Footprints Under the Window (2 page)

In minutes the brothers reached the boathouse where their sleek craft was berthed. Frank started the motor and pulled out into the sunset-golden waters of Barmet Bay.

Darkness was falling by the time they headed down the coast. Soon Frank sighted the big hulk of an approaching vessel, plying lazily through the long swells. Joe grabbed the binoculars.

“She's the
Dorado
all right. Maybe we can spot Aunt Gertrude on board.”

Frank circled nearer the lighted ship, and followed a parallel course, hugging the coast. The boys looked in vain for the tall, straight figure of their aunt. Above the deck a ghostly plume of smoke curled up into the night sky.

“She may still be below,” Frank began. “If—”

“Joe! Those sounded like pistol shots!”

“From the
Dorado!
Look, there's a commotion at the stern!”

The boys saw several men scuffling at the fantail of the freighter. The next instant a figure leaped over the rail and plunged into the dark waters!

Instinctively Frank sent the
Sleuth
speeding to the rescue. Soon Joe spotted a bobbing form, and a few minutes later pulled a gasping, sputtering man aboard.

Slender and dark-complexioned, with a thin mustache, he was dressed in a crewman's blue uniform. A quick examination showed no wounds, but the stranger seemed too exhausted to speak. The boys made him comfortable and Frank sped past the
Dorado
and in the direction of Barmet Bay.

Joe shouted above the noise of the engine, “I wonder who he is and what all the excitement was about.”

“Beats me. But we'll have to contact authorities on shore pronto,” Frank said worriedly. “Let's just hope Aunt Gertrude's all right!”

Frank sent the
Sleuth
speeding to the rescue

Instead of going to their own boathouse, he pulled into the end of the public dock. The crewman revived, and the boys helped him out of the
Sleuth.

Frank said, “I'm Frank Hardy and this is my brother Joe. We don't know what—”

“Hardy—you said—Hardy?” The man, speaking broken English, was plainly startled.

Before he could say more, a stranger strode briskly up to the trio. He was short and bald, and he wore a badge on the lapel of his black raincoat. He grasped the crewman's arm and snapped:

“The
Dorado
radioed us about you. I'm an immigration officer. Come along! You kids can beat it now.”

Suddenly the crewman shook loose and his fist rocketed against the stranger's jaw! The officer staggered back with a grunt.

Frank grabbed at the sailor, but the man dodged and ran, turning only for a fraction of a second to hiss, “Footprints will get—”

He raced off the dock onto the road and was swallowed up in the darkness.

 

 

 

“AFTER him!” Frank shouted.

He and Joe ran from the dock and down the road in pursuit of the crewman. They heard footsteps pounding rapidly ahead, then Joe saw a shadow dart between two small bay-front buildings.

“There—to the right!”

The Hardys dashed through back lots and a deserted alley. But the man had vanished. Finally Frank and Joe gave up the chase and hastened back to the docks. “We'd better see if that immigration officer is hurt,” Frank said.

When they reached the dock, there was no sign of the short man with the badge.

“Maybe he went to alert his office that the man escaped,” Joe said.

“If he
was
from the immigration office,” Frank cut in. “There was something phony about his telling us to ‘beat it.' ”

Joe agreed. “At any rate, we'll report this.”

“ ‘Footprints'!” Frank mused, recalling the crewman's strange words. “What could that mean? And whom are they going to ‘get'—us?”

Joe shook his head. “That man seemed to know our last name! Where did he find out? Did you notice his accent? Sounded like South American Spanish.”

The Hardys hurried to the customs office and gave a detailed account of the recent events. The man in charge took down the information. When Frank described the bald man who had claimed to be immigration officer, the customs man made a quick telephone call. He hung up, puzzled.

“No one like that works for Immigration,” he said. “We'll look into this. Thanks, boys.”

The Hardys hurried to the pier where the
Dorado
had just docked. Only a handful of passengers debarked from the gangway, but Miss Hardy was not among them. Worried, Frank and Joe spoke with a uniformed customs inspector.

The official consulted a short list of passengers. “We have no such person listed.”

Frank and Joe exchanged dumfounded glances. “Are you sure there's no mistake? We're expecting our aunt,” Frank insisted. Just then a heavy-set man wearing a blue cap approached.

“Boys, here's the
Dorado's
skipper—Captain Burne. You can ask him.”

The newcomer seemed to be distressed as he hurried up to the inspector.

“Mr. Clark, we have a missing stowaway thief to report!” the captain announced. “We tried to stop him but he jumped overboard, and—”

“We picked him up but he got away again,” Joe put in quickly. He and Frank introduced themselves, then related their experience.

The captain stared in surprise at the boys.

“Captain,” said Frank, “isn't there a Miss Gertrude Hardy on your ship—from Rio de Janeiro? She's our aunt, and wrote us she'd arrive tonight on the
Dorado.”

Burne shook his head. “Nobody by that name aboard. Only nine passengers this trip—the last time we'll take on passengers.”

“Maybe your aunt decided to stay longer in Rio,” Mr. Clark suggested. “Don't worry, boys.”

“I guess she must have changed her mind,” Joe said, relieved that their aunt had not been exposed to the shooting incident. The Hardys now asked the captain about the escaped stowaway.

“Is he really a thief?” Frank asked.

“You bet he is!” Burne fumed. “Stole a crew uniform, cleaned out a cashbox in my office, then shot at us when we went after him. He must have sneaked aboard in Cayenne.” The captain's eyes narrowed. “Did you boys get any leads on where he went?”

“No.” Frank signaled Joe with a glance not to mention the stowaway's peculiar warning to them about “footprints.”

The captain shrugged. “Well, at least you got descriptions of him and that phony immigration officer. If you two get any clues, will you inform Mr. North's office?”

“We'll keep our eyes open,” Frank promised.

Still a bit uneasy about Miss Hardy, the brothers returned the
Sleuth
to their boathouse, then drove home.

“Aunt Gertrude must be having a ball,” Joe ventured.

Frank laughed wryly. “All that housecleaning for nothingl But,” he went on, “this stowaway thief puzzles me. Why was he so startled at hearing our name? I think we'd better find out more about it before we mention ‘footprints' to anybody.”

The boys decided to try getting word to their father by phoning Sam Radley. Sam was an ace detective and assistant to Fenton Hardy.

“I'll do my best to contact him, Frank,” Sam promised. “Sounds very strange. Keep me posted.”

After a snack of milk and crackers, the brothers went to bed. A fresh summer breeze came through the window of their second-floor room in the quiet house.

Sometime later, Joe awoke from a sound sleep. He squinted groggily at the radium clock. “Two A.M. What—” He stiffened. Was it his imagination or did he hear a noise downstairs?

A muffled, scuffing step was barely audible, then there was silence. Joe sat up and listened.
Clump, clump!
This was followed by the creaking of a floor board!

Joe shot out of bed and roused his brother, who was awake in a flash. They stood poised at the doorway.

Scuff, scuff!
Silence again.

“A prowler!” Joe whispered.

“Let's jump him—quiet!”

With fists tightly clenched, both boys inched out into the hallway. Peering into the darkness downstairs, Frank could barely make out a tall figure starting up the stairs! Crouching forward, Frank and Joe waited, tensing their bodies like taut bowstrings.

“Now!”

Instantly the two thundered down the stairs. As Frank grabbed the shoulders of the intruder, a high scream filled the hallway.

“Eek!
Stop! Help! Murder! Bandits!”

Utterly astounded, Joe darted to a wall switch. Light flooded the scene, revealing a disheveled, struggling woman wildly swinging her pocketbook.

“Stop! Let go of me—my goodness! Frank Hardy!”

Wordless with amazement, the two boys helped Miss Hardy into an easy chair.

“Gee, Aunt Gertrude, we thought you were a prowler!” Joe said sheepishly.

“Are you all right, Aunty?” Frank gulped. “Can we get you anything?”

“Of course I'm all right!” their exasperated aunt puffed, fanning herself with a ribboned straw hat. “Through no thanks to you, Frank and Joe Hardy! A prowler—humph! Fine greeting from my two nephews after all these weeks!”

The boys apologized profusely, and Frank added, “We're sure happy to see you home safe. We've been pretty worried about you.”

Joe spoke up. “Aunty, when and how did you get here? We met the
Dorado
tonight but you weren't on it.”

“I should have cabled you that I wasn't coming on that run-down old freighter,” she explained. “They wouldn't take any more passengers than they had already booked.”

Miss Hardy had sailed instead on a North Lines passenger ship, the
Capricorn,
which had docked just before midnight. The ship had been due the following day but had made better time than expected. Her traveling companion, Mrs. Berter, had driven her home.

“I tried not to disturb you boys, but look what happened! I thought I was being attacked by Amazon head-hunters!”

“You pack a pretty mean pocketbook yourself, Aunty.” Frank laughed. “Did you have a good time? How was Brazil?”

“Wonderful,” replied Miss Hardy. She arose and gave the room an appraising glance, then nodded slightly, as if pleased to see no dust on the furniture.

Joe grinned. “Pretty good housekeepers, aren't we? But we still had time for running into some mysteries.”

“Mercy! I should have known!” Aunt Gertrude pretended to disapprove of her nephews' sleuthing, but secretly was proud of their successes.

Frank and Joe described the day's events, concluding with the escaped stowaway. “You missed all the excitement, Aunty, by not sailing on the
Dorado,”
Joe added.

“Not exactly,” Miss Hardy said in a mysterious tone. “I had an adventure on shipboard myself.”

No amount of persuasion would induce her to explain further. “It's far too late. You'll have to wait until I'm rested.”

With that, Aunt Gertrude marched upstairs. The boys, bursting with curiosity, picked up her bags and followed.

 

 

 

AUNT Gertrude had another surprise waiting for her when she entered the kitchen the next morning.

“Breakfast is served!” Joe's voice rang out. She stared in astonishment as her younger nephew turned away from the stove. “Morning, Aunty! Here's bacon. Frank will have your eggs ready in a minute.”

“Less than that!” Frank lifted a skillet from the range. He grinned. “Sizzling omelet!”

“Well, you two must be up to something,” she said as Joe pulled out her chair and she sat down. “But this is thoughtful of you,” she conceded. “You must have awakened early!”

Their aunt was customarily the first one up in the morning. Frank stifled a yawn as he served the slightly burned omelet, then winked at his brother.

“Of course this is temporary, isn't it, Joe?”

“You bet. We wouldn't put one of the world's best cooks out of a job—no sir!”

Aunt Gertrude eyed the boys suspiciously as they took their places. The two immediately besieged her with questions. “Was South America exciting?” Joe began.

“Very. And perilous,” she replied. “Full of animals, insects, spies—” She picked a piece of shell out of her omelet and sniffed.

“Aunty,” Joe coaxed, “what about this—er—adventure you had on board ship?”