THE CHASE IN THE BAY
The boys stared at one another in bewilderment.
“I know my tool box was full when I left home,” said Frank.
“And so was mine,” came from Joe. “I was using the pliers just before
we started out.”
“Where could they have gone?”
“They must have been stolen while the motorcycles were in the shed at
the Polucca place,” Chet suggested.
“It’s the only time they could have been taken,” declared Frank. “It
was the only time they were left unguarded.”
Joe was frankly puzzled.
“But we didn’t see any one around the place,” said Jerry.
“No—but there was some one there. We heard those shrieks and the
laugh. Some one stole those tools while we were in the house.”
“It’s some kind of a practical joke, that’s what I’m beginning to
think,” declared Frank. “Let’s go back and get those tools.”
“Not on your life,” objected Jerry decisively. “This is a little too
much. First of all we hear those shrieks, and then the house almost
comes down around our ears, and now we find that the tools have been
stolen by somebody we didn’t see. We’re safer away from there.”
Biff Hooper nodded agreement.
“That’s what I think. There’s something queer about that house. We’ll
get into trouble if we go butting in any more.”
“But we want our tools!”
“Good night!” Chet exclaimed. “Perhaps mine are gone too.” He ran out
of the shed over to the road and hastily examined the tool box on his
machine. Then he straightened up with an audible sigh of relief.
“Thank goodness, they’re here! Guess whoever took the others figured he
had enough.”
“I’m going back!” declared Frank.
“If you do, you’ll have to excuse me,” Chet said. “You’re welcome to
use my tools to fix up your machine, but I won’t go back with you.”
“Me neither,” chimed in Jerry and Biff simultaneously.
Frank and Joe were silent. They wanted to go back to the Polucca place
and investigate the matter further, but they did not want to break up
the party, so they decided it would be better policy to remain with
their companions.
“All right,” Frank said. “Lend me a pair of pliers and I’ll have this
trouble fixed up in no time.”
He went over to Chet’s motorcycle and got the desired tools. Then he
began to tinker with his machine. It was only a minor defect, and a few
minutes’ work sufficed to repair the damage. In the meantime it was
apparent that the rain was letting up, and by the time the Hardy boys
took their motorcycles out of the shed and regained the road, it had
died away to a mere drizzle.
“This has been some holiday!” Chet muttered, as he mounted his machine
again. “I’m going home. Jerry, you and Biff had better come up to our
place for dinner. How about you and Joe, Frank?”
“Thanks just the same, but we couldn’t. We promised to be back home
this afternoon.”
“There’s a side road that turns off here that makes a nice short-cut to
our farm. I guess I’ll go that way. There should be room for three on
this bike, with a little crowding.”
Jerry and Biff Hooper clambered on the motorcycle with Chet Morton
and started off. The Hardy boys followed on their own machines until
they reached the side road, about a hundred yards away. There the
others left them, after shouting good-bye. Frank and Joe watched Chet’s
motorcycle, heavily loaded, disappear into the mists that hovered over
the road, and then they prepared to continue their journey back to
Bayport.
The shore road dipped at that point and wound down along the edge
of the bay in a deep spiral, which brought them at one point almost
back to the cliff at the top of which the Polucca place was located,
although by now they were nearer the water’s edge. From there the road
sloped directly down to the shore, then ran along the edge of the bay
and in toward the city.
Frank looked up toward the top of the cliff that loomed high above
them. They could not see the Polucca place from where they were, as it
was on the high ground and almost masked by trees, but the mystery of
the place still preyed on their minds.
“I’d like to go back there yet,” said Frank suddenly. “That affair of
the tools has me guessing.”
“Me too. But I think we’d better go on home. We can come back some
other time and look for them.”
“One minute I think it was only a practical joke of some kind. And
the next minute I think it’s something a whole lot deeper than that.
There’s something strange going on up there.”
“There were sure a lot of strange things going on when we struck the
place—that’s certain. I can hear those shrieks yet.”
“Well, I guess you’re right, Joe. We may as well go on home. But I’d
like to get to the bottom of it.”
“Whoever stole those tools made quick work of it. We weren’t in the
house very long.”
“It proves that it wasn’t a ghost, anyway.”
“I never did believe in the ghost theory. No, some human being took
those tools. And he was watching us, too. He saw us put the bikes in
the shed and he took the tools while we were in the house.”
“Unless they were taken after we left the bikes under the trees in the
first place.”
“He wouldn’t have had time. We only stepped into the front room and
then we all came out after that first shriek. No, the tools were taken
when the bikes were in the shed.”
The boys rode on. The rain had ceased now, but the road was greasy and
they had to call on all their skill to keep from skidding as they drove
down the steep road toward the bay, so they did not talk again until
they reached the more level highway at the shore.
A sound out in the bay attracted Frank’s attention and he looked out
over the rolling sweep of waters. He could see a powerful motorboat
plunging through the waves about a quarter of a mile out. It was just
coming into view around the base of the cliff, and as Frank looked he
saw the nose of still another boat emerging into sight. Each craft was
traveling at high speed.
“Looks like a race!” remarked Joe.
The Hardy boys stopped their motorcycles and watched the two boats. But
it was soon apparent that this was no friendly speed contest. The boat
in the lead was zigzagging in a peculiar manner, and the pursuing craft
was rapidly overhauling it. The staccato roar of the powerful boats was
borne to the lads’ ears by the wind.
“See! The other boat is chasing it!” Frank exclaimed. He had caught
sight of the figures of two men standing in the bow of the pursuing
craft. They were waving their arms frantically.
The first boat turned as though it were about to head inshore at the
cliff and then, apparently, the helmsman changed his mind, for at once
the nose of the boat pointed out into the open bay again. But the
moment of hesitation had given the pursuers the chance they wanted, and
swiftly the gap between the racing craft grew smaller and smaller.
The Hardy boys saw that there was but one man in the foremost craft.
He was bent over the wheel. In the other boat they caught sight of one
figure who had snatched up an object that appeared to be a rifle. To
their amazement they saw him aim at the man in the leading craft. Then,
across the water, they heard the sharp report.
The lone figure in the first boat dropped out of sight. Whether he had
been hit or not the boys could not tell. But the craft did not slacken
speed. Instead, it still continued to race madly through the waves.
But the pursuers rapidly drew closer until at last the boats were
running side by side. They were so close together that it appeared as
if a collision were imminent.
“The whole crowd of them will be killed if they aren’t careful!”
muttered Frank.
Then, just when it seemed that both boats must crash together, the
pursuing craft, as though it had given up the chase, veered abruptly
away and headed out toward the middle of the bay.
The speed of the other boat decreased. The roar of its exhaust became
intermittent.
“Engine trouble!” suggested Joe.
But there was more than engine trouble.
With startling violence, a sheet of flame leaped high into the air from
the motorboat. There was a stunning explosion and a dense puff of
smoke. Bits of wreckage were thrown high into the air, and in the midst
of it all the Hardy boys, horrified, saw the figure of the man they had
noticed before, as he was hurled into the water.
The whole boat was swiftly ablaze. Hardly had the wreckage begun to
fall back into the water with spasmodic patterings and splashes than
the craft was in flames from bow to stern.
“Look!” shouted Frank. “He’s still alive!”
The man of the boat had been killed by neither the rifle shot nor the
explosion.
They could see him struggling in the water not far from the blazing
craft. His head was a dark oval above the water and he was slowly
trying to swim ashore.
“He’ll never make it!” gasped Joe.
“We’ll have to try to save him!” answered his brother.