“Our friend must have a vacuum for a stomach,” Joe remarked.
Frank did not reply. He was gazing intently at a strange young man who was watching Chet and chatting pleasantly with the girls. The fellow, about twenty-eight years old, was very tall, and had a determined, jutting jaw.
“Joe,” Frank said excitedly, “unless my eyes deceive me, the man we were chasing has walked right into our camp!”
“One thing is for sure,” Joe said. “He’s not trying to avoid us now.”
“We’re not sure he was doing it before,” Frank said thoughtfully. “On the other hand, maybe he changed his strategy. He might still want to find out whether we came here to look for a cannon besides having a picnic.”
“We’d better be cagey,” Joe said.
As the Hardys drew closer, Iola handed the stranger a frankfurter on a roll. A moment later she looked up and saw them.
“Why, Joe, what happened to your foot?” she cried out and ran toward him.
“I twisted it,” Joe explained.
“I’m sorry you hurt yourself,” Iola went on and added, “We’ve got company. This is Tim German—Frank and Joe Hardy.”
The boys shook hands with Gorman. The same thought went through their minds after they had a close look at him. He was the man who had passed them in a car two days before and had stared so intently at them!
The stranger seemed to sense what they were thinking and mentioned the incident before they had a chance.
“I was looking for someone I know who has the same kind of car as yours,” he explained.
Frank and Joe nodded. At the same moment Callie remarked, “Tim Gorman tells us that he has just been to see Mr. Tilton.”
“Yes,” the visitor said. “I had a very interesting talk with the old sergeant.”
“We know,” Frank told him. “We were up there too.”
“And I just about broke my leg trying to catch up with you on the hill!” Joe declared. “You certainly crossed it in a hurry.”
“Really? Why didn’t you call?” Gorman replied. “I didn’t see you.”
The Hardys’ suspicious attitude softened considerably. Gorman now offered to work on Joe’s ankle. He made an ice pack with a towel and cubes from the picnic basket, and applied it to the swelling. Next, he massaged the joint carefully. In a few minutes Joe said it felt much better.
“Thanks,” he said as the man rose.
Frank steered the conversation back to Sergeant Tilton. Gorman talked freely, laughing about the amazing pirate den in the attic and the talkative old man’s preposterous stories. But he did not mention the cannon, nor give an inkling of why he had been on Pirates’ Hill.
Finally Joe could wait no longer to broach the subject. Bluntly he said, “We understand you’re looking for a cannon.”
Gorman’s face clouded. “I suppose Tilton told you that,” he said, his jaw set and his eyes flashing. “That man talks too much. I asked him to keep the information to himself and he told me he would.”
“Is it a secret?” Chet asked.
Their visitor looked annoyed, but he regained his composure quickly. “I suppose you might say so,” he replied, looking off into space as if trying to decide whether or not to reveal it.
“Joe, what happened to your fool?”
Iola cried out
A sudden quiet descended upon the group. The Hardys’ friends waited for the brothers to carry on the conversation.
Tim Gorman relaxed a little, and said, “I may as well admit that I’m looking for a cannon.” He paused. “But I’d rather not say anything more about it.”
“As you wish,” Frank said politely. “But we might be able to help you. Joe and I have been reading about cannons.”
Gorman smiled and said, “I feel it’s best that I keep my business to myself. Perhaps later on I could discuss the situation with you.”
The pleasant way in which he made the latter statement and the smile which went with it tended to disarm all of the group except Frank and Joe. Though Gorman was friendly, they still felt he was somewhat suspect. Not once had he mentioned a demiculverin, though that was, according to Tilton, what he hoped to find.
“We’ll probably see one another,” Gorman announced. “I’m staying in Bayport.”
Tony Prito asked Gorman if he would like to go back to town with them in the Napoli.
“Thanks very much,” Gorman answered. “But my car is parked over on the shore road.”
He started to say good-by, then suddenly he stopped short and stared at an object in Iola’s hand. It was the ice pick Chet had found. She was about to put it in the picnic basket.
Gorman stepped forward. “Where did you get that?” he asked intently.
Chet proudly informed him of his underwater discovery as Iola handed over the pick. The man examined it closely.
“Is it an antique ice pick?” Chet asked him.
Gorman swung about, his face flushed with excitement. “This is not an ice pick. It’s a gunner’s pick! There was a cannon near here!”
CHAPTER X
Fireworks!
TIM Gorman’s announcement sent a thrill of excitement through the Hardy boys. There was no question now that a cannon had been on Pirates’ Hill. But was it still buried deep under the sand?
Frank was the first to speak. “Have you any idea, Tim, what kind of cannon it might have been?”
“There’s absolutely no way of telling,” Gorman replied slowly.
Chet had walked up to face their visitor. “How did you know this gadget was really a gunner’s pick?” he asked.
“Like Frank and Joe, I’ve been reading a good deal about artillery,” the young man replied. He turned the pick over in his hands and continued, “This is part of a gunner’s equipment.”
“How was the pick used?” Chet inquired.
Gorman explained that by the eighteenth century, powder bags had come into wide use, replacing the loose powder which had formerly been ladled into the bore of a cannon.
“This made it necessary to prick open the bag inside the cannon so the priming fire from the vent could reach the charge. This tool did the trick.”
Gorman smiled. “I’ll be glad to give you cannon instruction any time, but I must be off now.”
He shook hands with everyone and said good-by. When he was out of sight, Callie said:
“You’d better dig for that cannon pretty soon or Gorman will find it first.”
“Let’s start right now,” Frank urged.
Acting as leader he assigned the others to various spots and for an hour the beach and hillside were beehives of activity. Various small objects were dug up but there was no sign of a cannon.
“I guess we’ll have to quit!” Tony called out to Frank. He explained that he had promised to be home for supper by seven and take his parents in the Napoli later to see the fireworks.
“We’re all going in the Sleuth,” said Iola. “Sorry you can’t join us, Tony.”
The tools were collected and carried out to the boat along with the picnic baskets. After everyone was seated, Tony headed back toward town. Frank and Joe sat alone in the prow for a while discussing Gorman. Frank said he was convinced the young man was aboveboard, but Joe was still suspicious.
“He may just be a very smooth operator,” Joe remarked. “Why, he might even be in league with Latsky!”
The boys’ discussion was interrupted by a call from Callie. “Oh, look, everybody!”
The Napoli had turned into the bay and was running close to shore where an area of the water had been roped off for the evening’s display of fireworks. A small grandstand had been erected along the bank. In the water two large scows contained the set pieces and the rockets which would be sent skyward during the celebration.
“Looks as if it’ll be a good show,” Tony remarked.
Chet proposed that they come early in the Sleuth and anchor as close as possible to the two barges so they could get an excellent view of the performance.
At eight-thirty Frank and Joe went to their boathouse where Chet and the girls were waiting. Soon the group was aboard the Sleuth, heading out to the area where the fireworks were to be displayed. Nearing it, they could hear band music from the grandstand on the shore.
A large crowd was gathered both on the bank and on the water. Small craft filled with onlookers bustled in the harbor, each skipper seeking a good place from which to view the fireworks.
Frank guided the Sleuth close to the roped-off area. Floodlights set up on the scows made the scene as bright as day.
As Frank turned off the motor, Joe, seated alongside him, suddenly grabbed his arm.
“What’s up?” Frank asked, turning. He noticed a worried look on his brother’s face.
“The man who seems to be in charge of the fireworks display is the one who warned us about the sting ray!”
Frank gazed ahead and nodded. “I wonder if the fellow who was hiding in the bottom of his boat is here too.”
There was no possible way to find out now. It was two minutes to nine. The man was hastily directing several workers, none of whom was familiar to the boys.
“They’re going to start!” Chet called.
A moment later there was a swish and whine as the first rocket was set off. It shot high into the dark sky above the harbor and a fountain of cascading diamonds burst into life. Ohs and ahs echoed from the onlookers.
A second and a third rocket swirled heavenward. Red and blue sparkles gleamed brilliantly after the sharp explosions.
“This is wonderful!” Iola cried out.
“Oh, they’re going to set off one of the figures!” Callie said excitedly. “Look, it’s a man pedaling a bicycle!”
A twenty-foot figure, sputtering yellow-white smoke, appeared to be cycling across the barge.
“There goes another figure!” Chet cried in delight as a multicolored clown began to dance with slow, jerky motions.
Just then a hissing sound attracted the attention of the Hardys and their friends. The next moment a shriek went up from the girls.
A rocket had been fired horizontally and was streaking directly toward them!
Terrified, everyone in the Sleuth sprawled flat, as it skittered over the waves like a guided missile!
Whack! A shudder went through the boat as the rocket glanced off her bow. A thundering blast followed when it exploded ten yards off the starboard side.
Streamers of white light ribboned across the motorboat, but the hot rocket itself sizzled on the surface of the water and then died out in a cloud of acrid smoke.
“That was too close for comfort!” Joe cried out, jumping up.
Frank leaped back to the wheel as Chet, Iola, and Callie sat up and peered over the gunwales toward the barge.
“That was no accident!” Frank stormed. “I’m going after the man who set off the rocket!”
“Pour it on!” Joe shouted.
The motor roared to life and the propeller kicked up white foam as the Sleuth shot ahead and ducked under the rope of the danger zone.
Closing in rapidly on the barge, the Hardys noticed that one of the Bayport Police Department launches was approaching from the opposite side. Its two powerful spotlights were raking the fireworks platform and the officers were shouting that there was to be no more firing.
“Look!” Joe cried. “That guy over there isn’t paying any attention!”
A stranger to the Hardys, he grabbed a lighted torch from the hands of the head man and started for one of the rockets.
“He’ll blow us all up!” Callie cried in terror.
A second later the young people saw him run from fixture to fixture, touching his torch to the fuses of the entire remaining display.
Frank did not wait. He put the Sleuth in reverse, and the motorboat skittered backward.
The next moment the bay shook with the din of the bursting pyrotechnics. Rockets spewed in all directions with thunderous detonations.
The danger of being struck by the flying missiles also drove the police launch back from the barge toward the center of the bay. There were anxious moments as the bombardment continued.
Hot fragments from the bursting rockets sprayed the deck and cockpit of the Sleuth, but finally Frank got beyond their range.
The din aboard the barge ended as abruptly as it had begun.
“What a crazy, stupid thing to do!” Joe exclaimed,
“I’d like to punch the guy who set off those rockets,” Frank declared.
“You’ll have a hard time,” Chet said. “All the men on the barges jumped overboard and are swimming to shore.”
Frank turned the boat and headed for the beach. The stranger who had caused the uproar was not in sight, but the man who had warned them of the sting ray was still in the water. Frank drew alongside of him and throttled the engine.
“Climb in!” he called.
The man pulled himself aboard. At the same time the police launch picked up several other swimmers. Not one of them was the fellow the Hardys wanted to interrogate. But they began to question their new passenger.
“Who was the guy who started that explosion?” Joe demanded.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean? You were supervising the fireworks, weren’t you, Mr.—?”
The man scowled. “The name’s Halpen. I was only in charge of the timing,” he answered. “The fellows lighted the fuses when I told ’em to. I don’t know the name of the guy who disobeyed orders. He just came around before we were ready to start. I suppose somebody hired him. It wasn’t any of my business.”
Frank was not satisfied with the explanation. He hailed the captain of the police boat and asked if he might speak to the men they had picked up.
“Sure thing, Frank,” said the officer.
The captain requested the men to come to the near side of his craft. Frank asked them the name of the worker who had set off the rockets. Each declared he did not know.
Their own passenger grunted. “I guess the guy just butted in for a good time.” He eyed the Hardys. “Unless,” he went on, “he was an enemy of yours.”
“If he was, we didn’t know it,” Joe retorted quickly. “But he sure is now!”
“I’m getting cold,” said Halpen. “Put me ashore, will you?”
“Okay, but first 1 want to ask you a few questions,” Joe spoke up.
“Well, make it snappy!”
“Who was the man hidden under the tarpaulin in your boat this morning!” Joe shot at him.
Halpen’s jaw sagged, his composure gone for a moment. Then he said, “You saw him, eh? Well, he was a stranger to me. His boat capsized and I picked him up. He didn’t tell me his name.”
“But why did he hide under the cover?”
“Afraid of the sun,” Halpen answered gruffly. “And he fell asleep.”
Frank took up the questioning. “Why did you race off in your speedboat when we tried to overtake you?”
Halpen glared at him. “It was late. My wife was waiting for me. And now, unless you’re going ashore, let me get into the police boat so I can go home.”
The Hardys were frustrated, but there was nothing they could do. Frank helped the man board the launch, and it took off for Bayport immediately.
Iola grimaced. “I don’t believe a word that man said, do you?”
There was a chorus of “No’s.” Joe said he was going to find out who Halpen was and what he did for a living.
“Probably nothing much,” Chet spoke up, opening one of the picnic baskets. “Who wants a sandwich and a soda?”
Everyone did and in a short while all the food was gone. Chet declared that he was still hungry, and upon reaching the Hardys’ boathouse, the group set off for a spot frequented by teen-agers.
Immediately the Hardys and their friends went to phone their families that they were all right. Then Joe called the chairman of the fireworks committee, Mr. Atkin. He had just reached home.
“Halpen’s harmless but a loafer,” Mr. Atkin s
aid in answer to Joe’s question. “He manages to get along somehow, doing odd jobs. At one time he worked in a pyrotechnics factory and understands fireworks. He’s had the job of setting off the Bayport rockets and set pieces for the last few years. I can’t understand what happened tonight.”
Joe now inquired how many men had been engaged to work on the fireworks display.
“Let’s see,” said Mr. Atkin. “Five. Yes, there were five.”
“I counted six,” Joe stated. “What?” the man exclaimed. “Then one of them was there without being hired. He probably was the one who caused a near tragedy.”
“I’m sure the mysterious Mr. X was the culprit,” Joe agreed. Upon returning to the group, he told the others that so far Halpen’s story checked. “It’s a puzzle, though. I have a hunch he’s not to be trusted.”
Frank remarked that he was more worried about the mysterious man who aimed the rocket at them.
The thought of their close escape sobered the group. It was not until some of their high school friends stopped at the table and began to joke with them that they shook off the depressed mood, and enjoyed the remainder of the evening.
The next morning, while the boys were dressing, Frank said he thought they should get in touch with Bowden before making a further search. “Since both he and Tim Gorman are looking for the demiculverin, I’d like to know if they’re acquainted.”
“Let’s go!”
“We’ll tell him Chet found a gunner’s pick along the shore, but we won’t mention Pirates’ Hill.”
“Right.”
The man seemed a bit less friendly than usual when they arrived at his motel. Was he suspicious? But when the boys finished telling their story, he smiled. “You’re making progress, I can see that. Keep it up. Time is precious.”
Bowden had nothing to offer in the way of news. The police, he said, had no clues to the person who had left him the warning note and later attacked him.
Presently Frank asked, “Do you know a man named Tim Gorman?”
Bowden was visibly disturbed by the question. “Gorman!” he exclaimed, his face flushing. “I’ll say I know him, but I’m not proud of it.”
“What do you mean?” Joe asked.
“He’s no good!” Bowden told the boys that Gorman went about posing as a naval man and was wanted by the police for swindling.
The Secret of Pirates' Hill Page 6
