The Secret of the Caves (14 page)

“Joe! Slow down.”

“Why? Our whole boathouse will burn up.”

“The fire department will take care of it.” Frank had hardly spoken before an arch of water sprayed against the building and the flames were quenched.

As Joe slackened speed and circled about, Frank explained, “This blaze could have been set for two reasons. One, to keep us from using the
Sleuth,
and two—”

“I get you already,” Joe said. “A diversionary action!”

“Exactly.” Frank nodded. “If our enemies are up to something tonight, they'll want to pin us down in Bayport.”

By now the smoke, too, had abated, and firemen raised the door of the boathouse. In the glow of their lanterns, the brothers could see that the
Sleuth
was still afloat.

“She may not be badly damaged,” Frank said. “At any rate, we can't stop to see now. On to Honeycomb Caves, Joe.”

Unfortunately, the
Envoy
did not have a ship-to-shore radio, as did the
Sleuth.
The brothers therefore could not communicate with their home, but knew that Mr. Hardy would be notified of the boathouse fire soon enough.

Joe snapped on the running lights again, and the
Envoy
purred through the rolling waves as its pilot guided the craft expertly along the coast he knew so well.

After the
Envoy
passed a blinking buoy marking the entrance to Barmet Bay, the run south was nearly in a straight line. But even with smooth sailing, it was nearly two A.M. before the great cliffs loomed in shadowy silhouettes on their starboard side.

Joe throttled back, and the
Envoy
rocked in the waves as the young detectives discussed their next move.

“Let's cruise past the caves as close as we can get,” Frank said. “After that, we can put in at John Donachie's dock.”

Frank spelled his brother at the wheel, and, guiding the
Envoy
silently toward shore, the boys studied the Honeycomb Caves. The half-moon illuminated the shore just enough to make the dark cave openings look like the baleful eye sockets of a skull.

The craft ran parallel to the shore, and as they neared Commander Wilson's cave house, Joe chuckled. “I'll bet the old boy is sawing wood right now—For Pete's sake, Frank!”

The brothers were startled by a brilliant finger of light which suddenly shot from the cave mouth across the water.

“A giant searchlight!” declared Frank.

The bow of the
Envoy
nearly touched the edge of the powerful beam, and Frank turned hard on the wheel to reverse his course. The light moved away from the boat, giving its churning wake a chance to settle in the darkness unseen. Frank and Joe bent low, hoping the wave troughs would conceal the
Envoy.
Then the light disappeared as suddenly as it had swept the green sea.

“Junipers!” said Joe. “That was a close squeak!”

“Came right from Wilson's cave!” Frank exclaimed. “Dad hit it on the nose. Wilson's not nutty at all. He's as sane as we are, and up to something sinister.”

“Do you suppose he picked us up on radar, or heard our motor?” Joe pondered as Frank made a big circle and headed for the fisherman's dock.

“It might have been a signal,” Frank said. “And we just happened on it by luck.”

“A signal for what,” Joe asked, “or to what?”

“Maybe a ship lying offshore, or men waiting in a small boat. Who knows?”

“How can we find out?”

Frank replied with determination, “Maybe Johnny Donachie can help us. If he'll take us fishing with him tomorrow, we can lie low offshore and spy on the caves with binoculars.”

“Great idea,” Joe said approvingly. “Too bad we'll wake him up in the middle of the night.”

When the
Envoy
docked at Johnny's pier, Frank and Joe got their first good look at the fisherman's craft. It was a little more than thirty feet in length, with a cabin sticking up like an inverted cheese box.

“A pretty old tub,” said Joe as he hopped out of the
Envoy
and made fast.

“Looks sort of top-heavy,” Frank said. “But if it suits Johnny Donachie, it's okay with me.”

The brothers walked up to the dark house. Frank took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Seconds later a yellow light blinked on and a sleepy voice sounded behind the closed door. “Who's there?”

“Frank and Joe Hardy.”

The door opened a crack and the fisherman looked out.

“Thunderation!” he said, opening the door to admit the boys. “What brings you out at this hour?”

“We're doing some more detective work,” Joe replied. “Did you see the light down the coast tonight?”

The fisherman said that he had noticed a glow in the night sky several times. “It's weird. That's why I stay away from that spooky place.”

“We have a favor to ask,” Frank said. “Will you take us fishing tomorrow?”

“Sure, don't see why not. Hey, you boys must be tired. We have an extra room.”

“Thanks, but we can sleep in our boat,” said Frank.

By this time Mrs. Donachie had been awakened, and insisted that the Hardys stay for the rest of the night.

Secretly Frank and Joe were glad to accept and slept soundly until they were aroused for breakfast.

After they had eaten, the boys covered the Envoy with a tarpaulin, then joined Johnny on his boat, which bore the faded name
Lena.
The fisherman started the noisy motor, and with a
clink-clunk-clink-clunk
the old craft limped seaward.

At Frank's request, Johnny headed down the coast parallel to the caves but far enough out to avoid suspicion. Frank and Joe crouched behind the gunwales, keeping their binoculars trained on shore.

A half hour elapsed. Suddenly Joe straightened. “I see some people!” he said.

“Me too. And look. Isn't that Wilson up there?”

“Moving around like an athlete!” Joe observed.

The commander and three other men were carrying boxes into the cave mouth.

The boys' arms ached from their steady surveillance. At last, two hours later, Wilson reappeared. He sat in front of his cave for a while, then moved off to the cavern in which the Hardys had stayed and appeared to examine it briefly before returning to his own headquarters.

“Frank, we have to get ashore and find out what's going on,” Joe said.

“That may come sooner than we expect,” his brother replied, glancing up into the lowering sky.

The waves became a deeper green and the lacy tops were flicked off by the freshening breeze.

“Fishin's over for the day,” Johnny told the boys. “We got to go back.”

“How about a little longer look,” Joe coaxed, seeing Wilson stride along the shore.

“These storms come up awful fast,” Johnny said. “We'd best be puttin' back.” But the Hardys finally convinced the fisherman to remain for a short while in order to spy on Wilson. Almost immediately, the fishing boat began to lurch as the waves grew higher.

“Can't stay another second,” Johnny said. “It's gettin' dangerous.”

With a
clink-clunk
the old motor-powered
Lena
chugged slowly back toward the fisherman's wharf.

“Can't you give her more gas, Johnny?” Joe called out as the waves grew taller and the wind whistled about their ears.

“Six knots is the best she can do.”

They were halfway to their destination when a huge wave crashed upon the deck, nearly washing Joe into the sea. But the boy clung to a railing post until Frank dragged him into the safety of the cabin.

The old tub now listed badly. “We'll never make it!” Johnny said gloomily, as the rough sea bullied the boat about and rain lashed the waves.

Just then Joe looked toward shore and exclaimed, “Frank! Is that the
Envoy
I see?”

Frank raised his binoculars. “It sure is. Well, what do you know? Johnny, your wife's coming to our rescue.”

Minutes later, Mrs. Donachie came about in the
Envoy.
Joe threw a line to her, and, with the sea heaving about them, the woman towed
Lena
to shore. When both craft had been moored at the dock, they hastened inside the house, soaking wet.

Frank shook his head. “I've got to hand it to you, Mrs. Donachie. You certainly have a lot of courage.”

“And skill, too,” Joe said admiringly.

The woman pushed back wisps of damp hair and replied with a smile, “What do you expect from a fisherman's wife?”

By early evening the rain had ceased and the skies were clear. After a hearty supper John Donachie pushed his chair back from the table, lighted his pipe, then said, “Now that the storm's over, are you boys takin' the
Envoy
back to Bayport?”

Joe shook his head. “Frank and I want to get closer to those caves and see what's going on.”

“At night?” The Donachies looked fearful.

“Yes. As soon as it gets dark enough,” Frank said.

“We should be back before daybreak,” Joe added, testing his flashlight.

After many admonitions to be careful, the boys disappeared along the trail in the darkness. The climb to the top of the cliffs was arduous, but the way was clear in the moonlight.

“Here's the ravine,” Joe said finally, and the brothers made their way down to the sandy beach. There they stopped for a moment to get their bearings.

“We'll have to crouch low and stay as close to the cliff as possible,” Frank advised. “I'll lead the way.”

The Hardys passed the mouth of their old cave, and crept stealthily toward Wilson's cavern. Suddenly Frank pulled Joe back into a crevice of rock. “Good night!” he whispered. “Look out there!”

Three hundred yards offshore a small red light winked like the eye of a sea monster. But even in the gloom the boys recognized a conning tower.

“A submarine!” Joe exclaimed.

THE
magnitude of the mystery they had uncov ered hit Frank and Joe like a stunning blow. This was it! Commander Wilson was a fraud, a cover-up for some sort of gang receiving supplies and men by secret submarine at the Honeycomb Caves.

Another light winked from in front of Wilson's cave. Slowly the sub surfaced, its whaleback silhouette standing out in the darkness.

“They've contacted each other,” said Joe. “If we only had a boat.”

“I have an idea,” Frank said. “We'll swim out to the sub.” He stripped down to his shorts and Joe did the same. “We might make it if Wilson doesn't turn on the big searchlight.”

The brothers concealed their clothes behind a rock, then waded into the surf. They dived into a wave, and, with strong overhand strokes, rapidly swam toward the submarine. Silently the Hardys came up to the undersea craft, and treading water, clung to the hull.

Tensely the boys waited. A few moments later the hatch opened. Frank and Joe held their breaths as six men piled out, dragging a large rubber life raft. They flung it into the water with a
plop,
and stepped inside, where two of their number manned paddles.

Hearts thumping wildly, Frank and Joe pressed back against the sub, their faces barely showing above water ten feet away from the raft.

The men spoke a strange foreign language, but suddenly one said sternly in English, “Do not use the mother tongue. It is dangerous. We are now in America!”

Frank decided on a bold strategy, and nudged his brother. “Come on!”

Swiftly the boys pushed off and swam underwater to emerge silently right behind the raft. They reached up and gripped it with one hand, scissor-kicking so as not to be a drag on the rubber craft as the paddlers guided it across the waves toward shore.