Infinity Clue Part 8

"Right," Frank went on. "The pitch of the whistle was too high for us to hear. Only dogs can . . . Wait a second!" Frank's voice rose in excitement. "Max, the horse trainer, had something hanging around his neck that looked like one of those whistles. I hadn't thought of it before, but there's no reason why an ordinary dog whistle couldn't be used on a horse!"

"It might account for the strange way those two horses spooked on us," Joe said, snapping his fingers.

"Not only that," Frank put in. "It might also account for the way Rutlidge's horses lost those races. They may have been trained to respond to a whistle!"

Vowing to return to the Rutlidge estate as soon as possible, the amateur detectives walked back down the bluff road.

But before they had gone more than a few hundred feet, the geologists' pickup truck swung out of the driveway. Its headlight beams nearly caught Frank and Joe in the road, but the boys dove out of the way and threw themselves face down in a ditch as the truck sped past.

"I wonder if they're going back to the drilling site," said Joe as he stood up and tried to wipe off the sticky yellow clay smeared "on his knees and elbows. "Maybe another shipment is coming in."

The two sleuths watched the truck disappear around a curve. A minute later it appeared again in the distance, rounding the next bend in the cliffs. It came to a stop on a promontory, pointing out over the dark expanse of the bay. Then its headlights flashed on and off three times.

"They're signaling," Joe said, as he watched the truck's lights flash again.

For a moment nothing happened. Then from far out on the bay came three answering flashes.

Immediately, Frank drew an arrow in the clay with his finger. It pointed in the exact direction of the answering signal. By reading the stars, he soon determined that the flashes had come from east by northeast.

"I'll bet that's where the oyster boat started out," Joe deduced.

"And possibly where our two missing geologists, if not the Rabbit himself, are located," Frank added.

The brothers continued, hoping to find a route down the bluff without having to go all the way back to the drilling site. Luckily, they discovered a shallow groove cut diagonally in the clay all the way to the beach.

Taking it slowly, the boys descended along the groove, ending up a short distance from camp.

"Hey, what happened to you guys?" a worried Chet asked, as his bedraggled friends stumbled into camp.

Frank and Joe told their story to Chet and Fritz, then curled up in sleeping bags and fell fast asleep. They didn't wake until the smell of sizzling bacon wafted into their tent in the morning. Putting on a clean set of clothes, the brothers stepped out into the sun.

Chet sat in the sand with an open book in his lap. "I've been reading up on earthquakes," he said, flipping the page. "Did you know that tidal waves are caused by earthquakes in the ocean floor?"

"Yes, Chet," Frank replied. "Did you know that your bacon is burnt to a crisp?"

Chet dropped his book and forked what was left of his breakfast from the pan. With a shrug, he discarded the charred bacon, then put a few fresh strips in. "As I was saying," he went on, as he sat down with his book again, "tidal waves can travel hundreds of miles in a few minutes, and rise as high as a hundred feet or more by the time they hit sh.o.r.e. Can you imagine sitting at the beach when a hundred-foot wave suddenly comes out of nowhere? That's as big as a building!"

"Have you read about any quakes like the one we had in Bayport?" Joe asked.

Chet sniffed. "That one was too small to even count. There are around fifty thousand earthquakes every year."

"If it had damaged that nuclear power plant much more, it would've counted for plenty," said Frank, remembering how frightened Biff's uncle had been that the reactor core might have become cracked.

Conversation among the boys stopped when the oyster boat came into sight around the bluff. It was empty of its phony cargo.

"If we could do it without being spotted, this would be the perfect time to follow those guys," Joe remarked as he pulled his hat brim over his eyes to avoid the possibility of being recognized.

"Except we would be spotted," Frank said. "Also, we should pick up an extra can of fuel before we go on any long trips in the bay."

After breakfast, Frank and Joe took the skiff back to the fishing village. Fritz and Chet stayed to mind the camp and keep a lookout for any new developments.

At the village, the brothers found the man who had rented them the skiff. He supplied them with an extra fuel can, and asked, "Did you catch anything yesterday?"

Frank shook his head. "No. We were thinking about heading farther into the bay, east by northeast. Any good spots out that way?"

"East by northeast? That ought to take you around Chapel Island. Not sure you'll find much fish there, except you might hook a ba.s.s if you're lucky."

"What's Chapel Island like?" Frank asked as he filled the fuel tank from a gas pump outside the general store.

The fisherman's face screwed up in a curious expression. "It's a strange island. Some folks moved there close to two hundred years ago, and to this day the same families live there, descendants of the original settlers. They don't mix with mainlanders. Stranger than that, for all appearances they still are living in the eighteenth century. Still speak the Queen's English."

Frank and Joe exchanged glances. Had the signals the night before come from Chapel Island?

Before heading for the small island, the two youths called Amba.s.sador Kriegler from the general store.

The German amba.s.sador sounded worried. He still had not heard from the boys' father, and was sure Mr. Hardy was in trouble. Frank told him they had found the infinity sign on one of the geologists' boring cylinders, then asked just how powerful a bomb the Rabbit might be able to build.

"We've had reports that the terrorists he's working for have been making some very sophisticated arms,"

the amba.s.sador replied. "In fact, we believe they're capable of turning out small nuclear bombs of tremendous power."

"Nuclear bombs?" Frank cried into the receiver loud enough to attract the attention of several people in the store. He hushed his voice. "You mean those cylinders could be . . . ?"

The amba.s.sador's tone was serious. "As I said, I wouldn't put anything past him. I also think it's time to get federal agents on this case. You boys have been running a terrible risk."

The older Hardy pleaded with Kriegler to give them a couple more days, explaining that they had already established a cover and were on the way to solving the mystery.

"One day is all I'll give you," the amba.s.sador replied. "Then I'll have to turn this case over to the United States government."

Frank hung up the phone. Then, remembering something, he picked it up again and began to dial. "I forgot to call Detective Barnes," he told Joe while cupping his hand over the receiver. "He must be wondering what happened to us."

"Where in the world are you boys?" came the police detective's irritated voice over the receiver. "I let you go with the understanding you would help me with the diamond theft. The next thing I know, you're off chasing geologists, and you don't even bother to call with your whereabouts. I don't want to remind you again that all three of you are still under suspicion."

"I'm sorry," Frank said soothingly, "but this is the first chance we've had to call since yesterday afternoon.

We're hot on the trail of our other case and we don't have much time left on it."

"Look," Barnes told the sleuth, his voice becoming weary. "This whole department is on my back for letting you leave the city. I promised the captain that you were working on the diamond theft. When he asks what you've uncovered so far, what am I supposed to say to him?"

Frank told the detective about their visit with Meg Rutlidge, their feelings about Boswell, and their suspicion that Max used a dog whistle to throw races.

"Okay, okay," Barnes said finally. "I'll look into Boswell, although it sounds crazy to me. But you two had better go back to the Rutlidge place and check up on this dog whistle theory of yours. And I mean now, or I'll have to ask you to come back to town."

Hanging up, Frank looked at his brother. "This leaves us between a rock and a hard place." He shrugged. "The amba.s.sador is only giving us one more day before he sends in federal agents, and Barnes tells me if we don't work on the diamond case, we'll have to return to Washington."

"So we'll have to act fast," Joe concluded. "The Rutlidge place isn't far from here. If we leave now, we could be back before noon."

The sleuths put off their trip to Chapel Island and borrowed Fritz's sports car, which had been left at the village when they rented the boat the day before. Soon they were on the road toward Baltimore, figuring out ways they might be able to prove their theory about the dog whistle.

"Here we are," Joe announced, spotting the Rutlidge estate from the roadway and turning up the long drive toward the manor house.

The old butler, Wilkinson, greeted them at the door. "Max isn't here right now," he informed the sleuths in response to their questions. "If you would like to come in and wait for him, though, you are welcome to.

I'll make some tea."

"Hold on," Frank urged Wilkinson as the butler started toward the pantry. "We don't have that much time. Do you mind if we go to the stables and take a look around?"

"Go ahead," Wilkinson replied, showing them to the door.

At the stables, Frank and Joe found a dozen or more racehorses in their stalls.

"Look at this!" Joe said excitedly as he pulled a small, silver object from a peg on the wall.

Frank studied it for a second. "It's a dog whistle all right. Let's try it out."

"Hey, who are you?" a voice suddenly boomed from the other end of the stables.

Joe quickly stuffed the dog whistle in his pants pocket and turned to find a boy about his age running toward them. He was short, with straight brown hair and a thin face. In a moment, he stopped in front of Frank and Joe, told them he was the stable boy, and demanded to know what they wanted. His manner toward the visitors was haughty and condescending.

"The butler said we could come down here," Frank said coolly. "We're looking for Max."

"What for?" the stable boy asked, folding his arms and eyeing the two sleuths with an air of superiority.

Joe nudged his brother and took over. "We were thinking of doing some riding," he told the boy. "In fact, this looks like a good horse right here." Joe motioned with his head toward a black colt.

"Max wouldn't let you ride Blue Lightning. Anyway," the boy continued with a smirk; "you guys wouldn't be able to handle-him. That's a fast horse. He'd throw you in a second."

"But you're so great you could ride him with no sweat," Frank challenged the c.o.c.ky youth.

"That's right!" the boy shot back, grabbing a saddle from a rack on the wall.

Frank and Joe exchanged winks as they watched the stable hand saddle up the young racehorse. Then he led Blue Lightning outside and mounted him.

"Watch this!" the stable boy shouted and gave the thoroughbred a kick.

Blue Lightning took off, galloping at full speed over the breeding farm's rolling fields. Frank and Joe watched as horse and rider rounded the far end of the pasture and started back. The stable boy was, in fact, a very good jockey, maneuvering the high-strung animal expertly across the field.

"Okay, do it now," Frank told his brother when the horse was about halfway back.

Joe lifted the dog whistle to his lips and blew. Suddenly Blue Lightning lost his stride, faltering noticeably and slowing down.

"Let's go," Frank said, looking at his watch.

They hurried from the stables, leaving the c.o.c.ky jockey out in the field to wonder what had gone wrong.

"So our theory was right," Joe said, driving the red sports car back toward the yellow bluffs. "But it still beats me what it has to do with the stolen diamond."

"I don't know," Frank commented. "Let's give Barnes a call when we get back to the fishing village, though. Then we'll go to Chapel Island. The day's awaiting."

A short time after the sleuths arrived at the village, they were out on the bay in the rented skiff, heading east by northeast. A light breeze made a slight ripple in the surface of the otherwise calm waters, and visibility was good but for a thin haze on the horizon.

"I think I see the island," Joe said after a while. He shaded his eyes from the sun and peered ahead.

A church steeple could be seen in the distance, as if rising out of the bay. A few minutes later the outline of the sh.o.r.e appeared beneath the steeple!

CHAPTER XIII.

Island Hideout The day had grown hot and humid by the time the sleuths' skiff reached the banks of Chapel Island. Joe attached the painter to a bush limb that hung over the water, and the two boys hacked their way inland through dense foliage.

"There's a road over here," Frank said after he had gone about thirty feet into the thick bushes.

A narrow dirt lane wound its way toward either end of Chapel Island. Using his penknife, Joe notched a groove in the bark of a tree, marking the spot where the skiff was tied.

"Which way do you think we should go?" the blond youth puzzled aloud, looking first in one direction, then the other.

Unable to determine which was the better way, Frank made a guess. "We can't get too lost in a place this size. Let's try this way." He then started down the road to the left, which seemed to head more toward the main body of the island.

The narrow lane followed the edge of Chapel Island, looping around the far end and continuing to the back side. Tracks in the dirt indicated that the road was used by horse and buggy, but these were the only signs of habitation the brothers could find as they walked through a forest of bushes and tall trees.

The mosquitoes, which thrived in this kind of weather, were bothering them now and then, but it was bearable.

On the far side of the island, Frank and Joe came across a cemetery. In it were several dozen gravestones dating back to the 1700s. Curiously, many of the names on the markers were either Stone or Levenston, with few exceptions.

Joe stooped to inspect a monument dated 1706. "This looks like the oldest one here," he said. "Samuel B. Levenston. Could have been the first settler."

"Thou art wrong!" hailed a voice from the roadway.

The sleuths, who had been too busy looking over the graves to notice a horse and buggy coming down the road, now stood up as a man in simple black clothes and hat addressed them. He had dark, bushy eyebrows and a sharply chiseled nose.

"Jacob F. Stone was the first man to settle here," the stranger continued, pointing to another grave which was dated 1712. "Samuel Levenston was but the first to pa.s.s away upon this isle."

With that, the man's bushy eyebrows furrowed and he regarded the visitors with interest. "Now tell me,"

he said. "Why doest thou come here? And where art thou going?"

Taken aback by the buggy rider's odd blend of early English and modern dialect, Frank and Joe stood mute for a few seconds before answering. Finally, Frank spoke. "We would like to visit the island church.

Are you going that way?"

"Verily, there is but one road. And to the church it leads," answered the man. "Come, I will carry thee hence." He made room for the two boys on the buggy seat.

Once aboard, Frank and Joe introduced themselves.