The Haunted Fort Part 3

It might sharpen our eyes to finding that treasure clue."

In their bas.e.m.e.nt room, Chet and the Hardys spent the evening mulling over books on painting borrowed from Mr. Kenyon. Later, they went upstairs for a conference with Chet's uncle. Using paints and a canvas, the instructor ill.u.s.trated various art techniques.

"Want to try your hand, Chet?" Mr. Kenyon offered, holding out the brush to his nephew. He winked at Frank and Joe. "I think he has the makings of a painter, don't you?"

But before either Hardy could answer, the building shook with a deafening roar that reverberated up the stairwell!

Frank jumped to his feet. "That came from downstairs!" The smell of burnt powder reached them as they all charged down the narrow steps. When they entered their room, Chet gasped.

The wall near which their luggage lay was splattered with red dots!

"A shotgun!" Joe exclaimed, picking up a used cartridge under the window. He grimaced and held out the sh.e.l.l. "Look." Everyone gasped. It was covered with red.

"Bl-blood?" Chet quavered.

His uncle examined the cartridge. "No. Red paint-alizarin crimson!"

On the floor lay a small paintbrush. Wrapped around it was a piece of paper. Frank unfolded the sheet to disclose a typewritten message: A mural for the Hardy Boys. Leave Millwood or my next painting will be a coffin-yours.

CHAPTER V.

Danger Alley CHET looked nervous. "Another threat!" he exclaimed. "I guess that scalp warning wasn't any joke."

Uncle Jim's face showed concern. "Whoever stuck a gun barrel through that window wants to scare you boys off-that's plain."

Joe said wryly, "Lucky we weren't on hand for the barrage."

Frank compared the note with that found earlier on the scalp. "Both were done on the same typewriter-and this red paint looks like that 'blood' on the papier-mache."

With flashlights the instructor and the three boys searched the ground outside the shattered window, but no clues were found.

While the boys swept up the broken gla.s.s and fallen plaster, they speculated on the ident.i.ty of their mysterious enemy. The Hardys felt he might very well be the same person who had thrown the scalp and stolen the fort painting in Bayport.

Chet gulped. "You mean-that thief trailed us here?" Then he asked, "Do you think that snoopy Ronnie Rush could have had something to do with this?" He told his uncle of their encounters with the boy.

"Well," said Mr. Kenyon, "Ronnie's sometimes a little hard to work with, but I don't think he'd do something like this. Our annual outdoor exhibit is to be held on Senandaga Day-next Sat.u.r.day. I'll be pretty busy getting ready for it, so I won't have much time to help you detectives."

Jim explained that Senandaga Day was celebrated every year. The town decreed that the fort be opened at this time to the public. "By having our art exhibit then, we attract more visitors."

The Hardys decided to track down if possible the source of the empty cartridge. Frank obtained from Uncle Jim the name of a Cedartown hunting equipment shop, the only one in the area.

"It's run by Myles Warren," the painter added. "He's one of our weekend painters, by the way."

Before retiring, the Hardys fastened some slats across the window. The rest of the night pa.s.sed uneventfully. After breakfast the next morning, the three attended the quaint little church in town and located the shop of Myles Warren.

"We'll come here first thing tomorrow," Frank said.

Back at the school, the boys had midday dinner, then strolled across the lawn toward several students at work on their paintings.

Frank said in a low tone, "Let's see who has been using the alizarin red." The trio split up. Each boy had a paper bearing a smear of the paint. They began browsing near easels set up not only on the main lawn, but also in various nooks on the outskirts of the estate.

"Wow!" Chet exclaimed to himself, coming upon a dazzling creation being worked on by a thin, red-haired boy in dungarees. The plump boy tried to make some order out of the reddish-brown swirls and zigzag silver streaks. "Looks like a vegetable cart that's been hit by lightning."

The student paused and greeted Chet. "Like it?" He smiled. "It's a meadow in wintertime."

"Oh-er-very unusual." Chet walked on, muttering, "Guess I'll have to get the hang of this stuff."

He stopped at several other easels, some of which bore landscape scenes, and others, views of the Millwood buildings or of the surrounding lakes.

"Hi!" A round-faced jovial girl peeked out at Chet from behind an easel. "Are you a new student at Millwood?" she asked, wiping some red paint from her hands onto a rag. Chet explained that he was trying to pick up some pointers.

"You'll have to see our exhibit," she said brightly. "I'm just touching up my portrait. One of the other students modeled for it."

"Is that alizarin crimson?"

"Oh, you! You're an old pro to recognize it," the girl said.

Chet gulped. "She's so nice, she couldn't be the thief," he thought, then peered wide-eyed at the bizarre maze of green and yellow triangles, wavy black lines, blobs of thick red shading, and one eye.

"You say another student modeled for you? Is he all right now?"

The girl giggled. "Quit teasing. You know well enough this is an abstract!"

"Oh, yes, of course." Chet smiled and moved on to inspect several other student canvases before meeting the Hardys near the gallery. "Hope you fellows had more luck than I did," he said.

Frank shook his head. "Everybody is using alizarin crimson. We can't narrow down this clue."

The next morning they walked up the shady lake road to the quaint village of Cedartown. Picturesque shops, a small church, and a barnlike playhouse graced the narrow main street. Frank pointed out the Cedar Sport Store on the other side.

"If the shotgun sh.e.l.l was bought any place in the area, there's a good chance it was here," he said. They crossed and entered the dimly lighted shop.

A long, cluttered counter extended along a dusty wall hung with a.s.sorted hunting and fishing equipment.

Frank rang the counter bell, and a slender hawk-nosed man with a full black beard emerged from a back room.

"Mr. Warren?" Frank inquired.

"Right. What can I do for you?" he asked, smiling. He spread his hands on the counter and looked with interest at the boys.

"Can you tell us whether this was sold here?" Joe asked, handing him the paint-marked cartridge.

The owner pulled a pair of gla.s.ses out of his shirt pocket, put them on, and looked closely at the sh.e.l.l.

He shook his head and handed it back.

"If it was used in this area, it's probably my stock," Warren affirmed. "But I sell hundreds of this brand to hunters. Although without the red paint," he added, chuckling.

"Then you have no way of pinpointing the customer?" Frank asked.

"I'm afraid not." The man then asked, "You all up here for the fishing? It's great at the north end of the lake."

Frank shook his head. "Just visiting."

After thanking the dealer, the three left the shop. The next moment they heard a cry of anguish from an antique shop across the street. Its owner stood in the doorway gesturing frantically. "Help! Thief! Help!"

The boys rushed to the sidewalk. "Over there!" Joe yelled.

Directly opposite, a small man was running into a cobblestone alley. He carried a picture frame under his arm. The boys sprinted across the street and up the alley. They were closing the gap when the man stopped at a parked black sedan. The Hardys gasped.

It was the man who had stolen the fort painting from the Bayport Museum!

"He's got an old fort frame!" Frank cried out, recognizing the odd shape.

The boys put on more speed as the thief hopped into the car and started the motor.

The sedan roared down the alley directly toward the boys! "Quick, this way!" Joe yelled.

They darted to the right and flattened themselves against a building. The speeding vehicle almost brushed them. In a moment it had screeched around the corner and disappeared up the main street.

A curious crowd had gathered, but were quickly dispersed by a policeman. The Hardys and Chet then went with the officer to the antique shop. The owner explained that the pug-faced man, whom he had never seen before, had offered to purchase the frame. Upon hearing the price, the man said that it was too high, and he started toward the door.

"So I went into my workshop in back," the dealer continued, "and returned just in time to see that scoundrel making off with the frame." He groaned. "An irreplaceable loss."

Next, the boys were taken to police headquarters, where they told their story to the chief. He said a state alarm would be issued for the fugitive. Since the earlier alert, sent out right after the boys' chase on the thruway, the police had discovered through the license number that the sedan was stolen.

"We know the fellow's in this area now," the chief said. "We'll keep you boys informed."

Walking back to Millwood, the three discussed the stolen frame.

"Probably," Frank remarked, "the thief didn't have any luck finding a treasure clue in the paintings."

Joe looked thoughtful, "You think this guy stole the gallery pictures, too?"

Frank stared at his brother. "Say! He could be in league with someone else!"

Back at Millwood, Chet and the Hardys told Mr. Kenyon of the Cedartown incident. "Pretty bold move," he commented, "risking a theft in broad daylight."

"Well," Joe said glumly, "let's hope the treasure clue isn't in that frame."

After some further discussion of the new development in the mystery, Uncle Jim said, "How would you like to get your first look at Fort Senandaga?"

"You bet!"

"Good. Mr. Davenport has asked us to go."

The boys and the instructor went to the mansion, where they were introduced to Alex, the millionaire's chauffeur-gardener, dressed in blue uniform and cap. Tall, with a clipped black mustache, he bowed stiffly to the boys, then moved around to the rear door of a polished limousine.

"Boy, we're going to ride in real style!" Chet exclaimed. "Old Queen will get jealous."

Mr. Davenport came out, greeted them cordially, and all took seats in back. Soon the limousine was heading south along the pretty, winding lake road. Past the end of the lake, the car turned up a gentle hill and paused at a PRIVATE PROPERTY sign. Alex got out and unlocked a wire gate. The entire south end of the fort promontory was enclosed by fencing marked with NO TRESPa.s.sING signs.

As they drove ahead through overgrown woods, the elderly Southerner spoke proudly of Fort Senandaga's history. He explained that little was known of the one battle fought there between the British and French.

"There's dispute till this day about its outcome," he went on, "and which side was the last to leave the fort.

That's probably why some folks believe Senandaga is haunted-ghosts of soldiers from both forces still fighting, no doubt." He added, "Someday I aim to have that fort fully restored."

Chet asked if the public often visited the site at other times besides Senandaga Day. Davenport's face turned livid and his eyes blazed. "The-the public!" he sputtered, sitting up and thumping his cane on the floor. Chet sat petrified until his uncle put a warning finger to his lips and smoothly changed the subject.

Alex parked in a small clearing and everyone got out. The chauffeur stayed to guard the car. Mr.

Davenport, his composure restored, led the others to a gra.s.s bluff. "There she is!"

The entire lake could be seen, dotted in the distance with islands like scrubby green battleships. To the boys' left, up a gentle slope, rose the stone fort, an expansive star-shaped ruin surrounded by a shallow ditch, overgrown with brush. Although much of the masonry was crumbling, all the walls were at least partially intact.

As they walked toward the ramparts, Chet's uncle pulled the boys aside and accounted for his employer's sudden outburst.

"I guess I should have warned you," he said, chuckling. "There are two things you should never mention in Mr. Davenport's presence. One is admitting the public to his fort-he has a great fear that someone will get careless wandering around the ruins and be injured. The other is Chauncey Oilman."

"Chauncey Oilman? Who is he?" Joe asked.

Before Uncle Jim could answer, Mr. Davenport summoned them all down the steep counterscarp, or exterior slope of the ditch. As they proceeded, the elderly man talked excitedly.

"Good walls, these," he pointed out, his voice echoing upward. "The man who drew up the plans for Senandaga followed the star-shaped design made famous by Marshall Sebastian de Vauban, military engineer for Louis XIV. Genius-sheer genius!" he added as they came to a wide-angled turn in the towering wall. "A century later my ancestor was imprisoned here."

Frank and Joe marveled at the imposing defense the fort must have provided. "How could any army capture a place like Senandaga?" Joe asked.

"Not without much bloodshed," the millionaire acknowledged. "A man like Vauban could have succeeded, though. Long before Chambord built Senandaga, Vauban devised a parallel trench system for a.s.saulting forts." He explained how attacking armies in Europe had got nearer and nearer to fort walls by digging one parallel trench, then zigzagging ahead to dig another, and so on.

"Boy, what terrific strategy!" Frank said.

"Brilliant-brilliant," Mr. Davenport agreed. "The Marquis de Chambord, by the way, was a great admirer of Vauban's achievements."

Chet glanced out at the peaceful lake, which once was the scene of warring canoes or attacking fleets. "It doesn't seem haunted," he whispered to the Hardys.

Frank was about to answer when a rumbling sound came from above. Looking up, he cried out: "Watch out! The wall!"

A huge section of crumbling gray masonry collapsed in a cloud of dust and came toppling downward!