Mystery of Smugglers Cove

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Did Morphy know about this picture?” Frank asked.

  “It’s quite possible Raymond mentioned it when he talked about our interest in art,” Wester replied. “Well! I’ll leave it to you boys to investigate—Chet, I hear you had some difficulty walking along the beach from Blanco City. You’ll be pleased to know there’s an easier path along the top of the cliff.”

  “Aren’t you going to call the police about the Morphy incident?” Frank inquired.

  Wester hesitated for a moment. “I don’t see what they can do unless something’s missing. I’ll check. Meanwhile, I’m counting on you to find out exactly what’s going on.” With that, he limped back into his study.

  The boys finished their breakfast, then set out for Blanco City. On the way, they talked about going underground and getting in touch with the smugglers.

  “Let’s disguise ourselves as sailors,” Frank suggested.

  “Good idea,” Joe said. “That way we can snoop around the waterfront where smugglers hang out without being suspected.”

  “What about our faces?” Chet asked. “Tom and Fatso’ll recognize us if we run into them!”

  “That occurred to me,” Frank replied. “While I was in the living room alone this morning, I checked the telephone book. There’s a place on Market Street that sells theatrical props and make-up.”

  Chet grinned. “Good thinking!”

  “We can fix your face so your own mother wouldn’t recognize you,” Frank added. “It’s just too bad we can’t change your shape!”

  Chet shot his friend a sideways glance. “So? There’re fat sailors, you know!”

  Frank laughed. “I thought the word was well-nourished!”

  At an Army-Navy store the boys bought seamen’s work clothes and duffel bags in which they stuffed their regular pants, shirts, and shoes. Then they went to the shop on Market Street and picked out some instant hair color, beards, and a mus tache for Chet. They completed their disguise in a deserted section of a park, then turned down toward the waterfront, making sure they were not being followed.

  Ships at the docks were being loaded and unloaded by longshoremen, while businessmen were listing cargoes. Sailors were strolling ashore on leave, and visitors walked around, watching the picturesque scene.

  “Act natural,” Frank warned his companions. “Our story is, we’ve got a valuable cargo and are looking for a buyer, okay?”

  “We’ll talk about it,” Joe added, “and just hope someone’ll hear us and want to make a deal.”

  “When we get a bite,” Biff suggested, “let’s say we have electronic calculators to sell. I hear that’s the hottest thing going right now.”

  The four coordinated their strategy and then mingled with the buzz of activity on the waterfront. They strolled along talking loudly about the valuable cargo they had to sell. A number of sailors, longshoremen, and businessmen turned to listen, but no one said anything.

  Finally the boys halted at the end of the harbor. They found a bench, dropped their duffel bags, and sat down to discuss their next move.

  “Let’s try the coffee shops and restaurants,” Frank proposed. “Places where sailors hang out when they’re ashore.”

  The others agreed, but as they were about to move, Joe heard a rustling in the bushes behind them. Whirling around, he saw a man staring at them through the branches.

  The stranger realized he had been seen and let the twigs snap back into place. Joe leaped up and rushed through the bushes, followed by the others.

  The fugitive hurried across a footpath beyond the dock area. Reaching the nearest building, a restaurant, he ran through the back door. Joe followed, brushing between the stoves and carving blocks, scaring the chef and his cooks who were preparing meals.

  The stranger careened through the swinging door into the dining room. He raced between the tables, pushed the headwaiter to one side, and went through the revolving door. He passed the front window and vanished.

  Joe came next, but by now the headwaiter stood in his path with upraised hands. Frank, Chet, and Biff stopped behind Joe.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” the man demanded.

  “We’re chasing a suspect,” Joe explained.

  The headwaiter turned pale. “Did he take the cash in the till?”

  “Not yet, but he might if we don’t catch him. He’ll get away if you don’t let us through!” Joe said desperately.

  The man stepped to one side. “Go ahead! If he’s taken any of the silver, I’ll bring charges against him!”

  The boys pushed out onto the sidewalk and looked down the street. But the eavesdropper was nowhere in sight.

  “What rotten luck!” Joe lamented. “Who do you think he was?”

  Frank shrugged. “Maybe he heard us talking before and was curious.”

  “If he wanted to make a deal, he wouldn’t have taken off,” Biff pointed out.

  “True,” Frank admitted. “But from what I could see, he was a very straight-looking guy. Had a camera around his neck. Perhaps a young reporter after a big story. When we all jumped up and tried to get him, he scrammed.”

  Joe nodded. “I don’t believe Tom, Fatso, or Morphy would recognize us in these outfits. So they didn’t send him to spy on us.”

  “And we weren’t followed after we put on our beards and stuff,” Chet added.

  They returned to the bench on the waterfront and were about to pick up their duffel bags when they heard another noise in the bushes.

  “Sh!” Frank whispered. “There he is again. This time let’s split up and see if we can trap him between us.”

  Quickly Biff and Chet circled around the clump of bushes. When they were lost to view, Frank and Joe walked straight toward the point from where the noise had come. Just then a figure became visible behind some branches. The four friends converged on the stranger in a flash and pinned him to the ground.

  “All right, smarty!” Chet grated. “We’ve got you this time!”

  “Who’s Smarty?” their captive asked. Just then the boys realized that he was not the man who had eavesdropped on them before.

  “Someone spied on us a few minutes ago. We thought you were the same guy,” Frank explained.

  “Well, I’m not. I wanted to talk to you about the goods you mentioned down by the waterfront. Maybe we could do some business, I figured. Instead, I get pounced on!”

  Warily the four Bayporters released their captive, who got to his feet. He was about their own age and wore sailors’ clothing.

  “Sorry if we made a mistake,” Frank said. “What’s your name?”

  “Junior Seetro. I couldn’t talk to you earlier because there were too many people around. But I know when sailors act the way you do, they’ve got hot goods to sell, so I’ve been following you. Want to discuss it?”

  “Sure,” Joe replied. “Over here, Junior.”

  He led the way back to the bench. There was no one else within earshot.

  “I saw the guy who was eavesdropping on you before,” Junior volunteered. “Looked like a real boy scout. I’d have chased him, too. Now tell me, what’ve you got?”

  “Electronic calculators,” Frank replied.

  Junior nodded. “I know someone who buys that stuff. He’ll pay top dollar. Want to meet him?”

  “Why not?” Biff said casually.

  “Okay. Hang around while I make a phone call.” Junior Seetro went to a phone booth nearby, talked for a few minutes, then returned to the bench.

  “It’s all set,” he announced. “We can go in my car.”

  He led the way to an old, gray Cadillac in the waterfront parking lot. Frank and Joe looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. Were they walking into a trap? Frank felt it would be worth taking the risk because they outnumbered Junior four to one. He nodded slightly, then the boys put their duffel bags into the trunk and got in the car. Seetro took the wheel and drove about ten miles to a cottage in the woods. It stood in a cove, concealed by trees and thick undergrowth.
A boat about fifty feet long was tied to one of the trees.

  Junior opened the door and everyone entered except Biff, who felt it was safer for one of them to stay outside. A table in the corner of the front room revealed a collection of valuable objects, including a set of gold candlesticks and two silver pitchers.

  Joe nudged his brother. “Maybe that’s the stuff stolen from Raymond Wester’s house in Bayport!” he whispered.

  “But I don’t see the missing portrait,” Frank whispered back.

  Junior had gone to the foot of the stairs and called out, “Mr. N., we’re here!” He returned to the group and added, “You’ve come straight to the top. This man handles most hot cargoes around here.”

  The same thought flashed through the boys’ minds. Would they meet Ignaz Nitron? Biff had heard the conversation through a crack in the door and came in, feeling safe enough to leave his post as guard. He was just in time to see a muscular man with a shock of black hair descending the stairs. Instead of a greeting, he glared at the boys. “You wanted to see me?” he asked gruffly.

  “We have a cargo to sell,” Frank spoke up. “Junior thought you might be interested.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Sailors. My name’s Frank, and these are Joe, Biff, and Chet. We’ve been working on different merchant ships, mostly out of the West Coast. We picked up this shipment—”

  “How do I know I can trust you?” the man grumbled.

  Frank decided to take a chance. “You don‘t,” he replied brazenly, “but we heard you were the guy to see.”

  “Where are the calculators?” he demanded.

  “We’ve got them stashed away on the Florida coast south of Miami,” Frank replied quickly. “They’re too hot to handle right now. When the heat’s off, we’ll run them down here in our boat.”

  Nitron nodded. “Okay. You seem to know what you’re doing. ”

  “We’ve sold our share of hot goods,” Chet declared.

  “And we haven’t been caught yet,” Biff maintained.

  Nitron rubbed his chin. “I could use you four,” he stated. “How about working for me?”

  “Okay by me if it’s worth our while,” Frank replied.

  “It will be. The name’s Ignaz Nitron. I’ll pay you a hundred each for tonight,” Nitron went on. “Then you’ll get a cut when I complete the deal I have in mind.”

  “When do we start?” Joe inquired.

  “Right now!”

  9

  A Dangerous Mission

  “My men will be over soon,” Nitron went on. “We have a cargo to pick up and need extra hands.”

  As he finished speaking, there was a knock on the door and three men filed into the cottage. They looked at the Bayporters curiously.

  “I just hired these guys,” Nitron explained and introduced the men. Then he signaled for everyone to leave. The group went to the cove and boarded the boat. Junior Seetro untied the rope, threw it onto the deck, and jumped in after everyone else had gone aboard. Nitron started the engine and soon the smugglers sailed out of the cove.

  They followed a course past Key West, Boca Chica Key, and Sugarloaf Key. Just before Big Pine Key, Nitron turned off the motor. Glancing at his watch, he said, “We’ll wait here for the go-ahead.”

  Some time later a signal came from the shore. A bright light was aimed at a certain point on deck. It blinked on and off at different intervals.

  The Hardys realized that someone on Big Pine Key was communicating in Morse code, which they had mastered during their detective training. HONDA COVE NINE O‘CLOCK was the message. Then the light went out.

  “We don’t go in till nine,” Nitron stated. “So we gotta kill time. If you want to listen to music, you can use my cassette player below.”

  The boys went down into the cabin, and a few seconds later Junior Seetro joined them. “I’m glad we got a break,” he said, plopping into a chair.

  “Why, don’t you like to work for Nitron?” Frank asked.

  Junior shrugged. “Having to watch out for the law all the time is getting to me. I’ve never been in prison, but I know a lot of people who have. I’d rather not join them.”

  “True,” Joe spoke up. “But where else can you make this kind of dough?”

  “Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it,” Junior replied, putting a tape into the player. “Anyway, I have no choice.”

  “What do you mean?” Chet asked curiously.

  Junior sighed. “Aw, nothing. Forget it.”

  Since the young man did not volunteer any more information, the Hardys decided not to prod him for the time being. Instead, they all began to talk about the group they were listening to.

  At eight-thirty Nitron started the motor and headed toward Big Pine Island. Darkness had fallen over the tropical sea, and they could hardly make out where they were going. Nitron entered a shallow cove. Knowing the area like the palm of his hand, he guided the boat expertly to the narrow beach.

  Junior jumped onto the sand holding the guide rope, which he tied to a tree. Then everyone went ashore. Nitron signaled with his flashlight.

  “Over here!” a muted voice called out.

  The smugglers walked toward a secluded spot surrounded by mangroves, where a man stood beside a number of stacked, wooden crates. He came forward and shook hands with Nitron.

  “Everything here, Roberto?” Nitron asked.

  “Every last crate,” Roberto replied. “Now let’s finalize the deal. I’ve got to get back.”

  Nitron pulled a wad of banknotes out of his pocket and handed them over. Roberto counted them, nodded as if to say the payment was correct, then walked away.

  “Let’s move the crates onto the boat,” Nitron commanded. Two men were required to lift each one, so Frank and Joe took one between them, and lugged it toward the boat.

  “I wonder what’s in these,” Frank whispered. “Feels like bricks!”

  Joe nodded. In shifting his grip, he nearly dropped his end of the crate.

  “Watch it!” Nitron snarled. “These are expensive Swiss watches, and I don’t want any of ‘em broken!”

  The Hardys lifted their crate onto the boat and went back for another. Chet and Biff did the same. The flurry of activity continued until the last crate was loaded.

  During the return voyage, the men were silent. Nitron brought the craft back to the cove on Key Blanco and the boys transferred the crates to the cottage.

  Frank and Joe picked up the last one. At that point, they were alone in the boat.

  “We’d better blow the whistle on these guys,” Joe said. “Those are stolen watches, and we can’t let them get away with it.”

  “If we alert the police now, we’ll never find out whether he has Wester’s painting,” Frank pointed out. “Let’s wait awhile and see.”

  They carried the crate inside and placed it on top of the pile.

  Nitron rubbed his hands. “Good job, men,” he complimented them. “We’ll hold the stuff here for a couple of months. Then we’ll sell them when the coast is clear, together with the calculators that are stored south of Miami.”

  “That gives us time,” Frank whispered to Joe.

  Nitron handed out everyone’s pay, then turned to Frank and Joe. “You two, come on outside. I want to talk to you.”

  Apprehensively the Hardys followed him to the beach. Was Nitron on to them? If so, their chances of survival were slim since they were outnumbered by the gang!

  Nitron suddenly stopped walking and spun around. “I have a dangerous mission coming up,” he said. “We’ll be sailing for Egret Island off the Dry Tortugas.”

  “You want us to continue working for you?” Frank inquired cautiously.

  Nitron nodded. “But I have to warn you. It’s risky. Talk it over with your friends and decide whether you want to come along.”

  “We’re not afraid,” Joe spoke up. “Neither are Biff and Chet.”

  “What’s the mission?” Frank inquired.

  “Let’s just say someth
ing very valuable is involved. And the law is all over the place down there. But you’ll be paid well.”

  Nitron would not say any more. He returned to the cottage. Frank and Joe followed and motioned for Chet and Biff to come outside. The four strolled along the beach while Frank described Nitron’s offer. “The valuable cargo he mentioned could be the Bolivar portrait,” he concluded. “Shall we go along?”

  “Of course!” Chet exclaimed. “We’ve gotten in with these guys, now we have to stick with it until we find what we’re looking for.”

  “Remember, Nitron said it was dangerous.”

  Chet looked a bit uncomfortable. “Yes. Well, in that case, perhaps one of us should stay here and watch the cottage. I volunteer!”

  “No,” Biff declared flatly. “We’re in the minority and can’t afford to lose a single body!”

  “All right, all right,” Chet gave in. “Let it not be said that Chet Morton left his friends in times of trouble!”

  The four returned to the cottage and Frank informed Nitron that they would be going with him. “Let me call a friend who was expecting us,” he added.

  “Go ahead. Phone’s right over there.”

  Frank dialed Wester’s number. “We’ll be tied up working for a while,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

  The boys slept in the little building that night while the others stayed on the boat. In the morning, they took off on their voyage westward. Stopping at one of the Tortugas, Nitron allowed his gang to go ashore, but ordered Frank, Joe, Chet, and Biff to stay on board.

  “They need a break,” he explained. “So I’ll let them have a few hours ashore. You keep watch—I’m going to catch some shut-eye.”

  He went into the cabin. When the boys were sure he was asleep, they began to search the boat for a place where the missing picture might be hidden. However, they found nothing topside.

  “It has to be below,” Joe stated. “Could be Nitron took it from its frame, rolled it up, and stashed it in one of the lockers.”

  “Or the safe,” Frank added. “You three take the lockers. I’ll tackle the safe. But make sure not to wake Nitron or we’re finished!”