The Secret of the Caves

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Oh, how gorgeous!” she said, admiring the colorful gift.

  Mrs. Morton came downstairs and greeted the boys warmly. “I think Chet can see you now,” she said, adding that Iola was out shopping.

  Mary and the brothers mounted the stairs to the second floor. “I hope he’s feeling better,” Frank said.

  “He’s quite comfortable,” Mary said. “That poor, brave boy!”

  When they entered Chet’s room, Frank and Joe looked about, amazed. His bed was flanked by two bouquets of flowers. On the nightstand lay a half empty box of chocolates and a quart bottle of raspberry soda, four-fifths consumed.

  Reclining on three fluffed pillows lay Chet, with a cherubic look on his round face.

  “Hi, fellows,” he said feebly with a wave of his hand. “How’s tricks?”

  “Jumpin’ catnsh!” Joe exclaimed. “You got the best trick of all. How about it, Frank, let’s get ourselves blasted too?”

  “It isn’t any fun,” Chet said, and with a look of pain held his hand to his forehead.

  Instantly Mary Todd sprang to his side with a cool, damp cloth which she placed over his brow. “You poor dear,” she said, and Joe gulped.

  Frank stifled a grin. “We’re going back to the caves,” he announced. Chet’s reaction was startling. He whipped off the compress and sat up.

  “You are? Take me along, will you? That fishing was great!”

  “We’re not going fishing—not for fish, that is,” Frank said.

  “More sleuthing? Ugh!” Chet groaned and sank back on the pillows.

  “Well, now that you’re a celebrity,” Joe said joshingly, “enjoy it while you can, Chet old boy.”

  This seemed to revive the chubby patient. “May I have another drink of soda, Mary?” he asked. His young nurse nimbly moved to the other side of the bed and poured a glass of the sparkling beverage. Chet drank it and lay back again. “Yes, I guess I am a celebrity, fellows. The reporter got my personal story this morning.”

  “Reporter?” Frank said quickly.

  “Yes,” Mary put in, “from the Bayport Times.”

  “Mary made a big hit with him,” Chet went on with a grin. “He asked a lot of questions about her, too.”

  “Wait a minute,” Joe said. “What was this fellow’s name?”

  “Otto Lippincott.” Mary supplied the answer.

  “I never heard of anyone by that name on the Times,” Frank said.

  Frank excused himself to make a phone call and hurried downstairs. He returned ten minutes later, his face flushed with excitement.

  “There is no Lippincott who works for that newspaper,” he said. “Chet, you’ve been duped.”

  Disappointment, then indignation, crossed Chet’s face. “Do you mean that guy was a phony?” he blurted.

  “Nothing else but. He came here to fish for information,” Frank replied.

  Joe turned to Mary and asked, “How much did you tell this man?”

  “Oh, have I done the wrong thing again?” Mary wailed.

  “Well, maybe,” Frank declared. “But it’s too late to worry over spilled milk. From now on I advise both of you to keep mum on anything you know.”

  Just then the front screen door slammed and Iola’s cheerful voice floated up the stairs. “Frank, Joe. Are you here?”

  Joe blushed a little. “Yes, Iola, come on up.”

  Quick footsteps sounded on the stairs and Iola hurried into Chet’s room. In her hand she held a white envelope. “I found this in the mailbox,” she said. “No stamp or anything. It just says ‘Chet Morton’.”

  “Another well-wisher, I suppose,” Chet said importantly, and took the envelope. He tore off one end, blew into the slit, and removed the note.

  “Good grief! Listen!” He read, “‘Get Hardys off case or your life will be in danger.”’

  Iola gasped and clutched Mary’s hand. “Oh, this is terrible!” she cried out.

  Frank frowned and bit his lip. “I didn’t want to get your family involved, Chet.”

  “What’ll we do?” Joe asked.

  Frank’s mind worked rapidly. “We’ll get Sam Radley to stand constant guard on the house here,” he said. “After dark tonight we’ll smuggle Mary to our house. Mother and Aunt Gertrude can stand watch over her there.”

  “I’ll say!” Chet said. “I wouldn’t want to be the one to cross your Aunt Gertrude’s path.”

  A telephone call to the Hardy home confirmed Frank’s protection plan, and Sam Radley, who fortunately was in town, told the boys he would report to the Morton farm.

  When Mr. Hardy’s operative arrived about noon, Frank and Joe excused themselves and returned home.

  Frank telephoned Bayport Police Headquarters and notified Chief Collig about the impostor and the threat Chet received. Collig promised to dispatch a squad car to patrol the area during the night and relieve Radley.

  “What about Honeycomb Caves?” Joe asked after his brother had finished the call.

  “We’ll tackle them tonight,” Frank said. “As soon as we have Mary safely here.”

  “Shall we go in the Sleuth?”

  Frank mulled over the question. Finally he shook his head. “Going by water is a good idea, Joe, but these crooks are keeping close tabs on us and would probably recognize our boat.”

  “How about using Biff’s?” Joe suggested. “He says the Envoy just got a new motor job and it’s in swell shape.”

  Frank phoned Biff immediately, and arranged to use his speedboat for the brothers’ sleuthing adventure.

  The Hardys thanked their pal, who kept his craft in a boathouse half a mile from the Hardys’. After supper Frank and Joe packed their gear to have it in readiness. Then they drove out to Chet’s place.

  “Is Mary ready to come with us?” Joe asked Iola as they stepped into the hall.

  “Just about.”

  The Hardys heard footsteps on the stairs and glanced up to see a slim, handsome young man descending. He wore dungarees, work jacket, and farm hat.

  “Hey!” Frank cried out. “That’s not a guy, that’s a gal!”

  Mary Todd grinned in her disguise. “Iola and I thought up the idea. Like it?”

  “Terrific.” Joe nodded approval. “You two have the true detective spirit.”

  Chet, who appeared fully recovered, now came downstairs.

  “I thought you were still shell-shocked,” said Joe with a sly look at their stout friend.

  “Without a nurse I’m better already,” quipped Chet. Then he took on a serious demeanor. “Now look, fellows, be extra careful of Mary, won’t you?”

  With a promise that they would, the Hardys left the Morton house and drove Mary to their own home.

  Aunt Gertrude and Mrs. Hardy received the girl kindly, and showed her to the second guest room.

  Biff Hooper arrived minutes later and drove the brothers to his dock. In a few minutes the two sleuths and their gear were aboard the Envoy. Joe started the motor.

  “I checked the running lights,” Biff said. “Everything is okay.”

  The Hardys thanked him and shoved off, with Joe at the wheel. The Envoy knifed through the waters of Barmet Bay, its shore front twinkling with lights. As the boys passed the boathouse where the Sleuth was kept, Frank called out, “Throttle down, Joe. What’s that light over there?”

  Joe brought the Envoy about and saw a light flickering from the window of their boathouse. “Jeepers! I don’t know!” He extinguished the running lights and crept quietly over the dark waters.

  As they neared the boathouse Frank suddenly exclaimed in alarm. Smoke was seeping out from beneath the door. Their boathouse was on fire!

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Searchlight

  THE wailing of a police siren drifted across Barmet Bay, followed by the clanging bells of a fire engine. Now the window glass of the Hardy boathouse broke from the heat, and flames licked out, illuminating the water.

  With one hand on the steering wheel, Joe reached over for the fire extinguisher clamp
ed on the side of the Envoy. Throttle open, the craft leaped through the water until Frank called out:

  “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.

  CHAPTER XIX

  A Raft of Trouble

  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.