Tony explained, “We came to give you a warning.”
“Tony, we came out here looking for you,” Joe replied. “Your boat wasn’t in the basin.”
“No, I took it out this morning and tied up at the North Dock when I came back.”
“What did you mean about warning us?” Frank put in.
Tony hastily told about seeing the two men sneak out of the boathouse. Just as he finished, a Coast Guard rescue launch reached the scene. Other boats were approaching also.
“Everybody okay?” the chief petty officer called out from the Coast Guard launch.
“They’re okay but plenty wet,” Chet replied.
“What happened?” the officer asked.
“Some kind of explosion in the forward compartment,” Frank told him. “We suspect sabotage.”
The chief ordered his coxs’n to maneuver the launch closer to the overturned craft. A hole had been blown in the hull near the bow, but the boat’s special flotation apparatus in the forward space had kept it from sinking.
“Can your friends tow the boat to a repair dock all right?” the chief asked the Hardys.
“We can manage, if someone will give us a hand,” Tony spoke up.
“I’ll help you, lads!” called a man from a nearby motor cruiser.
“In that case, I’d like you fellows to come back to the Coast Guard station with me and make a report,” the officer told Frank and Joe.
The Hardys transferred to the Coast Guard launch, which immediately sped off to its base. Meanwhile, Tony and Chet tackled the job of putting a towline onto the Sleuth, with the help of the man in the motor cruiser.
At the Coast Guard station Frank and Joe told their story to a lieutenant named Anson. “You’re Fenton Hardy’s sons, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Joe answered.
“Is this sabotage connected with one of his cases?”
Frank hesitated. “We think so, sir, but we don’t know yet.”
Lieutenant Anson asked, “Any theories?”
“Someone was trying to kill us, or at least scare us off our investigation,” Frank said. “My guess is the bomb was detonated chemically in some way by the salt water. But I have a hunch it went off too soon—the saboteurs hoped we’d be farther out in the bay.”
“Right,” Joe agreed. “I’ll bet the blast was supposed to swamp the boat fast, drown us, and send all our evidence against them to the bottom. But luckily for us, the boat overturned and stayed afloat, giving us something to cling to—”
Lieutenant Anson took down their statements, then said, “For the record, I’ll say you’re carrying out your own investigation. But please keep us informed.”
He had an enlisted man drive the boys back to their car. Frank and Joe went home, where Aunt Gertrude greeted them with clucks of disapproval.
“Well, I never! It’s a good thing your mother has gone to the library board meeting!” Miss Hardy ordered the boys to take off their soaked shoes to avoid tracking up the carpet, then went on anxiously, “What happened? Did that crook you’re after make you walk the plank?”
Frank chuckled and gave her a damp hug, which Miss Hardy tried to fend off. “Slight accident, Aunty—a dunking we didn’t expect.”
The boys had just changed into dry clothes when the telephone rang. Joe answered. The caller was Chief Collig.
“Got a report from the Motor Vehicle Bureau on that sports-car license number,” he said. “It’s registered in the name of Aden Darrow.”
“Never heard of him,” Joe replied.
“Nothing on him in our files, either.”
“What about the address?”
“A street number in Eastern City,” Collig said. “I checked with the police there but they couldn’t help. The whole street’s been demolished for an expressway.”
“Dead-end clue. Well, thanks a lot, Chief.”
A short time later Tony Prito and Chet arrived. They reported that the Sleuth had been safely towed to the repair dock. Frank telephoned to determine the cost of repairing the boat, then the boys gathered to discuss the day’s events. Frank and Joe quickly told Tony about the case.
“You figure the men who planted the bomb were working for Strang?” Tony asked.
“Could be,” Frank said. “Especially if he found my knife and learned our name.”
“I’ll bet he recognized us last night!” Joe put in.
“How about that sneak who took Iola and Callie’s amethyst?” Chet asked. “Maybe Strang did that too. You said he’s a jewel thief.”
Frank frowned. “That’s true. But he’s a big-time operator. I doubt if the amethyst’s worth enough to tempt him.”
“Anyhow, Strang’s definitely got business in this area,” Joe said. “Do you think he could be hiding out at that old house—the one we saw him near this morning?”
“Could be,” Frank said.
Tony asked where the place was located. When Joe told him, Miss Hardy exclaimed, “Why, that’s the old Perth mansion!”
“Do you know who lives there?” Frank asked.
“No one, far as I’ve heard,” she replied. “Hasn’t been occupied for years. The place had what you might call a sinister reputation.”
“How come?” Joe inquired.
“Seems someone died there under mysterious circumstances. Don’t recollect just who. But there was talk about the place being haunted.”
“Haunted?” Chet swallowed and turned pale.
Miss Hardy sniffed. “All stuff and nonsense. Some folks will believe anything. That was years ago—even before you boys were born.”
“Tell us some more, Aunty,” Frank urged.
Gertrude Hardy settled into her favorite chair. “Well, the house originally belonged to a man named Jerome Perth. Not a nice person at all, from what folks used to say.”
“Who was he?” Frank asked.
“Some sort of big business tycoon—but a shady operator. People accused him of all sorts of things—stock swindles, patent infringements. I don’t know what all. But I guess no one ever pinned anything on him.”
“Must have been pretty slick,” Tony remarked.
“Oh, he was,” Miss Hardy agreed. “And he made a lot of enemies—in fact, some of the people he’d cheated even tried to kill him. Finally he retired to that mansion he built and lived there in fear of his life.”
“So his swindles didn’t bring him any happiness,” Joe remarked.
“No, indeed. I recall hearing he had his study on the ground floor fitted up with a bed and hardly ever stirred out of that one room.”
“But you still don’t remember who died there under mysterious circumstances?” Joe said.
Aunt Gertrude shook her head. “Some relative, I think. But I don’t recall the details.”
Frank, meanwhile, had a sudden hunch. He telephoned Iola Morton to ask if anyone else had been in the gemstone shop when the girls showed the proprietor their amethyst.
“Why, yes, there was,” Iola replied. “Another customer came in right after we did. I remember he asked us where we had found our stone.” Suddenly Iola gasped. “Oh! You mean maybe he was the one who stole our amethyst?”
“Could be,” Frank said. “He might have shadowed you back to your house. Is Callie still there with you?”
“Sure. Want to talk to her?”
“We’ll come out.”
Five minutes later Frank, Joe, and Chet were on their way to the farm in the Hardys’ convertible. Tony had to go back to work at his father’s construction company.
When the boys arrived at the Mortons’ house, Frank carried in his father’s facial identification kit. Besides an illuminated viewing screen, the kit contrained strips of film showing hundreds of different hairlines, eyes, ears, noses, chins, eyeglasses, and hats.
Iola and Callie were fascinated as the Hardys began asking them to describe and identify the features of the stranger at the gem shop.
“It’s like putting together a jigsaw puzzle!” Callie exclaimed.
/> Bit by bit, the film strips showing the man’s features were laid together over the viewing screen until a whole face had been assembled.
“For Pete’s sake!” Joe exclaimed. He and Frank stared at each other. “That’s the guy we picked up unconscious last night!”
Chet peered over their shoulders, open-mouthed with surprise. “It is for a fact!”
“Joe,” Frank said, “suppose you take that face to the gem shop and ask Mr. Filmer if he knows the man.”
“Okay. How about you?”
“I want to go to the Bayport Times office and see if I can dig up any stories on the Perth mansion from their back files.”
Joe dropped his brother off at the newspaper office and a few minutes later pulled up in front of Filmer’s Gemstone Shop. He carried the kit inside and spoke to the proprietor.
Mr. Filmer, a skinny man with thick bifocal eyeglasses, seemed oddly nervous. “I—uh—rreally don’t recall anyone else being in the shop when Iola and Callie were here,” he stammered.
“Please try to remember,” Joe begged.
“I’m afraid I can’t.”
“All right. At least let me show you a picture of the man’s face and see if you—” Suddenly Joe broke off. The door to the back room was ajar and he had just seen it move slightly.
Someone was eavesdropping behind the door!
“So that’s why Filmer won’t help me!” Joe thought. “I’ll bet he’s afraid of the person hiding back there!”
The young detective wondered what to do. If he asked Mr. Filmer’s permission to look into the back room, it would forewarn the eavesdropper. But if he acted on impulse—Joe darted behind the counter and yanked open the door.
A tall, sandy-haired man, who looked like the one in the picture, streaked across the back room toward a window! Joe rushed forward and lunged at him. The stranger grabbed a stool and hurled it at Joe.
The stool struck Joe on the temple and he sank to the floor unconscious!
CHAPTER V
Spook Hound
As JOE regained consciousness, he felt something cold and damp on his forehead. He was propped in a corner of the gem shop’s back room and Mr. Filmer was bending over him, applying a wet towel to the bruise.
“Feel all right?” Mr. Filmer asked anxiously.
“I—I guess so, except for a sore head.”
“Dear me! You have quite a lump there!”
“Never mind that.” Joe struggled to his feet. “What about that guy who slugged me with a stool?”
Mr. Filmer pointed helplessly to an open window. “He got away and ran off down the alley.”
“I suppose he’s the one who was here when Iola and Callie brought in their amethyst?” Joe said, repressing an angry comment.
Mr. Filmer reddened. “I’m terribly sorry I had to lie to you. He was hiding back here all the time, listening. I was too frightened to talk.”
“Well, he’s not here now—so who is he?”
“I really don’t know,” Mr. Filmer said, looking bewildered. “He often drops into the shop to talk to the local rock hounds, and always seems especially interested in amethysts. That’s about all I can tell you.”
“When did he get here?” Joe asked.
“Just a few minutes before you did. He asked me if anyone had been inquiring about him. When I said No, he warned me to keep my mouth shut or else he’d have me beaten up. Then he saw you coming and ducked into the back room.”
“If he ever shows up again,” Joe said, “will you try to notify the police right away?”
“I certainly will!” Mr. Filmer nodded vigorously, eager to make amends.
Joe thought of trying to lift some fingerprints, but he remembered that the man had been wearing gloves. Before leaving, Joe telephoned a report of the incident to Chief Collig.
When Joe reached home, his mother insisted upon applying a soothing dressing to his swollen temple. Aunt Gertrude hovered close by, supervising the treatment and muttering darkly about the dangers of detective work. Joe merely grinned at her sharp comments.
Soon afterward, Frank arrived home. He took one look at Joe, who was curled in an easy chair watching TV, then let out a whistle.
“Where’d you get that decoration?”
“I connected with a stool,” Joe said wryly. He told Frank what had happened at the gem shop and added, “I still can’t figure how that man knew we’d go there to check on him.”
“Probably followed the same line of reasoning we did,” Frank replied. “The girls just picked up the amethyst yesterday—so the shop is the only place where an outsider could have learned about their find. Besides, he had quizzed Iola and Callie about the stone, and you say Filmer knew of his interest in amethysts.”
“In other words, he guessed we might put two and two together. Rather than take any chances, he decided to bulldoze Filmer into silence.”
Frank nodded, and Joe added, “Now how about telling me what you found out.”
“I got the full story,” Frank said eagerly. “The person who died at the Perth mansion under mysterious circumstances was Old Man Perth’s nephew. Must have been quite sensational. The Times had a flock of old write-ups on it.”
Joe’s eyes brightened with interest. “What happened?”
“Well, the nephew—Clarence Perth—moved into the mansion after Jerome Perth passed away from a heart attack. He took over the old man’s bedroom-study. But he lived only a few days to enjoy his inheritance.”
“How come?”
“One night, long after midnight, the servants heard him scream in terror,” Frank continued. “They broke into the room and found him lying on the floor with his skull fractured. And get this—just before he died, the nephew muttered something which sounded like ‘the floor’!”
Joe gave a whistle. “Wow! When Chet hears that, he’ll be positive it was a ghost that screamed at us last night.”
“There’s more,” Frank went on. “Both the door and the windows of the room had been locked from the inside and none of them broken—so there was no way a killer could have entered the room or escaped.”
“How about trap doors or trick wall panels?”
Frank shrugged. “The stories said the police looked for secret exits but didn’t find any. Of course, criminal-detection methods then weren’t what they are today.”
“What about the ghost angle?” Joe queried.
“There are several follow-up news items. They said that a number of persons had reported seeing a ghostly figure prowling about the Perth estate.”
“Humph! No doubt there’ll always be gullible simpletons!” said a peppery voice. Aunt Gertrude planted herself in an easy chair and began darning socks. “Don’t mind me.” She sniffed. “Just go right on with your wild talk.”
Frank and Joe exchanged grins, knowing their aunt was eager to hear more. She looked gratified when Frank repeated the information he had gleaned from the Bayport Times.
“Yes, I remember now about Perth’s nephew,” Miss Hardy said reminiscently. “Poor fellow! Almost seemed as if Fate had marked him out to pay for his uncle’s misdeeds.”
At dinner Frank and Joe were silent and thoughtful. Neither believed that the weird screams they had heard near the Perth mansion could have been made by the nephew’s ghost. Nevertheless, it was an eerie notion!
“I’d like to go back to that mansion,” Joe said as the family finished dessert. “I have a hunch we’ll find some answers there—about the ghost and Strang too.”
Frank agreed. “We’ll go as soon as it’s dark.”
Two hours later the brothers climbed into their convertible and headed toward the outskirts of Bayport. Their tires hummed in the still, moonlit night air and wispy clouds covered the sky. When they turned onto the dirt lane, Frank switched off their headlights and soon afterward pulled in close to a screen of shrubbery.
“Better take our flashlights,” Joe murmured.
The boys got out and headed up the slope. In the distance they could s
ee a few gleams of light from the house.
“Come on! Don’t argue with it!” Frank muttered
“Someone’s in the haunted house!” Joe remarked. “Maybe Strang. We’d better watch our step!”
The Hardys threaded their way among the trees and underbrush. Suddenly a ferocious snarl made them whirl to the left.
A huge, savage-looking hound stood facing them, its eyes glowing in the dark like coals of fire! Again it snarled, and seemed about to spring at the two intruders!
“Come on! Don’t argue with it!” Frank muttered. He started to back away hastily, but Joe clutched his arm.
“Wait, Frank! That thing’s not alive—it’s just a mechanical dummy!”
Incredulous, Frank did a double-take. Then he realized that Joe was right. “Well, I’ll be a moldy dog biscuit!” he gasped. “That hound sure looks real enough to bite your head off!”
“We must have crossed an invisible beam that made it light up and snarl,” Joe surmised. He reached out a hand to touch the device, as if to reassure himself that the “dog” was not flesh and blood.
“Hold it, Joe!” Frank jerked his brother’s hand away. “That thing looks like metal—it may be electrically charged.”
Stripping off his belt, Frank held the leather end and swung the buckle lightly against the mechanical hound. A hissing blue-white spark illuminated the darkness as metal touched metal!
“Wow!” Joe gasped. “That really would have given me a jolt! Say, Frank, do you suppose the guy we found here could have been shocked unconscious by some electrified gadget?”
“Sounds like a good guess. And that gives us another reason for watching our step.”
More cautiously than ever, the Hardys approached the old mansion. The house, covered with fading clapboards, was fronted by a low veranda and topped off with turrets and decaying latticework. Ragged clumps of shrubbery grew close to the walls.
“Let’s try those lighted windows on the first floor,” Frank suggested.
The boys crept close enough to peer inside. Bookshelves, a desk, chairs, a bureau, and a bed lined the walls of the room.
“This must have been Jerome Perth’s bedroom-study,” Joe whispered.
He brought his face up closer to the pane for a better view, then gave a cry of astonishment. “Frank, look! The room has no floor!”
The Disappearing Floor Page 3
