Mystery of Smugglers Cove

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Frank wrestled with Nitron, and Joe got a ham merlock on Myer. Viga stood stock-still at first, then he took his alchemist’s ladle out of his pocket and struck Nitron on the head with a loud bong. The smuggler blacked out. Then the old man did the same to Myer. He went down the line swinging his weapon till every one of the gang lay on the ground unconscious!

  Grinning, the boys got to their feet. “Nice work, Professor,” Frank said. “You deserve a medal!”

  “We’d better get those guys tied up before they come to,” Joe advised.

  “No trouble,” Junior replied. He ran to the boat and returned with a coil of rope and a sailor’s knife. Cutting the rope into sections, he handed them around, and the boys tied the hands of the smugglers behind their backs.

  Nitron awoke first. The Hardys made him go aboard and sit down on deck. The rest of the gang followed. “We’ll take them straight to police headquarters,” Frank said.

  He started the engine and steered the boat out into open water. Halfway down the coast a police launch appeared and cut across their bow. An officer with a bullhorn ordered Frank to heave to. Nodding, the boy let the vessel come to a stop.

  The police launch eased up alongside, and a lieutenant came aboard. Surveying the men on deck, he demanded, “What’s going on here? ”

  “That’s Ignaz Nitron and his gang of smugglers,” Frank said. “We caught them as they were about to defraud Professor Viga.”

  “What!” The lieutenant stared in surprise as Frank explained the details of their mission.

  “You’ve done an excellent job,” he said at the end. “We’ve been trying to catch these guys for a long time. Now, thanks to you, we’ve got them!”

  12

  Everglades Adventure

  The lieutenant turned to Viga. “Want to tell us about your part in all this, Professor?”

  “I believe in alchemy,” Viga confessed. “I needed a laboratory, and Myer helped me establish one in the barn. Later he brought Nitron to see me. They pretended to believe I could turn lead into gold. I know now I was deceived. ”

  “Lieutenant, it was a confidence game,” Frank said. “Nitron and Myer salted the slag with a lump of gold and then claimed to find it.”

  “They were after the professor’s diamond necklace all the time,” Joe commented. “They tricked him into giving it to them. He would have never gotten it back if Frank hadn’t disrupted their scheme. ”

  Viga sighed. “I read every book on alchemy, and carried out many experiments, always hoping my furnace would produce gold. And all for nothing!” He buried his head in his hands and groaned in despair.

  “The furnace is still going in the lab,” Joe pointed out.

  “I’ll have one of my men shut it down,” the lieutenant said and dispatched an officer to the barn. Then, after advising them of their legal rights, he interrogated the gang. Confronted with the evidence, Nitron confessed he had tricked Viga into giving him the necklace.

  “What about Raymond Wester’s picture?” Frank demanded.

  Nitron looked startled. “What do you know about that? he exploded.

  “We found your fingerprint in his house in Bayport. You and Mark Morphy took the picture.”

  “With the help of Tom,” Joe added. “You also stole two golden candlesticks and silver pitchers, which you hid in your cottage on Key Blanco along with other things you lifted—”

  Nitron, who had turned white as a sheet, interrupted nervously. “We took the picture, I admit. But in Blanco City Morphy went off with it. I have no idea where it is!”

  Nitron’s men assured the lieutenant that they did not know either, and were led away into the police launch for transport to Egret Island.

  The boys followed, steering Nitron’s boat, and gave a full report of what had happened.

  “We now have enough evidence to put this gang behind bars for a long time,” the lieutenant said. “Thanks for your excellent work, boys.”

  “What about Junior Seetro?” Frank asked.

  “Well, he has been an accomplice, and we’ll have to see what the authorities say. In the meantime we’ll have to ask him not to leave the area. He has to be available for the trial as a witness.”

  “That, I’m glad of,” Junior promised. “I’m really happy to be out of this racket—I’ll tell everything I know!”

  The lieutenant turned to the Hardys. “When you get to Blanco City, it would be a great help if you led the local police to Nitron’s cottage.”

  “We’ll be glad to,” Frank replied.

  “Good. I’ll notify them that you’re coming.”

  The boys rented a boat for the return voyage. On the way, they discussed the smugglers.

  Suddenly Frank had an idea. “Junior, was anyone else involved in Nitron’s operation?”

  “Not directly,” their new friend replied. “But now that you mention it, he did say he got certain orders from the chief in written messages left in a place in the Everglades.”

  “Where?” Biff asked.

  “Can’t tell you, fellows. All I know is that it’s near Moss Tributary.”

  “I remember that from the map,” Frank noted. “It’s west of the Pa-hay-okee Trail.”

  Reaching Blanco City, the boys turned in the boat, then reported to the police. Together with two officers, they sped to Nitron’s cottage and helped load the crates of Swiss watches and other stolen objects onto the truck they had brought. When they were finished, one of the policemen said, “We’ll return all these goods to their rightful owners once we have established who they are.”

  He thanked the young detectives, then the officers drove off while the boys returned to Blanco City in Junior Seetro’s car. There the Hardys and their friends shook hands with Junior. “Good luck,” Joe said, while Frank took their duffel bags out of the trunk. “And remember your promise!”

  Junior grinned. “Let’s hope that next time you see me, I’ll be in the Merchant Marine, straight as an arrow!”

  He drove off and the other four walked along the cliff to Smugglers Cove. When they entered Wester’s house, the maid failed to recognize them until they spoke to her.

  “I thought you were sailors,” she confessed.

  “It’s just a disguise,” Joe told her. “Is Mr. Wester in?”

  “No. He’s gone to Key West for several days, but he wants you to stay here until he gets back. Come on in.”

  The boys went up to their rooms and changed into their regular clothes. They put their sailors’ outfits and beards into the duffel bags, which they gave to the maid to donate to a charitable organization.

  “Hey, how about some flapjacks?” Chet proposed. “I’m starved.”

  “So am I,” the others said in unison.

  “Come on downstairs. The makings are in the refrigerator. I saw them the other night when I went for my snack.”

  In the kitchen, Chet got the cook’s permission to use the stove. Pouring batter into a frying pan, he hummed merrily, then tossed half-fried flapjacks into the air, flipping them over expertly, and caught them in the pan again. Soon he had a sizable pile of pancakes on a platter beside the stove.

  The other three set the kitchen table and poured milk. Chet set the platter down in the middle of the table. “Chef’s specialty,” he boasted with a grin.

  The boys attacked the treat with great appetite. When they were finished, they cleaned up the kitchen and went to Frank’s room to size up the situation.

  “Well, this was an interesting experience,” Biff started. “But we haven’t found the picture.”

  “Junior mentioned that some chief gave orders to Nitron,” Frank said. “And Fatso talked about a chief on the plane. Maybe it’s the same guy.”

  “He left the messages for Nitron in the Everglades,” Joe added. “That should be our next stop!”

  It was decided that Frank and Joe would look for the chief, while Chet and Biff would stay in Harrison Wester’s house—to wait for Wester’s return and to watch for Morphy. Then, exh
austed after the excitement of their trip and the capture of the smugglers, the boys went to bed and slept soundly until morning.

  After breakfast the Hardys were ready to leave.

  “We’ll tell Mr. Wester what’s happened if he gets back before you do,” Biff promised.

  “Just say hello to the alligators for me,” Chet quipped. “Sorry I can’t go swimming with them.”

  “We’d better get moving,” Frank said with a grin. “Our best bet is to take the ferry to Flamingo on the southern tip of the mainland. From there we’ll make our way into the Everglades.”

  The young detectives walked into Blanco City and were soon aboard the ferry on the Gulf of Mexico. When they arrived, they went to the Flamingo Visitors’ Center, past the lines of small boats tied to the docks. Frank bought a map at the information desk, while Joe studied an announcement on a bulletin board nearby. It stated that alligators were an endangered species and that hunting them without a license was illegal.

  “How do we get to Moss Tributary?” Frank asked the woman behind the counter.

  She consulted her detailed guidebook. “Take the bus up the Mangrove Trail to the Pa-hay-okee Trail. There you can rent a boat and follow the map west.”

  “Thanks. ”

  Frank and Joe went to the terminal and boarded the bus. Luckily they did not have to wait long for its departure. On the Mangrove Trail they saw trees with great bunches of roots that arched through the air and then grew down into the swampy earth below. Soon they came to an area of grass and trees not too different from what they had seen farther north.

  “Hey, Frank, this isn’t bad,” Joe exclaimed. “Maybe we won’t drown in the swamp after all!”

  “Forget it,” Frank replied. “Moss Tributary is in the real Everglades. We’ll get our feet wet for sure.”

  At the Pa-hay-okee Trail, the Hardys rented a flat-bottomed skiff along with leather boots for walking. Joe took the controls, while Frank checked the map as they chugged west.

  They found themselves moving through a wilderness of water, mud, and mangrove trees broken up by higher and dryer areas. In certain places it was possible to walk for hundreds of yards on dry land. But the rest was a morass of shallow winding streams, often joining one another only to separate farther downstream. Acres of grass pushed out of the mud to a height of six feet or more.

  Egrets and other birds rose in flocks as the boys passed. Fish broke the surface of the water, and snakes slithered over the ground. Alligators cruised along the streams with their snouts barely visible, seeking their prey.

  “This looks like the end of the world to me!” Joe complained. “How are we ever going to find a clue in this desolate swamp?”

  For the first time since they began their search, Frank shared his brother’s doubts. Hopelessly he looked around him. “I really don’t know!” he said.

  13

  The Rattlesnake

  The Hardys kept moving for several miles. The sound of their motor mingled with the cries of birds, the scream of bobcats, and the rustle of mangroves in the wind.

  “Boy, we really are a long way from nowhere,” Frank complained.

  A broader expanse of water caught Joe’s eye. “Looks like a lake up ahead,” he announced. “We’re heading right into it.”

  Frank plotted the area on his map. “It’s called Moss Pond. Five streams run together here, which makes it the biggest lake in this part of the Everglades. ”

  They chugged into the shallow expanse of water bordered by marsh grass.

  “The Moss River is number four,” Frank said.

  Joe twisted the steering wheel and guided the skiff into the direction his brother had indicated. “How far to Moss Tributary?” he asked.

  “A few miles,” Frank replied. “It’s the only stream that runs into this river.”

  When they reached Moss Tributary and turned toward it, Joe said, “Now that we’re here, we don’t even know what to look for. ”

  “It has to be a building, don’t you think? But keep an eye peeled for anything. No telling what we’ll run into. ”

  They entered a desolate area with swamps on one side and dry, rough terrain covered with tangled vegetation on the other. Mangroves were spread out everywhere.

  Suddenly Joe spotted a wisp of black smoke curling into the sky. Quickly he shut off the engine and let the skiff drift to a stop.

  “What’s up?” Frank asked.

  Joe pointed to the smoke. “Somebody got here before us. ”

  “Let’s check it out,” Frank said, excited.

  The boys picked up a couple of paddles, quietly dipped them into the water, and moved the boat over to a clump of tall grass. Parting it, they saw the remains of a campfire. The wood was still smoking.

  “Nobody here,” Joe stated. “Let’s see if we can find a clue. ”

  “But be careful!” Frank warned.

  Paddling to the site, they climbed out of their skiff and explored the area. Footprints were grouped around the fire.

  “I count four different people,” Frank announced after examining the prints closely. “I wonder where they went. ”

  “Well, the fire’s still smoking, so they were here only a few minutes ago,” Joe deduced. “If they’d gone downstream, we’d have met them. Therefore, they must have gone upstream.”

  Frank nodded. “I hope we can pick up their trail. But we’d better watch out. If they hear us, they might set a trap for us!”

  “Right. Let’s paddle up as quietly as we can,” Joe agreed.

  After stamping out the smoldering embers, they went back to their skiff and continued along Moss Tributary. Half an hour later, they heard the sound of voices ahead.

  “I wonder if they’re park rangers,” Joe said.

  Frank shook his head. “Not a chance. Rangers wouldn’t leave smoking embers. Too much danger of starting a fire. ”

  The Hardys turned into the mouth of a small stream feeding Moss Tributary, then tied their skiff to a mangrove root. Under the cover of the trees, they followed the sound of the voices until they spotted a boat at the bank.

  Four men were inside, all carrying high-power rifles.

  “I don’t recognize any of them,” Frank whispered. “Do you?”

  “Never saw them before,” Joe replied. “I wonder what they’re up to. ”

  “We’ll have to get closer to find out.”

  Silently the boys slipped through the mangroves until they found a hiding place among the giant roots of a tree. They had a clear view of the men in the boat, whose conversation was now clearly audible.

  One of them patted his rifle and boasted, “We’ll get plenty of ‘gators this time.”

  “Long as the park rangers don’t butt in!” said another.

  “We’ll take care of them if they do!” a third spoke up. “We’ve got enough ammo to fight a war!” He rapped his knuckles on a box labeled Ammunition.

  The men laughed loudly, and began to joke about shooting alligators.

  “Who cares if it’s illegal as long as we make big money?” one asked. “There’s such a market overseas for skins—belts, handbags, wallets, watch-bands, you know ... ”

  Joe recalled the sign at the Flamingo Visitors’ Center warning that the Everglades alligator was an endangered species that ought to be protected. He nudged Frank and whispered, “Poachers! We can’t let them get away with it! But there’re too many of them for us to tackle. What’ll we do?”

  “Lie low,” Frank advised. “That’s all we can do right now. ”

  Suddenly footsteps approached from the upstream area. The men jumped out of their boat and crouched next to it.

  “Might be the rangers!” one of them rasped. “Let’s give ‘em a friendly reception!”

  All four raised their rifles and pointed them in the direction of the footsteps. Then the bushes parted and two men appeared, both carrying rifles. One was tall and muscular, the other shorter and heavy.

  “Tom and Fatso!” Joe hissed.

&nb
sp; Dumbfounded, the Hardys watched the pair walk up to the boat, where the men lowered their guns and greeted the newcomers with friendly grins.

  “We’ll have a clear shot at the ‘gators,” the tall man said, “or my name isn’t Tom Lami.”

  “How about the park rangers?” one of the men wanted to know.

  “They’ll never catch us,” Fatso retorted. “We saw ‘em patrol the alligator pool, then they moved on. Never knew we were watching ’em!”

  “Biggest concentration of ‘gators I ever saw,” Tom continued. “We’ll start hunting tomorrow. ”

  “It’s like shootin’ fish in a barrel.” Fatso smirked.

  Suddenly a terrific clatter broke out overhead, a deafening sound that echoed across the Everglades. The poachers ducked for cover under mangroves some distance from the Hardys.

  A helicopter zoomed through the sky toward the area. The emblem, EVERGLADES PARK RANGERS, was painted on its side.

  “If we could only signal the pilot!” Joe muttered. “Then he could send a patrol here and nab these guys!”

  “Maybe he’ll spot their boat,” Frank said. “I doubt he’ll see ours. We hid it too well.”

  Tensely the young detectives watched the chopper coming closer and circling overhead. The pilot looked down at Moss Tributary, and said something to his copilot. Then the craft moved off, but returned a few moments later.

  “Would he be coming back for a second look if he hadn’t seen the boat?” Frank whispered.

  “Maybe he’s calling headquarters on his radio,” Joe guessed.

  But they observed the pilot shaking his head. The chopper completed another circle and flew off, the sound of its propellers diminishing in the distance.

  “He didn’t see the boat,” Frank said, disappointed. “It must be too far under the trees.”

  “That leaves us to deal with the poachers!” Joe said.

  “Six against two isn’t very good odds. We need a miracle to help us in this situation.”