CHAPTER XIV

Chet Morton, Detective

desperately, Frank's eyes searched for the island. A wave lifted him, and he stared through the darkness seeking vainly for the shore. Suddenly he was conscious of the tinkling of a bell.

The buoy!

He turned his head and saw the light a few feet from him, bobbing and blinking as the buoy rolled with the waves.

With a thankful heart, he swam toward it and clung to the chain. He knew now that the island was only a hundred yards away, but his efforts with the canvas and his plunge into the sea had nearly exhausted him. He closed his eyes and waited for the storm to abate.

It was morning when the sky cleared and the waves subsided. The narrow, sandy beach of Merriam Island seemed to Frank to beckon invitingly, and he attempted to strike out for the shore. But his arms,

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numb from clinging to the buoy, were too heavy to lift.

Suddenly a helicopter appeared out of a cloud, and Frank's heart quickened with hope. The clumsy-looking machine's four-bladed propeller sparkled in the sun as the plane dipped toward the sea.

Frank shouted and waved his arm weakly. He saw an arm extend itself through the plane's window and wave back, and a few minutes later the helicopter hovered directly over him and started to descend.

The plane halted thirty feet above the water, and hung in the air. The cabin door was thrust open and a blond-haired youth looked down.

"Frank!" he called anxiously. "Can you hold out a moment longer?"

It was Joe!

Frank grinned happily. He had never been so glad to see anyone in his life!

"I'm all right, Joe!" he assured his brother. "Just get me out of this soup!"

Joe laughed with relief. "Okay!" he called. "Catch!"

He dropped a nylon rescue line toward the boy. It was equipped with a breeches buoy, which splashed a few yards away from Frank.

Frank swam to the buoy and thrust his legs through the trouserlike bottom.

The pilot of the helicopter held the plane's posi

124 The Secret of Skull Mountain

tion as Joe turned a windlass and drew the rescue line taut. Then the younger Hardy boy hoisted his brother into the plane.

"Boy, am I glad to see you!" he exclaimed, helping Frank to a seat and throwing his own jacket over his brother's shoulders.

Frank grinned at him. "That goes double!" he said, his teeth chattering.

Skip, the pilot, shook the youth's hand warmly and headed the helicopter toward Bayport. He knew the Hardy family well.

Joe wisely refrained from asking questions until the boys had arrived home. Then, fortified with one of Aunt Gertrude's meals, Frank described in detail what had happened.

Aunt Gertrude's eyes popped.

"My goodness!" she declared. "It's a wonder you didn't drown!"

"You must be exhausted, son," his mother said worriedly. "I think you should get right into bed."

Mr. Hardy promptly supported his wife's suggestion.

"I am pretty tired," Frank confessed. "Maybe forty winks-or even twenty-would make a new man out of me."

Joe accompanied Frank to his room.

"I haven't been exactly idle, myself," he bragged with a grin.

He told Frank of his trip to Brookside-and his

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conviction that Sweeper was Timothy Kimball, Jr.

"I always thought Sweeper was a phony name," Frank yawned, as he stretched luxuriously between clean sheets.

"Or a nickname," Joe added.

But his brother did not hear him. He was well on his way toward sleep. Joe tiptoed from the room and found his father waiting for him in the study.

"What Frank overheard last night, together with the facts we already knew about Klenger and Sweeper, is enough evidence for us to clinch the case," Mr. Hardy told the boy quietly. "But our first concern is Dr. Foster. If we force their hands now, we may never find out what happened to him."

Joe nodded.

"Our best bet," the detective went on, "is to try to locate, then follow, the three men. One of them is likely to lead us to Dr. Foster."

"What do you want me to do, Dad?" Joe asked eagerly.

Fenton Hardy paced the room thoughtfully for a moment.

"I want you to go to Klenger's house, son," he said at last. "Try to find out whether he returned there last night. If he didn't, try to learn when he will be home."

"Right," Joe said, putting his hand on the doorknob.

"Hold on a minute, Joe," his father said hastily.

The Secret of Skull Mountain

He took a paper from his desk and glanced at it, "I've checked Klenger's fingerprints-he left his prints on the letterhead he gave Frank-with the FBI. He has a record-so don't take any unnecessary chances."

"I understand," Joe told him, smiling.

Mr. Hardy rubbed his chin.

"Klenger's plumbing shop is closed," he stated, "But Klenger and the other men may be using it as a meeting place. Do you suppose Chet could stand watch on it? The crooks would be less apt to notice a boy than a man."

"Chet!" Joe's first impulse was to laugh, then he reflected that this attitude was unfair to Chet. "I think so, Dad," he said. "He can keep undercover."

"Good!" The tall detective put on his hat. "I'm going to Brookside to check on young Kimball, the man we've known as Sweeper. There's little doubt now that you were right about his real identity."

Joe phoned Chet as his father went out the door. Young Morton was both flabbergasted and flattered by Fenton Hardy's suggestion.

"Me? A detective?" he exclaimed.

"Sure!" Joe said, grinning at his friend's, excitement. "That is, if you want the job."

"Want it!" Chet exploded. "I'll watch thai plumbing shop closer than a bug in a rug!"

Chet suddenly clapped his hand to his head.

"Hh-oh!" he said.

Chet Morton, Detective 127

·'What's the matter?" asked Joe.

"I promised to meet Biff at the boat landing this morning. We planned to take a skiff out in the bay and look for that stuff you and Frank and I planted in the reservoir. Biff couldn't make it yesterday."

Joe debated for a moment.

"You'd better do it," he decided. "The stuff may have come through last night-but we couldn't have spotted it in the storm, anyway. You and Biff set up a watch," he concluded, "while I investigate Klenger's house. Then I'll take over while you train your eagle eye on the plumbing shop."

"Check," the other agreed. "Have you heard from Frank?" he asked.

"He's home," Joe informed his friend. "Tell you all about it later."

And the boys hung up.

The window shades were still drawn in Klenger's house when Joe drove up. He stared at the upstairs window where he had seen the woman's face, but the face did not reappear.

Joe mounted the steps to the porch and rang the doorbell.

To his surprise, the door was opened at once, and a middle-aged woman wearing a soiled dressing gown stood in the doorway.

It was the woman whose face he had seen in the window.

"What d'ya want?" she asked abruptly.

128 The Secret of Skull Mountain

"Is your husband home?" Joe asked.

"Klenger? No." She regarded him suspiciously. "What d'ya want him for?"

"Our kitchen faucet is leaking," Joe told her. "Mr. Klenger promised to fix it for us."

The woman's mouth broke into a smirk. "It'll be a puddle if you wait for Klenger to take care of it," she said. "He's gone on a trip."

"Oh," said Joe, acting as if he knew something about it. "Did he go there by boat?"

"By boat?" the woman said, puzzled, caught oft guard. "You don't go to the hills by-"

She shut her mouth tightly and stared hostilely at the boy, then slammed the door in his face!

Joe grinned as he ran down the steps. If Klenger was in the hills, that meant Skull Mountain, and it was likely that Dr. Foster was with him!

He drove the roadster to the boat landing. Then, breaking the Sleuth out of her slip, Joe headed the speedboat out into the bay. A short distance from the shore, he recognized Chet sitting in a skiff. With him was Biff Hooper, another high school friend of the Hardy boys.

"Hi!" Joe called.

Chet waved to him, and Joe brought the Sleuth alongside the boys' skiff.

"See anything yet?" Joe asked eagerly, as Biff caught hold of the speedboat's gunwale.

Chet shook his head gloomily. "Maybe the stuff got stuck in a branch of the tunnel," he said.

Chet Morton, Detective 129

"It might," Joe admitted. "But we planted enough articles for at least one to turn up in the bay."

Chet sighed. "How'd you make out at Klenger's house?" he asked.

Joe told him.

"Boy, you sure have a way with the women!" Chet kidded him.

Joe made a pass at him as Biff laughed.

"Want me to go out in the Sleuth with you?" Biff asked.

"I wish you would, Biff," Joe told him frankly. "It must be pretty monotonous all alone. And two pairs of eyes are better than one."

"It's okay with me," Biff said. "I've fished for everything else in these waters. I may as well try my luck at catching a decoy duck!"

"I'm afraid you wouldn't find a decoy very appetizing!" Joe laughed.

Joe ran Chet back to the boat landing in the Sleuth, towing the skiff behind. They tied the skiff to the landing, and Chet stepped onto the dock.

"Guess it's time for me to go and watch Klenger's shop," he announced importantly.

"Make sure you don't lose it," Joe ribbed him.

The Hardy boy, with Biff sitting in the cockpit beside him, again headed the speedboat out into the bay and started back toward the cove where the skiff had been. Chet watched the speeding craft as it bounded over the water, then started for Main Street

130 The Secret 01 Skull Mountain

where he was to take up his job of watching the plumbing shop.

As Joe had told him, the shop was closed. But Chet peered through the plate-glass window, hoping to detect a sign of activity inside.

Finding nothing that aroused his suspicion, he looked for a place where he could screen himself and still watch the store.

Directly across the street was a hot-dog and orange-juice stand. Chet brightened. No one, he reasoned, would suspect him of spying if he was stationed there.

He went across the street, and after exchanging a few pleasantries with the proprietor, he bit happily into a hot dog, washing the frankfurter down with a tall, cool glass of orange juice.

"This is the life!" he told himself complacently.

Chet envisioned himself as a man of Mr. Hardy's age, or maybe a few years younger. He, too, was an internationally famous detective-a private eye whose daring deeds were known and respected the whole world over. People clamored for his services, but Chet disdained all cases except those that were a real challenge to his courage and ingenuity.

Chet sighed happily. Then the horn of a passing car brought him back to reality.

Ten hot dogs and twelve glasses of orange juice later, Chet was ready to give up the idea of being a detective.

Nothing exciting had happened at the shop across

Chet Morton, Detective 131

the street, and the monotony of watching-together with a slight stomach-ache-made the would-be detective wish he had stayed in the skiff.

Chet consulted his notebook. Several people had called at the plumbing shop, rattling the door and knocking on the window when they discovered the store was closed.

He had dutifully written down a description of the callers and the license numbers of the cars in which some of them came. But nothing about them struck Chet as suspicious.

He closed the notebook and looked at his watch. He had been spying on the shop for three hours.

"Golly," he complained. "How much longer am I supposed to stay on this job?"

It occurred to him that neither Mr. Hardy nor Joe had set a time for him to quit, and he perked up.

"Guess I'll have one more hot dog," he decided, "and then break off."

The proprietor looked at Chet as he put the money on the counter.

"What, agjiin?" he said.

He shook his head wonderingly and rang up the sale on the cash register.

Chet bit off a huge piece of the frankfurter, then turned to face the store again. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

A man was unlocking the door of the plumbing shop! He glanced furtively up and down the street^ then disappeared insideJ