KIDNAPED
Rain threatened throughout the afternoon, but although the sky darkened
and there was an ominous calm, the storm held off. After supper the
Hardy boys went outside and looked at the clouds.
"It's sure going to be a jim-dandy," declared Joe. "Do you think we
really should go out to-night?"
"A little thing like a storm won't hold the car thieves back. They'll
operate in any weather."
"Won't they think it queer to see a car parked out in the rain?"
"They'll probably think it was stalled and that the owner went to get
help."
"That's right, too," Joe agreed. "I guess we can chance it."
"We'll put the top up to protect ourselves. And, anyway, it's dry in
the locker."
"The rain will be the least of our worries in there," said Joe, with a
grin. "Let's be going."
They went out to the garage and put up the top of the roadster, then
got in. As they drove down High Street there was a low rumble of
thunder and a splash of rain against the windshield.
"Storm's coming, right enough," Frank said. "Still, I have a hunch."
Ever since the previous night he had been possessed by a feeling that
their next venture would be crowned with success. He could not explain
it, but the feeling was there nevertheless.
They spied Con Riley, in oilskins against the approaching downpour,
patrolling his beat, and drew up at the curb.
"New car, eh?" said Riley, surveying the roadster grimly. "I'll be
runnin' you in for speeding some of these days, I'll be bound."
"Not in this boat," Frank assured him. "If we ever hit higher than
thirty the engine would fly out."
"Thirty!" scoffed the constable. "That looks like a real racin' car.
You mean ninety."
"We'll take you for a drive some time when you're off duty. We just
stopped to ask if there was anything new about the auto thieves."
Riley looked very grave, as he always did when any one asked him
questions pertaining to police matters.
"Well," he said, "there is and there isn't."
"That means there isn't."
"We ain't found 'em yet. But that don't mean they won't be found," said
the officer darkly. "We're followin' up clues."
"What kind of clues?"
"Oh, just clues," said the officer vaguely. "We'll have 'em behind the
bars before long. But you'd better keep an eye on that car of yours.
It's just the kind somebody would steal."
"Trust us. There's been no trace of the other cars, then?"
Riley shook his head.
"Not a sign. But them thieves will go too far some of these fine days,
and then we'll catch 'em."
"Well, we hope you're the man who lands them," said Frank cheerfully,
as he edged the car out from the curb again. "So long."
The boys drove away, and Con Riley patiently resumed his beat.
"The game is still open," remarked Joe. "If the police had learned
anything new, Riley would have heard about it."
"Whenever he says they're following up clues, you can be certain that
they're up against it. The thieves are just as much at large as they
ever were."
It was beginning to rain heavily before they reached the outskirts of
Bayport and by the time they were well out on the Shore Road the storm
was upon them. Thunder rolled and rumbled in the blackening sky and
jagged streaks of lightning flickered through the clouds. Rain streamed
down in the glare of the headlights.
As the downpour grew in violence, the road became more treacherous.
Without chains, the rear wheels of the car skidded and slithered on the
greasy surface.
One of the numerous defects of the roadster's mechanism was a loose
steering wheel. Under ordinary circumstances it gave little trouble,
but on this treacherous road, Frank experienced difficulty in keeping
the car on its course.
Just outside Bayport was a steep hill, dipping to the bluffs that
overhung the bay. Under the influence of the rain, the sloping road had
become wet and sticky, and as the roadster began the descent Frank knew
he was in for trouble.
The car skidded wildly, and the faulty brakes did not readily respond.
Once, the nose of the roadster appeared to be heading directly toward
the steep bluff, where only a narrow ledge separated the boys from a
terrible plunge onto the rocks of the beach below. Joe gave a gasp of
apprehension, but Frank bore down on the wheel and managed to swing the
car back onto the road again in the nick of time.
But the danger was not yet over.
The car was tobogganing down the slope as though entirely out of
control. The rear wheels skidded crazily and several times the car was
almost directly across the road, sliding sideways, and when it did
regain the ruts it shot ahead with breath-taking speed.
Almost any second the boys expected the roadster would leave the
slippery clay and either shoot across the ledge into space or crash
into the rocky wall at the left.
Somehow, luck was with them. Luck and Frank's quick work at the
unreliable wheel saved them from disaster.
The car gained the level ground, settled into the ruts, and went
speeding on at a more reasonable rate. The lads now breathed more
easily.
"Looked like our finish, that time," observed Joe.
"I'll say it did! I wouldn't have given a nickel for our chances when
we were about half way down the hill."
"Well, a miss is as good as a mile. We're still alive."
"And the old boat is still rolling along. When we get back I'm going to
have that steering wheel fixed. It very nearly cost us our lives."
On through the storm the Hardy boys drove, until at last they reached
the place where they had parked on the previous night. There was no one
in sight as they drove out onto the grass, and Frank turned off the
engine and switched out the lights. Quickly, they scrambled out, raised
the lid of the locker, and got inside.
The locker was warm and dry. The boys were comfortable enough, aside
from being somewhat cramped, and they could hear the rain roaring down
on the top of the roadster as the storm grew in violence.
Warned by their former experience, the boys had made themselves more
comfortable than they had previously been. On the floor of the locker
they had spread a soft rug and they had also supplied themselves with
two small but comfortable pillows.
"I am not going to wear out my knees and elbows," Frank had said. "The
last time we were out my left elbow was black and blue."
"We'll fix it up as comfortable as a bed," Joe had answered.
In addition to the rug and pillows the boys had brought along a small
box of fancy crackers and also a bottle of cold water, for hiding in
the locker for hours had made them both hungry and thirsty.
"I could eat a few crackers right now," remarked Joe, shortly after
they had settled down to their vigil.
"Same here," answered his brother. "Pass the box over."
Each lad had several crackers and followed them with a swallow of
water. As they munched the crackers the thunder rolled and rolled
in the distance and they could see an occasional flash of lightning
through a crack of the locker door.
"It sure is a dirty night," Frank whispered, as they crouched in the
darkness of their voluntary prison.
"Even for auto thieves."
Thunder rolled and grumbled and the rain poured down in drenching
torrents. They could hear the beating of the surf on the distant shore
of Barmet Bay, far below.
Minutes passed, with only the monotonous roar of the storm.
"What's the time?" asked Joe finally.
Frank switched on the flashlight and glanced at his watch.
"Half-past nine."
"Time enough yet."
They settled down to wait. Scarcely five minutes had passed before they
heard a new sound above the clamor of the rain and wind.
Some one stepped up on the running board of the roadster, flung open
the door, and sat down behind the wheel. The boys had not heard the
intruder's approach, owing to the noise of the storm, and they sat up,
startled.
The newcomer lost no time.
In a moment, the engine roared, and then the car started forward with a
jerk.
It lurched across the grassy ground, then climbed up onto the Shore
Road. Back in the locker, the lads were bounced and jolted against
one another. They did not mind this, for there was wild joy in their
hearts. At last their patient vigil had been rewarded.
"Kidnaped!" whispered Frank exultantly.
Once on the road, the car set off at rapidly increasing speed through
the storm. The man at the wheel was evidently an expert driver, for
he got every ounce of power the engine was capable of, and held the
roadster to the highway. The roar of the motor could be heard high
above the drumming of the rain.
In the darkness of the locker, the boys sat tight, not knowing where
the car was going, not knowing how long this wild journey might last.
They kept alert for any turns from the Shore Road, realizing that they
might have to find their way back by memory.
For above five minutes, the car held to the Shore Road, and then
suddenly swerved to the right.
Neither of the boys had any recollection of a side road in this part
of the country, and they were immediately surprised. However, by the
violent lurching and jolting of the roadster they were soon aware that
they were on no traveled thoroughfare and that they were descending
a slope over rough ground. There was a loud swishing of branches and
the sharp snapping of twigs, that indicated the roadster was passing
through the woods.
The man at the wheel was driving more carefully now that he was off the
Shore Road and comparatively safe from observation. He was evidently
following a road of sorts, although the car swerved and jolted
unmercifully, but at length he came to even more precarious ground.
The rear of the roadster went high in the air and came down with a
crash. Frank and Joe were flung violently to the bottom of the locker,
and Frank felt a most stunning blow on the head.
Thud!
Another terrific jolt. The car pitched and tossed like a ship in a
storm.
Bang!
A tire had blown out.
But this did not appear to worry the driver. The car canted far over on
one side, lurched forward, and then came down on all four wheels with
a terrific impact.
The boys were badly shaken up. They tried to brace themselves against
the sides of the locker, but this was of little use as the roadster's
bumpy and erratic progress inevitably dislodged them. They were thrown
against one another, bounced from side to side, bruised and battered.
It was apparent to them that the roadster was being driven over some
rocks--not the boulders of the beach, but over a rocky section of
ground where there was no road.
They shielded their heads with their arms as well as they could, to
prevent themselves from being knocked senseless against the sides of
the locker. The speed of the car slackened. Then they felt a long
series of short, sharp bumps, as though the car were being driven over
pebbles. Stones banged against the mudguards.
"We're on the beach," reflected Frank.
They did not suffer the jouncing and jolting that had given them such
discomfort a short time previously. The car traveled along the beach
for a short distance, then turned to the left and ran quietly and
smoothly over what the boys judged to be a stretch of sand. It then
began to climb. The ascent flung the lads against the back of the
locker.
It was of short duration, however.
The roadster came to level ground again, then rattled and rumbled on
over an uneven surface.
The boys noticed a peculiar, hollow sound. The roar of the motor seemed
to be echoing from all sides. The car had slowed down, and at last it
came to a stop.
Battered and bruised, the lads crouched in their hiding place,
wondering what would happen next. They could hear the driver scrambling
out of the front seat. Then there was a voice:
"That, you, Alex?"
"Yep."
"What have you got?"
"Big roadster."
"The one we were talking about?"
"You bet."
Other voices followed, voices that echoed and re-echoed, and then
footsteps clattered on rock.
"A beauty!" exclaimed some one. "Have any trouble?"
"None at all," said the voice of the man who had been addressed as
Alex. "Nobody in sight, so I just hopped in and drove it out."
"Swell boat!" declared some one else. "Fine night to leave it out in
the rain."
"That's what I thought," said Alex. "So I drove it in out of the wet."
There was a general laugh. From the number of voices, the lads judged
that there were at least three or four men standing near the big car.
"Wonder who owns it," said one of the several men.
"I don't know who _did_ own it, but I know that _we_ own it now,"
answered Alex promptly.
"What'll we do? Leave it here?"
"There isn't room inside. Might as well leave it."
"I guess nobody will come along and steal it," remarked Alex, who was
evidently the wit of the party, for another burst of laughter greeted
his words. "Want to look the car over?" he asked.
"Oh, it looks good enough from here."
"What's in that locker?" said one of the men. "There might be something
valuable."
A thrill of fear went through the two boys.
One of the men approached the back of the car. Frank gripped his
revolver firmly.