CAPTURED
The worst fears of the Hardy boys were realized.
They had been unable to distinguish clearly the voice of the prisoner
until then, for it had been muffled by the intervening door, but all
along they had suspected that it was their father. Now they knew, and
they knew also that he was a captive of Snackley, the head of the gang
of smugglers.
Joe gave a perceptible start, but Frank laid a warning hand upon his
brother’s arm. Now, of all times, there was need for caution.
They listened.
“I won’t sign it,” replied Fenton Hardy clearly.
Snackley replied:
“You heard what I said. Sign or starve.”
“I’ll starve.”
“You’ll think differently in a day or so. You’re pretty hungry now,
Hardy, but you’ll be a lot hungrier later on. And thirsty, too. You’ll
be ready to sell your soul for a drop of water or a bite to eat.”
“I won’t sign.”
“After all, we’re not asking very much. You’ve discovered a number of
things that we want you to forget about. It won’t hurt you to go back
to Bayport and say that you couldn’t find out anything about us. Nobody
knows where you have been.”
“I’ve found out all I wanted to know about you, Snackley. I’ve got
enough evidence to send you to the penitentiary for the rest of your
life. And I have more than that.”
“What do you mean—more than that?”
“I know enough to have you sent to the electric chair.”
There was a sudden commotion in the room and two or three of the
smugglers began talking at once.
“You’re crazy!” shouted Snackley, but there was a current of uneasiness
in his voice. “You’re crazy. You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough to have you sent up for murder.”
“All the more reason why you’re not going to get out of here without
signing this paper. You can count yourself lucky you have even this
chance of getting out alive. By all rights we should knock you on the
head and heave you over the cliff into the sea.”
“I won’t sign.”
“Don’t be foolish. All we ask you to do is to agree that you won’t make
use of the information you have. I admit that you’ve stumbled on some
of our secrets, and we can’t afford to turn you loose and have the
federal agents about our ears in no time.”
“You must trust me very much. What is to prevent me from signing that
paper and then going back on my word?” asked Fenton Hardy curiously.
“We know you too well, Hardy. We know that if you signed that promise
you would keep it.”
“Exactly. And that is why I won’t sign it. I wouldn’t be doing my duty
if I agreed to any scheme that would protect you.”
“How about your family? Are you doing your duty to them by being so
obstinate?”
There was silence for a while. Then Fenton Hardy answered slowly:
“They would rather know that I died doing my duty than have me come
back to them as a protector of smugglers and criminals.”
“You have a very high sense of duty,” sneered Snackley. “But perhaps
you’ll think better of it after a while. Are you thirsty?”
There was no reply.
“Are you hungry?”
Still no answer.
“You know you are. And you’ll be hungrier and thirstier before we are
through with you. We’ll put food and water in your sight but you won’t
be able to reach it. You’ll die of thirst and starvation—unless you
sign that paper.”
“I’ll never sign it.”
“All right. Come on, men. We’ll leave him to himself and give him time
to think about it.”
Footsteps resounded as Snackley and the others began to leave the room,
and finally they died away and a door banged.
Fenton Hardy was left alone.
Joe made a sudden move toward the door, but Frank restrained him.
“Not just yet,” he cautioned. “They may have left some one to guard
him.”
So the boys waited, listening intently at the door.
But there were no further sounds from within the room. At length,
satisfied that his father had indeed been left alone, Frank fumbled for
the latch of the door.
Noiselessly, he managed to open it. He pressed in on the door until it
was open about an inch, then he peeped through the aperture.
He found himself on the threshold of a sort of cellar, a damp and
mouldy chamber, of about the same size as the storage room in the
heart of the cliff, with the difference that whereas the first room
was a cave in the rock, this place had been dug out of the earth. It
was floored with planks and a lone electric light cast a yellowish
illumination over the scene. There was a crude table and a few chairs,
while in one corner stood a small camp-bed.
On this bed he spied his father.
Fenton Hardy was bound hand and foot to the cot, so tightly trussed up
that he was unable to move more than a few inches in any direction.
He was lying flat on his back, staring up at the muddy ceiling of
his prison. On a chair beside the cot was a large sheet of paper,
presumably the document the smugglers were asking him to sign.
The detective did not hear the door open. As Frank looked at him he was
conscious of a change in the appearance of his father, a change that
shocked him extremely. For Fenton Hardy was thin and pale, his cheeks
were sunken and he looked like a man who was famished for want of food.
Frank opened the door a little wider and tiptoed into the room. Joe
followed quietly.
They knew that there was danger of the smugglers returning at any
moment. They knew that they must work swiftly and quietly if they were
to effect the release of their father.
A slight sound attracted Fenton Hardy’s attention and he slowly turned
his head. When his gaze rested on the figures of the two boys who were
stealing across the floor toward him he almost uttered an exclamation
of amazement but he managed to check the involuntary utterance,
although his face lighted up with relief.
Quickly, the Hardy boys reached his bedside. Frank drew out his
pocketknife and, without a word, without even a whisper, began to hack
at the ropes that bound his father. But the knife was dull and the
ropes were heavy.
Joe had lost his knife in the water soon after they had left Bayport,
and although he searched about the room, he was unable to find one, so
he set himself to the laborious business of trying to untie the knots.
Every moment was precious. At any second, the boys knew, they might
hear the footsteps of the approaching smugglers. They worked with
frantic caution, working against time.
Frank hacked at the ropes, but the dull blade seemed to make little
progress. Joe fumbled at the obstinate knots until his fingernails were
broken, but he could scarcely loosen the strands.
Minutes passed—slowly and agonizingly. Fenton Hardy could give no
assistance. He had to lie there in silence, not daring even to
encourage the lads by a whisper. The silence was broken only by the
heavy breathing of the two boys, by the scarcely audible sound of the
knife against the ropes.
At last the knife cut through one of the ropes and Fenton Hardy’s feet
were free. Frank pulled the ropes away, but a loose end fell on the
floor with a light sound.
Slight as the noise was, it seemed to them almost deafening, in view of
the necessity for silence. Desperately, Frank prepared to set to work
to cut through the ropes that bound Fenton Hardy’s arms. And, even as
he reached over with the knife, they heard a sound that sent a thrill
of terror through them.
It was a heavy footstep beyond the door through which the smugglers had
recently disappeared!
Some one was approaching the underground room.
Frank strained at the knife, but the ropes were stubborn. The dull
blade made little impression at first. But at last the rope began to
give, and finally, as Fenton Hardy gave a mighty effort, it snapped,
and the detective was free.
But the footsteps on the stairs had drawn nearer and it was followed by
others. The smugglers were returning.
“Quick!” whispered Frank, as he flung the ropes aside.
“I—I can’t—hurry!” gasped out Fenton Hardy. “I’ve been here too—too
long.” He could hardly utter the words. His face showed his exhaustion.
“But we’ve got to hurry, dad!” came excitedly from Frank. “See if you
can’t make it.”
“I’ll—I’ll do my—my best,” returned his father.
“If those fellows come back let’s fight for it,” put in Joe desperately.
“You bet we’ll fight,” answered Frank in a voice that meant a great
deal.
Fenton Hardy got to his feet as hastily as he could, but when he stood
up on the floor he reeled and would have fallen had not Joe grasped his
arm. He had been lying bound to the cot for so long and he was so weak
from hunger that a fit of dizziness had attacked him. It soon passed,
however, and the three hastened toward the door through which the Hardy
boys had entered.
But the smugglers were very close now. The Hardys could hear the coarse
voices just outside the other door.
There was no chance of escape.
Just as the Hardy boys and their father crossed the threshold the door
on the opposite side of the room was flung open.
Frank had a confused glimpse of the dark man, Snackley, whom they had
seen in the cove that afternoon, with half a dozen rough men crowding
behind him. Then he saw Snackley whip a revolver from his pocket.
The chief of the smugglers was filled with astonishment, but he did not
lose his presence of mind. The weapon was leveled at Frank before he
had time to close the door.
Snackley did not speak. He pressed the trigger and the revolver roared,
the echoes crowding on one another in that narrow space. The bullet
chipped into the wood of the door.
Frank ducked. Joe, who was in the lead, flung himself to one side.
Fenton Hardy stumbled out on to the landing at the top of the stairs.
“Come back!” roared Snackley, plunging across the room. “Come back or
I’ll fire again!”
As the smuggler drew closer Frank crouched for a spring, and then
leaped directly at Snackley. He struck out at the man’s wrist and the
revolver flew out of the rascal’s grasp, skidding across the floor into
a corner.
Then they grappled, and so sudden had been Frank’s attack that the
smuggler was taken by surprise and he reeled up against the wall. But
his companions rushed to his rescue. Frank was swiftly overpowered and
dragged away, while other smugglers, with drawn revolvers, pursued Joe
and Fenton Hardy out on to the landing. Being unarmed, they were forced
to submit, otherwise they would have been shot without mercy.
The struggle was short. The menacing revolvers gave the smugglers the
upper hand.
Within five minutes Fenton Hardy was bound to the cot again while the
Hardy boys were seated, trussed up and unable to move, on two chairs
near by. They were captives of the smugglers!