Mystery of Smugglers Cove (5 page)

“Poachers?” Tom asked sharply.

“Sure. They shoot ‘gators and sell their skins. I read about them in a magazine. They—”

“That's enough!” Tom exploded. “Now get out of the car!”

Biff hesitated, but Chet nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. “Don't take any chances!” the chubby boy urged in an undertone. “That guy might have a gun!”

He got out of the passenger seat and walked around to where Biff emerged from behind the wheel. The two youths wondered what would happen next. Frank and Joe, meanwhile, waited in the back of the car with bated breath.

“We're taking you down the shore for a swim!” Tom growled savagely at Biff and Chet. “A permanent one—underwater!”

“But—we didn't do anything!” Chet quavered.

“Shut up and get in that car over there, pronto!”

By now it was too dark to see, but a metallic click told the boys that the man was, indeed, armed, and that he had just flipped the safety catch of his gun. They had no choice but to obey! Nervously they started for the blue compact, with their captor close behind.

“We can't let this guy kidnap Chet and Biff!” Joe whispered to Frank.

“You bet we can‘t!” Frank agreed. “Come on!” He silently slid out of the car, with Joe right behind him. Luckily Biff had left the door half open.

Stealthily, the Hardys crept up on Tom and then tackled him from behind. Chet and Biff heard the commotion, whirled around, and joined in the fray.

A violent struggle erupted. Tom's gun clattered onto the cobblestones as Frank grabbed his wrist. The boys had just about overpowered him when Fatso realized that his companion was in trouble.

Quickly he put the blue compact into reverse and careened down the alley.

“Look out!” Frank yelled. “He's headed straight for us!”

The four boys jumped to one side and flattened themselves against the brick wall. Tom leaped in the opposite direction, waving furiously for Fatso to help him.

The compact jammed to a stop a few feet from the boys. Tom opened the door and, with the interior light on momentarily, the boys saw Fatso glaring at them evilly.

“Let's get out of here!” Tom grated. “There's four of ‘em, not just two!”

The door slammed shut and Fatso stepped on the gas. Leaving a cloud of dust behind, the criminals sped through the alley.

Coughing, the four Bayport youths walked toward their own car and watched the compact's back lights moving away from them. The next moment, they disappeared altogether.

“There they go around the corner,” Biff grumbled. “There's no way we can catch them now!”

Frank nodded. “It's too bad—” he started to say, when his foot hit something that skidded on the cobblestones with a metallic ring. He felt in the darkness until his fingers closed around the gun Tom had dropped during the struggle. He carried the weapon to the car and examined it in the interior light, while the others looked on. Joe took the Hardys' fingerprint kit from his bag and dusted the butt lightly with powder, hoping to find a print. But it was to no avail.

“Tom must have worn gloves,” Joe said.

Biff shuddered, “A real pro. Lucky we didn't give him a hard time when he was pointing that gun at us.”

“Well, it's a clue,” Joe observed.

“We'll have it checked out at police headquarters,” Frank agreed. “Maybe they can identify the owner. ”

“I vote we do it in the morning,” Chet declared. “First we should get some rest. I'm beat!”

The others agreed and drove to the next motel, where they took a room for the night. Before going to sleep, they discussed their experience in the alley.

“I wonder why that guy got so worked up when Biff talked about poachers,” Chet said. “It was just a joke.”

Frank shrugged. “Who knows? Anyway, the men now know that we're on to them. Our cover's blown already.”

“What are we going to do?” Chet asked.

“We'll think of something,” Frank declared. “Let's sleep on it.”

That night, Chet dreamed about being chased by alligators. He was in a swamp in the Everglades, running at top speed while the giant lizards came after him with open jaws. Then he tripped and fell. In a flash, the vicious alligators were upon him.

With a choked scream, Chet woke up. It was already daylight. He shook his head and shuddered, blinked his eyes a few times, then got out of bed. His friends were already dressing.

After breakfast, they all drove to police headquarters. Frank and Joe went in while Chet and Biff stayed in the car.

A lieutenant received the Hardys in his office. “I've heard about your father's detective work, and about the crimes you boys have solved,” he said with a smile. “What's on your mind?”

Frank drew the gun from his pocket and handed it to him. The officer inspected it closely. After learning how Frank had obtained the weapon, he went to his file of licensed gun owners in Florida and slowly flipped through it.

“You're in luck,” he said finally, pulling out a card. He handed it to the Hardys.

Frank and Joe stared in amazement.

“Why, it's registered to Harrison Wester of Key Blanco!” Frank cried out.

“He's the brother of the man who hired us to find a missing painting,” Joe explained and briefly outlined their case to the lieutenant.

“We'll take the gun to Mr. Wester,” he added. “It must have been stolen from him.”

The officer nodded. “Harrison Wester has an excellent reputation. But I cannot return the gun unless he claims it as missing. Please tell him to call me when you get there.”

“We sure will,” Frank promised, then the Hardys left. They joined their friends and soon the group was rolling down Route 1 with Joe at the wheel and Frank following directions on the map.

“I wonder if Mr. Wester missed the gun,” Chet spoke up. “Maybe he knows those guys we tangled with. ”

“They could have bought it on the black market,” Frank observed.

“You mean, somebody else stole the gun from Mr. Wester and then sold it?”

Frank nodded. “Lots of crooks do that.”

Joe stepped on the gas and the car picked up speed as they approached the southern tip of Florida.

“Anyway,” he said, “the gun's another clue leading to Key Blanco. Trouble is, we don't know where to go from there. This case is certainly a mystery. ”

“Dangerous too, judging by our last encounter with Tom and Fatso,” Biff added.

“If there's more danger, count me out!” said Chet hastily.

Joe chuckled. “Come on. We need you. We know you're the bravest soul in Bayport!”

Chet grinned. “Okay, I'll tackle the crooks,” he promised. “But you'd better be there to back me up. I can't take on more than five at a time.”

Chet's joke made the others laugh. They continued in high spirits until they reached a long bridge extending from the Florida mainland out over the water.

“Where are we now?” Biff asked.

“We're crossing the Intracoastal Waterway,” Frank told him. “Key Largo's straight ahead. It's the longest of the Florida Keys, by the way.”

Joe turned south on the Overseas Highway linking the islands of the chain to one another. The boys sped from one key to the next, enjoying the sunlight, the warm air, and the blue-green water on either side.

“The Overseas Highway is the longest ocean-going highway in the world,” Joe commented. “So says our encyclopedia.”

“Great place for scuba diving,” Chet said, looking out over the wide expanse of water.

“We came here to solve a case, not for a vacation,” Joe reminded him.

“We-e-1-11,” Chet drawled, “couldn't we go diving
after
we catch the crooks?”

Frank chuckled. “Maybe.”

U.S. Navy ships were coursing through the sea leaving trails of foaming white water in their wake. Navy planes roared overhead, and a group of Phantom jets zoomed down so low it seemed they might crash. The thunder of their engines sounded deafening in the car. On cue, the pilots maneuvered their craft up in one great arc, then raced into the distance until they were lost in the bright, blue sky.

The boys crossed the bridge into Key West, the last of the islands linked by the Overseas Highway. Slowly they drove down narrow streets between rows of closely packed houses. Near the southern end, they noticed a sign saying KEY WEST NAVAL BASE.

Just then, Chet spotted a blue compact moving along a side street. “Hey!” he cried excitedly. “There're the smugglers!”

“Where?” Joe asked.

“Around the corner!” Chet pointed to where he had seen the blue compact.

Joe quickly turned up the side street, and the boys noticed the car heading into a parking lot.

Under Chet's prodding, Joe followed and stopped near the compact. Then the chubby boy opened the door.

“Wait a minute!” Frank exclaimed suddenly, after taking a closer look at the car they had just chased. But Chet was already outside and rushing up to the blue compact. His fists were raised as he stopped in front of the driver's door.

It opened and a naval officer climbed out!

Chet's eyes grew as round as saucers and his mouth fell open. Embarrassed, he dropped his hands to his sides.

“Is there something you want?” the officer inquired.

Chet blushed. “Er-r-r, no sir,” he stammered. “I'm afraid I mistook you for someone else.”

The officer shrugged and walked off in the direction of the Naval Base.

Chet rejoined his companions, his face red as a beet.

“You should have waited when I told you to,” Frank said. “I noticed the license plate. It's not the same as the one we're looking for.”

Chet nodded lamely. “Next time I'll let
you
guys chase the crooks. ”

The boys continued through Key West, found a rent-a-car lot, and turned in their car.

“How do we get to Key Blanco?” Joe asked the attendant.

“Ferry. Three blocks east, then go left down to the water. The boat'll drop you at Blanco City.”

At the dock, the Bayporters found they were just in time for the next ferry. Quickly they bought tickets and went aboard. About twenty other passengers were standing at the rail or sitting on long wooden benches.

The ferry pulled away from its slip and headed into open water. Key West dropped out of sight and the vessel pushed on through waves that grew heavier in a rising wind.

The boys went inside the main-deck cabin and stood by a window away from other passengers. As they discussed the Wester case in undertones, a tropical storm began to develop, causing the ferry to plunge up and down. Huge waves broke over the bow and sent clouds of spray splashing against the windows.

Chet turned pale and shuddered every time the ferry hit a wave. Looking queasy, he placed one hand on his belt buckle and the other against the windowsill in an effort to steady himself.

“I think I'll sit this one out,” he croaked.

Staggering over to a row of empty seats, he lay down and after a few minutes was sound asleep. A loud, rhythmical sound came from his corner.

“Chet's snoring.” Frank laughed. “Let's not forget to take him along when we arrive!”

But their friend awoke on his own just as the boat was docking in Blanco City. The storm had subsided and Chet hurried to the head of the passenger line so he could be first ashore. The Hardys and Biff followed.

Frank asked the ticket attendant how to get to Smugglers Cove.

“One mile north,” the man replied. “Can't miss it. There's a big house on the cliff, the Wester place. You can walk along the beach.”

The four boys set out in a group, but Chet soon fell behind. He struggled to keep his footing in the sand. Sweat ran down his face, and he began to puff.

“This is murder,” he complained.

“Cheer up,” “ Frank replied. ”We're almost there. “

Joe pointed to a house on a cliff up ahead. “That must be the Wester place.”

Steps made of heavy wooden logs led to the top of the steep incline. They climbed up and found themselves on a flagstone patio at the rear of the big house. From there they could see how Smugglers Cove was formed by a narrow beach that ran in an arc at the base of the cliff from one sandy headland to another.

Walking around to the front door, the boys noticed that the house faced a mass of mangrove trees and other tropical vegetation.

Frank rang the doorbell. A maid led them into the living room, where Harrison Wester was inspecting a row of paintings on the wall. He was a medium-sized man with white hair, who limped badly, supporting himself with a stout cane.