The Secret of the Caves

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Joe spoke up. “That uncle bit doesn’t ring true. Quill is keeping back something, I’ll bet.”

  “Why should the name Rockaway strike him?” Chet wondered.

  “Who knows?” Joe said. “Maybe he discovered the Rockaway clue in Todd’s exam.”

  “I don’t get it,” Frank said as he parked in front of the cottage. “Quill knows we’re detectives. If he did find the Rockaway clue, why didn’t he tell us?”

  “Maybe he wants to follow it himself,” Joe replied.

  “This Cadmus Quill will bear watching,” remarked Biff, now thoroughly caught up in the excitement of the mystery.

  Chet suggested that while the Hardys were packing, he and Biff would take his jalopy to a service station. “We want to check it out before starting the trip to Rockaway,” Chet said.

  The brothers entered their quarters. While Joe tossed his belongings into his suitcase, Frank telephoned Bayport. Mr. Hardy answered.

  “Frank,” he said, “I’m glad you called!” The boy was surprised at his father’s clipped tone.

  “What’s the matter, Dad?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid you and Joe will have to come home right away. It’s urgent, and I’d rather not take time to explain it.”

  “Okay, Dad. But just one thing,” Frank added quickly. “We’re suspicious of a fellow named Cadmus Quill. Will you get us a confidential report on him, please?” Mr. Hardy promised and Frank hung up. “Something’s gone haywire in Bayport,” he said to his brother, then repeated their father’s message.

  While Frank packed his belongings, Joe hustled over to the motel office to pay their bill. He returned to the car just as Frank was stowing the luggage into the trunk. At the same moment, Biff and Chet drove up.

  “All set for the big adventure at Honeycomb Caves!” Chet sang out exuberantly. “Joe, I bet I get better mileage than you on the way to the coast.”

  When the Hardys did not smile at the boast, Biff sensed something was wrong. “What’s the matter, fellows?”

  “We can’t go with you—at least not now,” said Frank.

  “Sorry to leave you in the lurch like this,” Joe added as he slid behind the wheeL

  Frank told them about their father’s cryptic message.

  “Well, if you’re needed in Bayport, I guess that’s that,” Chet commented.

  “We’ll join you as soon as we can,” Frank promised.

  “We’ll be camping on the beach,” Chet said.

  Grinning, Joe started the car. “So long, and don’t join any fraternities!”

  Joe held the speedometer needle at the maximum speed allowed, and the countryside flashed by. When they hit the turnpike, Frank spelled his brother at the wheeL Now, with greater speed, the miles melted past.

  “She purrs like a kitten,” Frank said. “A great car, Joe.”

  “Good thing we had the motor tuned up,” Frank remarked as the wind whipped through his hair.

  After a quick stop for lunch, Joe drove away from the roadside restaurant.

  “Want to listen to the news?”

  “Okay. What country’s having a war today?”

  “Maybe someone has landed on the moon,” Frank said as he clicked on the high-powered transistor.

  The first word to hit their ears was “Bayport.” Joe took his foot off the accelerator and Frank tuned the volume louder. The newscaster’s report sent a shiver up their spines: The radar tower on Telescope Hill had toppled over in a high wind!

  “This must be the emergency Dad meant,” Frank said. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Joe guided the car expertly along the freeway, and, slightly under six hours since they had left the town of Kenworthy, the Hardys pulled into their driveway.

  As the boys carried their luggage in the back door, Mrs. Hardy met them.

  “Hi, Mother,” said Frank. “Where’s Dad?”

  “At the radar site. He didn’t have time to tell you all about it on the phone.”

  “We heard the report on the car radio,” said Joe.

  “Your father wants you to go right over,” Mrs. Hardy said.

  The boys carried the suitcases to their rooms, splashed cold water on their faces, and hurried back to the car.

  As they neared the construction site, traffic was slowed by the large trucks plying back and forth to the installation.

  Finally they reached the gate. Frank parked the car, and he and Joe approached the guard. The brothers identified themselves.

  “Our father is waiting for us inside,” Frank said.

  With a nod of recognition the security man admitted them. Briskly Frank and Joe trotted up the incline which led to the top of Telescope Hill.

  Joe gave a low whistle as they neared the toppled tower. It had cut a jagged scar in the woodland and lay twisted and broken. A number of men were inspecting it. Mr. Hardy, with a magnifying glass in one hand, was examining a girder at a point about five feet from the ground, where the steel superstructure had snapped off.

  “You made good time,” the detective said as his sons ran up. He added quickly, “I’m sorry, but I won’t need you, after all, boys. I found what I was looking for, soon after I summoned you.”

  “What’s that, Dad?” asked Frank.

  “Look here,” the detective said, and handed him the magnifying glass.

  The young sleuth studied the break in the steel. “I’ll say you found something! Here, take a look, Joe.”

  The younger boy also was amazed as he noticed that the break was smooth and clean except for a burr at the edge of the girder.

  “This was cut almost all the way through to weaken the structure,” said Joe, “but I don’t see any saw marks.”

  “It was probably done with an electronic cutter,” Mr. Hardy remarked. “I’ve already reported this to the government men. Their chief engineer agrees with my theory.”

  “And the high wind finished the job?” asked Joe.

  “Exactly,” his father replied. He added that the saboteur had cut the line so straight and deep that the girder had been snapped off like a crisp cracker.

  “We’re up against a daring and well-equipped ring of saboteurs,” Frank commented as the three walked alongside the fallen tower.

  “But I wasn’t sure of that at first,” Mr. Hardy said. “That’s why I needed you. I wanted you to do some undercover work to help me find out whether it really was sabotage.” He added that he had not revealed the nature of his urgent request for fear someone might have tapped his phone line. “I didn’t want anyone to find out what I suspected.”

  “Any information on Cadmus Quill?” Joe asked as they passed beneath a tall pine tree, the top of which had been sheared off by the tower.

  “Nothing yet,” Mr. Hardy said. “A very reliable agency is checking into it. They’ll send me the report in code.”

  Suddenly the detective yelled, “Look out!” and gave Joe a push which sent him sprawling headlong onto the grass. Simultaneously a huge chunk of metal thudded to the ground inches from his body.

  “Good grief! Where’d that come from?” Frank cried, looking up into the tall pine.

  “A piece of the tower must have broken off and gotten stuck in the branches,” Mr. Hardy said. “You all right, Joe?”

  The boy picked himself up, took a deep breath, and grinned. “Being a detective can be dangerous!” he said. “Thanks for the assist.”

  The three Hardys went out the main gate. “Our car is parked close to yours, Dad,” Frank said.

  A short time later father and sons entered their house together. After a late dinner with Mrs. Hardy, the tired sleuths turned in.

  When the boys came down for breakfast the next morning they found their father already up.

  “There’s a letter for you, boys,” he said, pointing to the hall table.

  Frank picked up the long, heavy envelope. “It’s from Dean Eastland,” he said. “Must be the fraternity roster.”

  As he spoke, the doorbell rang and Joe hurried to answer. It w
as a telegram for Mr. Hardy.

  “The report on Quill,” Joe said eagerly.

  “Bring it into my office,” his father said, leading the way.

  The detective opened the telegram and studied the mysteriously coded message. Taking a pencil and pad, he unscrambled the code letter by letter. His sons looked on intently over his shoulder. The information was concise. “Cadmus Quill. Good student. Good family. Good reputation. Likes to travel. Made an extended tour of study abroad three years ago.”

  “But look at the country he studied in!” Frank said excitedly.

  Joe whistled. “The same one Todd visited last summer!”

  “Dad,” Frank exclaimed, “do you know what this could mean?”

  CHAPTER VII

  The Palais Paris

  “I GET it!” Joe burst out. “Both Quill and Todd were brainwashed into helping a foreign power!”

  Mr. Hardy spoke up. “Frank, what’s your opinion ?”

  “My theory,” Frank said, “is that maybe Todd and Quill had opposing views about this unfriendly country. Joe’s jumping to conclusions and maybe I am too, but—”

  Frank dropped into a thoughtful silence.

  “Go on,” Mr. Hardy encouraged him. “You may be on the right track.”

  “If Todd was against the country and Quill for it, maybe they had a quarrel.”

  “Which could have led to Todd’s disappearanre?” Joe asked.

  His brother nodded. “And whoever ordered the fraternity to haze us in order to scare us off,” he added, “is in on the plot.” Frank was still holding the letter from Dean Eastland. “Maybe this will give us a clue.” He slit open the envelope and withdrew a printed pamphlet.

  Frank’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh—oh!” he exclaimed. “Here’s our answer!” He slapped the booklet down on his father’s desk and pointed to the words on the cover: Delta Sigma Fraternity—Cadmus Quill, Faculty Adviser. “He probably was behind the hazing.”

  Mr. Hardy glanced at Frank and said, “That certainly fits in with your theory.”

  “Yes,” Joe agreed. “I think the police ought to question Quill.”

  Mr. Hardy also thought this would be a good idea, so Frank telephoned the police chief at Kenworthy. He told the officer what he had just learned. The chief thanked him and promised to call the Hardys back after he had interrogated QuilL

  Later, just as the family was sitting down to breakfast, the phone rang. Frank answered. “Oh, hello, Chief,” he said. “Any luck with Quill?”

  Mr. Hardy and Joe jumped up from the table when they heard Frank exclaim in astonishment:

  “He did? ... All right. Thanks a lot.... You’ll keep us posted? ... Right. Good-by.”

  “What’s the scoop?” Joe asked eagerly.

  “More mystery,” Frank said. “Now Quill has disappeared!”

  Joe gave a low whistle. “Kidnapped?”

  “Maybe.”

  Mr. Hardy’s brow furrowed. “You boys could be close to the truth about that foreign country’s being involved,” he said. “Maybe both Todd and Quill were whisked away because of some political information they gleaned.”

  Frank went on to report that the Kenworthy police had issued a seven-state missing-person alarm for Cadmus Quill. “Only when he’s found,” Frank added, “can we tell whether Quill is friend or foe.”

  Various aspects of the case were discussed by the detective and his sons during the meal. What move to take next was the question. Mr. Hardy said that since sabotage had been definitely indicated at the radar site, he could free his sons to concentrate on the Todd matter.

  “I vote we look for Quill,” Joe suggested as Mrs. Hardy sliced a broad wedge of homemade coffee cake for Frank.

  “Umm! Great as usual, Mom,” Frank remarked, having disposed of a generous bite. “What do you say, Dad? Shall we follow up the Rockaway clue?”

  “Maybe Joe has a point,” Mr. Hardy replied. “I have a definite feeling that if you find Quill you’ll find Todd.”

  Joe grinned at his brother. “Lucky our bags are still packed.”

  The boys had gone to their room to bring down the luggage when the phone rang again. Fenton Hardy was first to pick up the receiver in his study.

  The caller was Chet Morton, who said that he wanted all three Hardys to hear his story.

  “Hold on. I’ll get Frank and Joe on the other wires.”

  In a few moments Frank was at the hall phone, and Joe at the upstairs extension. “Are you all there now?” Chet’s voice was edged with excitement.

  “Right,” Joe said. “What’s up?”

  “Maybe you can tell me,” Chet said. “What is this guy Quill anyhow? A maniac?”

  “Quill?” Frank echoed as his father and brother gasped in amazement. “Have you seen him?”

  “Seen him! I’ll say so,” Chet replied. “I think he’s out of his head.”

  “Come on, boy! Give us the lowdown!” Joe prompted.

  “Quill forced our car off the road on the way to Rockaway, that’s what!” Chet said.

  “Did he follow you all the way from the college?” Fenton Hardy put in.

  Chet said that must have been the case. “After a while Biff noticed somebody tailing us.”

  “How did you know it was Quill?” asked Frank.

  Chet told of stopping for a traffic light. The other car had lingered several lengths behind. “But we recognized his moonface!” Chet said triumphantly.

  Several miles farther on, as he and Biff rounded a curve, Quill’s car had cut them off.

  “My old jalopy scraped against a tree,” Chet went on. “Biff got a bump on the head, but otherwise we weren’t injured. It ruined the paint job, though.”

  “I’m sure glad it wasn’t any worse,” Frank said.

  “Did Quill keep on going?” Joe asked.

  “Yes. In the direction of Rockaway. Say, why don’t you fellows come down here and protect Biff and me?”

  “Not a bad idea,” said Frank. “Where shall we meet you?”

  “We’ll go on to Rockaway and set up our tent on the beach,” Chet replied.

  “Okay,” Joe put in. “Get there soon as we can.”

  After Mr. Hardy added his approval to the plan, the Hardys said good-by and hung up.

  The three detectives were perplexed about Biff and Chet’s brush with Cadmus QuilL “Why would he pick on them?” Joe mused.

  Frank shook his head. “My hunch is Quill thought you and I were in that car, Joe!”

  Mr. Hardy added a word of caution. “Don’t take unnecessary risks, boys. Your enemies are dangerous.”

  As the brothers were about to leave, their mother said, “Oh, by the way, I have an errand I’d like you to do.”

  “Anything for you, Mother,” said Frank, kissing her on the cheek.

  “Well, it’s really for Aunt Gertrude.”

  Joe rolled his eyes. “Oh—oh. Is Aunty coming for another visit?”

  When Mrs. Hardy nodded, Joe remarked, “It’s just as well we’re leaving for Rockaway now. Aunt Gertrude wouldn’t approve of this mystery, I’ll bet!”

  Miss Gertrude Hardy was actually a great favorite with the boys despite her tart tongue and frequent predictions of dire mishaps overtaking her sleuthing nephews.

  Frank chuckled. “What’s the big deal for Aunt Gertrude?”

  “Get her a spinning wheel.”

  “But—” Joe gulped. “Where’re we ever going to find one?”

  “Perhaps at the Palais Paris,” Mrs. Hardy replied with a twinkle.

  “Wow!” Joe exclaimed. “Sounds real fancy—what is it?”

  Mrs. Hardy explained that there was a new and very attractive French restaurant on the main highway near Rockaway. “I understand,” she added, “that the restaurant has an antique shop connected with it. It’s only a few miles from where you’re going. I checked it on the road map.”

  The boys grimaced slightly at the idea of having to bargain for an old spinning wheel, but assured their mother they would pi
ck one up if available.

  “Wonderful,” said Mrs. Hardy. “I think your aunt will be here by the time you return.”

  Frank and Joe hurriedly stowed their luggage in the car. Their parents came to say good-by. “Watch out for those saboteurs at the radar site, Dad,” Frank said.

  “I intend to. Good luck yourselves.”

  Both boys hugged their mother, shook hands with their father, and hopped into the car.

  “The tenting equipment is already in the trunk,” Joe said. “Have we forgotten anything, Frank?”

  “We’re all set,” his brother replied, giving the circle sign with his thumb and forefinger.

  The morning was gray and foggy as the boys set off with Joe at the wheel, but an hour later the sun shone through and burned off the mist.

  The coastline now assumed roller-coaster proportions as they approached the Honeycomb Caves area. The highway was about two hundred feet above sea level. A short plateau extended to the lip of the palisades to the left of them before dropping down abruptly into the Atlantic Ocean.

  “The caves are below these cliffs somewhere,” declared Joe, motioning toward the coastal side. The sea, hidden most of the time by a thick stand of woods and undergrowth, occasionally flashed through in brilliant glimmers.

  Presently they approached a rambling, attractive building with stone trim and a wide porch. “There’s the Palais Paris,” said Frank, pointing to a sign on a lamppost announcing the fashionable restaurant. It was set thirty feet back from the right side of the road with a neat parking area beside it. The lanes, marked with white paint, were nearly filled with expensive, late-model cars.

  “A good luncheon crowd,” Joe remarked as he pulled in and parked.

  The brothers got out and walked toward the entrance to the antique shop located next to the restaurant in the same building. As they passed the open door, Frank noted the well-dressed patrons seated at the tables. There was also a sign tacked to a post beside the door. It read: WAITRESSES WANTED.

  “A ritzy place, I’d say, Joe,” he remarked. “And if they have a big selection of antiques we ought to be able to find Aunt Gertrude her spinning wheel.”

  The boys entered the shop and looked around. The broad floor boards were pegged, giving the place an old-fashioned appearance. Several long tables were filled with ancient-looking articles such as candle molds, clocks, pewter pieces, and bed warmers. From the low ceiling hung a black iron pot and several oil lamps.