NO WORD FROM THE CHUMS
Frank Hardy bore down on the helm as the boat heeled over. For a
breathless second he thought the craft would be swamped. Water poured
over the gunwales. The girls screamed. Joe was thrown off his balance
and went sprawling into the stern.
But the _Sleuth_ was staunch. In a moment it recovered, righted itself,
and surged on through the storm. Frank breathed a sigh of relief. The
engine throbbed steadily and, although the boat was rocking and swaying
in the turbulent sea, it was drawing nearer shore and already he could
distinguish the line of boathouses through the downpour.
For all its violence, the storm was brief. The wind began to die down,
although the rain continued as though the heavens had been opened up.
In a few minutes Frank was able to pick out his own boathouse and he
headed the _Sleuth_ directly for it. The sturdy craft sped swiftly
toward the open doorway, then Frank shut off the engine and the boat
came to rest.
"Some trip!" remarked Joe, shaking himself like a dog emerging from the
water, so that spray flew from his clothing in every direction.
"My hair is all wet, and I won't be able to do a thing with it,"
mourned Callie Shaw, with feminine concern for her appearance first of
all. In spite of the shelter afforded by the tarpaulin, both girls were
thoroughly drenched. As for the boys, their clothing clung limply to
their bodies. Frank clambered out of the boat and moored it fast, while
Joe helped the girls up onto the landing.
"We're mighty lucky to be back at all," Iola Morton said. "I was sure
the boat would be swamped."
"It takes a pretty big storm to swamp our boat," boasted Joe.
"Although, to tell the truth, I was pretty nervous for a while."
"I was so frightened I couldn't speak," confessed the girl. "I do hope
Chet and Biff turned back. They would never get through that storm
alive."
Frank went to the door.
"No sight of them yet," he reported. Then he peered through the driving
screen of rain again. "Just a minute--I hear a boat coming this way."
"Perhaps it's Tony."
"I hope it's one or the other. I couldn't see the _Napoli_ at all after
the rain started."
In a few minutes they discerned a motorboat heading inshore. It was
Tony Prito's craft, the _Napoli_.
"Good!" exclaimed Joe. "Chet and Biff should be along, too. They won't
start on that trip to-day."
"I should hope not!" exclaimed Iola.
But when Tony's boat drew near the entrance of the boathouse on the way
to its own shelter a short distance away, Tony shouted to Frank:
"All safe?"
"Everybody O.K.! How about you?"
"We're all right. Had a tough time getting back, though."
"So did we," Frank shouted. "Did Biff turn back?"
Tony shook his head. "Not a chance. We signaled to him that he'd better
come back but he just shook his head, and Chet pointed to the end of
the bay. They kept right on going. The last we saw of them they were
heading right into the storm."
"Good night!" Frank exclaimed. "They'll be swamped."
"They're taking an awful chance. Oh, well, perhaps they gave in after
all. They may have headed in toward one of the villages along the
shore. They'll probably be back."
"Let's hope so!" exclaimed Iola. "I won't have a minute's rest until
I'm sure they're safe."
Tony went on toward his own boathouse, with Jerry Gilroy and Phil
Cohen, drenched to the skin, sitting ruefully in the stern. The Hardy
boys and the two girls left the boathouse and were fortunate enough to
meet a school chum who happened to be driving past in his car, so they
drove home in shelter from the rain. Frank and Joe got off at their
home after the chum had volunteered to drive the girls home.
"And I'll make it snappy, too," he promised. "I guess you're in a hurry
to get into dry clothes."
"I feel like a drowned rat," declared Callie. "And I suppose I look
like one too."
After the others drove away, the Hardy boys went into the house and
made a complete change of clothes so that, fifteen minutes later, in
dry garments, they were feeling at peace with the world. When they
went downstairs again to tell their parents of the adventure they had
just experienced, they found Mr. Hardy just snapping the catch of his
club-bag, while a packed suitcase stood near by.
"Going away now?" they asked, in surprise.
"Off to Chicago. I just got a fresh clue as to Baldy's whereabouts."
"He's there all right, is he?"
The detective nodded. "I'll just have time to catch this train."
Mrs. Hardy entered the room at that moment.
"I telephoned for a taxi." Her face was troubled. "I do wish you didn't
have to make this journey, Fenton."
Mr. Hardy laughed.
"You've never worried about me so much before, Laura. I've gone away
on cases as bad as this dozens of times without causing you as much
anxiety."
"I know--but somehow I have a feeling that this case is a good deal
more dangerous than any of the others."
"I'll be back in a few days, never fear." Mr. Hardy turned to his
sons. "Look after your mother while I'm away, boys. Don't let her get
worried."
"There's nothing to be worried about, dad. You'll get your man all
right."
Mrs. Hardy shook her head. "You _will_ be careful, won't you, Fenton?
From what you've told me of this Baldy Turk I imagine he wouldn't stop
at anything if he thought you were going to catch him."
"He's a pretty tough character, but I guess I can handle him," said
the detective lightly. "Well, here's my taxi. I'll have to be going.
Good-bye." He kissed his wife, shook hands with the boys, then picked
up his suitcase and club-bag and departed. From the front doorway they
watched him clamber into the waiting taxi. He waved at them as the car
got under way, then it went speeding out of sight along the shimmering
pavement.
Mrs. Hardy turned away. "I expect he'll think I'm foolish for worrying
so much about him this time, but I have a queer sort of feeling that
this Baldy Turk is the most dangerous criminal he has ever had to deal
with."
"He'll deal with him, mother," declared Frank, with conviction. "Trust
dad to know what he's doing. He'll clap the handcuffs on Baldy Turk in
no time. There's nothing to worry about."
"Well, I hope you're right," she replied. "Still, I can't help but be
anxious--"
With that she let the matter drop, and her fears for Fenton Hardy's
safety were not expressed again, although the boys knew that anxiety
still weighed heavily upon her mind. By evening, however, she appeared
to be in better spirits and the boys did their best to amuse her and
make her forget their father's absence and his perilous errand.
Next day the boys went down to the boathouse where Biff Hooper kept
the _Envoy_, but there was no sign of the craft. The storm of the
previous day had lasted well into the afternoon and there had been no
doubt in their minds but that Chet and Biff had set back for Bayport,
but the absence of the motorboat indicated otherwise.
"Let's go up to Morton's farm and see if they did come back," Frank
suggested.
"Iola was saying that Chet promised to send a post card from the first
village they stopped at. They were to have spent the night at Hawk Cove
and he said he'd drop a line from there so that his folks would know
everything was all right."
Hawk Cove was a small fishing village on the coast and, under normal
conditions, Chet and Biff should have reached the place early the
previous evening. A postal card would have caught the morning mail to
Bayport.
"Let's go, then," Frank said. "If they went on to Hawk Cove and wrote
from there we'll know that everything is all right."
"I'm with you."
The Hardy boys brought their motorcycles out of the shed and drove out
toward the Morton farm. They made speed on the run because both were
anxious to learn if anything had been heard of their chums. But when
they reached the farmhouse and saw Iola's worried face as she greeted
them at the door they knew without being told that no word had been
received from Chet.
"They didn't turn back," said Iola, almost tearfully. "We waited all
afternoon and evening expecting Chet back, but he didn't come. They
must have gone straight ahead into the storm."
"Did the post card come?" asked Joe.
She shook her head.
"We haven't heard from him at all. And Chet promised faithfully he'd
write to us from Hawk Cove. The card should have been in the morning
mail. Chet always keeps his promises. I'm so afraid something dreadful
has happened."
"Oh, there's no need to be alarmed," consoled Frank. "Perhaps the storm
delayed them so that they didn't reach Hawk Cove until it was too late
to catch the mail. Or perhaps they stopped off at one of the other
fishing villages down at the entrance to the bay. A dozen things might
have happened. You'll probably hear from him to-morrow--or to-night,
perhaps."
"That storm was too terrible!" declared the girl. "They should never
have gone on. They should have turned back when the rest of us did."
"I guess they didn't want to turn back once they had started,"
ventured Joe. "Biff doesn't like to admit he's licked."
"Neither does Chet," the girl replied. "They're both headstrong and I
guess they thought we'd make fun of them if they had to come back to
Bayport and start over again."
"Well, we'll be back to-morrow. I'm sure you'll hear from him by then,"
said Frank reassuringly. "And if we hear anything we'll let you know."
"Please do."
The Hardy boys walked back to their motorcycles. When they were out of
hearing Frank remarked in a low voice:
"I don't like the looks of this, at all! I'm beginning to think
something _has_ happened."