The House On The Cliff Part 5

Quickly Frank explained to him that their father seemed to be missing. "We thought you might have heard this."

"Yes, I did," Pretzel Pete answered. "But I didn't think nothing about it. I always thought detectives disappeared-sometimes in order to fool people they were after."

"They sometimes do," Joe told him. "But this time seems to be different. Dad said he often came down here to get information from you-because you always give him good tips-and we wondered if you had seen him lately."

"Yes."

"When?"

"Monday morning."

"Dad has been gone ever since."

"Hmm." The man frowned, picked up a pretzel from one of the aerials, and began to munch on it. "Help yourselves, fellows."

Frank and Joe each took one of the pretzels.

They had just bitten into the delicious salted rings when Pete continued, "Now you got me worried. Your pop's a fine man and I wouldn't want to see anything happen to him. I'll tell you a place you might look for him."

Pretzel Pete said that he had picked up a bit of information that led him to think an East Indian sailor named Ali Singh might be engaged in some smuggling. The vendor did not know what ship he sailed on, but he understood that the man had come ash.o.r.e for a secret meeting of some gang.

"This here meeting," Pretzel Pete explained, "was being held out in the country somewhere off the sh.o.r.e road. It was to be in a deserted farmhouse on Hillcrest something or other. I don't remember whether it was 'road' or 'street' or what."

"Was this last Monday?" Frank asked eagerly.

"Oh, no," the vendor answered. "This was about three weeks ago, but when I told your pop he seemed real interested and said he guessed he'd go out there and look around."

Joe broke in, "Dad must have thought the rest of the gang might be living there. Maybe they're holding him a prisoner!"

"Oh, I hope not," Pretzel Pete said worriedly. "But you fellows had better get right out there and take a look."

"We certainly will," Frank told the man.

The brothers thanked Pretzel Pete for the information, then hurried home. Mrs. Hardy was not there, so they did not have a chance to tell her about their plans.

"We'll leave a note," Frank decided and quickly wrote one.

Their hopes high, the brothers set off on their motorcycles on the search for their father. By now they were very familiar with the sh.o.r.e road but did not recall having seen any sign reading Hillcrest.

"Suppose it's not marked," said Joe. "We'll never find it."

Frank gripped his handle bars hard. "If Dad found it, we won't give up until we do."

The motorcycles chugged past side road after side road. The farther away from Bayport the boys went, the farther apart these roads became.

After a while they came to the Kanes' farmhouse and were tempted to stop to see if they might know where Hillcrest was. But just then, a short distance ahead, Joe saw a small car suddenly turn into the sh.o.r.e road. It seemed to have come right out of a clump of bushes and trees.

"Come on, Frank! Let's investigate that place."

The boys pushed ahead, hoping to speak to the driver of the car. But he shot down die road in the opposite direction at terrific speed. When Frank and Joe reached the place from which he had just emerged, they saw that it was a road, though hardly noticeable to anyone pa.s.sing by.

"I'll take a look and see where it goes," Frank said, shutting off his motorcycle and walking up the gra.s.sy, rutted lane. Suddenly he called back, "We're in luck, Joe. I see a homemade sign on a tree. It says Hillcrest Road."

Frank returned to his brother and the boys trundled their machines up among the trees to hide them. Then they set off afoot along the almost impa.s.sable woods road.

"There aren't any tire tracks," Joe remarked. "I guess that fellow who drove out of here must have left his car down at the entrance."

Frank nodded, and then in a low tone suggested that they approach the deserted farmhouse very quietly, in case members of the gang were there.

"In fact, I think it might be better if we didn't stay on this road but went through the woods."

Joe agreed and silently the Hardys picked-their way along among the trees and through the undergrowth.

Five minutes later they came to a clearing in which stood a ramshackle farmhouse. It looked as if it had been abandoned for many years.

The young sleuths stood motionless, observing the run-down building intently. There was not a sound of activity either inside or outside the place. After the boys had waited several minutes, Frank decided to find out whether or not anyone was around. Picking up a large stone, he heaved it with precision aim at the front door. It struck with a resounding thud and dropped to the floor of the sagging porch.

Frank's action brought no response and finally he said to Joe, "I guess n.o.body's home. Let's look in."

"Right," Joe agreed. "And if Dad's a prisoner there, we'll rescue him!"

The boys walked across the clearing. There was no lock on the door, so they opened it and went inside.

The place consisted of only four first-floor rooms. All were empty. A tiny cellar and a loft with a trap door reached by a ladder also proved to have no one in them.

"I don't know whether to be glad or sorry Dad's not here," said Frank. "It could mean he escaped from the gang if he was caught by them and is safely in hiding, but can't send any word to us."

"Or it could mean he's still a captive somewhere else," Joe said. "Let's look around here for dues."

The boys made a systematic search of the place. They found only one item which might prove to be helpful. It was a torn piece of a turkish towel on which the word Polo appeared.

"This could have come from some country club where they play polo," Frank figured.

"Or some stable where polo ponies are kept," Joe suggested.

Puzzled, Frank put the sc.r.a.p in his pocket and the brothers walked down Hillcrest Road. They brought their motorcycles from behind the trees and climbed aboard.

"What do you think we should do next?" Joe asked.

"See Police Chief Collig in Bayport," Frank replied. "I think we should show him this towel Maybe he can identify it."

Half an hour later they were seated in the chief's office. The tall, burly man took a great interest in the Hardy boys and often worked with Fenton Hardy on his cases. Now Chief Collig gazed at the sc.r.a.p of toweling for a full minute, then slapped his desk.

"I have it!" he exclaimed. "That's a piece of towel from the Marco Polo!"

"What's that?"

"A pa.s.senger ship that ties up here once in a while."

Frank and Joe actually jumped in their chairs. Their thoughts went racing to Ali Singh, smugglers, a gang at the deserted farmhouse I At that moment Chief Collig's phone rang. The Hardys waited politely as he answered, hoping to discuss these new developments with him. But suddenly he put down the instrument, jumped up, and said: "Emergency, fellows. Have to leave right away!" With that he rushed out of his office.

Frank and Joe arose and disappointedly left headquarters. Returning home, they reported everything to their mother, but upon seeing how forlorn she looked, Frank said hopefully, "That note you received with Dad's name on it could have been on the level."

Mrs. Hardy shook her head. "Fenton wouldn't forget the secret sign. I just know he wouldn't"

Word quickly spread through Bayport that the famous Fenton Hardy had disappeared. Early the next morning a thick-set, broad-shouldered young man presented himself at the front door of the Hardy home and said he had something to tell them. Mrs. Hardy invited him to step inside and he stood in the hall, nervously twisting a cap in his hands. As Frank and Joe appeared, the man introduced himself as Sam Bates.

"I'm a truck driver," he told them. "The reason I came around to see you is because I heard you were lookin' for Mr. Hardy. I might be able to help you."

CHAPTER VIII.

A Cap on a Peg "YOU'VE seen my father?" Frank asked the truck driver.

"Well, I did see him on Monday," Sam said slowly, "but I don't know where he is now."

"Come in and sit down," Frank urged. "Tell us everything you know."

The four walked to the living room and Mr. Bates sat down uneasily in a large chair.

"Where did you see Mr. Hardy?" Mrs. Hardy asked eagerly.

But Sam Bates was not to be hurried. "I'm a truck driver, see?" he said. "Mostly I drive in Bayport but sometimes I have a run to another town. That's how I come to be out there that mornin'."

"Out where?"

"Along the sh.o.r.e road. I'm sure it was Monday, because when I came home for supper my wife had been doin' the washin' and she only does that on Monday."

"That was the day Dad left!" Joe exclaimed.

"Well, please go on with the story," Frank prodded Sam Bates. "Where did you see him?"

The truck driver explained that his employer had sent him to a town down the coast to deliver some furniture. "I was about half a mile from the old Pollitt place when I saw a man walkin' along the road. I waved to him, like I always do to people in the country, and then I see it's Mr. Hardy."

"You know my father?" Frank asked.

"Only from his pictures. But I'm sure it was him."

"Dad left here in a sedan," Joe spoke up. "Did you see one around?"

"No, I didn't."

"What was this man wearing?" Mrs. Hardy asked.

"Well, let's see. Dark-brown trousers and a brown-and-black plaid sport jacket. He wasn't wearin' a hat, but I think he had a brown cap in one hand."

Mrs. Hardy's face went white. "Yes, that was my husband." After a moment she added, "Can you tell us anything more?"

"I'm afraid not, ma'am," the trucker said. "You see, I was in kind of a hurry that mornin', so I didn't notice nothin' else." He arose to leave.

"We certainly thank you for coming to tell us, Mr. Bates," Mrs. Hardy said.

"Yes, you've given us a valuable lead," Frank added. "Now we'll know where to look for Dad."

"I sure hope he shows up," the driver said, walking toward the door. "Let me know if I can help any."

When the man had left, Joe turned to Frank, puzzled. "Do you suppose Dad hid his car and was walking to the Pollitt house? If so, why?"

"Maybe he picked up a clue at that deserted farmhouse on Hillcrest Road," Frank suggested, "and it led to the old Pollitt place. If he left his car somewhere, he must have been planning to investigate the haunted house without being seen."

"Something must have happened to him!" Joe cried out. "Frank, I'll bet he went to Pollitt's and that fake ghost got him. Let's go look for Dad right away!"

But Mrs. Hardy broke in. Her expression was firm. "I don't want you boys to go to that house alone.

Maybe you'd just better notify the police and let them make a search."

The brothers looked at each other. Finally Frank, realizing how alarmed she was, said, "Mother, it's possible Dad is there spying on some activities offsh.o.r.e and he's all right but can't leave to phone you.

The Pollitt line must have been disconnected. If Joe and I go out there and find him we can bring back a report."

Mrs. Hardy gave a wan smile. "You're very convincing, Frank, when you put it that way. All right. I'll give my permission, but you mustn't go alone."

"Why not, Mother? We can look out for ourselves," Joe insisted.

"Get some of the boys to go with you. There's safety in numbers," his mother said.

The boys agreed to this plan and got busy on the telephone rounding up their pals. Chet Morton and Biff Hooper agreed to go, and they suggested asking Tony Prito and Phil Cohen, two more of the Hardys'

friends at Bayport High. Phil owned a motorcycle. He and Tony said they could go along.

Shortly after lunch the group set out. Chet rode with Frank, Biff with Joe, and Tony with Phil. The three motorcycles went out of Bayport, past the Tower Mansion, and along the sh.o.r.e road.

They pa.s.sed the Kane farmhouse, Hillcrest Road, and at last came in sight of the steep cliff rising from Barmet Bay and crowned by the rambling frame house where Felix Pollitt had lived. All this time they had watched carefully for a sign of Mr. Hardy's car, but found none.

'Your dad hid it well," Chet remarked.

"It's possible someone stole it," Frank told him.

As the boys came closer to the Pollitt property, Phil said to Tony, "Lonely looking place, isn't it?"

"Sure is. Good haunt for a ghost."

When they were still some distance from the lane, Frank, in the lead, brought his motorcycle to a stop and signaled the other two drivers to do likewise.