QUICK WORK
The Hardy boys glanced over at their father on the cot.
To their surprise they saw that he was smiling. Frank was on the point
of asking him what he found in the situation to smile at when he caught
a warning glance. He looked over at the guard.
Malloy was not bothering with the prisoners. He was not even looking
in their direction. Instead, his head was already beginning to nod, as
though he were going to sleep.
Snackley had made a poor selection when he chose Malloy as guard. The
man had been up the entire previous night helping bring in the shipment
of smuggled goods from Li Chang’s vessel, and he had had no sleep that
day. He was very tired. Sleep stole upon him without his being aware of
it.
Several times he straightened up and rubbed his eyes, but eventually he
would bow his head again and give in to the luxury of a little doze.
In the meantime, Mr. Hardy was busy. He had profited by his previous
experience.
When the smugglers seized him and attempted to tie him to the bed for
the second time he had made use of a trick frequently employed by
magicians and professional “escape” artists, who guarantee to escape
from ropes and strait-jackets. He had expanded his chest and held his
muscles rigid, keeping his arms as far away from his sides as possible,
so that later, when he relaxed, he found that the ropes did not bind
him as tightly as his captors had intended.
This gave him a small leeway. He found that the ropes were especially
slack about his right wrist, so he began to work laboriously to free
himself. For a long time he thought it would be impossible, and the
rope chafed his wrist, but at last he managed to slide his hand free.
Joe and Frank watched this performance with amazement, and new hope
came into their eyes as they saw their father slowly groping for one of
the knots. The detective fumbled at it for a while. It was slow work,
for he had but one hand free, but in their haste the smugglers had not
tied the knot as firmly as they should, and before long Fenton Hardy
had loosened it to such an extent that soon the ends of the rope fell
away.
His arms were now free, so he braced himself against the sides of the
bed and struggled to release his feet. They had not been bound so
securely, being simply tied down under one strand of rope about the
cot, and after silently struggling for a few minutes he was able to
work his way free.
The detective’s next move was to take off his boots, which he did
swiftly and quietly, placing them noiselessly on the bed. Then he crept
out onto the floor and began to steal over toward the guard.
Malloy was half asleep, but the detective had not gone more than two
yards before a slight sound, a slight creaking of the floor, warned the
guard that something was amiss.
He turned, blinking.
A look of intense amazement crossed Malloy’s face and he opened his
mouth to yell for help, but Fenton Hardy leaped across the intervening
space and hurled himself upon the smuggler before the guard had time to
utter more than a muffled gasp.
He clapped one hand over Malloy’s mouth and bore the guard to the
floor, where they rolled over and over in a desperate and silent
struggle. Although Fenton Hardy was weakened by his imprisonment and
privation and although the smuggler was strong and wiry, the detective
had the advantage of a surprise attack, and Malloy had no time to
collect his faculties.
Joe and Frank watched the battle in an agony of suspense. It was, they
knew, their last hope.
Fenton Hardy still kept his hand over the other man’s mouth, although
Malloy was gasping and gurgling and making frantic efforts to call out
for help. The detective dug his knee into Malloy’s stomach and when the
smuggler tried to wriggle out of the way he snatched for the revolver.
Their hands closed about the butt of the weapon at the same instant.
The struggle was short and bitter.
Malloy tugged at the revolver, trying to draw it from his pocket.
Fenton Hardy dug his knee sharply against the man and Malloy loosened
his grasp, with a groan of pain. The detective snatched the revolver
free and then flung himself back, leveling the weapon at Malloy.
“Not a word out of you!” he whispered.
Malloy’s hands rose in the air. He did not utter a sound. He was
sitting helplessly on the floor, his mouth opening and closing as he
painfully drew breath. He was beaten.
The detective spied a knife in a leather sheath at the smuggler’s belt
so he reached forward and seized the weapon.
Then, still keeping Malloy covered with the revolver, he walked slowly
backward until he reached Joe’s side. Without removing his eyes from
the smuggler, Fenton Hardy bent down and sliced at the ropes that bound
his son.
The knife was sharp and the ropes soon fell apart. Joe leaped from the
chair, casting aside the rope ends, and took the proffered knife. Then,
while his father still covered Malloy, he went over to Frank and set
him free.
Still without saying a word, Fenton Hardy motioned toward the bed and
indicated by signs that the smuggler was to lie down on the cot. A
gesture of refusal on the part of Malloy was met by a vigorous forward
thrust of the revolver and the smuggler hastily retreated.
The ropes on the bed had not been cut, so they were still available for
trussing up Malloy just as Mr. Hardy had been bound. The boys did the
job with neatness and despatch and they even gagged the smuggler with
his own handkerchief and one of the ropes from the chairs.
Within five minutes their erstwhile guard was lying helpless on the
bed, bound hand and foot and gagged so firmly that only a muffled and
subdued muttering escaped him.
“What now?” asked Frank, in a low tone.
“We can’t go out by the cove,” replied his father. “There are two men
down there now signaling to the motorboat. We’d better go upstairs.”
“Where does that lead to?”
“Outside. It will bring us into the shed near the house.”
Fenton Hardy moved over toward the door.
“We haven’t any time to lose,” he said. “I have the revolver. If we
meet any one—”
He opened the door cautiously and peeped out. There was no one beyond.
There was nothing but a flight of steps leading upward into darkness.
The detective went forward, his sons following close at his heels.
Step by step they made their way on up in the darkness, for Joe had
closed the door behind them and Frank did not dare make use of the
flashlight.
At last Fenton Hardy came to a stop. He was fumbling at something
immediately above.
Then the boys saw a faint opening which grew larger above them and
resolved itself into a square of grey light against which the head and
shoulders of their father were fully silhouetted. Fenton Hardy had
raised the trapdoor that concealed the entrance to the underground
caves and passages.
Mr. Hardy looked out carefully. There was no sign of the smugglers.
He proceeded to the very top of the steps, then moved clear of the
stairway.
Frank and Joe followed, rising out of the ground like mysterious
spirits of the earth, and the three stood in the shelter of the shed.
It was a dark night and the trees were moaning in the wind from the
sea. Immediately before them rose the gloomy mass of the house on the
cliff. There were no lights.
In the direction of the lane they could hear dull sounds, no doubt from
the truck that the smugglers were loading with goods which were to be
disposed of by the man called Burke.
“Safe so far,” whispered the detective to his sons.
They moved out of the shed, after closing the trapdoor, and stood in
the shadows.
“We can’t go by way of the lane,” whispered Frank.
“There’s a prisoner in the cellar of that house,” said Fenton Hardy. “I
hate to go without setting him free.”
“A prisoner?”
“I heard them talking about him.”
“Why can’t we go to town for help?”
“Once they find us gone they’ll clear out.”
“But three of us can’t do much against this gang. They’ll just capture
us all again.”
The detective considered this for a moment. At last he sighed.
“Yes, the risk is too great!” he said. “And I’ve let you take too many
risks already. We’d better go back to town.”
Having arrived at this decision, they moved slowly across the grass of
the yard, heading toward the bushes that flanked the lane. The great
bulk of the old stone house loomed heavily and darkly in the night.
Then, suddenly, they heard a harsh sound that struck terror into their
hearts—the clatter of the trapdoor being raised!