While the Clock Ticked

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “The man who drove that limousine was husky,” Joe recalled. “He easily could have been a longshoreman.”

  But Frank noticed that even these men were searched by Officer Callahan as they came off the pier. The boys boarded the freighter, and learned from the officers posted there that nothing had been missing that day.

  Unhurriedly the Hardys moved from ship to ship. Police and company guards were on the alert everywhere. Frank and Joe walked back to the freighter from which merchandise was still being unloaded.

  Several men on the deck were busy operating the huge cargo derrick. Suddenly, as the crane swung dockward with its load, a short, square-built man with a white sailor cap perched on his black, curly hair, leaped ten feet from the deck to the pier and dashed toward the warehouses.

  “Hey!” cried the other men. “Stop!”

  Instantly the whole area rang with the shrilling of police whistles. Frank noticed a suspicious bulge at the back of the man’s baggy trousers.

  Luckily, he and Joe were near enough to give chase. At the same time, Callahan and the watchman named Charlie came dashing onto the pier. All four piled into the fugitive at once! Everybody went down. Arms and legs thrashed. Callahan got up first, dragging the laborer, wild-eyed and breathless, to his feet.

  “Now,” growled the officer. “Talk, you! Where is it?”

  “Talk?” stammered the man in confusion.

  “What’s that in your back pocket?” Frank demanded.

  “Why were you running away?” Joe asked tersely.

  With a look of intense discomfort and dismay on his face, the man reached gingerly behind him. As Frank, Joe, and the two policemen watched eagerly, he brought out a brown paper bag, sodden and squishy.

  “I’d promised to call my wife long-distance at seven o’clock and had forgotten. I was having a late supper, so I just put the rest of the food in my back pocket,” he explained dolefully. “Three big, ripe pears. Sat down on it. Please, fellas, let me off. I’ve got to change my pants!”

  In complete disgust Officer Callahan waved the man away. Frank and Joe, grinning at the ridiculousness of the scene, left the big commercial docks.

  “Let’s take a spin in the Sleuth,” Frank proposed, referring to the brothers’ motorboat. “Maybe we can pick up a clue by cruising around the harbor.”

  The boys pushed open the boathouse door, switched on the light, and looked with pride at their sleek craft. The Sleuth rocked gently on the water. The far door, opening on the bay, was down.

  “Warm in here,” Joe complained. “Funny, the sun’s been gone for hours.” He jumped into the boat and called, “Get the key, will you, Frank?”

  Joe, proud of the craft, put his hand affectionately on the big motor. Quick as a flash he withdrew it.

  “Hot!” he exclaimed, amazed. “Frank, somebody was using the Sleuth not long ago!”

  CHAPTER VII

  Crafty Thieves

  QUICKLY Joe unscrewed the gasoline cap and peered into the tank of the Hardys’ speedboat.

  “Almost empty,” he reported.

  “That’s not so strange,” Frank reminded him. “Chet or Biff or one of the other fellows might have taken the Sleuth for a spin. Funny they didn’t replace the gas, though.”

  As he spoke, Frank walked to the back of the boathouse and felt around on a small shelf, placed high up. Here the Hardy brothers had hidden a key for friends who might want to use their boat.

  “Gone!” he exclaimed.

  Meanwhile, Joe saw that the boat was, as usual, secured with its chain and padlock.

  “Lucky I have the spare key in my pocket,” said Frank. “We’d better gas up, then report this to the police.”

  “You think the Sleuth may have been ‘borrowed’ by the dock thieves?” Joe queried excitedly.

  “Good chance, unless some pal of ours took a real long ride.” Already Frank, kneeling, had unlocked the padlock and removed the chain.

  “But why would the thieves keep the key?”

  “Because our boat would always be available to them. Very handy, if you’re a thief and need transportation in a hurry!”

  Joe walked quickly to the front of the little building, and by pulling a rope, raised the door fronting on the bay.

  “Suppose we look for some signs of the ‘borrower’ before we rush off,” Frank advised.

  He stepped into the front seat of the craft, and examined the compartments in the dashboard. Joe, meanwhile, checked every inch of the interior of the boathouse. But he found nothing. Turning, he saw his brother on his hands and knees under the rear seat of the Sleuth.

  “What’re you up to?”

  “Here, steady the boat,” was the reply. “Everything’s sloshing around.”

  Like all such boats, the Sleuth had a wooden rack placed a few inches above the real bottom of the vessel, so that a certain amount of wash could be collected without the passengers’ getting their feet wet. Frank was probing the murky water under the bars of the rack.

  Suddenly he snatched up something. “Got it!”

  With a triumphant smile, he handed his brother an empty matchbook.

  “‘Bayport and Eastern Steamship Company,’” read Joe from the cover. “It’s a clue, all right!”

  The younger boy joined Frank and took the wheel of the craft. He switched on its powerful lights, and with a low purr the Sleuth headed out into the calm waters of Barmet Bay. The Hardys steered first for the dock of the Bayport Yacht Club, where they had the night pump attendant fill the fuel tank.

  “Wait here!” said Frank, and he jumped to the dock, then dashed away and entered the clubhouse.

  About fifteen minutes later Frank was back. Joe had spent the time checking the motor, which seemed to be in perfect condition.

  “I called every single person who knew where that key was,” Frank reported. “Nobody has used the boat in the past week, let alone tonight! It’s a case of thievery, all right!”

  Joe nodded, and started the motor. “Where to now?”

  “Commercial docks.”

  Joe opened the throttle with a roar. The trim craft lifted her head and sprang forward. Twin arcs of white spray fell away from her bows. Heavy suds churned at her stern.

  The whole bay was bathed in bright moonlight. Far ahead they could make out the black line of rock marking the edge of the harbor, and the open gap revealing its entrance from the ocean.

  A short distance from shore lay the imposing white hulk of the Sea Bright, a passenger vessel which had just come from the Far East. Here and there floated buoys marking the channel for the ocean-going freighters. As the boys advanced, the whole harbor spread out astern of them. They could see the big ships in their piers, and over on the right, the wide mouth of Willow River, with the bridge crossing it.

  “Where did the guy who borrowed our Sleuth take it?” Frank called to his brother above the sound of the motor. His eyes swept the horizon. “That’s a big harbor!”

  “You’re not kidding!” Joe shouted. “Where else could they go?”

  Frank pointed toward the mouth of Willow River. “Up there. It’s navigable for miles and miles. And don’t forget all the tributary streams.”

  “Whew! You think they went up there tonight in the Sleuth?”

  “Could be!”

  Joe piloted the craft out to the middle of the bay, then headed in toward the black hull of the freighter which was being unloaded. He nosed the boat smoothly in between two jetties. On one side was the pier where they had caught the laborer with the squashed lunch.

  “We’re in luck,” Frank cried suddenly. “There’s Chief Collig with Tomlin and Callahan!”

  Bayport’s chief of police had come to take charge of the case which had been vexing his department for months. He was pacing along the dock when he heard Frank shout:

  “We picked up a lead, Chief!”

  Carefully Joe brought the speedboat over to one of the huge piles, where Frank made her fast. In another moment the Hardys and the three
policemen were standing in eager consultation.

  “Somebody’s been using our boat,” Joe explained quickly as he handed over the matchbook. “We’ve a hunch it could be your thieves. One of them left this behind.”

  Chief Collig, a big, bluff man, tipped back his cap and examined the matchbook thoughtfully. Suddenly he made a wry face. With a broad palm he smacked his forehead.

  “Great Scott!” he declared. “You’re right, of course! Know why we haven’t found these crooks on any boats, Officer Callahan?”

  “No, sir,” answered the policeman.

  “Because they’ve taken to the water in wellknown Bayport boats. We’ve been looking for strange craft! Frank and Joe, you’ve given us a real break. I’ll get police launches out on the bay immediately!” He went off to phone orders and soon returned.

  “See any unfamiliar people in pleasure boats around here?” Frank asked Officer Tomlin.

  “Well,” responded the policeman thoughtfully, “one or two launches I know were around earlier. There were men in them, but I didn’t pay any particular attention—thought they were guests of the owners.”

  “Would you consider our boat suspicious?” Frank continued.

  “Of course not.”

  “But that’s the crooks’ idea!” Chief Collig said. “I gave orders to check all boats and the people in ‘em. I don’t care if they’ve been cruising the bay for twenty years!”

  At that moment a steamship company guard came over to the group. Seeing Frank and Joe, he gave a friendly nod. “Came back, eh?”

  “We’re back,” Joe admitted with a sheepish smile. “Catch anybody else escaping with a ruined lunch?” He had mistaken the guard for Charlie, the one they had met earlier. But when the man looked mystified, Joe realized his mistake.

  “Don’t know about anybody’s lunch,” the guard said. “Weren’t you two around here before, while it was raining, in that blue-and-white speedboat?” He peered at the brothers closely. Then he shrugged. “No, I guess it was a couple of older fellows. They waved to me when they were pushing off.”

  “Did you hear that, Chief Collig?” Frank exclaimed. “Whoever took our boat was snooping around here with it tonight, looking for a chance to steal something from one of the ships or warehouses.”

  Chief Collig immediately quizzed the guard. The man replied that the Sleuth had lingered in the harbor for some time. The two men had come on the docks briefly. “I didn’t see ‘em leave with anything,” he concluded.

  “Better check the warehouses and ships,” advised Joe.

  “Good idea,” agreed the chief.

  With that, he strode off the pier, and the other officers resumed their posts.

  Frank turned to his brother. “I’ll walk back to the car and drive home,” he volunteered, “and bring back a new padlock for the Sleuth. That’ll keep the thieves from using our boat, anyhow. This time we won’t leave the key on the shelf.”

  “Right. I’ll poke around here and see what I can dig up,” Joe proposed.

  Frank Hardy knew that his father, as a detective, had found it necessary to keep a supply of all sizes of locks—types that could not be opened by ordinary skeleton keys.

  When he reached home Frank saw that all the windows were dark, except for a dim light in Aunt Gertrude’s bedroom. He let himself into the house quietly and tiptoed down to his father’s basement workshop and chose a suitable lock. Suddenly the boy was startled by a voice demanding sharply:

  “And just what do you think you’re up to, young man?”

  “Why—I was getting a lock, Aunt Gertrude.”

  “Lock! At this unearthly hour? What for?”

  “To change the lock on the Sleuth.”

  “Is that where you two were? On a boat ride? Frank Hardy, it is one-thirty in the morning!”

  “I know, Auntie,” he said cheerfully as he started for the stairs. “We’ll tell you about it later. Don’t worry.”

  “Don’t worry!” she echoed tartly. “I’ll only die of it!”

  Frank grinned. “In a nutshell—thieves borrowed the Sleuth and took the key. We’re going to lock them out—with this!” He held up the gadget. “We’ll be home soon.”

  When he arrived at the harbor, Frank parked the convertible and strode swiftly onto the pier where he had left his brother. Only a few workers were left on the dock, but he could see no sign of Joe.

  Frank hurried to the end where the boat had been moored, and peered into the water. The Sleuth was missing, too!

  CHAPTER VIII

  A Perilous Plunge

  “LOOKING for your buddy?”

  Frank whirled to face the same steamship company guard who had spotted the Sleuth hovering near the docks earlier.

  “Yes! He’s my brother. Have you seen him? Joe was supposed to wait for me.”

  “I kind of wondered about that,” said the guard. “First he went all the way out to the edge of the pier and sat down. Just looking. All at once—about ten minutes ago—he comes running back here like crazy. Jumped in the blue-and-white boat and took off like a shot, straight out into the bay.”

  “Was Joe alone?” Frank asked quickly.

  “All by himself.”

  “He must have seen something suspicious,” Frank decided.

  At that very moment Joe Hardy was bending tensely over the steering wheel of the Sleuth, which was cutting along at top speed. Her prow stuck far out of the water. Great waves of spray were thrown up on both sides.

  But Joe seemed unconscious of the tremendous speed of his craft. His eyes were fixed with determination upon a powerful motorboat running several hundred yards straight in front of him. Two men were seated aboard, one at the wheel, the other looking back frequently as if nervous.

  Ten minutes before, as Joe had sat at the edge of the dock, legs dangling, he had noticed this same boat bobbing beside the big white hull of the Sea Bright. One man had already boarded the motor craft and a second was climbing toward it down the ladder of the passenger vessel.

  Suddenly Joe had leaned forward with sharp interest. In the moonlight he had seen the name on the prow of the motorboat. It was the Napoli, which belonged to Tony Prito’s father. Joe had seen that neither of the pair in the boat was Mr. Prito or his son.

  Now Joe heard a loud, whining roar, as the boat ahead picked up speed. Apparently the men realized they were being followed. The Napoli was showing her power.

  “Come on, girl,” Joe urged his own trusty craft affectionately. He jammed the throttle wide open. The race was on!

  Skimming over the smooth surface, throwing showers of glistening white spray, neither craft could gain on the other. Dark shapes of buoys marking the harbor channel shot by them. The wet, black rocks at the harbor’s entrance came nearer and nearer, with the water of the Atlantic Ocean, lined with white crests of waves, just outside.

  Squinting through the windshield, Joe considered his strategy. The fleeing boat was a swift one. But it would doubtless turn soon, and then, he knew, the lighter, easier-to-handle Sleuth would have the edge. He would cut them off without trouble.

  To his amazement, however, the men held straight toward the mouth of the harbor. “They know their boat is heavier,” Joe reasoned. “They’re going out to sea, hoping I’ll have to slow down or swamp among the swells!”

  Already the big rocks were closing in on both sides. Ahead, the ocean waves broke with a resounding smash along the barrier. The Napoli veered crazily in and out among the closely placed harbor buoys.

  “He doesn’t know the channel!” flashed across Joe’s mind. “He’ll tear out the bottom on those submerged rocks.” Frantically the boy sounded three long warning blasts on his own horn.

  Too late! The other boat, trying to cut round the rocky point into the Atlantic, abruptly stopped short in the water as though a brake had been applied. A harsh grinding noise reached Joe’s ears. Immediately the Napoli’s hull settled stern first into the deep water.

  Approaching the spot, Joe slowed down the Sl
euth. But the two men had already jumped overboard, and after swimming a few strokes, splashed to shore and scrambled to the top of the breakwater. There, for a moment, they were silhouetted against the sky: a short, burly fellow and a slender man almost a foot taller.

  “That short one looks like the man who drove the limousine!” Joe exclaimed, as both men quickly scampered off the embankment and disappeared.

  Carefully Joe marked the position of the sunken boat. Then he turned the Sleuth back toward the piers. As he pulled in, Frank hailed him in relief.

  “Say! What made you take off, anyway?”

  “Plenty!” Joe gasped. “Wait’ll you hear!”

  The tide was coming in, and he scrambled onto the dock unaided. Breathlessly Joe poured out the story of the chase.

  “And the short, burly man,” he added, “was the driver of the limousine that almost ran us down!”

  “Are you sure?” Frank asked.

  “He looked back and I saw his face in the moonlight,” Joe said.

  “We must find Chief Collig,” Frank said. “Maybe his men can still catch them.”

  Joe shook his head doubtfully. “Too easy for those fellows to lose themselves among the rocks along shore. They’re free for the moment. But I know the spot where Tony’s boat is!”

  Just then Chief Collig walked onto the pier. The boys hurried over to him and described Joe’s adventure.

  “We’ll salvage the Napoli first thing by daylight,” the chief said. “How about coming along? Meet me at the police wharf.”

  The boys agreed at once and volunteered to call Tony Prito and tell him what had happened. Then Joe returned the Sleuth to her berth while Frank drove the car there to meet him. Together, they put the new lock on their craft.

  In a short time they were both in the convertible and heading homeward through the deserted streets. A few minutes later they crawled wearily into bed.

  But in a few hours the boys were up. Frank called Tony, who gasped in dismay. “The Napoli! That’s a crime! … Yes, I’ll go with you to see it.”