The Vanishing Thieves

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Which means Crafty Kraft’s around here somewhere,” Frank replied in a low tone.

  The boys had left the restroom just in time, since workmen began heading toward it to wash up. Frank and Chet lay low until the last of them had finished and had exited through the front door.

  When the big garage was empty, Frank rose to his feet, looked in all directions, and then tiptoed toward the office. Through the open office door, he could see Big Harry behind his desk, talking to two men seated in front of it. One was the tattooed truck driver Fenton Hardy had identified as one of the chief lieutenants of the car-theft ring, Crafty Kraft. The other was the distinguished-looking man who had arrived in the Lincoln Continental.

  Frank retreated behind the cars again, where he was out of sight from the office, and motioned Chet to follow him. Quietly, they moved along the rear wall, then made their way around to the office door. They stopped just before they reached it and positioned themselves so that they could hear everything, but not be seen.

  A voice that Frank guessed belonged to the distinguished-looking man said, “Who, may I ask, are they?”

  “According to their I.D.s, they’re Joe Hardy and Vern Nelson,” Big Harry replied.

  “Joe Hardy! That’s one of Fenton Hardy’s sons. I thought he was in town on other business.”

  “So did Red Sluice,” Big Harry said. “He told me those kids were here to find some coin that disappeared, but this is the second time we’ve caught this one prowling around. The first time he was with a different guy, and they both escaped.”

  “Probably his older brother,” a third man said in a raspy voice. Frank assumed this was Crafty Kraft. “I hear they’re always together.”

  “Well, what do you want us to do with these two, sir?” Big Harry asked.

  The sir told Frank that he had guessed right about the newcomer being the big boss of the car-theft ring.

  “They’ll have to be kept out of circulation until we finish stripping this shipment,” came the reply. “After that it won’t matter, because we can move to another location. But if we turn them loose now, they’ll run straight to the police. ”

  “I’ve got an isolated cottage over on Catalina Island,” Big Harry offered.

  “That would be excellent. You own a boat, too, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then run them over there and hold them until further notice. Oh, and while you’ve got them, you may as well squeeze out any information you can about how much Fenton Hardy has learned about our operation.”

  “Yes, sir,” Big Harry repeated.

  There was the sound of a chair scraping. Frank and Chet made a beeline for the nearest hiding place. They hid themselves behind a partially dismantled car and an instant later, the distinguished-looking gentleman stepped from the office.

  As he started toward the front door, it opened and Red Sluice came in with Anton Jivaro. The three met halfway across the garage, near enough for Frank and Chet to overhear them.

  “Who is this, Red?” the boss asked sharply.

  “My old partner, Anton, sir. He started work here today.”

  Frowning at the little man, the boss said, “You know my rule about thoroughly checking all prospective employees, Red.”

  “But he’s a very old friend, sir,” Red protested. “I can vouch for him.”

  “I hope so, because we already have a serious security problem. Big Harry and Crafty caught the younger son of Fenton Hardy and a companion inside the warehouse this afternoon.”

  “Again! Both Hardys were here this morning, but they got away. Who was Joe’s companion?”

  “Someone named Vern Nelson.”

  Red and Jivaro looked at each other. “The same pair!” Red said.

  “What do you mean?” the boss asked.

  “We almost had them earlier today. Did they get away again?”

  The boss shook his head. “Not this time. They’re trussed up in the machine shop.”

  “What were they after?”

  “I haven’t interrogated them, because I prefer not to have my face seen by people outside the organization. ”

  “The older Hardy boy is still around somewhere,” Red said, “and so is another friend named Chet Morton.”

  The boss frowned. “They could be lurking around here. You better search the whole area.”

  “I think they’d be too scared,” Anton Jivaro spoke up. “We left a warning in their hotel room to go back to Bayport.”

  “Look anyway,” the boss instructed.

  He continued out the front door while Red and Jivaro went into the office. Frank motioned for Chet to follow him, and the two tiptoed over to the machine shop. They slipped inside and closed the door behind them.

  Joe and Vern lay on the floor, tied and gagged!

  “I’ll take care of them,” Frank whispered to Chet. “You’d better open the door just a crack and watch if anyone’s coming.”

  Chet nodded. While Frank removed the gags from the prisoners’ mouths, the chubby boy silently turned the doorknob to peek out. Then he gasped.

  He was staring directly into Red Sluice’s face!

  11 Overboard!

  Chet tried to close the door, but Red kicked it open with his foot, and the boy jumped back in order to avoid being batted.

  Then Red Sluice, Anton Jivaro, Crafty Kraft, and Big Harry poured into the room. Frank had not yet succeeded in loosening either Joe’s or Vern’s bonds, so it was four against two. There was a fierce struggle but the hoods finally subdued the young detectives, tying their hands behind them.

  When the boys were safely bound, Red declared with satisfaction, “You two saved me the trouble of hunting you down.”

  Crafty Kraft asked, “Now what?”

  “Untie the feet of those two so they can walk,” Big Harry ordered, pointing to Joe and Vern. “Then load all four of them on your truck.”

  “Are we going over to the island now?” Crafty asked.

  Big Harry shook his head. “We have to wait until morning because I can’t get away tonight. But I want them out of here. They’ll be safe tied up on the boat. ”

  Red scowled. “I’d rather get it over with tonight.”

  “Can you run the boat?” Big Harry countered.

  Red shook his head, and then looked hopefully over at his partners. Crafty Kraft and Anton both admitted they knew nothing about boats either.

  The boys were put in the rear of the eighteen-wheel truck. Sluice and Jivaro got in with them as guards, while the tattooed Crafty drove.

  “Where are we going?” Frank asked Red as the truck began to move.

  “Terminal Island,” Red told him.

  “I thought that was a prison,” Joe said.

  “There’s a federal prison there, but the Los Angeles Harbor’s there too.”

  “What kind of boat does Big Harry have?” Anton Jivaro asked Red.

  “A thirty-six-footer with twin diesel engines. Sleeps six and has a cruising range of one thousand miles.”

  “Will we be going that far?” Chet asked, worried.

  “You’ll only be going about three miles out,” Red told him.

  Chet gulped.

  “He’s only trying to scare you,” Frank whispered in the plump boy’s ear.

  “Speak up if you have anything to say,” Red said sharply. Frank fell silent.

  They rode for about an hour. When they finally stopped, Crafty Kraft opened the rear door.

  “All clear,” he announced. “Nobody in sight.”

  Red and Anton jumped out, and immediately ordered the boys to move. They were parked on a dock containing dozens of boat slips. It was still light enough for them to see that the nearest boat was a large cabin cruiser with Sea Scorpion lettered on its bow.

  “I have to get the truck off the dock,” Crafty Kraft said to Red. “I’ll come back with Big Harry in the morning. ”

  He climbed into the vehicle and drove off, while the boys were taken aboard and herded down into t
he main cabin. Inside there were only two double bunks, but through a hatch they could see that the galley next door contained benches that could be converted into two more bunks.

  Red and Anton shoved the boys into the galley and ordered them to sit down. Then Red pulled out a table that folded into the wall and lowered it between them.

  “Chow time,” he announced, and began rummaging in the refrigerator. “Nothing but bacon and eggs and bread,” he grumbled.

  Taking all the ingredients out, Red cooked an unappetizing dinner. He and Anton quickly ate, and then fed the prisoners, whose hands were still tied behind their backs.

  After they had eaten, the young detectives were herded back into the main cabin. Red assigned Chet and Vern the two lower bunks, and told Frank and Joe to climb into the upper ones.

  “You’ll have to untie us before we can make it,” Frank objected.

  “No way,” Red said. “You guys have gotten away from us twice, and I’m not taking any risks. Anton, help me lift them up.”

  The two men shoved the brothers into the upper bunks and hogtied them securely. In addition, the boys were bound to wall stanchions behind them so that they could not roll from their beds.

  When they were finished, Red and Anton went topside, leaving the cabin lights on.

  “What do you think they’re going to do to us?” Vern asked.

  “Take us over to Catalina Island, I guess, where Big Harry has a secluded cottage,” Frank said optimistically. “They’re only going to hold us until they finish stripping the cars they have at the warehouse, then they’re going to move to another location. As soon as they do that, they figure it will be safe to turn us loose.”

  “That isn’t what Red Sluice said to Chet,” Joe stated.

  “He was just trying to scare us. We overheard the big boss giving instructions. He wants them to squeeze out of us what Dad has learned about the theft ring so far.”

  “You saw the big boss?” Joe asked.

  “I even took his picture,” Frank replied. “I don’t know who he is, but he’s a kind of rich-looking guy. I just hope those crooks don’t take my camera out of my pocket. ”

  Chet said, “I remember him telling Big Harry to get information from Joe and Vern, but he didn’t say anything about us.”

  “We hadn’t been captured then, superbrain,” Frank told him. “What all of us should keep in mind is that if they make any threats, it’s just a bluff to get us to talk. They aren’t going to do any more than the big boss ordered them to do.”

  About nine o‘clock, Red and Anton came down again and checked the boys’ bonds. Finding them secure, they made up the two bunks in the galley for themselves and turned out the lights. Within minutes both were snoring.

  Unable to change position, the four boys slept fitfully. Sometime in the early part of the morning, they heard footsteps on deck. Moments later, Big Harry and Crafty Kraft came below.

  Sticking his head into the galley, Big Harry woke his companions.

  When Red and Anton were up and dressed, the boys were untied one at a time and told to wash up. Then they were allowed one sweet roll each from a sack Big Harry had brought along.

  After their meager breakfast, the young detectives were left sitting in the galley, with only their wrists bound, under the watchful eyes of Red and Anton. Big Harry and Crafty went above and started the engines. About ten minutes after the boys felt the boat pull away from the dock, Crafty called down from above, “The skipper says to bring them topside.”

  Red and Anton herded the boys on deck. They saw that the boat, with Big Harry at the helm, was headed well out to sea. “Sit with your backs to the rail!” Red ordered. Frank and Chet lowered themselves on the portside, while Joe and Vern leaned against the starboard rail.

  Standing over Frank and looking down at him, Crafty Kraft began the interrogation. “How much does your father know about our operation at the warehouse?”

  “How could he know anything?” Frank inquired. “He lives in Bayport.”

  “He sent you and your brother here,” the tattooed man said impatiently. “And I’m sure you’ve phoned him since you found out about us.”

  “We came here on our own,” Joe spoke up. “And we’ll give you our word that we haven’t talked to him since we arrived.”

  Crafty turned around to face the boy. “You feel like talking?”

  “I have nothing to talk about!”

  Crafty told Anton to follow him, and the two went down into the cabin. Shortly they reappeared with two small, rowboat-size anchors.

  They dropped them on the deck near the boys’ feet. Then, while Anton joined Red and Big Harry at the bridge, Crafty went below again.

  When he came back, he was carrying a coil of thin wire in one hand and a pair of wire cutters in the other. Dropping the wire near the anchors, he snipped off four lengths of about four feet each.

  “What’s that for?” Chet inquired fearfully.

  “Nothing, if your friends talk,” Crafty told him. “If they don‘t, we’re going to see how well you boys can swim with anchors tied to your bodies.”

  “Hey, that’s murder!” Chet protested.

  “So, try calling a cop!” Crafty snarled.

  Dropping the wire cutters next to the anchors, the tattooed man went forward to confer with his companions.

  The wire cutters were closer to Joe than to any of the others. Glancing toward the bridge, he whispered, “Keep watch and warn me if any of them look this way.”

  He had just started to inch forward when Frank hissed, “Watch out!”

  Joe hurriedly slid back against the rail, just as Crafty Kraft came back to stand over him again.

  “Your last chance,” he said. “Would you rather talk or go overboard?”

  “I have nothing to talk about,” Joe said evenly.

  The tattooed man kneeled down before the boy and passed a piece of wire around his waist, twisted it tight and fastened an anchor to it. Then he rose to his feet. “I’ll let you think about it a while. Soon as we’re three miles out, I’ll ask you again.”

  He went to the bridge. As soon as his back was turned, Joe again inched forward on the seat of his pants. Then he swung around and gripped the wire cutters with his right hand. He twisted the jaws of the cutters toward the rope binding his wrists, but found it too awkward in a seated position. Slowly he struggled to his feet.

  At that moment, Big Harry spotted a log floating in the water just ahead and made a sharp turn to port. Frank and Chet both slid toward the starboard rail. Joe started to lose his balance, almost recovered, but then Chet’s sliding body crashed into him.

  Joe’s knees hit the rail and, head first, he pitched overboard!

  12 Turned Tables

  The younger Hardy took a deep breath just before he hit the water. He sank swiftly, as the weight of the anchor pulled him down. Frantically, he twisted the wire cutters around until the blade gripped the rope binding his wrist. Desperately, he squeezed the handle.

  The rope parted, but he was reaching the point where he had to release his breath, and he was still sinking rapidly. Then, as he brought the wire cutters around in front of him, they slipped from his grasp!

  In a last-ditch effort, he reached out with his left hand, felt his fingers close over the blades, and guided the tool into his right hand to regrip the handle. Slowly letting out air from his lungs, he shoved the blades of the cutters around the wire and squeezed the handle.

  As the anchor dropped away, Joe let go of the wire cutters and thrust himself upward. He had been dragged down so deep that his lungs emptied while he was only halfway to the surface. Rapidly scissoring his legs and using a powerful breast stroke to propel himself upward, he fought the terrible urge to inhale.

  He was losing the battle and was on the verge of breathing in water when he suddenly broke the surface. Gasping, he drew in air, released it, and inhaled again. He treaded water as his breathing gradually returned to normal.

  The Sea Scorpion was a
couple of hundred yards away by now, slowly circling, as the men looked for him. He waved one arm and yelled, but it was too far for anyone to see or hear him. He started to swim toward the boat, but it circled farther and farther away. Finally the skipper gave up and continued out to sea.

  As the Sea Scorpion disappeared from sight, Joe looked around. There was nothing but unending water in all directions. Fortunately the sea was relatively calm, though the water was cold.

  Joe guessed that he was three to five miles from shore. If the sea did not get any rougher, he figured he could swim it, providing he stopped for frequent rests and kept in the right direction. He knew the coast was due east, and positioning himself by the sun, he hoped to avoid swimming in circles.

  It was still early enough in the morning for the sun to be fairly low. Joe began swimming directly at it.

  Meanwhile, aboard the Sea Scorpion, there was considerable confusion. Frank, Vern, and Chet anxiously kept shouting out for Joe, horrified at what might happen to him. As Big Harry circled around in search of Joe, he screamed at Crafty Kraft for allowing the accident to happen.

  “It was you who made that sudden turn,” the tattooed man objected vehemently.

  “Why’d you have to tie that anchor to him?” Big Harry yelled.

  “I was just trying to scare him.”

  “We’ll see who gets scared when I report this to the boss,” Big Harry said grimly. “He didn’t want anything like this.”

  Frank and Chet took advantage of all the confusion and still calling out Joe’s name, put their backs together as though to search for him in opposite directions. Determinedly, they began to pull at each other’s wrist bindings. But as Big Harry gave up circling and resumed heading out to sea, Red Sluice noticed what was going on.

  “Hey, those two are getting loose!” he shouted.

  Red ran over to check Chet’s bonds, Crafty bent over Frank, and Anton checked Vern. Frank had moved his back against the rail again so that the tattooed man had to approach him from the front. As he leaned forward to swing Frank around by the shoulders, the boy drew his knees to his chest, planted both feet in the man’s stomach, and kicked as hard as he could. Crafty was thrown clear across the deck, hit the opposite rail, and did a back flip into the ocean!