The Missing Chums

“You certainly ought to have a dandy trip.”

“I’ll say we will, Frank! We sure wish you could come along.”

Frank Hardy grinned ruefully and shook his head.

“I’m afraid we’re out of luck. Joe and I may take a little trip later on, but we can’t make it this time.”

“Just think of it!” said Chet Morton, the other speaker. “A whole week motorboating along the coast! We’re the lucky boys, eh, Biff?”

Biff Hooper, at the wheel of his father’s new motorboat, nodded emphatically.

“You bet we’re lucky. I’m glad dad got this boat in time for the summer holidays. I’ve been dreaming of a trip like that for years.”

“It won’t be the same without the Hardy Boys,” returned Chet. “I had it all planned out that Frank and Joe would be coming along with us in their own boat and we’d make a real party of it.”

“Can’t be done,” observed Joe Hardy, settling himself more comfortably in the back of the boat. “There’s nothing Frank and I would like better⁠—but duty calls!” he exclaimed dramatically, slapping himself on the chest.

“Duty, my neck!” grunted Frank. “We just have to stay at home while dad is in Chicago, that’s all. It’ll be pretty dull without Chet and Biff around to help us kill time.”

“You can put in the hours thinking of Biff and me,” consoled Chet. “At night you can just picture us sitting around our campfire away up the coast, and in the daytime you can imagine us speeding away out over the bounding main.”

“Ha!” she exclaimed, holding a letter up to the light. “Here’s a letter addressed to Fenton Hardy. Bad news in it, I’ll be bound.”

Aunt Gertrude could smell bad news a mile away, Frank often said.

“Bad news in it. I can tell. I dreamed about haystacks last night. Haystacks! Whenever I dream about haystacks it means bad news. I never knew it to fail. Open the letter, Laura.”

“But it isn’t addressed to me,” objected Mrs. Hardy.

“Fiddlesticks! It’s addressed to your husband, isn’t it? You have as much right to open it as he has. More. It’s a wife’s duty to help her husband as much as she can and look after his affairs for him. Man and wife are one, aren’t they? Open the letter.”

Mrs. Hardy, with some misgivings, slit open the envelope and Aunt Gertrude, who was possessed of an insatiable curiosity, immediately seized the letter.

“I’ll read it for you!” she offered.

“ ‘Fenton Hardy⁠—Bayport,’ ” she began. “ ‘Dear Sir: We wish to inform you that we have⁠—’ My goodness! What’s this? What’s this? Gracious me!” She lapsed into unintelligible mutterings as she read the rest of the letter to herself, frequently giving vent to exclamations of surprise while her eyes widened with astonishment.

Mrs. Hardy and the boys could hardly contain their impatience until at last Aunt Gertrude laid down the letter and peered triumphantly at them over her spectacles.

To enter the harbor they were obliged to pass within a short distance of the schooner, swinging about beneath the bows of the vessel. As the Sleuth plunged through the water, in the very shadow of the ship, Joe suddenly gave an exclamation of surprise.

“Frank! Look up on deck⁠—quick!”

Frank glanced hurriedly upward. He was just in time to see the figure of a boy moving away from the rail, but there was something familiar about the young fellow that made him look incredulously at his brother.

“Chet!”

“I’m sure it’s him,” returned Joe hurriedly. “I didn’t get a very good look at his face, because he only looked over the rail and then he drew back⁠—but I’m almost positive it was Chet!”

“But what on earth can he be doing on that schooner?”

“Probably he’s a prisoner. Let’s give him a hail.”

They shouted the name of their chum half a dozen times, but their only response was from a villainous looking sailor who glared over the side at them and bade them get away from the ship.

“I’ll say it was good news,” said the newcomer. “Mighty good news.”

“What is it?” they asked eagerly.

“I’ve found out why Fenton Hardy didn’t pay any attention to that letter.”

The boys listened eagerly. At the mention of their father they knew that all their suspicions had been verified. They waited tensely as the conversation went on.

“Why?” asked Red.

“He didn’t get it.”

“Why didn’t he get it?”

The newcomer paused and smiled.

“The reason he didn’t get it,” he said, slowly and triumphantly, “is because we’ve got him.”

“Got him?”

“We’ve got Fenton Hardy!”

“How?”

“Where?”

“How do you know?”

Questions were fired at the newcomer from all parts of the cave. He was enjoying the sensation he had caused. As for the hidden listeners, they experienced only a sickening amazement.

“The gang got him in Chicago last night. I just got word this afternoon. He went out there to catch Baldy; but the boys got wind of it and they laid a trap for him. He stepped right into it.”

“Good!” exclaimed the redheaded man, rubbing his hands. “What could be sweeter? We’ve got Hardy and we’ve got his sons⁠—”

“By the way, how are they acting?” asked the newcomer.

“Oh, still kicking up a fuss⁠—the young brats,” growled the man called Pete. “They say they ain’t the Hardy boys at all.”

“Don’t worry about that. Bring ’em out here.”

One of the men got up from beside the fire and disappeared into the rear of the cave. His footsteps died away and the Hardy boys judged that there must be some sort of inner chamber to the place.