The Secret of the Caves

I

Overboard

“Well, the stealing of autos in this neighborhood has come to an end, Frank. Wonder if anybody will ever take to stealing motorboats.”

“Perhaps, Joe. But there isn’t the chance to steal a boat that there was to steal cars.”

“Gee, now that the excitement is over I wonder what will come up next.”

“Don’t know; but something is bound to happen sooner or later—it always does.”

“Hope it comes soon—I don’t want to get rusty.”

It was a Saturday afternoon in June, one of those warm, drowsy days when even the leaves of the trees seem too indolent to stir. There was scarcely a ripple on the surface of the water, no movement but the flow of the incoming tide.

Three motorboats circled lazily about in Barmet Bay within sight of the city of Bayport. The lazy spirit of the afternoon seemed to have spread to the occupants of the boats, for they lounged about informally.

Biff Hooper, in his craft, the Envoy, had devised a way of steering with his foot while sprawled on the side cushions.

In a motorboat close by, the Napoli, sat Tony Prito, a handsome boy with dark hair, olive skin, and sparkling eyes. In the third motorboat were two lads certainly who need no introduction to readers of previous volumes in the Hardy Boys Series.

The boy at the wheel, a tall, dark, handsome lad of about sixteen, was Frank Hardy, and the other, a fair, curly-headed fellow about a year his junior, was his brother Joe. These boys were the sons of Fenton Hardy, an internationally famous private detective who lived in Bayport.

“I didn’t expect to see you fellows out on the bay this afternoon,” shouted Biff Hooper, raising his head over the side of his boat.

“Where did you think we’d be?” called back Frank. “Up in the attic, studying?”

“Thought you’d be out in your car,” and Biff grinned widely.

There was a laugh from Tony Prito, and the Hardy boys also laughed with great good-humor. Their car was a standing joke among their chums, and, as Chet Morton put it, “standing” joke described it exactly, for it seldom moved.

“Never mind,” returned Joe. “That old car served its purpose, anyway. We used it only as bait.”

“It was mighty good bait,” said Tony. “You caught some big fish with that old crate.”

“It has earned its keep,” Frank called back. “We’re going to put it on a pension and let it stay in our garage for the rest of its life, without charge.”

The boys were referring to a roadster that the Hardy lads had purchased out of their savings some time previous. It was a car that proved the old axiom that beauty is only skin deep, for although it glittered with nickel and paint and although its lines were trim and smooth, its inner workings were utterly beyond the comprehension of Bayport mechanics. For a few weeks after its purchase the car ran, eccentrically enough, but still it ran. Then, one day, for no apparent reason, it gave up the ghost and no amount of tinkering would prompt it even to move out of the garage.

However, as Joe had said, the car had served its purpose. The boys had picked it up cheaply, with a definite object in view. As told in the preceding volume of this series, “The Hardy Boys: The Shore Road Mystery,” there had been a series of mysterious automobile thefts on the Shore Road leading out of Bayport, numerous pleasure cars and trucks having been stolen, and no amount of investigation on the part of the police had succeeded in revealing their whereabouts or the identity of the thieves.

Frank and Joe Hardy, who had earned considerable local fame by their activities as amateur detectives, in emulation of their famous father, had decided to lay a trap for the automobile thieves and, buying the gorgeous rattletrap, parked it on the Shore Road for several nights, concealing themselves in the rear. After many adventures, the Hardy boys captured the thieves and recovered the stolen cars. They collected several handsome rewards for their work, so their investment in the roadster proved exceedingly profitable after all.

“The car owners around Bayport have sure been breathing easier since that affair was cleared up,” said Biff.

“I don’t think there’ll be any more car thieving for a long time,” Tony declared. “The two sleuths here put a stop to that.”

“We had a good time doing it,” Frank admitted. “I’m rather sorry it’s all over.”

“Never satisfied!” commented Biff.

He prodded the wheel with his foot and the Envoy swung about with its nose pointing down the bay. Barmet Bay, three miles long, opened on the Atlantic, and in the distance the boys could see a motor yacht that ran daily between Bayport and one of the towns on the coast, a trim little passenger craft that was proceeding toward them at a fast clip.

“Where are you going?” shouted Tony.

“Out to meet the passenger boat.”

“Race you!”

“So will we!” called Frank.

Biff abandoned his indolent posture and settled down to take advantage of his head start. His boat leaped ahead with a roar. Tony Prito had to make a half turn before he could get under way.

The Hardy boys were similarly unprepared, but they had no doubt of the ability of the Sleuth to overhaul Biff’s boat quickly. Their craft was one of the speediest in the bay, with smooth lines and a powerful engine.

They had trouble on the turn, for the swells of the other boats caught the Sleuth and put it off its course, and by the time the craft was nosing in pursuit, Biff Hooper had a good lead and Tony Prito was also ahead of them.

“Step on it!” said Joe.

Frank stepped on it, and the Sleuth began eating up the intervening distance. Rocking and swaying, prow well out of the water, the boat overhauled the Napoli and Frank grinned at Tony as they crept by. Their friend was getting every ounce of speed of which his engine was capable and although he jockeyed to try to put the Hardy boys off the course, they sped on and soon left him behind.

Biff had been tinkering with the engine of his craft and had evidently made a few improvements, for the Envoy was going along at a clip it had never before achieved.

“Looks as if he intends to put one over on us,” muttered Frank, as he opened up the engine to the last notch. “He’ll beat us to the boat at this rate.”

The motor yacht was about a mile away.

On through the water plunged the Sleuth, gaining slowly but surely on the craft ahead.

Once in a while Biff cast a hasty glance backward to wave mockingly at them. He misjudged an approaching wave on one of these occasions and the Envoy swerved; he lost valuable seconds righting the craft into its course again and the Sleuth gained.

The yacht was about a quarter of a mile distant when the Sleuth at last pulled up beside the other boat. Inch by inch it forged ahead until the bow of each boat was on a line with the other. Then the Sleuth’s greater speed became manifest as it pulled away, leaving Biff shaking his head in exasperation.

Suddenly Joe, who had been looking at the passenger yacht in the distance, gave a shout of alarm.

“Look!” he cried.

Frank glanced up just in time to see an immense puff of black smoke bursting from above the deck of the yacht. Then, across the waves, was borne to their ears the roar of an explosion.

They could see figures running about on the deck of the boat. One of them, a woman, ran directly to the rail and began to clamber up on it.

“What on earth—” gasped Joe.

“She’s going overboard!”

Another figure ran out, making a frantic grab at the woman who was balanced perilously on top of the rail. Then, her arms outspread, the woman jumped. The boys saw her plunge down the side of the yacht, and there was a splash as she hurtled into the water.

A moment later she emerged and they could see her swimming about and waving her arms. The Sleuth had drawn closer to the yacht in the meantime and now the boys could hear a faint cry for help.

Tensely, Frank leaned over the wheel. Great clouds of smoke were pouring from the yacht.

“We’ll have to rescue her!” he said. “It’s her only chance.”

The yacht had passed the woman by now, and although a life-buoy had been flung out it was some distance away from her. Hampered by her wet clothes, the woman was making no progress toward it. Slowly, the yacht began to circle, but the lads saw that it would never reach her in time.

The Sleuth ploughed on through the waves.

The boys saw the woman throw up her hands with a despairing gesture and disappear beneath the surface.