“You win,” Joe replied with a rueful grin, “but I hate to see—”
“We’ll have our patrol boats keep a lookout for the craft,” the officer promised. “If we find it, I’ll call you.”
It was late afternoon when the Napoli plowed through rough water on her return to the Hardy boathouse. To seaward, the wall of mist had mounted higher and moved in closer, so that now it seemed almost at the harbor’s mouth.
“The fog’s coming in fast,” Jerry remarked as Frank, Joe, Chet, and Biff disembarked. The Hardys thanked Tony for his help.
“That’s okay,” he replied. “It’s getting late. We’d all better go home and get ready for Callie’s party.”
“Don’t forget your costume,” Joe called as the Napoli churned away. He turned to Chet and Biff. “How about you, fellows? Are you all set for the masquerade?”
“I am!” The fat boy chuckled in anticipation. “Wait’ll you see what I’m going to wear!”
Biff grinned. “Even you detectives won’t know us.”
“We just have time to pick up our costumes from Mr. French before he closes,” Frank noted.
A few minutes later there was a clatter as Chet backed his jalopy onto Shore Road and he and Biff drove off.
The Hardys kicked their motorcycles into life and started toward town. When they reached Bayport’s main street most of the stores were closing.
“We’re in luck!” Frank declared as he parked in front of the costume store. “It’s still open. Mr. French has a couple of customers in there!”
The boys hurried toward the door. Through the wide shopwindow they could see the tall, spare proprietor, with thinning blond hair and a small graying mustache. He was talking earnestly to two men whose backs were turned. None of them noticed the boys.
As Frank pushed open the door, Mr. French stopped speaking. The taller of the strangers raised his voice and said in an ugly tone:
“Well, you’re in this now, French, and don’t you forget it!”
CHAPTER III
Faces in the Fog
THE door clicked shut behind the Hardys and the speaker whirled. He was a slight man with gray hair, pale skin, and small dark eyes. His brow was furrowed in a deep scowl, but in a flash he assumed a genial smile.
“Hello there. You startled me. I didn’t hear you come in.”
His companion was short and darkly tanned, with almost white-blond hair. He gave a little laugh and nodded. Even Mr. French assumed a thin smile, though his eyes had a worried and uncertain look.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Frank said, “but we’ve come for our costumes.”
“You didn’t interrupt anything, fellows,” the blond man assured them. “Just a little standing joke we have with Mr. French. We’ve known him for years. But every time we come to town he says he won’t go out for a good time with us. So we have to get tough with him. Isn’t that right, French?”
The shopkeeper smiled weakly and stammered, “Yes ... of course ... that’s right.” Nervously he fingered a small costume box on the counter in front of him. Then, to Frank and Joe’s surprise, he added, “These are the sons of the famous detective, Fenton Hardy. Excuse me, I’ll get their costumes.” He hurried into the back room.
Both strangers looked steadily at the boys a few moments before the gray-haired man spoke up. “I recollect that your father was once an eminent member of the New York City police force.”
“That’s right,” Frank replied.
“And haven’t you young lads received attention in the public eye for your own exploits?”
Frank and Joe looked uncomfortable at the flattery. Before they could answer, Mr. French returned with two cardboard boxes. He opened one and took out a hairy-skinned gorilla costume. Its ferocious head was a rubber mask to fit over Frank’s head.
“Going to a party, eh?” asked the white-haired man.
“Where will the festivities be held?” inquired the other.
“At a friend’s house,” Frank replied evasively.
“Of course.” The man gave him a hard look. Then, taking the small costume box from the counter, he said, “Well, we wish you a pleasant evening, young gentlemen. Good night, Mr. French!”
With a cheery wave of the hand, the gray-haired stranger went out the door, followed by his short companion. As they walked past the window, the Hardys looked them over carefully.
“Is my suit ready too, Mr. French?” Joe asked, after the men had passed from sight.
“Yes—the magician’s outfit. Here it is.”
The shopkeeper opened the other box and held up a rubber mask with a long nose, sinister slanting eyes, black mustache, and goatee. Joe looked at it for a moment with approval, then returned it to the box.
“We’ll bring the costumes back tomorrow,” he promised, and the brothers left the shop.
“Something queer was going on in there,” Frank said as they placed the boxes in the carriers of their motorcycles.
“I think that gray-haired fellow was threatening Mr. French,” Joe declared. “Old friends, my foot! Did you notice how Mr. French tried to cover it up?”
“Maybe he didn’t dare do anything else,” Frank suggested. “He looked scared to me. Let’s ask him about it tomorrow. He might be in some kind of trouble.”
“Okay,” his brother agreed as they mounted their motorcycles. “But we’re going to be busy on that Shantytown case.”
Minutes later, the two motorcycles swung into the Hardy driveway. “Say, I have an idea!” Joe said, as the boys left the garage together. “Let’s put on our masks and give Mother and Aunt Gertrude a surprise.”
Frank chuckled. “I’ll ask what’s new at the zoo.”
The brothers pulled the false faces over their heads and went to the front door. As Joe pressed the doorbell, chimes sounded within. The boys thrust their faces forward.
After a pause the door was opened by a tall, thin woman whose angular frame froze momentarily to stiff attention. Her mouth opened and closed twice. On the third try her voice succeeded.
“You’re repulsive! Go away!” she cried and slammed the door.
The brothers burst into laughter. “Poor Aunt Gertrude!” said Frank. “It isn’t often we can fool Dad’s smart sister!”
The door opened again, revealing a handsome man with the build of an athlete. “What’s going —?” Then he began to laugh. “Okay, you nuts. Come in.” Frank and Joe ripped off the masks and walked into the living room.
“You!” Aunt Gertrude exclaimed.
“We’re sorry, Auntie,” Frank said. “Joe and I didn’t mean to scare you so badly. These are masks we’re wearing to a masquerade party tonight.”
Mrs. Hardy, their slim, attractive mother, smiled. “They are realistic. No wonder you were frightened, Gertrude!”
When Miss Hardy was mollified, the family sat down to a delicious chicken dinner. Between mouthfuls, Frank and Joe told about the near collision on the bay and of their conference with Chief Collig.
“It could be an important case,” Mr. Hardy said. “Good luck.”
But his sister had other ideas. “I don’t like it in the least,” she declared. “Two young boys among those roughnecks in Shantytown!”
“Frank and Joe know how to take care of themselves,” Mrs. Hardy said. “Don’t worry.”
“I’m warning you,” Aunt Gertrude said to the boys. “One of these days something terrible will happen to you! Just remember I told you so.”
Seeing the teasing twinkle in Joe’s eye, Mrs. Hardy spoke up quickly before he could reply. “Where’s the big party tonight?”
“Callie Shaw‘s,” Joe answered. “Frank can’t wait to see her.”
“Oh-ho!” his father teased. “And I suppose you, Joe, won’t look for Iola Morton as soon as you get there?”
The brothers grinned at the mention of the two girls they liked best.
“Callie and Iola are giving the party together,” Frank explained. “That reminds me, Joe. We’re supposed to pick up th
e ice cream!”
A short time later, as Frank and Joe stepped from the house, they noted the gray, leaden sky overhead.
“Looks as if that fogbank has moved in from the bay,” Joe commented. “It’ll be thick downtown.”
After stowing their costumes in the carrier behind Frank’s motorcycle, the two boys set off for the center of Bayport. White wisps of fog swirled in the glare of their headlights and almost blotted out traffic. Both riders slowed to a cautious pace.
At last the boys maneuvered to a stop in Milton Place just off Main Street. Through the fog and gathering dusk, vague lights could be seen in the big brick building on the opposite corner.
“They’re working overtime at the bank,” Joe pointed out and grinned. “Counting the extra money they took in during evening hours.”
The brothers walked around the corner onto Main Street and entered a soda shop. Minutes later they emerged, each carrying a two-gallon drum of ice cream packed in dry ice.
“Wow! This is cold!” said Joe, as they turned into the alley.
Frank and Joe placed the cylinders in Joe’s carrier. “Now for the party!” Frank grinned.
Suddenly they heard a harsh grating noise and looked down the narrow street to see a heavy side door swing open in the bank building. There was a clatter of footsteps on concrete, and four men hurried from inside, carrying white sacks. Their faces looked like those of hideous beasts!
For an instant the Hardys stood paralyzed with surprise until Frank cried out, “It’s a bank robbery!”
In a split second the men dived into a waiting sedan. Its powerful engine roared. As the getaway car moved down Milton Place through the mist, a bank custodian raced out and fired his revolver at one of the car’s tires, but missed.
“Let’s tail ‘em, Joe!” cried Frank, leaping onto his motorcycle.
CHAPTER IV
A Daring Getaway
FRANK and Joe gunned their motors and took off down the narrow street after the bank robbers. Tires screamed as pursuers and pursued careened through the fog-filled streets toward the Bayport waterfront district. Through the haze, the boys could see the red taillights of the bank robbers’ car.
“They’re heading for the docks!” Joe shouted as he recognized the long, dark shapes of warehouses on both sides of the murky street.
The fleeing car shot out onto a wide pier, lighted at intervals by yellow fog lamps. Ahead, a four-foot wire fence barred motorists from the pier’s end.
• Brakes squealed sharply. In the amber glow, the Hardys saw the four doors of the thieves’ car pop open at once. Five dark-coated figures piled out and jumped the fence.
The Hardys’ motorcycles screeched to a halt behind the empty getaway car. “Stop!” shouted Frank, leaping off. “Help! Police!”
A clatter of footsteps sounded far out on the jetty. Frank and Joe vaulted the fence and sprinted in pursuit.
The sound of heavy breathing told them they were nearing their quarry. But as the boys reached the end of the long pier a powerful boat engine suddenly roared to life.
There was a churning of water, a whiff of gasoline smoke, and the sound of men jumping into the boat. Then the craft gained headway in the darkness of the bay.
“We can still stop them!” Frank exclaimed. “The Coast Guard station’s on the next pier. Come on, Joe!”
The boys dashed back, cleared the barrier, and ran past their motorcycles. Suddenly they heard shouts and footfalls approaching along the pier.
Omph! With stunning impact, Joe collided head-on with a running man.
“Look out!” Frank shouted as strong arms grasped him.
“Halt!” a voice ordered. “We’ve got you!” A whistle pierced the air. For a moment all was confusion. “Now—what’s going on here?” demanded the authoritative voice.
“Let us go! Bank robbery! We need the Coast Guard!” Frank said, gasping.
“We are the Coast Guard,” replied the voice, and a flashlight shone through the fog. “Why, it’s the Hardy boys. Release them, men,” said Lieutenant Parker.
“We heard somebody shouting for police,” he added. “What’s this about bank robbers?”
After Frank had explained, the officer said, “I’ll dispatch a cutter after the bandits right away.” Lieutenant Parker and his men raced off.
Moments later, a police car sped onto the pier, its siren wailing and red top light blinking. It stopped and three uniformed men leaped out.
“There’s the car!” cried one of the men. Even in the heavy fog, Frank and Joe recognized him as the bank guard who had fired the shots after the fleeing robbers. “The crooks got into that car, and then these motorcycles raced off with them.”
Suddenly he spotted Frank and Joe. “Those are the bodyguards who rode the motorcycles. Grab ’em!”
A grim-faced policeman, gun in hand, ordered Frank and Joe to come forward. Apparently he and the officer with him were new members of Bayport’s police department, for the boys had never seen them before.
“All right, what do you two have to say about this?” the patrolman demanded. Again Frank told what had happened.
The policeman turned to the guard. “Is that the way it was?”
“Yes—no—” the man stammered, highly excited. “The robbers had on hats and pea jackets. And they wore horrible-looking masks.”
“Look at this!” called the second policeman, who had been examining the car and the motorcycles. He came over, holding up the gorilla face in one hand and the magician mask in the other. “These were in the carrier of that cycle. I guess we’ve got two members of the gang.”
“Now wait a minute!” Joe began, but the wail of a siren cut him short.
Two more police cars arrived and heavily armed men poured from both cruisers.
The first officer to reach the group was Chief Collig. “We got your radio call!” he told the policemen briefly. “Any sign of the bank robbers?”
“Two of them—right here!” the man replied. He jerked a thumb at the Hardys.
Joe stepped forward quickly into the beam of yellow fog light. “Hello, Chief!”
“Frank! Joe!” Collig cried out in astonishment. “How did you get here?” He faced the startled rookies and said, “These boys are all right.”
“But,” one of the men protested, “according to the bank guard the thieves wore masks. And we found these on one of the cycles.” He handed Chief Collig the false faces.
“You’ll find four gallons of ice cream, too, Chief,” Frank put in. “We’re on our way to Callie Shaw’s masquerade party.”
The chief laughed heartily, but quickly became serious again. “Any suspicion of these boys is nonsense. Now, what about the bank robbers?”
Quickly Frank told him all that had happened.
“I guess it was too foggy to see their getaway boat,” the chief said gloomily.
“That’s right,” Joe answered, “but from the sound of it, I’d say it was an open speedboat, with a powerful inboard motor.”
There was the ringing of bells and the deep rumble of engines from the next pier.
“The Coast Guard is taking the cutter,” Frank said. “But even their powerful searchlights won’t pierce through this pea soup.”
“Their best bet is to crisscross the bay and perhaps close in on the robbers,” Joe added.
“And for that a little boat is as good as a big one,” Frank said excitedly. “Joe, do you think the Sleuth is in good enough shape to take out?”
“It’s worth a try,” his brother assented.
Chief Collig nodded approvingly. “The more boats we send out, the better our chances,” he said. “I’ll dispatch the police cruiser, too.”
Frank and Joe swung onto their motorcycles and roared off the pier and along the Shore Road toward their boathouse as fast as they dared in the heavy fog.
Guessing they were near the private docks, the boys pulled off the road and parked. Each took a flashlight from the carrier of his motorcycle.
&nbs
p; After a short walk they found their boathouse. Joe reached the small door and took out his key. He gave a cry.
“The lock’s broken off!”
“What!” Frank exclaimed.
He swung the door open and beamed his flashlight inside the building.
The Sleuth was gone!
CHAPTER V
Dancing Gorillas
FOR A moment Frank and Joe stared at the empty boathouse unbelievingly. “I’ll bet the bank robbers stole the Sleuth!” Joe exploded.
“If they did,” Frank said with a grim smile, “they may be surprised. That rudder is only temporarily repaired. It won’t last long.”
“Let’s go after them!” Joe urged. “We’ll call Tony to bring the Napoli.”
“Okay,” Frank said. “He’ll be at Callie’s now.”
The Hardys hurried to their motorcycles and headed back toward town. When they reached the piers, they stopped at a public telephone booth outside a warehouse. Joe dialed the call and returned after a short conversation.
“Tony will meet us at the Coast Guard station,” he reported to Frank. “Come on!”
When the Hardys walked in they found that Chief Collig had turned the place into a temporary headquarters. He was questioning three bank tellers who had been brought there at the chief’s request. One teller was giving his account:
“The four men must have hidden in another part of the bank. Just after we closed tonight, the robbers rushed into the main room together. Three came to our cages and forced us at gun point to put all the money into their sacks, while the fourth went to the side door. Then they warned us to keep still, and backed out the door. Our vault custodian fired after their car, but had no luck.”
“Can you describe just one of the gang?” Collig asked wearily. “Any one that sticks in your mind? Was he short or tall? Fat or skinny?”
“I already told you,” the man said doggedly. “They were all the same size.”
“But blast it, man, that’s impossible!” the chief exploded. “I don’t have four identically built men on my whole force!”
“They were all the same size,” the teller repeated, growing sullen. “They wore masks.”
The Missing Chums Page 2