The Flickering Torch Mystery Part 9

Frank told him the amount.

"Mrs. Trumper didn't have to send anyone over here after it. You tell her I'll come over in the morning and pay her."

"She wants it now," remarked Joe.

"All right, then, I'll get it," roared Wort-, man. "I've been up against it for money ever since I took this place over. It will just about break me to make the payments. But wait a minute and I'll get it."

He went back into the room, and descended the stairs below the trap door. They could hear him grumbling to himself as he disappeared into the cellar.

"If he hasn't much money, why is he so careful about hiding it?" whispered Joe.

"I thought he'd give us more of an argument."

However, beyond a great deal of grumbling and bl.u.s.tering, Wortman gave no further trouble about the money. He came back up the cellar stairs with a roll of bills and carefully counted out the amount.

"I want a receipt, too," he said. Frank produced one Aunt Gertrude had had Mrs. Trum96 per make out. "And now," he told them, "if you haven't any other business here, I'll thank you to clear out."

"That's all, thanks, Mr. Wortman," chirped Joe.

As they turned to leave, a car drove in from the lane. At the wheel was Boots.

"Hi-ya! Nice evening," greeted Frank, as the machine came to a stop in front of the cottage.

Boots looked at the boys and nodded curtly. After they had crossed the dooryard, they looked back. Boots and Wortman were standing in front of the latter's home engaged in earnest conversation. Then the pair moved slowly off and disappeared behind the little house.

"Nice fellow, Boots," remarked Joe ironically. "Always has a cheery greeting for his friends."

'' Does he f I never noticed,'' grinned Frank. "I guess we're not numbered among his friends."

The boys climbed the fence and started across the field. "Aunt Gertrude is going to get the surprise of her life when we come back with the money. I believe she thought we wouldn't get it."

"I didn't think so, myself. Maybe we've misjudged Wortman, unless the money is counterfeit." Frank took the bills from his pocket 37 to examine them. "They're genuine all right, but-oh, oh!"

"What's the matter?"

"I'm ten dollars short. One bill must have dropped when I pulled out my handkerchief."

"You'd better run right back to the place and look for that bill. Aunt Gertrude will be wild if you've lost it."

Frank already was starting back across the field. "If I don't find it, I'll have to pay it out of my wages!" he called back. "You go on ahead. I'll catch up to you."

Frank hurried back toward the cottage and began searching for the lost ten-dollar bill.

He tried to recall the exact route he and Joe had taken, and scanned the ground closely.

Then he saw what he was looking for, almost hidden at the edge of the gra.s.s near the house.

Frank pounced on it with a gasp of relief. He was just putting the money into his pocket, when he heard the voice of Boots.

"Well, I think you're a fool to open that trap door when strangers are around."

He heard Wortman mumble something in reply. The two men were not in sight, but by the voices he judged they were just around the corner of the cottage.

"Money or no money," the other said irritably, "you shouldn't do it."

Frank turned and began to retrace his steps across the field. But he was too late. The boy 98 had not gone three steps before he heard Boots call out: " Hey, you! Wait a minute! '' ''

Frank turned. The man was running toward him, his friend just a few paces behind.

"What did I tell you, Wortman?" yelled Boots triumphantly. "He didn't leave here at all.

He's spying on you.''

Frank faced his accuser. "That's a lie! I wasn't spying on anyone. I lost some money and came back to find it."

"Oh, yeah!" Boots towered over him, grabbed him roughly by the arm. "Do you think I'm simple enough to believe that? You come inside. We 're going to have a little talk.''

Frank tried to pull away but Boots was strong and heavily built. He dragged the boy up onto the porch and pushed him into the cottage.

"You just sit down there," he growled, shoving Frank into a chair. "Close the door, Hal.

We're going to find out a few things about this sneak."

Wortman closed the door.

"Go easy, Boots," he muttered. "I don't want any trouble."

"Neither do I. That's why I want to talk to this kid.'' The man glowered at Frank. '' Talk up, you. What are you doing in this neighborhood!"

"You ought to know," returned Frank coolly, 99 although his heart was hammering. "I'm working at the Experimental Farm."

Boots sneered.

" Don't try to kid me!" he snapped. '' You 're no farmer and neither is your brother. You 're sons of Fenton Hardy, the detective. Now, what are you after?"

CHAPTER.

THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER.

How Boots had learned his ident.i.ty, Frank did not know. But he could see no reason for denying it-and he saw a chance to turn the conversation.

"All right, if I'm Fenton Hardy's son, what difference does that make?"

"What difference does it make?" bellowed Boots. "It makes a lot of difference. Now I want to know-----"

"What difference does it make to you and Mr. Wortman? Are you up to some crooked work?"

"None of that, now. Of course we're not up to anything crooked."

"Well, then, why are you afraid of detectives? If you're innocent men, it shouldn't make any difference."

Boots was nonplussed. Wortman spoke up quickly.

"I haven't anything to hide. I guess Boots was a little upset when he saw you in the yard He didn't think there was anyone around."

"Does it bother you because I know you have a trap door in the house? It wouldn't bother tin honest man," said Frank, pursuing his ad-Vantage.

"I'm an honest man," declared Wortman. "If I keep my money hidden in the cellar, that's my own business.''

'' What's the matter with the banks ?''

"A bank where I kept my money went bust, so I've been keeping my stuff by me, where I know it's safe."

"It's none of his business anyway," growled Boots. "Look here, Hardy, you and your brother had better quit hanging around here. Go on back home and do your detecting in Bayport."

"Who said we were detecting?"

Boots laughed sarcastically. "If you're no better detectives than you are farmers, you won't get very far. Maybe you're like the burglar who robbed a candy store. But he stopped and tested all the different kinds of candies, so he was caught by the police. Or maybe it was the Hardy boys!" Boots guffawed heartily at his own wit. "That's the only kind of crook you two kids could ever catch."

Frank's ears burned with indignation, but he said nothing. He got up from the chair, seeing that the two men were apparently in a better frame of mind.

"You'd surprise me if you ever caught anything but a cold," jeered Boots. "Go on home.

And don't come back here again."

102 Wortman opened the door. He seemed anxious for the boy to go. And greatly to Frank's relief, neither of the men thought to ask him any further questions as to what the Hardys were up to in the neighborhood.

Joe was no longer in sight, but when Frank reached his boarding place, his brother ran out of the house with a letter in his hand.

"Where on earth have you been!" he shouted. "I've been waiting for you. Mrs. Trumper just brought the mail from town."

"Anything for us?"

"I should say so." Joe waved a letter. "Asa Grable isn't the only one who gets warnings.

"You mean we we got one, too?" got one, too?"

"Bead it yourself." Joe handed over the sheet of paper. "Somebody is getting sore at us."

In a rough scrawl, on a single sheet of cheap paper, Frank read the message: "YOU TWO HARDY BOYS THINK YOTT ABE PRETTY SMABT BUT YOU AREN'T.

FOOLING ANYBODY. IP YOU DON'T MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS YOU ARE GOING TO.

GET HURT. SO LAY OFF THE GRABLE CASE. I MEAN THIS. LAY OFF. STAY AWAY.

FROM THE GREENHOUSES AND GO BACK TO BAYPORT WHERT5 YOTT BELONG.".

103 Frank whistled softly. "What do you think of that?"

"Evidently our ident.i.ty is known to someone," said Joe.

"Boots and Wortman know it," said Frank, explaining his recent encounter with those men. "But they couldn't have written this, for it mentions the Grable case."

"Sounds more like the person who threatened Asa Grable on the telephone at our house."

"Whoever he is," remarked Frank, "he's afraid we may discover something. Otherwise he wouldn't take the trouble to try to frighten us off."

'' Oh, I forgot.'' Joe took another letter from his pocket. "Here's a note from Mother in the same mail. I iaven't had time to open it yet."

They sat down under a tree and opened Mrs. Hardy's missive, which was from Cleveland. It was affectionate, but brief.

"My dear sons," read Frank aloud, "this is just a note to let you know that your father and I are going on to Washington from here. I'm not sure when we'll be back in Bayport. Your father asked me to tell you that he has rounded up a few members of the flickering torch gang who were operating in Detroit and Chicago."

"That's wonderful," said Joe.

"But the ringleaders are still at large," Frank read on, "and a great deal of the stolen material cannot be found.

104 "I am enclosing our Washington address in case you need to get in touch with us. I hope you are both enjoying your work at the Experimental Farm, and that you are getting plenty of sleep and good food. Your father sends his love and so do I. Your affectionate Mother."

Frank folded up the letter and put it in his pocket. "Do you suppose," he mused, "that the flickering torch we saw on the cliff last night has something to do with Dad's case!"

"I'd like to know more about that business," said Joe. '' All day I Ve been thinking we ought to go back to that cliff and investigate."

'' I agree with you. Let's go over there now.''

"Here's another idea. If that man on the cliff was signaling to someone out in the bay, maybe we ought to make it a tv/o-way search. One of us could tackle the cliff, and the other the bay."

"Fine," returned Frank. "Suppose I drive in to Bayport, pick up Chet, and go out in the bay by motorboat. You work from the cliff. Maybe you can get d.i.c.k to go with you."

"Good. We can signal to each other with, flashlights. Our regular code."

With these arrangements, the brothers parted. They had little idea of the adventures that lay ahead. Certainly if Aunt Gertrude had known of their plan, she might have put a stop to the whole program. But Aunt Gertrude was so pleased, when Frank turned over Wortman's payment to Mrs. Tromper that 105 made no demand for an explanation when the boy set out for Bayport in the car.

Frank drove directly to Chet Morton's home, a comfortable old farmhouse on the outskirts of the city. He found his fat chum dozing on the front porch. Aroused, he blinked sleepily.

"I thought so," he yawned. "Sick of farming already. Are you back home for good?"

"Come on," said Frank. "Snap out of it. I've come to take you for a boat ride."

Chet looked wary. "I've been on some of your boat rides. We'll probably get lost or marooned, and won't get home for a week."