The House on the Cliff

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “I guess we’ll have to,” Frank answered.

  He started down the steep stairway. Reaching the foot, he turned the handle of the door which had swung shut. To his concern he was not able to open it.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Chet from the top of the stairway.

  “Looks as if we’re locked in,” Frank told him. “Locked in?” Chet wailed. “Oh, no!”

  Frank tried pulling and pushing the door. It did not budge.

  “That’s funny,” he said. “I didn’t see any lock on the outside.”

  Suddenly the full import of the situation dawned on the four boys. Someone had deliberately locked them in! The cries for help had been a hoax to lure them into the house!

  “You think somebody was playing a joke on us?” Biff asked.

  “Pretty rotten kind of joke,” Chet sputtered.

  Frank and Joe were inclined to think that there was more to it than a joke. Someone had seen a chance to steal a valuable telescope and two late-model motorcycles!

  “We’ve got to get out of here!” Joe said. “Frank, put your shoulder to the door and I’ll help.”

  Fortunately, the door was not particularly sturdy and gave way easily. Frank glanced back a moment as he rushed through and saw two large hooks which he had not noticed before. They had evidently been slipped into the eyes and had been ripped from the framework by the crash on the door.

  The other boys followed, running pell-mell through the hallway and clattering down the stairway. They dashed out the front door, leaving it open behind them. To their relief, the telescope still stood at the edge of the cliff, pointing seaward.

  “Thank goodness!” said Joe. “I’d hate to have had to tell Dad the telescope was gone!”

  Frank rushed over to take a quick look through the instrument. It had occurred to him that maybe some confederate of the smugglers had seen them spying. He might even have tricked them into the house during the very time that a smuggling operation would be within range of the telescope!

  When Frank reached the edge of the cliff and tried to look through the instrument, he gasped in dismay. The eyepieces from both the finder and the telescope tube had been removed!

  As he turned to tell the other boys of his discovery, he found that they were not behind him. But a moment later Joe came running around the corner of the house calling out:

  “The motorcycles are safe! Nobody stole them!”

  “Thank goodness for that,” said Frank.

  Chet and Biff joined them and all flopped down on the grass to discuss the mysterious happenings and work out a plan of action.

  “If that thief is hiding inside the house, I’m going to find him,” Joe declared finally.

  “I’m with you,” said Frank, jumping up. “How about you, Biff, guarding the motorcycles and Chet taking charge of the telescope? That way, both the front and back doors will be covered, too, in case that thief comes out.”

  “Okay,” the Hardys’ friends agreed.

  As Frank and Joe entered the front hall, Joe remarked, “There’s a back stairway. If we don’t find the person on the first floor, I’ll take that to the second. You take the front.”

  Frank nodded and the search began. Not only the first, but the second and attic floors were thoroughly investigated without results.

  “There’s only one place left,” said Frank. “The cellar.”

  This area also proved to have no one hiding in it. “I guess our thief got away,” Frank stated.

  “And probably on foot,” Joe added. “I didn’t hear any car, did you?”

  “No. Maybe he went down the cliff and made a getaway in a boat,” Frank suggested.

  In complete disgust the Hardys reported their failure to Biff and Chet. Then they packed up the telescope and strapped it onto Frank’s motorcycle.

  “We may as well go home,” Joe said dolefully. “We’ll have a pretty slim report for Dad.”

  “Slim?” said Biff. “I haven’t had so much excitement in six months.”

  The boys climbed aboard the motorcycles. As the Hardys were about to start the motors, all four of them froze in the seats. From somewhere below the cliff came a demoniacal laugh. Involuntarily the boys shuddered.

  “L-let’s get out of here!” Chet urged.

  Frank and Joe had hopped off the motorcycles, and were racing in the direction from which the eerie laughter was coming.

  “It may be another trap!” Chet yelled after them. “Come back!”

  But the Hardys went on. Just before they reached the edge of the cliff they were thunderstruck to hear the laughter coming from a completely different area. It was actually in back of them!

  “What gives?” Joe asked.

  “Search me,” his brother answered. “The ghost must have a confederate.”

  The brothers peered over the edge of the cliff but could see only jagged rocks that led to the booming surf below. Frank and Joe returned to their chums, disappointed that they had learned nothing and had no explanation for the second laugh.

  “I’m glad it stopped, anyhow,” said Chet. “It gave me goose pimples and made chills run up and down my spine.”

  Biff looked at his wrist watch. “I really have to be getting home, fellows. Sorry to break up this man hunt. Maybe you can take me to a bus and come back.”

  The Hardys would not hear of this and said they would leave at once.

  They had gone scarcely a mile when the motor on Frank’s cycle sputtered and backfired, then died. “A swell time for a breakdown,” he said disgustedly as he honked for Joe to stop.

  Joe turned around and drove back. “What’s the matter?”

  “Don’t know.” Frank dismounted. “It’s not the gas. I have plenty of that.”

  “Tough luck!” Joe said sympathetically. “Well, let’s take a look at the motor. Better get out your tools.”

  As Frank opened the toolbox of his motorcycle, an expression of bewilderment came over his face.

  “My tools!” he exclaimed. “They’re gone!”

  The others gathered around. The toolbox was indeed empty!

  “Are you sure you had them when you left Bayport?” Chet asked.

  “Of course I did. I never go anywhere without them.”

  Biff shook his head. “I suppose the guy who took the eyepieces stole your tools too.”

  Joe dashed to the toolbox on his own motorcycle and gave a cry of dismay.

  “Mine are gone, too!”

  CHAPTER III

  Landslide!

  “THAT’S a shame, fellows,” Chet Morton said. “This is sure your day for bad luck. First the eyepieces from your telescope are taken and now the tools from your motorcycles.”

  “And all by the same person, I’m sure,” Frank remarked grimly.

  “Some slick operator, whoever he is,” Joe added gloomily.

  Chet put his hands into his trouser pockets and with a grin pulled out a pair of pliers, a screw driver, and a wrench.

  “I was working on the Queen this morning,” he explained. “Good thing I happened to put these in my pocket.”

  “I’ll say,” Frank declared gratefully, taking the tools which Chet handed over.

  He unfastened the housing of the motor and began checking every inch of the machinery. Finally he looked up and announced, “I guess I’ve found the trouble—a loose connection.”

  Frank adjusted the wires and a moment later the vehicle’s motor was roaring normally. The housing was put back on, Chet’s tools were returned with thanks, and the four boys set off once more.

  “Let’s hope nothing more happens before we get home,” Biff said with a wry laugh.

  “I’ll second that,” Joe said emphatically.

  For five minutes the cyclists rode along in silence, their thoughts partly on the passing scenery, but mostly on the mystery in which they had become involved.

  Joe’s mind was racing with his throbbing motorcycle. In a few minutes he had far outdistanced his brother. Frank did not dare go any f
aster because of the telescope strapped onto his handle bars.

  Presently Joe reached a spot in the road where it had been cut out of the hillside on the right. There was a sharp curve here. The motorcycle took it neatly, but he and Biff had scarcely reached the straightaway beyond when they heard a thunderous sound back of them.

  “What’s that?” Joe cried out.

  Biff turned to look over his shoulder. “A landslide!” he shouted.

  Rocks and dirt, loosened by recent heavy rain-storms, were tumbling down the steep hillside at terrific speed.

  “Frank!” Joe cried out in horror. He jammed on his brake and disengaged the engine. As he ran back to warn his brother, Joe saw that he was too late. Biff had rushed up and both could only stare helplessly, their hearts sinking.

  Frank and Chet came around the corner at good speed and ran full tilt into the landslide. Its rumbling sound had been drowned out by the pounding surf and their own roaring motor.

  The two boys, the motorcycle, and the telescope were bowled over by the falling rocks and earth. As the rain of debris finally stopped, Joe and Biff reached their sides.

  “Frank! Chet!” they cried out in unison. “Are you hurt?”

  Frank, then Chet, sat up slowly. Aside from looking a bit dazed, they seemed to be all right. “Rock just missed my head,” Frank said finally.

  “I got a mean wallop on my shoulder,” Chet panted gingerly, rubbing the sore spot.

  “You fellows were lucky,” Biff spoke up, and Joe nodded his intense relief.

  “How about the telescope?” Frank asked quickly. “Take a look at it, will you, Joe?”

  The battered carrying case, pushed out of the straps which had held it in place on the motorcycle, lay in the road, covered with stone and dirt. Joe opened the heavily lined box and carefully examined the telescope.

  “It looks all right to me,” he said in a relieved voice. “Of course we won’t know for sure until we try other eyepieces in it. But at least nothing looks broken.”

  By this time Frank and Chet were standing up and Biff remarked, “While you two are getting your breath, Joe and I can take the biggest rocks out of the way. Some motorist may come speeding along here and break his neck or wreck his car unless this place gets cleaned up.”

  “Oh, I’m okay,” Chet insisted. “The rock that hit me felt just like Bender, that big end on the Milton High team. He’s hit me many a time the same way.”

  Frank, too, declared that he felt no ill effects. Together, the boys flung rock after rock into the field between the road and the water and, in pairs, carried the heavier rocks out of the way.

  “Guess we’re all set now,” Frank spoke up. “Biff, I’m afraid you’re going to be late getting home.” He chuckled. “Who is she?”

  Biff reddened a little. “How’d you guess? I have a date tonight with Sally Sanderson. But she’s a good sport. She won’t mind waiting a little longer.”

  Again the four boys straddled the motorcycles and started off. A few minutes later a noise out in the ocean attracted Frank’s attention and he peered across the rolling sweep of waters. A powerful speedboat came into view around the base of a small cliff about a quarter mile out. It was followed at a short distance by a similar, but larger craft. Both boats were traveling at high speed.

  “Looks like a race!” Joe called out. “Let’s watch it!”

  The Hardys ran their motorcycles behind a clump of trees and stopped, then walked down to the shore line.

  The boats did not appear to be having a friendly speed contest, however. The first boat was zigzagging in a peculiar manner, and the pursuing craft was rapidly overtaking it.

  “See! That second boat is trying to stop the other one!” Frank exclaimed.

  “It sure is. Wonder what’s up,” said Joe tensely. “I wish that telescope was working. Can any of you fellows make out the names on the boats?”

  “No,” the others chorused.

  The two men standing in the bow of the pursuing craft were waving their arms frantically. The first boat turned as if about to head toward the shore. Then, apparently, the helmsman changed his mind, for at once the nose of his boat was pointed out into the ocean again.

  But the moment of hesitation had given the pursuers the chance they needed. Swiftly the gap between the racing craft grew smaller and smaller until the boats were running side by side. They were so close together that a collision seemed imminent.

  “They’ll all be killed if they aren’t careful!” Frank muttered as he watched intently.

  The lone man in the foremost craft was bent over the wheel. In the boat behind, one of the two men suddenly raised his right arm high. A moment later he hurled an object through the air. It landed in back of the engine housing in the center of the craft. At the same time the larger boat sped off seaward.

  “What was that?” Chet asked. “I—”

  Suddenly a sheet of flame leaped high into the air from the smaller boat. There was a stunning explosion and a dense cloud of smoke rose in the air. Bits of wreckage were thrown high and in the midst of it the boys saw the occupant hurled into the water.

  Swiftly the whole boat caught fire. The flames raced from bow to stern.

  “That man!” shouted Frank. “He’s alive!”

  The boys could see him struggling in the surf, trying to swim ashore.

  “He’ll never make it!” Joe gasped. “He’s all in.”

  “We’ve got to save him!” Frank cried out.

  CHAPTER IV

  The Rescue

  THE Hardy boys knew that they had no time to lose. It was evident that the man in the water had been injured by the explosion and could not swim much longer.

  “We’ll never reach him!” Chet said, as the four boys dashed across the rocks and grass to the shore.

  Suddenly Frank cried out, “I see a rowboat up on the beach.” His sharp eyes had detected a large rowboat almost completely hidden in a small cove at the bottom of the cliff. “We’d make better time in that!”

  A huge rock jutting out of the water cut the cove off from the open part of the beach.

  “We’d have to go up to that ridge and then down,” Joe objected. “I’ll swim out.”

  “I will too,” said Biff.

  The two plunged into the water and struck out for the stricken man.

  Meanwhile, Frank and Chet sped up the slope, cut across a strip of grass, and began running down the embankment toward the rowboat.

  “That man’s still afloat,” Frank shouted as he looked out over the water.

  Joe and Biff were making good time but were a long way from the man, who seemed now to be drifting with the outgoing tide. The explosion victim, fortunately, had managed to seize a piece of wreckage and was hanging onto it.

  Slipping and scrambling, Frank and Chet made their way down the slope. Rocks rolled and tumbled ahead of them. But finally they reached the bottom safely and examined the boat. It was battered and old, but evidently still seaworthy. There were two sets of oars.

  “Grab hold!” Frank directed Chet.

  The boys pulled the boat across the pebbles and into the water. Swiftly they fixed the oars in the locks and took their places. Pulling hard, Frank and Chet rowed toward the distressed swimmer. Presently they overtook Joe and Biff, who clambered aboard. The man had seen the boys and called feebly to them to hurry.

  “Faster!” Joe urged. “He looks as if he’ll go under any second!”

  The motorboat in the background was still blazing fiercely, flames shooting high in the air. The craft was plainly doomed.

  The boys pulled harder and the rowboat leaped across the water. When it was only a few yards away from the man, he suddenly let go his hold on the bit of wreckage and slipped beneath the waves.

  “He’s drowning!” Chet shouted, as he bent to his oar again.

  Joe made a tremendously long, outward dive and disappeared into the water where the man had gone down. Frank and Chet rowed the boat to the spot and leaned over the side to pee
r down.

  Just then, Joe and the stranger broke the surface of the water, with the boy holding an arm under the man’s shoulders. His head sagged.

  “He’s unconscious!” Biff whispered hoarsely, as he helped pull the victim into the boat. The man sprawled helplessly on the bottom, more dead than alive.

  “We’d better revive him and get him to the hospital,” said Frank.

  He applied artificial respiration, forcing a little water from the man’s lungs, but the stranger did not regain consciousness.

  “I think he collapsed from exhaustion,” Joe spoke up.

  Frank and Chet took off their jackets and wrapped them around the wet figure.

  “How about taking him to that farmhouse over there—along the road?” Chet suggested.

  The others agreed. As Frank and Chet rowed toward the farm, the boys discussed the mystery. Who was the victim of the explosion and why had the men in the other motorboat tried to kill him?

  The man they had rescued lay face downward in the bottom of the boat. He was a slim, dark-haired man with sharp, clean-cut features, and his clothes were cheap and worn. Biff looked in his pockets for identification but found none.

  “Wonder if he’s a local man,” Joe said. “Never saw him around town.”

  The other boys declared they never had either.

  By this time the boat was close to shore. Joe and Biff leaped out and dragged it part way up on the beach. Then the four boys carried the unconscious man up the rocky shore toward the farmhouse.

  At their approach a plump woman came hurrying out of the house. From the orchard nearby a burly man in overalls came forward.

  “My goodness! What has happened?” the woman asked, running toward them.

  “We just pulled this man out of the water,” Frank explained. “We saw your house—”

  “Bring him in,” boomed the farmer. “Bring him right in.”

  The woman ran ahead and held the door open. The boys carried the stranger into the house and laid him on a bed in the comfortably furnished first-floor bedroom. The farmer’s wife hastened to the kitchen to prepare a hot drink.

  “Rub his ankles and wrists, and get those wet clothes off him,” the farmer told the boys. “That will step up his circulation. I’ll get him some pajamas.”