The House on the Cliff

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “That’s right. They could have come right out from under the cliff.”

  “You mean, Frank, there might be a secret harbor in there?”

  “Might be. Here’s the way it could work. Dad suspects smugglers are operating in this territory from a base that he has been unable to find.” Frank spread his arms. “The base is the old Pollitt place! What more do you want?”

  “But the house is on top of a cliff.”

  “There could be a secret passage from the house to a hidden harbor at the foot of the cliff.”

  “Good night, Frank, it sure sounds reasonable!”

  “And perhaps that explains why the kidnapers got away with Jones so quickly on Saturday. If they left the Kane farmhouse just a little while before we did, we should have been able to get within sight of their car. But we didn’t.”

  “You mean they turned in at the Pollitt place?”

  “Why not? Probably Jones is hidden there right now.”

  “And maybe Dad too,” Joe cried out excitedly.

  “That’s right. I’m against just sitting and waiting for the state troopers to find him. How about asking Tony if he will lend us his motorboat, so we can investigate the foot of that cliff?”

  “I get you!” Joe agreed enthusiastically. “And if we pick up any information we can turn it over to the State Police and they can raid the Pollitt place!”

  CHAPTER X

  A Watery tunnel

  WHEN the brothers arrived home Frank and Joe assured their mother that the State Police would soon find Mr. Hardy. Some of the anxiety left her face as she listened to her sons’ reassuring words.

  When she went to the kitchen to start preparations for supper, the boys went to phone Tony Prito. After Frank explained their plan to him, he agreed at once to let them use the Napoli, provided they took him along.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” he said. “But I can’t go until afternoon. Have to do some work for my dad in the morning. I’ll meet you at the boathouse at two o’clock.”

  “Swell, Tony. I have a job of my own in the morning.”

  Chet called a few minutes later. As Frank finished telling him about the plan, he whistled. “You fellows have got your nerve all right. But count me in, will you? I started this thing with you and I’d like to finish it. We’ve got to find your father!”

  After Chet had said good-by, Joe asked his brother, “What’s on for the morning?”

  “I want to go down to the waterfront and talk to Pretzel Pete again. He might have another clue, Also, I want to find out when the Marco Polo is due back here.”

  Joe nodded. “I get it. You think something may be going on then?”

  “Right. And if we can find Dad and lead the Coast Guard to the smugglers before the boat docks—”

  “Brother, that’s a big order.”

  By nine o’clock the following morning Frank and Joe were down at the Bayport docks. Pretzel Pete was not in evidence.

  “We’d better be cagey about asking when the Marco Polo’s coming in,” Frank cautioned. “The smugglers probably have spies around here and we’d sure be targets.”

  Acting as if there were no problems on their minds, Frank and Joe strolled along whistling. Once they joined a group of people who were watching a sidewalk merchant. The man was demonstrating little jumping animals. Frank and Joe laughed as they bought a monkey and a kangaroo. “Iola and Callie will get a kick out of these,” Joe predicted.

  “Say, Frank, here comes Pretzel Pete now!” Joe whispered.

  The Hardys went up the street, saying in a loud voice in case anyone was listening, that they were hungry and glad to see Pete.

  “Nobody can make pretzels like yours,” Joe exclaimed. “Give me a dozen. Two for my mouth and ten for my pockets.”

  As Pretzel Pete laughed and pulled out a cellophane bag to fill the order, Frank said in a whisper, “Heard anything new?”

  “Not a thing, son.” Pete could talk without moving his lips. “But I may know something tomorrow.”

  “How come?"

  “The Marco Polo’s docking real early—five A.M. I heard Ali Singh is one of the crew. I’ll try to get a line on him.”

  “Great! We’ll be seeing you.”

  The boys moved off, and to avoid arousing any suspicion as to why they were in the area, headed for a famous fish market.

  “Mother will be surprised to see our morning’s catch,” Joe said with a grin as he picked out a large bluefish.

  The brothers did not discuss the exciting information Pretzel Pete had given them until they were in the safety of their own home. Then Joe burst out, “Frank, if the Marco Polo gets offshore during the night, it’ll have to lay outside until it’s time to dock!”

  “And that’ll give those smugglers a real break in picking up the stolen drugs!” Frank added. “Maybe we should pass along our suspicions to the Coast Guard.”

  “Not yet,” Joe objected. “All we have to go on is Pretzel Pete’s statements about Ali Singh. Maybe we’ll learn more this afternoon and then we can report it.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Frank concluded. “If those smugglers are holding Dad, and find out that we’ve tipped off the Coast Guard, they’ll certainly harm him.”

  “You have a point.”

  When Frank and Joe reached the Prito boathouse at two o’clock, Tony and Chet were already there. Tony was tuning up the motor, which purred evenly.

  “No word from your dad yet?” Tony asked. The Hardys shook their heads as they stepped aboard.

  The Napoli was a rangy, powerful craft with graceful lines and was the pride of Tony’s life. The boat moved slowly out into the waters of Barmet Bay and then gathered speed as it headed toward the ocean.

  “Rough water,” Frank remarked as breaking swells hit the hull. Salt spray dashed over the bow of the Napoli as it plunged on through the white-caps. Bayport soon became a speck nestled at the curve of the horseshoe-shaped body of water. Reaching the ocean, Tony turned north. The boys could see the white line of the shore road rising and falling along the coast. Soon they passed the Kane farm. Two miles farther on they came within sight of the cliff upon which the Pollitt house stood. It looked stark and forbidding above the rocks, its roof and chimneys silhouetted against the sky.

  “Pretty steep cliff,” Tony observed. “I can’t see how anyone could make his way up and down that slope to get to the house.”

  “That’s probably why nobody has suspected the place of being a smuggling base,” Frank replied. “But perhaps when we look around we’ll find an answer.”

  Tony steered the boat closer toward the shore, so that it would not be visible from the Pollitt grounds. Then he slackened speed in order that the sound of the engine would be less noticeable, and the craft made its way toward the bottom of the cliff.

  There were currents here that demanded skillful navigation, but Tony brought the Napoli through them easily, and at last the boat was chugging along close to the face of the cliff.

  The boys eagerly scanned the formidable wall of rock. It was scarred and seamed and the base had been eaten away by the incessant battering of waves. There was no indication of a path.

  Suddenly Tony turned the wheel sharply. The Napoli swerved swiftly to one side. He gave it power and the craft leaped forward with a roar.

  “What’s the matter?” Frank asked in alarm.

  Tony gazed straight ahead, tense and alert. Another shift of the wheel and the Napoli swerved again.

  Then Chet and the Hardys saw the danger. There were rocks at the base of the cliff. One of them, black and sharp, like an ugly tooth, jutted out of the water almost at the boat’s side. Only Tony’s quick eye had saved the Napoli from hitting it!

  They had blundered into a veritable maze of reefs which extended for several yards ahead. Tony’s passengers held their breaths. It seemed impossible that they could run the gantlet of those rocks without tearing out the bottom of the craft.

  But luck was with them. The Napoli dod
ged the last dangerous rock, and shot forward into open water.

  Tony sank back with a sigh of relief. “Whew, that was close!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t see those rocks until we were right on top of them. If we’d ever struck one of them we’d have been goners.”

  Frank, Joe, and Chet nodded in solemn agreement. Then, suddenly, Frank cried out, “Turn back! I think I saw an opening!”

  Tony swung the boat around. The opening which Frank had spotted was a long, narrow tunnel. It led right through the cliff!

  “This might be the secret entrance!” Joe exclaimed.

  “I think it’s large enough for the boat to go through,” said Tony. “Want me to try it?”

  Frank nodded tensely. “Go ahead.”

  The Napoli slipped through the opening and in a few moments came out into a pond of considerable extent. The boys looked about expectantly. Steep slopes covered with scraggly trees and bushes reached to the water’s edge. But there was no path or indication that any human being ever came down to the pond.

  Suddenly Frank gave a gasp of surprise and said, “Look to my right, fellows.”

  Among the thickets at the base of the steepest slope stood a man. He was very tall, his face was weather-beaten, and his lips thin and cruel. He stood quietly, looking at the boys without a shadow of expression on his sinister face.

  Upon realizing he had been observed, the man shouted, “Get out of here!”

  Tony throttled the engine and Frank called, “We aren’t doing any harm.”

  “I said ‘Get out!’ This is private property.”

  The boys hesitated. Instantly the man, as though to back up his commands, reached significantly toward the holster of a revolver.

  “Turn that boat around and beat it!” he mapped. “And don’t ever come back here! Not if you know what’s good for you.”

  The boys realized that nothing would be gained by argument. Tony slowly brought the boat around.

  “Okay,” Joe called cheerfully.

  The stranger did not reply. He stood gazing fixedly after them, his left hand pointing to the exit, his right tapping the gun holster, as the motorboat made its way out through the tunnel

  “Looks as if he didn’t want us around,” remarked Tony facetiously, as soon as the Napoli was in open water again.

  “He sure didn’t!” Frank exclaimed. “I expected him to start popping that gun at any moment!”

  “He must have an important reason. Who and what do you suppose he is?” Tony asked in bewilderment.

  “Fellows,” Frank said thoughtfully, “I think that man might have been Snattman!”

  CHAPTER XI

  Cliff Watchers

  “FRANK!” Joe exclaimed. “I think you’ve hit it! That man had no reason to act the way he did unless he’s covering up something.”

  “Something like smuggling, you mean,” said Chet. “He must be Snattman or one of his gang.”

  “And,” Frank went on, “the fact that he was in that cove must mean he has some connection with the house on the cliff.”

  “Snattman, king of the smugglers!” Tony whistled. “You guys really get in some interesting situations!”

  “I’ll bet that he’s one of the fellows who chased Jones that day in the motorboat,” Joe cried.

  “And tried to kill him,” Frank continued the thought.

  “Let’s get away from here!” Chet urged.

  “Why should we go now?” Frank demanded. “We’ve stumbled on something important. That hidden pond may be the smugglers’ base.”

  “But if they use the house how do they get to it?” Tony asked. “Those cliffs up from the pond were mighty steep.”

  “There must be some other way that we couldn’t see,” Joe said. “What say we hang around here for a while and find out what we can?”

  Tony caught the Hardys’ enthusiasm and agreed to keep the motorboat in the vicinity of the Cliff.

  “That fellow may be keeping his eye on us and we don’t want him to know that we’re watching the place,” Frank observed. “Let’s run back to the bay and cruise up and down a while, then return.”

  Chet sighed. “I’m glad none of you argued with that armed man.”

  “Right,” Joe replied. “As it is, he must think we were simply out for a cruise and wandered into that tunnel by mistake.”

  “Yes,” his brother agreed. “If he’d known we’re hunting for Dad, he might have acted very differently.”

  In the late afternoon Tony took the Napoli back to the suspected shore spot. Keeping well out from the breaking waves, he cruised along the cliff. The boys kept a sharp eye on the location of the tunnel. As the boat passed it they were just able to distinguish the narrow opening in the rocks.

  “I won’t be able to go in there after a while,” Tony remarked. “The tide’s coming in. At high tide I’ll bet that tunnel is filled with water.”

  Suddenly Tony swung his craft so hard to the right that the other boys lost their balance.

  “Sorry, fellows,” he said. “Saw a log—oh!”

  He shut off his engine in a flash and leaned over the gunwale. His companions picked themselves up and asked what had happened.

  “Propeller started to foul up with some wire on that log.” Tony began to peel off his clothes. “Get me some pliers, will you?”

  Frank opened a locker and found a pair. Taking them, Tony dived overboard. A minute later he reappeared and climbed in. “I’m lucky,” he said. “Just plain lucky. Two seconds more and all that wire would have been wound around the prop and the log would have knocked it off.”

  “Good night!” Chet exclaimed. “It would have been a long swim home.”

  Joe slapped Tony on the back. “Good work, boy. I’d hate to see the Napoli out of commission.”

  Chet and Frank hauled the log aboard, so it would not damage any other craft. “This is a fence post with barbed wire!” Chet said. “Wowee! It’s good you spotted that log, Tony.”

  Tony dressed, then started the engine. He cruised around for more than an hour, but the boys saw no sign of life about the base of the cliff. They could see the Pollitt house, but to their amazement no lights appeared in it as twilight came.

  “How much longer do you think we should stay out here?” Chet asked. “I’m getting hungry.”

  “I have a few pretzels and a candy bar, but that’s not much for four of us,” Joe remarked.

  “Aha!” crowed Tony. “I have a surprise for you! I stowed away a little food before we took off.” With that he pulled a paper bag from the locker and passed each boy a large sandwich, a piece of chocolate cake, and a bottle of lemon soda.

  “You deserve a medal,” Chet remarked as he bit into a layer of ham and cheese.

  “You sure do!” Frank agreed. “I think we should stay right here for a while and watch. It’s my guess the smugglers will be on the job tonight. Don’t forget that the Marco Polo is docking tomorrow morning.”

  “I get it,” said Chet. “If she lays offshore or steams in slowly, it’ll give Ali Singh a chance to drop the stolen drugs overboard to Snattman.”

  “Correct,” said Frank.

  Tony looked intently at the Hardys. “Is it your idea to keep Snattman from meeting Ali Singh? But what about your father? I thought we came out here to get a line on how to rescue him.”

  The brothers exchanged glances, then Joe said, “Of course that’s our main purpose, but we hope that we can do both.”

  Twilight deepened into darkness and lights could be seen here and there through the haze. The cliff was only a black smudge and the house above was still unlighted.

  Suddenly the boys heard a muffled sound. Tony slowed the Napoli and they listened intently.

  “Another motorboat,” Tony whispered.

  The sound seemed to come from near the cliff. Straining their eyes in that direction, the four were at last able to distinguish a faint moving light.

  “Can you head over that way, Tony?” Frank asked in a low voice. “And could you take a
chance on turning off our lights?”

  “Sure. Here goes. The wind’s blowing from the land, so our engine won’t be heard from the shore.”

  The boys were tense with excitement as the Napoli moved slowly toward the light. As the boat crept nearer the cliff, they could barely distinguish the outline of a motorboat. The craft seemed to be making its way carefully out of the very face of the cliff.

  “It must have come from that tunnel!” Joe whispered to Frank.

  “Yes.”

  The Napoli went closer, in imminent danger of being discovered or of being washed ashore onto the rocks. Finally the other boat slowed to a crawl. Then came the faint clatter of oars and low voices. The motorboat had evidently met a rowboat.

  The next moment, with an abrupt roar, the motorboat turned and raced out to sea at an ever-increasing rate of speed.

  “Where can it be going?” said Tony, in amazement. “Out to meet the Marco Polo?”

  “Probably,” Frank replied, “and we’d never catch it. I wonder where the rowboat’s going.”

  The four boys waited in silence for several minutes. Then the rattle of oars came again. This time the sound was closer. The rowboat was coming toward them!

  “What’ll we do now?” Tony asked.

  “Turn off your engine,” Frank whispered. Tony complied.

  Through the gloom suddenly came snatches of conversation from the rowboat. “—a hundred pounds—” they heard a man say harshly, and then the rest of the sentence was lost. There was a lengthy murmur of voices, then, “I don’t know. It’s risky—”

  The wind died down just then and two voices could be heard distinctly. “Ali Singh’s share—” one man was saying.

  “That’s right. We can’t forget him,” the gruff voice replied.

  “I hope they get away all right.”

  “What are you worryin’ about? Of course they’ll get away.”

  “We’ve been spotted, you know.”

  “It’s all your imagination. Nobody suspects.”

  “Those boys at the house—”

  “Just dumb kids. If they come nosin’ around again, we’ll knock ’em on the head.”