THE CAP ON THE PEG
Next morning the searching party set out.
Jerry Gilroy had not got over the scare he had received on the
remarkable Saturday of the boys’ first visit to the house on the cliff
and he did not show up. But Chet Morton and Biff Hooper appeared, with
Phil Cohen and Tony Prito, two more of the Hardy boys’ chums at the
Bayport high school. Chet had his motorcycle and the party left the
Hardy home shortly after breakfast, each machine carrying two.
Before they left, Frank explained the situation fully to the others.
“We know that dad was last seen near the Polucca place and we have
every reason to believe that he left here with the intention of
searching the house. He hasn’t shown up since and no person has seen
him, so there may have been foul play.”
“If there is any trace of him around the Polucca place we’ll find it,”
declared Chet. “It will take a mighty lively ghost to scare us away
this time.”
The three motorcycles went out of Bayport past the Tower Mansion,
sped along the shore road. There was little talk among the boys. Each
realized that this was not a pleasure outing but a serious mission
and each recognized the importance of it. The Hardy boys had every
confidence in their companions. Chet and Biff, they knew, would not
be as easily frightened on this occasion, and as for Phil and Tony,
they were noted at school for their fearless, at times even reckless,
dispositions.
They passed the Kane farmhouse, nestling among the trees, and at last
came in sight of the gloomy cliff that rose from Barmet Bay and at the
summit of which perched the rambling stone house where the miser, Felix
Polucca, had met his death.
“Lonely looking place, isn’t it?” remarked Phil, who was sharing
Frank’s motorcycle.
“It was an ideal place for a murder. When Felix Polucca lived there, I
doubt if he had more than two or three visitors in a year.”
“How did he get his food and supplies?”
“He used to drive into the city about once a week in a rattly old
buggy, with a horse that must have come out of the Ark. The poor animal
looked as if it hadn’t had a square meal in a lifetime. Polucca must
have been a little bit crazy. How he lived alone up there all the
time, nobody could understand. He worked hard enough and he made the
farm pay. No one could drive a better bargain when it came to selling
his hay and grain.”
Phil looked with interest at the old gray house that could be seen more
clearly now that they were approaching it. When they were still some
distance from the lane, however, Frank brought his motorcycle to a stop
and signaled to the others to do likewise.
“What’s the idea?” Chet asked.
“We’d better sneak up on the place quietly. If we go any farther
they’ll hear the motorcycles—that is, if there is any one at the
place. We’ll leave them here under the trees and go ahead on foot.”
The motorcycles were accordingly hidden in a clump of bushes beside the
road and the six boys went on toward the lane.
“We’ll separate here,” Frank decided. “Three of us will take one side
of the lane and the rest will take the other side. Keep to the bushes
as much as possible and when we get near the house lay low for a while
and watch the place. When I whistle we can come out from under cover
and go on up to the house.”
“That’s a good plan,” approved Tony. “Joe and Biff and I, we’ll go on
the left side of the road.”
“Good. Chet and Phil and I will take the other side. Remember to keep
out of sight of the house as much as possible.”
The boys entered the lane, then separated according to the agreement
they had made. One group plunged into the weeds and undergrowth at the
edge of the lane on one side while the others pushed into the bushes
at the opposite side. In a few minutes each group was lost to view and
only an occasional snapping and crackling of branches indicated their
presence in the heavy undergrowth that flanked the lane.
Frank advanced cautiously. The brushwood was much deeper than he
had anticipated and they made slow progress, for he was desirous
of creeping up on the house with as little noise as possible. The
undergrowth was thick and hampered their movements. They made their way
forward, step by step, keeping well in from the lane, and after about
ten minutes Frank raised his hand as a warning to the others.
Through the dense thickets he had caught a glimpse of the house.
They went on cautiously until they reached the edge of the bushes and
there they crouched behind the screen of leaves, peeping out at the
gloomy old stone building in the clearing.
But at the first glance, an expression of surprise crossed Frank’s
face.
The Polucca house was evidently occupied!
The weeds that had overgrown the yard on their last visit had been
completely cleared away, the grass had been cut and the tumble-down
fence had been repaired. The gate, which had been hanging by one hinge,
had been fixed and the grass along the pathway had been trimmed.
A similar change had overtaken the house.
There was glass in all the windows and the boards had been removed. The
front door had been repaired and the steps had been mended. Smoke was
rising from the kitchen chimney.
“There must be some one living here,” whispered Chet.
Frank was puzzled.
He had not heard that any one had taken the Polucca house. On account
of the unenviable fame of the place it was hardly likely that a new
tenant could move in without arousing considerable comment in Bayport.
But this had evidently happened.
For a while the boys remained at the edge of the bushes watching the
place. Then they saw a woman come out to the clothesline at the back of
the house. She carried a basket of clothes, and these she began hanging
up on the line. Shortly afterward a man came out, strode across the
yard to the woodshed and began chopping wood.
The boys looked at one another in consternation.
They had expected to find the same sinister and deserted place they had
visited previously. Instead, they had arrived on a scene of domestic
peace and comfort. They could not understand it.
“Not much use staying in hiding,” whispered Frank. “Let’s get together
and walk right up and question these people.”
He gave a low whistle, then emerged from the bushes into the lane. His
companions followed. In a short time they were joined by Joe and the
other boys.
All were deeply puzzled by the remarkable change that had come over the
Polucca place.
“This beats anything I ever heard of,” declared Joe. “It looks as if
some farmer has taken the place, but it’s queer we hadn’t heard of it.
Everybody in Bayport would be talking about it if they knew some one
had nerve enough to take over the Polucca farm.”
“I’m not satisfied yet,” Frank said. “We’ll go up and question these
people.”
Accordingly, the six boys walked boldly out of the lane and across the
yard. The man in the woodshed saw them first and put down his axe,
staring at them with an expression of annoyance on his face. The woman
at the clothesline heard their footsteps and turned, facing them, her
hands upon her hips. She was hard-faced and tight-lipped, with gaunt
features. She was not prepossessing and her untidy garb did not impress
the boys favorably.
“What do you want?” demanded the man, emerging from the woodshed.
He was short and thin with close-cropped hair, and he was in need of a
shave. His complexion was swarthy and he had narrow eyes under coarse,
black brows. His manner was far from polite as he advanced upon the
boys.
At the same time another man came out of the kitchen and stood on the
steps. He was stout and red-haired and had a thick mustache. As he
stood there in his shirt-sleeves he glared pugnaciously at the sextette.
“Yeah, what’s the big idea?” he asked.
“We didn’t know any one was living here,” explained Frank, edging
over to the kitchen door. He wanted to get a look inside the house if
possible.
“Well, there is,” said the red-haired man. “We’re livin’ here now,
and I can’t see that it’s any of your business. What are you snooping
around here for?”
“We aren’t snooping,” said Frank quietly. “We are looking for a man who
has disappeared from Bayport.”
“Humph!” grunted the woman.
“What makes you think he might be around here?” asked the red-headed
man.
“He was last seen in this neighborhood.”
“What’s his name?”
“Hardy.”
“What does he look like?”
“Tall and dark. He was wearing a grey suit and a grey cap.”
“Ain’t been nobody around here since we moved in,” said the red-headed
man gruffly.
“No, we didn’t see him,” snapped the woman. “You boys had better go and
look somewhere else.”
There was nothing to be gained by arguing with the unsociable trio,
so the boys started to leave. But Frank, who had edged close to the
open door during the course of the conversation, had glanced into the
kitchen and something had caught his eye.
It was a gray cap, hanging on a peg!