“Hi, fellows!” he called, interrupting his performance long enough to take several bites out of the massive sandwich he was holding.
“Hi!” Frank and Joe grinned as they took seats near the two girls.
“As you can see,” Iola said with a smile, “Chet is probably one of the best-fed ghosts in the business.”
“I need all the energy I can get,” Chet defended himself. “I might even start my own ghost-to-ghost network!”
By this time he had finished his sandwich, and hurried to the kitchen. Seconds later, he reappeared holding a large roasted turkey leg. Using it as a baton to mark the tempo, he resumed whistling.
“What if the real ghost gets mad at you for imitating him and decides to haunt you?” said Joe, chuckling.
Chet stopped whistling. He paled slightly. “Uh, come on, fellows,” he quavered. “You don't think Clint Hill is a real ghost, do you?”
“We can't say for sure,” Frank answered, trying to act solemn. “After all, we've never seen him. We've only heard him speak.”
Chet suddenly found his turkey leg unappetizing. He laid it down on a plate. The girls began giggling.
“This is no laughing matter,” he said with a frown. But suddenly his expression brightened. “I know what I'll do if Hill is a ghost! If he tries to scare us, I'll scare him right back!”
Chet dashed from the room. Moments later he reappeared, his stout form draped in a white sheet. The others roared with laughter as Chet leaped playfully about the room with the sheet swirling behind him.
“Better watch where you're going!” Frank warned the cavorting phantom.
Chet now spread his arms wide under the sheet. Looking like a huge white bat, he took a high running jump across the room. Coming down hard, he tripped on one corner of the sheet. Chet lost his balance, stumbled, then fell and rolled across the room in a tangled mass of cloth. The girls joined in the Hardys' fresh outburst of laughter.
“What's so funny?” Chet groaned as he struggled to free himself. “I thought I looked pretty scary.”
“If Hill's ghost ever saw you in that get-up,” Frank said, “he'd laugh so hard he wouldn't be able to haunt anyone.”
Chet finally extricated himself and plunked down into a chair with a disgruntled expression. Just then Mrs. Morton appeared and invited everyone to have lunch. As they all ate, the three boys discussed the trip to Ile de la Mer,
“Wish I were going,” Iola said wistfully.
A little later Chet accompanied the Hardys to the airport so they might check the plans for the trip. As they approached the Stanwide hangar, the boys spotted a twin-engine amphibian aircraft parked on the macadam ramp in front of the building. As they walked up to the craft, Jerry Madden's head suddenly popped from a window in the cockpit.
“Hello, fellows!” he called. “How do you like her?”
“A beauty!” Joe responded as they all admired the craft's graceful lines and bright painted surfaces.
Jerry's head vanished into the cockpit. A moment later a door opened in the side of the fuselage and he reappeared.
“We just finished installing the long-range tanks,” Jerry announced. “As it stands now, we can make Ile de la Mer nonstop and still have a couple of hours' fuel in reserve.”
“What about the return flight?” Frank asked. “Won't we have to refuel?”
“According to Mr. Allen,” Jerry explained, “the exploratory team he sent to the island took a sizable supply of aviation gasoline with them. It was stored in 55-gallon drums. Some of them may have been unloaded and might still be there. However, if we find it's goneâor is unusableâthe company will have more fuel flown down to us.”
After finding that everything was in roadiness, Frank said he thought they should plan to depart as soon as practicable. “Tonight, maybe?”
“Okay!” Jerry replied. “I'll give the plane a final check, then see what the weather bureau will give us in the way of a route forecast. It would be good to leave tonight. Then we'd arrive at the island after sunrise tomorrow.”
The boys hurried off to make final preparations. The Hardys dropped Chet at his house, telling him they would return within a couple of hours. After arriving at their own house, Frank and Joe learned that their father had gone out of town.
Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude began preparing a substantial supper for the boys while they packed some light luggage. The two women tried hard to conceal their apprehension, but it showed on their faces. The boys assured them everything would be all right.
Finally they departed for the airport, picking up Chet on the way. As they walked toward the Stanwide hangar, the boys spotted Jerry Madden standing near the airplane. There were two men with himâtall, muscular fellows who appeared to be in their late twenties. The pilot introduced them as Bill Vogel and Kurt Lerner, the men Mr. Allen had selected to go on the trip. Bill and Kurt greeted the boys with hard, firm handshakes.
“Wow!” Chet whispered as he straightened out the fingers of his right hand. “I'm glad those two are on our side.”
Soon everyone was aboard the amphibian and the engines were started.
“How is the weather forecast?” Frank asked Jerry as they waited for the motors to warm up.
“Excellent!” Jerry replied. “However, there is a strong low-pressure system situated southwest of Ile de la Mer. It could develop into quite a storm center. Right now, it's hard to say in just what direction it may move. But at present it shouldn't give us any trouble.”
He told the boys that once out of the continental United States, he would have to ask for Defense Visual Flight Regulation. After scanning the instrument panel methodically, Jerry picked up the microphone and communicated with Bayport tower. He asked for taxi and take-off instructions, and requested that his DVFR flight plane be activated.
Upon lining up the craft on the active runway to which he was cleared, Jerry eased the throttles ahead to maximum power. After a short run, the plane lifted off the ground easily. Jerry pulled up a small lever, which retracted the wheels into the fuselage.
When he reached the selected cruising altitude, Jerry set the plane on course. Hour after hour passed as it bore through the sky. Lulled by the drone of the engines, the boys caught up on some sleep.
When they awoke, the first light of dawn was breaking in the east. Gradually the light grew brighter, revealing a fascinating mosaic of deep blue and jade green on the surface of the ocean below.
“How long have we been flying over water?” Frank asked.
“Quite some time,” Jerry replied. “We left the United States coast about three hours ago.”
“You must be tired,” Frank said.
“Not really,” Jerry responded. “I slept most of yesterday. Also, the automatic pilot gives me a chance to stretch my arms and legs once in a while.”
Chet had wasted no time looking into the food supplies for breakfast. The meal, consisting mostly of fresh fruit, was divided among the group.
“We must be getting close to Ile de la Mer,” Jerry told the boys. He examined his chart closely. “Of course I'm basing that on dead reckoning, which is not always as precise as we would like it to be. But do you see those cumulus clouds ahead?”
The boys nodded.
“Clouds like that generally form over patches of land, such as an island,” Jerry said.
He maintained his course. Gradually the irregular outline of a small island loomed on the horizon.
“That's Ile de la Mer!” Jerry exclaimed. “I've seen aerial shots of it that Clint Hill sent to Mr. Allen. It has a particular wedgelike shape which is unmistakable!”
He eased the nose of the plane down and descended to a lower altitude. Then Jerry aimed at the island and approached it at treetop height. Zooming in over the rocky coast, he pulled the nose of the plane sharply upward and followed the contour of the hills inland.
“There doesn't appear to be any level terrain to land on,” he observed.
“Nothing suitable along the coast?” Frank asked.
“Much too rocky!” Jerry responded. “We'll have to make a water landing.”
The pilot searched the coastline for a cove or inlet that would shelter the plane from the rougher waters of the open sea. Finally he spotted a small cove on the south side of the island.
Carefully studying the surface conditions, Jerry approached the cove and flared out several feet above the water. He now eased the throttles back and let the hull of the plane settle into the water. Taxiing into the cove, he called for the anchors to be heaved, then shut off the engines.
“The island looks deserted,” Joe commented.
“Just the same we had better be careful,” Frank warned. “Members of the gang could be in hiding somewhere.”
Jerry assured himself that the aircraft was secured firmly, then he inflated a large rubber raft to take the group to shore.
“I'm sure I can find the old campsite of the exploratory team,” Jerry said. “Mr. Allen described it to me in detail.”
The Hardys, Chet, Kurt Lerner, and Bill Vogel followed the pilot through the thick trees and brush. Luckily it was not long before the group broke out into a clearing. There they found a small wooden shack, various pieces of machinery, and a number of 55-gallon drums marked “Aviation Gasoline.”
Chet and Jerry examined the fuel supply, while the Hardys, accompanied by Bill and Kurt, went into the shack. They found it to be in good condition, and cans of food were stored on shelves along one wall.
“By the looks of things here,” Frank observed, “I'd say this place has been occupied recently.”
The boys scrutinized the interior closely for clues to the occupant but saw nothing unusual. Then Joe noticed something white sticking out behind a row of cans on the top shelf. He reached up and pulled down two large folded sheets of paper. As he unfolded them, his eyes widened with excitement.
“Frank!” he exclaimed. “Take a look at this!”
Joe pointed to his discovery. “Planning charts for aerial navigation! And here are course lines drawn on them!”
Frank dashed outside to summon Jerry and Chet. The pilot examined the charts with avid interest.
“The course lines start at the exact latitude and longitude of this island,” Jerry declared.
He traced the line with his finger. It ran off the first chart, and continued on the second. The course led back into the United States to the approximate location of the camouflaged cave the Hardys had discovered. From there, it went to a point in a sparsely settled region of Montana.
“How do you figure this mystery?” Jerry asked.
Frank answered. “The gang must have been operating between the cave and this island. After we discovered the cave and things got hot for them, they decided to establish a new hideout in Montana.”
“Let's go there!” Joe exclaimed.
Even Chet was enthusiastic about the idea. “Maybe I'll still get a chance to play ghost!”
“Can the plane make it to Montana nonstop?” Joe questioned.
“With full fuel tanks, and favorable winds, we can make it at least most of the way,” the pilot replied. “We may have to stop once to refuel.”
Suddenly they all became aware that a strong wind was building up. Jerry ran out of the shack and scanned the sky. A dark, threatening layer of clouds was moving toward the island.
“That storm center I told you about!” he shouted to the others. “It has started movingâand it's coming right across this place!”
The storm now seemed to be approaching with increasing speed. The winds grew stronger, and intermittent droplets of rain began to pelt the area.
“Quick!” Jerry ordered. “Let's get back to the plane! Those anchors won't hold in a big storm!”
Followed by the Hardys, Chet, and the two Stanwide men, he ran off into the brush and back along the path over which they had come.
The wind became more violent and the rain was falling steadily. It quickly increased to a heavy downpour which stung the faces of the boys and their companions.
Reaching the cove, the group leaped into the raft and started paddling toward the plane, which was already being tossed around like a cork. Despite all their efforts, progress was slow. Each stroke of the paddles took the raft only a few inches ahead.
Finally, they managed to reach the plane. Jumping onto it from the raft was a precarious operation. The craft rolled and pitched violently under the pounding of the waves.
The Hardys glanced at the anchor ropes anxiously. They were being strained taut.
“Those ropes will snap any minute!” Frank thought fearfully.
CHAPTER XIX
Hideout Trap
THE storm had now become a raging fury. Huge waves crashed against the hull of the amphibian, causing it to heave violently.
“Those anchor ropes aren't going to hold!” Jerry yelled.
“What about putting out more lines?” suggested Frank.
“We have extra rope aboard,” said the pilot, “but what do we attach it to? We haven't any more anchors.”
“I can carry the other ends of the ropes to shore in the raft and tie them to the rocks,” Frank replied.
“Too dangerous!” Jerry shouted above the wind. “The raft would be swamped in a sea like this!”
“We have no choice,” Frank answered. “We'll have to take the chance.”
Frank worked his way aft and picked up two coils of rope. Joe and the others pitched in to help. Climbing outside and clinging to the heaving fuselage, they fastened one end of a coil of rope to the tail, the end of the other to the bow.