“The chief says the Dodds may have jumped bail. They’ve disappeared in their station wagon!”
CHAPTER IV
Suspicious Visitor
PERPLEXED over the news of the Dodds, Frank and Joe immediately cycled out to the farm. It was a scene of confusion, with a crowd of spectators watching the excitement from the highway.
“There’s Chief Collig,” Frank indicated as the boys parked next to a bright-blue television van. They went over to speak to him. As they walked with him toward the house, Joe asked, “But why would the Dodds run away?”
Collig took a deep breath and shook his head. “I only know they appear to have left hastily—and, I’m afraid, permanently. One of our patrols noticed the garage was empty and investigated. The door of the house was unlocked. All food and clothing were gone.”
The officer turned to the boys. “I’m sorry that you and your dad will suffer financially should the Dodds not appear at the hearing tomorrow.” 28
Frank and Joe, in their concern over the Dodds, had completely forgotten about the posted bail.
The police chief accompanied them through the farmhouse rooms. Joe, who was familiar with Jack’s room, noticed that a pup tent and sleeping bag were missing.
“I don’t understand it,” Frank said ruefully as they started down the stairs. “Jack seemed worried but not enough to—”
“I’m afraid this isn’t all,” Collig interrupted. He held out a large rabbit’s-foot charm. “Have you boys ever seen this?”
“Yes, that’s the one Jack had on his key ring,” Joe said.
“Another car was stolen at Bay Bluff during the last hour.” Collig hesitated. “This charm was found there.”
When the three returned to the noisy scene outside, the boys inquired for Jack’s uncle. He had not arrived.
Frank and Joe decided to ride out to Bay Bluff. As they reached their motorcycles, Frank said in a low voice, “Joe, I have a hunch that Jack and his father didn’t leave of their own accord.”
Joe whistled. “You mean they might have been kidnapped? But why—”
The discussion was interrupted by the arrival of a short, stout man named Oscar Smuff, wearing a green tweed suit and Tyrolean hat. He appeared to be taking copious notes in a memo book.
Smuff, an aspiring detective, had long wanted to become a member of the Bayport Police Department. The Hardys often encountered him on cases, but he was not distinguished for powers of deduction or insight. The boys greeted him and started their vehicles.
“Too bad about all that bail money,” Smuff said. “But you’re just kids—didn’t know you were backing car thieves. Got in over your heads this time. Should have asked my advice.
Joe was about to retort, but Frank signaled to him and they wished the egotistical detective good night.
Heading through a cool sea wind down the dark highway, the Hardys soon reached Bay Bluff. Near a lone police car, a young woman was wiping her eyes as an officer spoke with her. The boys parked and introduced themselves.
From the woman’s story, Frank and Joe gathered she had parked at the bend, heading south, and climbed a foot path to watch the sunset. “I did leave the key in the ignition,” she admitted, “and my car wasn’t visible from the path, but I had a complete view of Shore Road traffic in both directions. Then I saw my car moving out on the highway—but it was too late.”
“We’re sure sorry to hear that,” said Frank.
After the policeman and the woman had driven away, the Hardys looked for clues to the theft. The stolen car had been driven south toward Bayport.
Frank followed his flashlight beam across the road toward the ocean. Joe did the same. From far below came the sound of the pounding surf.
“If only Jack and Mr. Dodd had known about the glove we found!” Joe sighed. “Now, it may not be wise to publicize that we have it until we have some idea where Slagel is.”
Frank agreed. “But it might be good for us to have a talk with Dad tomorrow. If—”
Frank’s voice was drowned in a loud screeching sound as a limousine burst around the bend from the south. It swung too wide in the turn and headed straight for the boys!
Blinded by the glaring headlights, Joe slipped but sprawled safely out of the way as the big car rocked back onto the road and raced off. Frank had vanished from sight!
“Frank!” Joe cried out, rushing to the edge of the bluff. He heard a sound, and looking down, was relieved to see his brother’s hands grasping the vines of a small bush. In a moment he had pulled him up.
“Whew! Thanks!” Frank gasped. “I was standing on an awful lot of air down there! Did you get the license number of that car?”
“No,” Joe replied. “But it looked to me like a tan Carlton, two or three years old.”
After a double-check failed to turn up any clues, the brothers headed home. Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude were upset to hear of the Dodds’ disappearance. Their mother also mentioned having heard prowlers outside the house earlier in the evening.
“Again! Were they near the garage?” Joe exclaimed.
“Yes,” Aunt Gertrude replied. “I looked around out there myself but didn’t see anybody. Your father’s car was not touched.”
“Joe, the glove!” Frank started, suddenly remembering that they had left it in their crime lab over the garage.
Both boys tore out of the house and ran up to the lab. The pine-paneled room also served as a combination workshop and clubhouse. One maple bookcase, a small safe, several plaster footprint molds, and various scientific kits were arranged neatly along two walls of the lab. Hanging on another wall were assorted disguises—wigs, beards, masks, and hats.
Joe flicked on the light and opened a cabinet. The glove was gone!
Frank groaned. “Our only clue! But let’s make a duplicate of Slagel’s picture, anyway.”
They did this, then returned to the house.
“Well,” Joe said, trying to be cheerful, “the Dodds may still show up at the hearing tomorrow.”
A light came into Frank’s face. “Joe! We may have lost a clue, but I think we’ve gained something in its place.”
“What?”
“The fact that the glove was stolen from us proves it must be important—and probably to Slagell”
The late news reports gave no word on the missing Dodds, but another car had been reported stolen and presumed to have been driven toward Bayport. When the announcer read its description, Joe jumped up.
“A tan Carlton! Frank, it’s the car that almost ran us down at the bluff!”
“But the driver was heading north. Still—” Frank snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! Tire marks prove the thieves always head south. But what’s to stop them from turning around a minute later and heading north?”
“A simple U-turn!” Joe agreed.
The following morning, just before the scheduled hearing of the Dodd case, Frank called Chief Collig and learned that the Dodds had failed to appear. Nothing had been heard from Martin Dodd, either.
“Do you suppose he was kidnapped too?” Joe asked Frank.
His brother shrugged. “If so, it may involve the Pilgrim mystery. Let’s go out to Cheston College and make some inquiries.”
Before they left, a phone call came from their father. After briefing him on the latest developments, Joe asked, “Dad, how’s your case coming?”
“I’m not at liberty to say much, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I suddenly took up the study of gases as a hobby. I wish I were free, though, to give you boys a hand.”
Late that morning Frank and Joe traveled by train to Greenville, then walked to the peaceful, shaded campus of Cheston College. At the office they learned that Martin Dodd, a bachelor, had left as expected the day before for Bayport. The boys obtained two photographs of the astronomy professor. Both showed him to be tall and middle-aged, with a gray mustache and horn-rimmed glasses.
“He may be in Bayport right now,” Frank remarked hopefully.
But when th
e Hardys called on Chief Collig later that afternoon they were told nothing had been heard of the mysteriously missing uncle. Without mentioning the Dodds’ Pilgrim mystery, the Hardys provided the chief with one of the professor’s photographs.
“We’ll look for him,” the officer promised.
Upon reaching home the brothers found that Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude were out. A few minutes later the boys received a visitor. Frank ushered the heavy-set, well-dressed man into the living room. He introduced himself as a Manhattan businessman.
“I must profoundly apologize for not giving my name to you boys,” he said. “I have come on a matter of a highly confidential nature.”
“My father can’t help you now. He is away,” Frank told him. “Perhaps when he returns—”
“Oh, but you misapprehend me,” the stranger protested, removing his spectacles. He smiled ingratiatingly. “It is the services of the distinguished sons of Fenton Hardy which I am interested in acquiring—for a private case in New York City.”
The stilted language and pompous manner of the man impressed neither of the boys. Suspicious of his wish for anonymity, they informed him that they were engaged on other matters. His flattering persistence availed nothing.
“You refuse then? Most unfortunate, most unfortunate,” the man whispered. He bowed curtly at the door and left.
“There’s something fishy about him,” Joe commented. “Too bad we couldn’t get his name.”
“I did notice some things,” Frank said. “The cigarette he was smoking was a foreign make, and that gaudy tie clasp had the initials C. M. on it.”
“Maybe he wants to get us out of Bayportl” Joe suggested.
Other thoughts crossed the boys’ minds. Was the stranger connected in any way with the Shore Road thieves? Or did he know anything about the disappearance of the Dodds?
Early that evening Joe phoned Chet, and without disclosing details of the Pilgrim mystery, told him of the missing Martin Dodd. Chet agreed to come to a strategy meeting at the Hardy home the next day.
Joe had just hung up when he thought of something. “Frank! Jack’s boat! We forgot all about it! Do you think the Dodds could have gone off in that?”
“Not unless their station wagon is parked down by the boathouse. But we might find some clues there to where they could be!”
Ten minutes later Frank and Joe reached an aluminum boathouse at the Bayport waterfront. They parked their motorcycles. Faintly pink clouds lingered in the sky below a rising half-moon. Over the distant hum of cicadas, the boys’ footsteps drummed on the wooden boards of the dock.
Inside the dark, oblong structure six boats were moored. Eerie shadows seemed to ripple up the corrugated walls from the lapping water. At the end of the row, Frank saw a green-and-white boat bobbing gently.
“It’s still here!” he said.
Joe, snapping a finger to his lips, grabbed his brother’s arm. He had heard a sound outside, but now only the wash of water on the hulls came to their ears. The brothers worked their way along until they stood over Jack’s boat. Holding the damp railings, the Hardys peered into its dark hold.
“Let’s have a closer look,” Frank said.
At that moment the sound of a board creaking came from inside the cabin of the boat.
“Joe! Somebody’s in there!”
Before they could investigate, the boys felt strong arms around their necks. Wet cloths were slapped over their faces!
CHAPTER V
Strategy
FRANK awoke to see blurred reflections from the water on the dark boathouse ceiling. His clothes felt damp, and he was conscious of a heavy feeling in his head.
As Joe stirred alongside him, Frank scrambled to his feet, then helped his brother to get up.
“Jack’s boat—it’s gone!” Joe said groggily. “Did you get a look at the men who attacked us?”
“No, but whoever grabbed me and clamped that cloth over my face was strong. Wonder what knocked us out?”
“Some kind of liquid gas is my guess,” Joe answered.
After informing Chief Collig of the attack upon them and the stolen Dodd boat, many unanswered questions filled the Hardys’ thoughts as they drove home. Who were the men who had gassed them and taken the Dodd boat? Could they have been Shore Road thieves, who also had planted a stolen car at the Dodd farm? Did they know anything about the clue to the Pilgrim treasure? Above all, what had become of Jack and his father?
Frank looked worried. “We feel sure the Dodds aren’t car thieves, and what happened tonight at the boathouse makes me think more than ever that they didn’t run away.”
“You mean they were not only kidnapped, but maybe harmed?”
“That’s right,” said Frank. “Tomorrow let’s forget the car thieves and start a hunt for Slagel.”
The next morning Frank and Joe worked on their battered short-wave radio, then cycled into town. When they reached the Bayport business district, the boys paused for a moment at the corner of Main and Larch. Frank gave Joe one half of a penciled list of hotels and rooming houses and the copy of the Slagel photograph they had made.
“Righto,” said Joe. “See you in an hour at this corner.”
The boys separated, Joe taking the north end of Bayport and Frank the south. An hour later neither Hardy had yet come across a Slagel registered in any of the hotels. None of the desk clerks had recognized the photographs.
During the second hour, Joe had no success. Only five names were left on his list.
“You have any luck?” he asked Frank hopefully when they met to compare progress.
Frank wiped his brow. “Not a thing. I covered all the waterfront places and saw the registers myself. How about you?”
“No.”
Frank read down his list. “Well, this last run ought to do it. Fingers crossed!”
But the boys’ final circuit turned up no leads. Disappointed, the brothers headed through the center of town for home.
“Slagel may still be in the area, but staying in another town,” Frank remarked.
“At any rate,” Joe declared, “I guess we’ll have some more footwork cut out for us.”
At the Dock Street traffic light Joe noticed a heavy-set, well-dressed man getting into a taxicab.
“Frank! That’s our nameless visitor from New York!”
The brown-and-white cab pulled out and headed toward the western side of town. The boys decided to follow on their motorcycles.
Moments later, the taxi wound under an overpass and came to a stop at the Bayport railroad station. Parking nearby, the Hardys followed as the man purchased a ticket in the waiting room, then boarded a waiting New York train.
Joe heaved a sigh. “Well, we can cancel one lead—at least for the time being. Maybe he was telling the truth about living in New York City.”
Frank and Joe found Chet at their house. Presently the three boys went to the brothers’ crime lab.
Chet proudly dropped a large cylinder of paper on the table. “I thought we could use this to find the car thieves.”
“What is it?” Joe asked.
Chet rolled out a highly detailed map of Bayport and its environs. “It’s on loan from my father’s real-estate office.”
The Hardys marveled at the map’s detail, which included geographical features as well as houses and roads in the entire Shore Road area.
“This is a great help, Chet!” said Frank.
After switching on an overhead fluorescent light and locking the door and windows for security, he rejoined the boys over the map spread out on the table. The three pored over the paper for the next half hour. Except for the sounds of Chet chewing gum, the room was silent.
Two considerations were paramount: Where were the Dodds, and where were the stolen cars being taken?
At last Frank sat back. “I have a hunch that working on the thefts is the only way we’ll ever find Jack and his father. With the Dodds missing, suspicion of future thefts would naturally fall on them.”
&n
bsp; “Do you think their lives are in danger?” Chet asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Frank replied. “They may be prisoners within a few miles of where we are this minute. The gang may be making a quick haul of flashy cars, and storing them at a hideout until they can be safely moved. But as long as the thefts continue, I think the Dodds will be kept prisoners.”
Since Chet was to be a part of their sleuthing team, Frank and Joe now told him about the Pilgrim mystery.
Joe paused at the window. “I feel that the treasure also would fit right into the disappearance of Jack and his father and even the uncle,” he commented. “If only we had a copy of Elias Dodd’s last message! Do you think Slagel or the car thieves found out about the treasure and kidnapped Jack and his father to keep them from looking for it?”
“It’s possible,” Frank answered.
Moments later, Mrs. Hardy interrupted briefly to give the boys four letters which had come for them in a late delivery. As Frank and Joe read them, Chet noted their grim expressions.
“Who sent the letters?” he asked.
“They’re complaints,” Frank replied. “Some townspeople aren’t happy about our backing the Dodds.”
Joe slapped the letter he was reading. “This one is from a theft victim. He even says he’ll hold us responsible if the Dodds aren’t apprehended!”
“People are really getting up in arms about these thefts,” Frank said. “We must work harder to track down the thieves.”
First, the boys reviewed recent copies of the Bayport Times for theft evidence, which proved to be scanty. Then they studied minutely the mapped roads leading to and from Shore Road.
“There are a few things that seem certain,” Frank concluded. “One, the thieves appear to be after late-model cars, and to steal most of them at night. Two, the gang can’t be a small one—their success alone would suggest that. And three, the stolen cars are most likely driven north up Shore Road.”
“If,” Chet cut in, “your U-turn theory is right.”
“Correct. The police have suspected a southerly direction so far, and therefore have been concentrating on watching Bayport. But as the papers indicate, patrols are now keeping an eye on other towns that lie off Shore Road to the north.”
The Shore Road Mystery Page 3