The Yellow Feather Mystery

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “There must be something very important in that classroom,” his brother remarked. “What could it be?”

  “It certainly is related to that desk,” Frank answered as he pulled on his sweater. “Kurt was pretty eager to get us away from it.”

  “Let’s take another look,” Joe suggested.

  The Hardys finished dressing and hurried toward the classroom. The corridor was deserted. Employing caution, however, Joe remained at the door while Frank crossed to the carved desk.

  “Someone has removed the top!” Frank called. “There’s a brand-new one here now!”

  “I’m sure Harris D is the answer,” Joe asserted. “If we can find him, he might give us a clue.”

  The boys decided to work on this new angle as soon as possible. But first they wanted to get the paper and check the Personal ads.

  As they walked out of the classroom and along the hallway, they met Mr. Teevan with several copies of the Bayport Times under his arm.

  “Good morning,” Frank said. “We were just going out for the paper. Can we borrow one of yours?”

  “Sure. You can keep it.”

  “How is your wife?” Joe asked.

  “Tolerably well,” the custodian answered. “She hasn’t got over her fright completely. But I dare say she’ll be back at work in a day or two. Well, good-by, boys.”

  “So long. And thanks for the paper.”

  Frank and Joe bounded up the stairs to the guest room. Frank spread the Times on the dresser and turned to the Personal column. Quickly he ran his finger down the advertisements. As he neared the bottom of the list, he gave a shout.

  Just then Greg and Chet walked in.

  “Listen to this!” Frank said excitedly. “ ‘Yellow Feather: Meet 100 F.R. Pt. 2101.’ ”

  “Wow!” Chet exclaimed. “That must be the ad Kurt put in!”

  “He might have done it to send us on some wild-goose chase,” Joe suggested. “I’m convinced that he’d go to great lengths to get rid of us.”

  “In which case you won’t move a step away from here!” Chet said firmly.

  “I think we should follow up the clue, even if it’s a trap. Since we know it might be, we can be prepared,” Frank said.

  “But what does that code mean?” Chet asked, repeating the words. “There’s no doubt about the Yellow Feather part. But what about the rest?”

  “One hundred F.R. Pt.,” Frank said. “One hundred what? Feet maybe? One hundred feet R. Pt.”

  “Rocky Point on Barmet Bay!” Chet exclaimed.

  “A meeting place,” Greg agreed. “Sounds logical.”

  “The rest is easy,” Joe said. “Two thousand, one hundred and one. Twenty-one 0 one. The naval and military way of telling time. Twenty-one means nine P.M., and the 0 one means one minute after nine.”

  “Meet one hundred feet off Rocky Point at one minute past nine P.M.,” Frank read the complete message. “As I said before, it could be a trap. But it could also be a meeting between our buddy and the Yellow Feather. If so, we’ll have to catch them in the act!”

  “In the Sleuth?” his brother asked, referring to their sleek motorboat.

  “No,” Frank corrected him. “We’d be smarter not to take our own boat—someone might be watching for us to start out in it and follow us.”

  “Then how about Tony Prito?” Joe suggested. “He says his Napoli is in good shape and I know he’ll be glad to take us.”

  “Good idea,” Frank said.

  “Well, I hope you don’t want me to go,” Chet spoke up. “Operation Sub-zero—br-r-r!”

  The Hardys looked at Greg. “Joe and I should do this job alone,” Frank said. “I’d hate to expose you to danger. Anyway, both you fellows ought to stay here and keep your eyes open.”

  After breakfast Frank called Tony Prito. The star end of Bayport High’s football team and close friend of the Hardys was always ready for adventure. He assured Frank that he would be delighted to take them out.

  “Meet me at eight o’clock,” he told them.

  “Drive out Shore Road, and I’ll have the Napoli waiting for you in Segram’s Cove.”

  Frank had just stepped from the booth when a familiar voice called:

  “Hi, Frank!”

  “Skinny! Say, you’re just the person I need.”

  “Swell. What can I do for you?”

  “Play detective. Find Benny Tass and ask how he got permission to go to Bayport last night. Tell him you heard that he was seen there at the newspaper office. Report to me how he reacts and what he says.”

  Skinny said he would do it at once. But as he started off, another thought came to Frank and he called him back.

  “Did you ever hear of an alumnus of Woodson Academy called Harris D?” he asked.

  Skinny’s forehead wrinkled. “Harris D—Would you mean Harris Dilleau by any chance?”

  “Maybe. Who was he and when was he here?”

  “Why, a long time ago. I’ve heard my uncle John Mason talk about him several times. He was in the same class. Uncle John graduated about twenty-two years ago.”

  “What did he say about Dilleau?” Frank was intensely interested.

  “Oh, he was a real troublemaker, my uncle said. I think he was expelled from school.”

  The boys separated and Frank went to the guest room to relay this latest bit of information to Joe.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere!” Joe cried. “Let’s go to the library and see if we can find out anything more about Dilleau in the yearbooks.”

  But as they scanned the row of annuals, they became discouraged. There was only one publication which dealt with Dilleau’s years at Woodson. Although Skinny’s uncle was mentioned prominently, there was only one short reference to Harris D.

  Joe returned the volume to its proper place. “I’m going to search for the missing yearbooks,” he declared, “and see if they contain any information about Dilleau. I’ll bet he’s a friend of Kurt.”

  During the day he examined shelf after shelf of books but drew a blank. Frank busied himself trailing Kurt. The headmaster’s activities, however, were above suspicion.

  Skinny Mason came to Frank later in the afternoon to report on Benny Tass. The boy had admitted to him that he had gone to the Bayport Times with an advertisement, but claimed it had not appeared in that day’s paper.

  Frank and Joe did not believe Benny’s story. And when they set out that evening they were thinking as much about Kurt as the Yellow Feather, hoping to capture both of them.

  They drove to Segram’s Cove by a circuitous route in order to throw off any possible followers, but reached the bay shore at exactly eight o’clock.

  Frank cast the car headlights over the water and the beams picked out Tony in his motorboat. Frank turned off the lights, locked the car, and the boys started down the slippery embankment.

  The sound of an engine reached their ears as the boat drew toward them, then they heard Tony’s voice as the bow of the Napoli scraped softly against the low dock. An instant later he was running up the snowy slope to meet them.

  “Hi, Tony,” Frank greeted their friend. “Good timing, eh?”

  “Good timing, but bad conditions. Frank, I don’t think we can go. There’s too much floating ice in the bay!”

  CHAPTER XI

  Dangerous Waters

  “You mean we’ll have to give up an opportunity to capture the Yellow Feather?” Frank asked with a groan of disappointment.

  “Tony,” Joe said, “this might be our only chance!”

  The Napoli’s skipper shrugged. “The whole bay is full of great chunks of ice. If we hit one of those floes, it would knock a hole in the hull so fast we’d sink like a rock.”

  Through the darkness, the boys could see the white floes bobbing up and down on the water.

  “Miniature icebergs,” Frank observed. “But I sure hate to miss this opportunity of perhaps solving the mystery.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Tony spoke up. “I’m willing to risk the bo
at. You fellows pilot her. You’re better navigators than I am.”

  “I’m game if you are!” Frank cried, and Joe agreed.

  All three sprinted out on the dock and jumped into the Napoli.

  “You take the wheel, Frank,” Joe said, then released the line.

  Frank assured Tony he would use care and eased the sleek craft out into the ice-jammed water. Since he did not wish to betray their presence, he decided to proceed without lights.

  “Joe, crawl onto the bow and tell me where to steer,” he directed.

  Joe felt his way forward in the dark. Lying on the deck with his head hanging over the prow, he kept up a rapid-fire series of instructions.

  “Who would ever keep an appointment out here in the bay on a night like this?” Tony asked as the Napoli snaked slowly among the chunks of ice.

  “I don’t know, except the Yellow Feather!” Frank said.

  As the boat moved farther out of the cove, the danger from the ice increased.

  “Frank, port, hard!” Joe commanded.

  Desperately Frank spun the wheel. There was a slight scraping along the starboard gunwale, and a gasp of relief from Joe, as an ominous section of ice floated astern.

  “How far off Rocky Point are we, Tony?” Frank asked, peering into the darkness.

  “We must be getting close. Maybe you’d better cut her down some. You can almost drift in.”

  “See anything ahead there, Joe?” Frank called in a low voice.

  “Not a thing.”

  In a few minutes they were in the shadow of sheer rocks of the Point that towered menacingly. The Napoli was crawling now. Joe kept a constant watch for ice, while Tony searched the sea for the shadowy outline of another craft.

  Suddenly there was the sharp boi-i-ng whine of a projectile near their heads! Instinctively the boys ducked. Splash! The object struck the water ten feet from the craft.

  “Where’d that come from?” Joe called.

  Neither Frank nor Tony could answer.

  Before the boat had gone twenty yards there was another whine. This time all three felt a convulsive shudder jar the boat. The Napoli had been hit!

  “Look at this!” Tony cried.

  The tip of a small harpoon was embedded in the wood of the boat about a foot above the water line. Tony wrenched the missile loose and pulled it into the cockpit.

  “Holy crow!” Joe exclaimed. “Let’s get out of here quick.”

  Frank spun hard to starboard and the Napoli lurched seaward. A second later there came another twang, followed by a splash sending a spout of water high into the air directly in front of them.

  “We’re in a trap!” Frank exclaimed. “Our only chance is to hide!”

  Pulling on the wheel frantically, he headed the boat back toward the protection of the rocks.

  “Frank! Ice!” Joe warned him.

  Blocking their course to the safe shelter of the Point was what looked like a flotilla of ice floes! Frank realized that it would be almost impossible to steer through them. Desperately he searched for an escape route. He saw only one possible way out of their hazardous situation.

  “Joe! Come back here!” he called.

  At the same time he cut the throttle, spinning the wheel first one way, then the other, so that the Napoli course made the boat a difficult target.

  Joe crawled back along the deck and jumped to his brother’s side. Quickly Frank related his plan. Instantly Joe grabbed a boat hook and slid up to the bow again. At the same time Frank cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled at the top of his lungs:

  “Help! We’re sinking! Save us!”

  Then he steered the speedboat toward an overhanging cliff, and under the jutting cover. With the boat hook Joe kept her from bouncing against the rocks.

  The boys waited, but there were no more twangs of death-dealing harpoons. The ruse had worked!

  “Where do you suppose the harpoons were fired from?” Tony whispered.

  “They seemed to come out of nowhere,” Joe replied in a low voice. “I didn’t even hear the sound of a gun firing them, did you?”

  “No,” the others answered.

  “What puzzles me,” Frank mused, “is those funny twang sounds we heard just before the harpoons landed.”

  “Hold it!” Joe demanded. “Listen!”

  In the crash of surf and the whistle of wind they heard another sound.

  “A motorboat!” Frank said hoarsely.

  The unseen craft was evidently speeding toward them. The noise grew louder with every second.

  “Do you suppose he knows we’re here?” Tony asked fearfully. “If not, there’s going to be a crash!”

  “Let’s move,” Joe suggested.

  “But where? We don’t dare show ourselves,” Frank objected. “I say, take a chance and stay here.”

  The boat continued on in their direction at breakneck speed.

  “This is it!” Joe announced tersely as the other craft did not swerve. “Get ready for a fight with the Yellow Feather!”

  They waited tensely while the sound of the approaching motor came closer. Then the outline of another speedboat took form in the darkness, zigzagging about fifty yards off their starboard side.

  “It’s searching for us!” Frank whispered.

  The craft was almost abreast when a water-spout seemed to rise directly in front of it.

  “She’s being fired on, too!” Joe cried.

  The boat practically jumped from the sea as its skipper gave it the gun. But even as he did, another big splash rose alongside the craft.

  By this time it was evident to the Hardys that the harpoons were coming from the high rocks of the Point rather than from a craft.

  “Whoever’s in that boat is going to make a run for it!” Frank stated.

  “Why don’t we make our break now, too?” Joe suggested. “Two boats out there will divide the target.”

  “Okay,” Frank agreed. “Besides, I want to see who’s in that boat.”

  He started the motor and waved Joe to let go with his grappling hook. The Napoli streaked forward, angling from left to right.

  “We’ll be out of range in a minute!” Frank yelled. “Then we’ll take off after that other boat.”

  The boys heard one more big splash behind them, then the attacks stopped. The pilot of the craft ahead had opened up and ripped off in a straight course toward Bayport.

  “That fellow can really handle a boat,” Tony remarked as they watched him cut between ice floes without losing speed or direction.

  Frank tailed the other craft. But in spite of the wide-open throttle and a path to follow, he could not gain on it.

  “We’d better let him go before we crack up the Napoli!” Frank said. “How about my taking her into your boathouse, Tony, instead of Segram’s Cove? That hole the harpoon made ought to be checked right away.”

  “Okay. I’ll drive you back in my jalopy to pick up your car,” Tony suggested.

  At the boathouse the boys used a block and tackle rigged to an electric motor, and hauled the Napoli up on rollers to examine the damage.

  “Not as bad as I thought,” Tony said.

  “I’m relieved,” said Frank. “Just the same it will cost something to fix. Joe and I will pay for it.”

  Tony would not agree to this, and the Hardys could not change his mind.

  “It’s all in the cause of detective work,” he said.

  “Well, at least let us help you patch it. Got any stuff here?”

  “No.”

  “We have some in our boathouse,” Joe said.

  “Okay,” Tony said. “Let’s get it and I’ll make the repairs tomorrow.”

  The three boys hurried to the Hardy boathouse, which was not far from Tony’s. Frank unlocked the door and switched on the light. The trim Sleuth gleamed in her berth.

  “Hey, she’s wet!” Joe cried suddenly. He jumped in and felt the motor. “Why, she’s just been used!”

  The next instant Tony groaned. “There’s a small ho
le in her side just like the one the harpoon put in the Napoli!”

  The boys looked at one another in consternation.

  “Listen, if those crooks think they can steal our own boat to chase us in—” Joe began.

  Suddenly Frank burst into laughter. Tony and Joe stared at him in amazement.

  “I think I know whom we were chasing.” Frank chuckled. “Detective Fenton Hardy!”

  “What! Your dad?” Tony gasped.

  “No wonder he outmaneuvered us,” Joe said, grinning. “Dad’s the only one I know who handles a boat that well.”

  Frank laughed. “Will we give him a cross-examination!”

  He quickly found the calking material and handed it to Tony.

  “Thanks,” Tony said. “I know you fellows want to get home, so I’ll drive you to your car.”

  A little while later Joe slid behind the wheel of the convertible and drove home.

  Bursting into the living room, they found their father in lounging jacket and slippers before the fireplace. He was reading an FBI report.

  “Nice night for a boat ride, wasn’t it, Dad?” Frank queried.

  The boys eagerly watched their father’s face, but he only raised his eyebrows questioningly. Joe touched the detective’s tousled hair.

  “Um, damp,” he said. “Couldn’t be from the salt spray, could it?”

  The corners of Mr. Hardy’s mouth crinkled and he broke into a hearty laugh. “All right, you win!”

  “And what were you doing out in the bay?” Frank asked.

  “Well, I happened to notice the ad about the Yellow Feather in today’s paper,” Mr. Hardy explained, “and called the school to ask if you had seen it. When Chet told me where you’d gone, I decided you might need some help.”

  Frank told his father about trailing Benny to the Times office, and the discovery of the advertisement.

  “Well,” Mr. Hardy said, “the code was rather easy to figure out. That made me think that it was a plant.”

  “We suspected it, too, But by whom? The Yellow Feather?”

  “Possibly. In any case it was designed to put us off the case for good!”

  “Dad, now that we know Kurt is tied up in this do you think he could be the Yellow Feather?” Frank asked.