While the Clock Ticked (10 page)

“That car wasn’t a Meteor,” Frank told him.

The highway rose, dipped, and turned. Sometimes the black dot was visible, sometimes not. Then, with a long straightaway in sight, it seemed to have disappeared altogether.

“They’ve ducked into the Willow River Road!” Frank guessed.

In a moment he made the turn himself, and raced along the familiar route. At the Purdy estate the gate was closed, and no car stood inside. Frank went on. He reached Shore Road without seeing a sign of the strange car.

“Lost them,” Frank muttered in disgust.

Joe, too, frowned dejectedly. “Well, we may as well go see Mr. Applegate at Tower Mansion,” he suggested. “It’s right on this road.”

The boys continued driving for some distance
until finally they glimpsed an immense stone structure high on a hill, overlooking the bay. The palatial building had the appearance of a feudal castle because of the two huge stone towers which arose from the far ends of it. Joe and Frank never failed to be impressed by the enormity of the old Tower Mansion and its well-kept, fence-enclosed grounds whenever their car climbed the wide driveway that led to the front entrance.

The elderly Mr. Applegate looked sad as he opened the door, yet he seemed glad to see the Hardys and their friend. He invited them into his living room.

“Boys,” the old man said, “you helped me when my stamps were stolen, and I would have been lost without you the other night. If you can possibly get back my jade, I’ll see that you’re rewarded.”

“You mean you want us to take the case, Mr. Applegate?” Joe asked.

“
You
can find my jade collection, if anybody can!” the elderly man declared firmly.

Suddenly Joe, Chet, and Hurd Applegate stared at Frank Hardy in astonishment. He had risen quietly from his chair and was tiptoeing stealthily toward the side window!

“What—what is it?” Chet gasped.

“Somebody in the yard—listening to us!” Frank whispered. With that, he raced through the house toward the rear door.

CHAPTER XIV

As F
RANK
burst from the back door, a man hurdled the hedge at the end of the Applegates’ garden and sprinted through the rear of the property. The eavesdropper’s tan sports jacket flapped behind him as he ran. He scaled the iron picket fence with the agility of a monkey and dropped to the roadway beyond. The man glanced backward, and Frank saw that he was heavily bearded.

“Up we go, fellows!” Frank urged.

In seconds the young sleuth, too, had cleared the fence. Behind him came Joe’s pounding footsteps. Chet Morton, panting audibly, brought up the rear. They, too, scaled the fence.

Frank was looking up and down the roadway, puzzled. His quarry was no longer in sight. A young man wearing a striped blue jacket stood
on the opposite side of the road, staring at two large, newly constructed houses.

Instantly Frank called to him. “Hey! Seen a man with a beard?”

“Right there … between those houses.” The young man pointed. “Was he running away from you?”

Frank and his companions did not reply, but raced on between the houses. Still no sign of the stranger. The boys were in the midst of a housing development.

While Frank hurried forward to inspect the next street, Joe and Chet searched every possible hiding place in the yards. But it was no use. The boys had lost the eavesdropper completely.

“Bad break for us,” Joe grumbled.

As the breathless trio retraced their steps, they noticed that the stranger in the blue jacket had disappeared. “Do you suppose he was telling the truth?” Chet asked. The Hardys shrugged.

Hurd Applegate was waiting for them on his back porch. “No luck, Mr. Applegate,” said Joe to the old collector. “But we’ll take your case. We’ll find the stolen jade!”

Ten o’clock the next morning found the Hardy boys on the sidewalks of downtown Bayport. They were on their way to police headquarters to check on any new developments in the harbor mystery.

It was a hot, sunny day. Already the stores were lowering awnings over their display windows.

“Frank, look!” Joe pointed to a tall figure in a straw hat. His back was turned as he inspected the contents of a store window across the street. “It’s Dalrymple. Wonder what’s he doing in town?”

“We’d better speak to him,” responded Frank. “He might be on his way to the Purdy place in spite of our warning.”

Crossing at the corner, the boys went up and touched their client’s shoulder. As the man whirled, Frank and Joe stepped back in surprise. He was not Mr. Dalrymple!

“What d’you want?” the stranger demanded roughly.

“You’re the man who stole Hurd Applegate’s jade!” Joe fearlessly accused him.

“What jade? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never saw you before! You watch your tongue. I could sue you!”

Shoving past the boys, he darted around some pedestrians and threw himself into the front seat of a black car parked at the curb. At that moment the light changed to green. The stranger’s automobile was sucked into a river of traffic which surged forward until the light changed.

“Why did we let him go?” Joe stormed.

“We could be wrong,” Frank told his brother. “Anyway, I got the license number. We’ll give it to Chief Collig.”

“It wasn’t a Meteor Special,” Joe noted.
“Maybe that’s the car we chased yesterday!”

Eagerly the boys hurried to headquarters.

“So you think you may have seen the thief!” Collig exclaimed. “Your friend Dalrymple just called. He doesn’t believe such a man as his double exists.”

“He exists all right,” answered Frank. “Here’s the number of the car he was driving.”

Immediately the resources of a modern police department were brought into play. The strange car was found to be registered in the name of James Black of Bayport. When questioned on the telephone, Mr. Black said he was about to call the police himself—to report that his car had been stolen!

“Better come down and tell us about it, Mr. Black,” said the officer into the phone. Within half an hour a well-dressed, slight, middle-aged man was escorted by a patrolman into the chief’s office. Frank and Joe, meanwhile, had concealed themselves in an adjoining room.

“Tell us about your car, Mr. Black,” the chief began. “Where do you keep it?”

“Why … in my garage.”

Frank and Joe noted that, while facing the chief, the man kept averting his eyes.

“Mighty bold thief, to take your car from your garage,” Chief Collig remarked.

“As a matter of fact, it was parked at the curb in front of the house.”

“When? Last night?”

“Yes—that’s it—last night.”

“So, Mr. Black, your car was stolen sometime last night. Must have upset you!”

“Yes,” the man stammered. “I—I’ve been a nervous wreck ever since I discovered it was gone—right after I got up this morning.”

“Of course. What time do you get up?”

“About seven.”

“And you noticed the car was gone then?” pursued the chief. “It was ten-thirty when I called you, Mr. Black. You say you were upset about your car being stolen, yet you let three hours go by before reporting it to the police!”

For a moment James Black blinked in silence, obviously disconcerted.

“Here, you can’t browbeat me this way,” he blustered. “I—I just didn’t realize my car was actually stolen, that’s all. You act like you’re trying to accuse
me
of a crime!”

“If you ask me, Mr. Black,
you
act like a man who’s been accused of a crime.”

“Well, you haiven’t anything on me,” the stranger snapped suddenly. “I don’t have a record. You can’t hold me without charges.”

“Charges?” said Collig politely. “I thought you came to make a complaint, Mr. Black. Now that you’ve made it, you may as well go.”

As soon as the man had left, Frank and Joe stepped into the office.

“That guy might be on the level,” declared Joe. “But he sure doesn’t give me that impression.”

Chief Collig nodded agreement. “We’ll watch him,” he promised. “Best way to catch a crook is to make him believe you’ve decided he’s innocent.”

When the brothers reached home, Aunt Gertrude was on the phone talking with Chet. “Here they come now,” she said. “But no sleuthing this afternoon. Our grass is high enough to turn a herd of cows into, and the flower beds are full of weeds. Frank and Joe aren’t going off this property until the place looks respectable again.”

As Miss Hardy turned the phone over to Frank, she gave him a look which plainly meant, “No arguments!”

For this reason dusk was falling before the two detectives were free to leave. As the street lights winked on, a ten-year-old car pulled up in front of the Hardys’ house. Flashlights in hand, Frank and Joe came down to join Chet Morton, who sat at the car’s wheel.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Tonight we try out the third key on the chain the jeweler gave us,” Frank replied as they drove off. “My guess is that it fits the front door in the Purdy homestead.”

It was totally dark when the friends concealed Chet’s car a distance down Willow River Road,
and walked to the Purdy grounds. They crept stealthily along the wall. Finding the gate unlocked, they slipped through it.

The old mansion looked up, solid and dark, against a star-filled sky. The moon had not yet risen. Silently Frank tiptoed up the front steps and tried the key.

“Doesn’t fit,” he whispered, rejoining the other boys. “Wish Dalrymple hadn’t forgotten the spare set of keys.”

The three slipped around to the back door. But again the key would not fit.

“Cellar door,” suggested Joe, feeling his way to the bulkhead nearby.

Frank inserted the key. “It works!” he whispered excitedly. “The fellow must keep the front-door key separate.”

Silently he and Joe raised the heavy doors. Frank pocketed the key, and the three cautiously went down the steps into the blackness below.

The boys dared not use their flashlights, lest the beams be seen through the chinks in the flooring overhead. Frank and Joe led the way across the dank, musty cellar. Chet, shuddering a bit, followed as closely as possible. Suddenly the plump boy gave a choked cry and sprang sideways.

Crash—clatter!

Silence. At once the Hardys turned on their flashlights. In the circle of light was Chet, lying
half underneath a jumble of wooden boxes.

In a hoarse, terrified voice he gasped, “S-s-some-thing alive ran over m-my feet!” Frank looked about quickly. Then he pointed. “There it is—in the corner. A rat!”

Even as he spoke, the creature scurried out of sight. Chet, a bit shaken, was hauled to his feet, and the three advanced toward a stairway.

“Wait!” Frank commanded. “Someone’s upstairs!”

There were the sound of voices and the creaking of floor boards above them.

“The—thieves?” Chet gulped.

Joe started up the steps. “Let’s find out!” he said grimly.

The three boys found the door at the top of the stairs locked.

“All right,” Frank whispered. “If we can’t get in, we’ll get them out. Make all the racket you can. We’ll nab whoever comes out.”

Instantly the three boys pounded on the door, hammered the walls, shouted, and stamped on the steps. In a minute, above the pandemonium, came loud voices from inside.

“Hey! What’s goin’ on? Cops! A raid! Beat it!” Heavy footsteps tore through the house.

Still shouting, the three youths clattered down the steps and dashed across the cellar. As they emerged from the bulkhead, two black forms leaped from a window and made for the river.

Two black forms leaped from a window and made for the river

“Come on!” cried Joe. “We’ve got ‘em now!”

Pell-mell the brothers raced into the woods and onto the path. Chet followed as best he could. At the river the Hardys found a big, empty motorboat floating on the dark surface.

“The men are still around here,” said Frank tensely. “I—”

He never finished the sentence. The brothers were grabbed from behind by powerful arms and knocked to the ground. Their flashlights flew from their hands. A moment later Frank and Joe were gagged and bound tightly. Then they were dragged off and tumbled into the boat.

There was the sound of a man grunting. Then the motor whirred, caught, and roared.

The boat moved out on the water. Joe and Frank saw the black, receding shore on their right, and realized they were heading upriver. The brothers hoped fervently that Chet had escaped. The outlines of their captors rose above the prostrate boys. Against the stars they saw that one was tall. The other, at the tiller, was broad and husky, with a huge jutting jaw.

“The man who drove the limousine!” Joe told himself.

“What’ll we do with ‘em?” muttered the tall man, crouching down.

Frank and Joe waited with pounding hearts for a reply. It came.

“Dump ‘em overboard!”

CHAPTER XV

T
O
F
RANK
and Joe, lying bound in an inch of water at the bottom of the boat, it seemed they had been speeding up the dark river for hours. The boys’ arms and fingers were numb where the coarse ropes bit into their flesh, cutting off circulation. The tall man sat guard over them on a middle seat. At long intervals he would argue with the tough, large-jawed man steering the boat.