  At last they reached the water’s edge. The professor had already concurred with the Hardys that it would be best to attempt raising the chest first. Later the boys would show him the place where they had unearthed the Indian relics. “I realize,” he said, “that by now the gang knows you lads have escaped their malicious trap. They may try something worse at any time.”

  The Hardys had just put on their underwater gear when Bart arrived. Then Frank opened the wooden case and checked the paper-wrapped sticks of dynamite.

  “We’ll rig one stick,” he decided quickly. “It may be all we need. Besides, it’s safer that way.”

  With Frank carrying the explosive, the brothers submerged. Joe swam ahead, cutting a path through the cypress roots. Frank followed, and carefully planted the charge near the base of the tree trunk, but at sufficient distance not to damage the chest. While Joe stood by, Frank took a blasting cap from his belt and quickly inserted it into the dynamite. He then connected the cap’s wires to a battery. This done, the brothers struck out swiftly to the surface.

  Swimming ashore, the Hardys led Rand, Worth, and Chet around the bank away from the blasting area. Frank checked his waterproof watch. “Any minute now.”

  Tensely the five stared at the placid waters.

  “There she blows!” Joe sang out as a muffled rumble shook the ground. A sudden agitation showed on the water’s surface as if a geyser had gushed up from below. A grotesque, clawlike root rose into the sunshine, then sank back into the muddy waters.

  Anxiously the onlookers wondered if the explosive had freed the chest. “We’ll let things settle down a bit,” Frank advised.

  When the water had cleared somewhat, many old, long-submerged trees could be seen pushed up into shallow water.

  Frank and Joe, after another minute, plunged in. Knifing downward, they darted nimbly between and under loosened logs and chunks of rotted trees. To the impatient boys, the pond seemed bottomless.

  Determinedly the brothers sought out the site of the ancient cypress. Eagerly they scanned the muddy area, still churning from the blast. Simultaneously Frank and Joe spotted the square wooden box protruding from the silt. They tugged and finally lifted it out. The boys carried it between them, as they swam to the surface.

  On shore, Professor Rand leaped with excitement, while Chet gave a whoop of joy. Bart Worth shouted, “Nice work, fellows!”

  At last Frank and Joe placed the old chest safely on the pond’s bank. The professor grabbed a hammer ready to knock off the sturdy cypress lock!

  CHAPTER XIX

  Sinister Absence

  “WAIT!” Frank ordered. The boy placed one foot on the lid of the box. “Nobody opens this chest now!”

  “Why not?” Bart Worth asked in amazement. “This is what we’ve all been working for!”

  “Bart,” Frank explained, “your libel suit is involved. The chest has been found on disputed ground. If we break the lock, Blackstone can claim we inserted the papers that prove your case.”

  “But Professor Rand is a witness!”

  “Not a very good one, from the court’s point of view,” Frank answered. “He has a quarrel of his own with Blackstone, who could claim some of the money in the chest had been stolen. If we open the box now, both of you stand to lose what you want from it.”

  The professor seemed unwilling to take his hands from the valuable chest. “Surely the law will allow us at least to open it and look inside.”

  “It will,” Frank assured him, “as long as we do so in Blackstone’s presence. There’s no other safe way.”

  “Frank’s right,” agreed Joe.

  Although Professor Rand continued to protest, Bart Worth gave in with a sigh. “I see the point,” he admitted. “After all, I don’t want to damage my own evidence. But suppose the papers aren’t there?” he added anxiously.

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

  Soon the yellow convertible was heading back swiftly toward town. The cypress box rested on the front seat between Frank and Joe.

  Accompanied by Bart and the professor, the boys carried the chest up to the Record office. Meantime, Chet ran off to the hardware store. Soon he returned with a new padlock, which Frank promptly snapped on the box, slipping the key into his pocket.

  “Now, Bart,” he asked, “will you open your safe and put the chest inside, please?”

  Silently, the young editor complied. Then Frank picked up the telephone and called Blackstone’s residence.

  Everyone in Bart’s little office was silent as Frank waited for an answer. Finally the receiver at the other end was picked up.

  “Hello. This is Blackstone.” The big man’s voice sounded considerably weaker than usual.

  “Mr. Blackstone, this is Frank Hardy,” the boy began.

  “Hardy—yes, yes, the young fellow who pulled me out of the water.” The businessman hesitated, then added gruffly, “Have to thank you.”

  “Glad we could help, sir,” Frank replied. “I have some news for you. We’ve found the chest which I believe contains your ancestor’s hidden fortune and family records.”

  “Found it! Where?”

  “At the bottom of the pond, this afternoon.”

  Instantly the merchant’s tone grew aggressive. “You must have trespassed on my property. If you’ve opened that box, or taken anything from it, I’ll have the law on you!”

  “Don’t worry. We haven’t opened it,” Frank told him calmly. “The box has just been placed in a safe here at the Record office. A new padlock has been put on. I assure you the chest won’t be opened until you’re here to watch. How soon can you come, sir?”

  Blackstone’s voice faltered. “Look here, I—I’m still a bit shaky from the close call I had. My doctor insists I can’t leave the house for another day.”

  “Tomorrow night, then?”

  “At nine-thirty,” Blac
kstone agreed.

  Frank went on, “A disinterested person will stay at the office until then to guarantee that nobody tampers with the chest.”

  As soon as Frank had hung up, Bart protested hotly, “I wouldn’t dream of tampering.”

  “I know,” Frank calmed him. “But we must give Mr. Blackstone a safeguard, so he can’t dispute your evidence later.”

  “Who’s this ‘disinterested person’?” Chet spoke up suspiciously.

  Frank and Joe simply grinned at him.

  “Oh, no!” the stout boy protested. “All day and all night I have to stay in this little office?”

  “You’ll learn the newspaper trade,” Joe told him.

  “Sure, sure. What will you two be doing all this time?” Chet demanded.

  “First,” Frank replied, “we’ll show Professor Rand where the Indian village is. We’ll be back here about nine-thirty to keep you company.”

  “That’s better,” Chet said, mollified.

  At a signal from the Hardys, Bart Worth lifted out a cardboard box from behind his desk and set it on top.

  “Here’s a treasure you can open,” he said to Professor Rand.

  The others stood by smiling as the professor undid the wrapping and examined with delight the Indian artifacts unearthed by the boys.

  “Excellent! Marvelous specimens!” he exulted. “I’d like to see the Indian site right away!”

  Accordingly, Frank, Joe, and Rand left the building. Rand climbed into the convertible, but suddenly Frank remembered something. “We’ll need a good rake for sifting.”

  The brothers hurried up the street to the hardware store. Several minutes later they came out with the tool. At the same time, the boys saw a familiar figure leaning over the convertible door. He was carrying on a heated discussion with Rand.

  “Cutter!” Joe exclaimed, and the Hardys hurried forward.

  “No, no,” the professor was saying in a loud voice. “I’ll positively not sell my rights to the pond. Especially not now. That’s final!”

  Cutter’s face took on an ugly look. Before the Hardys could reach him, he caught sight of the boys. He ran down the street, and disappeared around the corner.

  “Let’s go after him!” Joe urged. “I want to ask him a few questions about his partners, Stewart and Jed!”

  Frank held his brother back. “We’ll catch up with him later, after we keep our promise to the professor.”

  As they drove toward the beach camp, Joe said casually, “Sounded like Cutter was offering to buy your claim to the pond, Professor Rand.”

  The gangling scholar nodded impatiently. “Yes. He wants to make it into a fishing club, or some such nonsense. The man’s an infernal nuisance! Just another of Samuel’s hirelings.”

  “That’s funny,” Frank mused. “Mr. Blackstone thinks Cutter’s working for you, and you think he’s working for Blackstone. And he gave both of you the same line about the fishing club.”

  The professor looked up, startled. “What! How do you know that?” he demanded sharply.

  “We overheard Cutter try to buy Mr. Blackstone’s rights,” Frank explained. “Your cousin gave him a final No, and a shaking besides. That was the same night Mr. Blackstone was dragged into the pond!”

  “You suggest I should be afraid of that pest Cutter?” asked Rand with contempt. “Absolute nonsense. I have one enemy in the world: Samuel Blackstone. Even he wouldn’t go so far as to—er —harm me, either with his henchman’s help or without it.”

  The boys did not mention having seen Blackstone strike Rand. But Frank said, “Someone else might—the person who nearly drowned Mr. Blackstone.”

  “Samuel should keep away from the water,” Rand stubbornly retorted. “He always thinks somebody’s out to get him.”

  They had no sooner reached the camp than, to the Hardys’ great surprise, Rand asked them to drive him home.

  “I do want to see the Indian site,” explained the professor in some agitation. “But—well, I want to explore it without interruption. If we go there now, this fellow Cutter might show up and start badgering me about the land. I’ll meet you boys by the pond tonight, at seven-thirty. We’ll go then.”

  Shrugging, the Hardys agreed, and took the scholar to his house. “Be on your guard,” Frank warned him.

  It was just seven-thirty when Frank and Joe, equipped with digging tools, arrived at the pond. They also carried diving gear, in case they should need it.

  “Professor Rand!” Joe called out.

  There was no reply. The boys waited. The sun sank lower. Presently bullfrogs began croaking from the pond and deep within the swamp. Still the tall man did not arrive.

  When almost an hour had elapsed, the young detectives felt a twinge of concern. What was delaying the professor? He had been so eager to visit the Indian spot.

  “Maybe he’s at home and forgot the time,” Joe said hopefully. “I’ll check.”

  He made his way up toward the old house. But in a few minutes he returned alone.

  “I called and knocked,” Joe reported. “No answer.”

  A sudden thought crossed Frank’s mind. “Suppose the professor was so eager he came early,” he suggested.

  “And the same thing happened to him as happened to Blackstone!” Joe finished.

  Feverishly the boys stripped off their clothes and donned their flippers, lungs, and face masks. Then Frank took an underwater light in one hand and submerged.

  He swam steadily along the pond’s shore line. His light showed up the usual stones and sunken trees, but no trace of the missing professor. Frank turned and worked back deeper along the bottom.

  Joe stood waiting tensely as the moon climbed over the swamp trees. Finally Frank’s head popped above the surface and he stood up in the shallows.

  “What luck?” Joe called. “Did you—”

  But horror choked off the words. A dark, slithery creature had loomed out of the water behind his brother. Now, with sharp fins glistening and fantastic head waving from side to side, it advanced on the unsuspecting Frank.

  “Look out!” Joe shrieked. The next moment something struck him on the back of his head, and he fell, unconscious.

  Just as Frank whirled, the monstrous creature sprang upon him.

  CHAPTER XX

  Feud’s End

  SLOWLY Joe opened his eyes. He found himself lying on the floor of a small room. The boy thought he must be dizzy from the blow, for he felt a rocking motion. Then he became aware of a soft lapping noise and sat up gingerly.

  Despite his throbbing head, Joe’s keen eyes took in his surroundings. A dim light was burning in the room. In one wall were two round windows.

  “A boat’s cabin!” he thought.

  Somebody groaned beside him. Frank raised himself up and shook his head. “Where are we?”

  “Wish I knew,” Joe answered.

  Frank made a face. “From the smell, I’d say we’re in the fishing boat Cutter’s been using to spy on us. Say! Professor Rand is here too!”

  A long, angular figure on the floor beneath the portholes stirred, then sat up also. The professsor blinked at the Hardy boys in bewilderment.

  “Are you all right?” Joe asked him.

  “Yes—I think so, considering I was struck on the head.”

  “I was conked, too,” said Joe. He turned to his brother. “Did that monster knock you out?”

  “Must have,” Frank replied. “Last thing I remember is when it grabbed me. Hmm. I wonder—”

  Frank crawled over to a black foot locker with a pool of water spreading out from it.

  “I thought so,” he muttered, peering inside.

  The boy pulled out a large black rubber diving suit, with a sharp serrate fin and enormous rubber head attachment!

  “Here’s our ‘monster’!” he announced. “I thought I smelled rubber when it got me.”

  “Some costume!” Joe exclaimed wryly. “But who was wearing it?”

  “I was!” came a voice from the doorway. />
  “Mr. Cutter!” gasped the professor.

  The tall, pale man sneered at them as he entered the cabin. “Better come down, Jed,” Cutter called. “The prisoners are awake.”

  A moment later the burly, flat-faced man shuffled into the cabin. “You kids won’t be so cocky after this!” Jed rasped triumphantly.

  The Hardys kept cool heads. Now Frank said, “Why not tell us your real scheme, Cutter, since we’re your prisoners?”

  The erstwhile antique dealer answered readily. “I’m after the Blackstone fortune, too. Read about it in a book of lost American treasures. The money, plus the main value of the pond, make it a desirable body of water!”

  “Main value,” Joe repeated. “You mean for your fishing resort?”

  “Won’t tell you that.” Cutter laughed. “But thanks for raising the buried chest. One of my helpers saw you carry it into the Record office and heard you make that nine-thirty date. Through him, too, I kept constant track of you three, your fat friend, Worth, and Blackstone.

  “I made up my ‘monster’ suit to search the pond and frighten away any curious intruders,” he went on. “That included you Hardys the night I made my second dive. See this rope with the weights on both ends? That’s what I used to drag Blackstone into the water. By the way, I was a printer by trade. I managed to sneak into the Record office’s composing room and insert the extra bit in Worth’s story. Thought I’d make Blackstone so tired of the pond he’d be glad to sell.

  “And now,” the man said, as he flashed a self-satisfied smile, “I’m on Easy Street. You’ve done it. At nine-thirty tomorrow night, Stewart, Jed, and I go to that meeting at Worth’s office, settle Blackstone, tie up your friends, and come out with the money!”

  “What happens to us?” Joe demanded tersely.

  “By then you’ll all be out of the picture—permanently. With Rand here, and Blackstone gone, I’ll buy up the pond area. Neither man has heirs. The executors will be glad to sell.”

  “Guess again,” Joe retorted defiantly. “Chet will miss us and think of this boat!”

  “Let him,” said Cutter. “We’re far from our usual anchoring place. Stewart has sent a note to Bart Worth, supposedly from you Hardys, that you’re in a nearby town and will be back for the meeting.”