The Shore Road Mystery

“It certainly is a mystery how those autos disappeared,” said Frank Hardy.

“I’ll say it is,” replied his brother Joe, raising his voice to be heard above the clatter of their motorcycles. “Just think of it! Two cars last week, two the week before, and one the week before that. Some thieving, I’ll tell the world.”

“And Martin’s car was brand new,” called back Chet Morton.

“Mighty tough,” Frank affirmed. “It’s bad enough to lose a car, but to have it stolen the day after you’ve bought it is a little too much.”

“Must be a regular gang of car thieves at work.”

The three boys, on their motorcycles, were speeding along the Shore Road that skirted Barmet Bay, just out of Bayport, on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

“A person takes a big risk leaving a car parked along this road,” said Chet. “Every one of the five autos disappeared along the shore.”

“What beats me,” declared Frank, turning out to avoid a mud puddle, “is how the thieves got away with them. None of them were seen coming into Bayport and there was no trace of them at the other end of the Shore Road, either. Seems as if they just vanished into the thin air.”

“I tell you I didn’t steal it!” declared Mr. Dodd heatedly. “I haven’t the least idea how that car got there.”

“That’s all right,” interposed one of the other men gruffly. “You can tell that to the judge. The fact is, we’ve found the car behind your barn and it’s one of the cars that were stolen in the past couple of weeks.”

The chums glanced questioningly at Jack Dodd.

“These men are detectives,” he said, in a low voice. “They came out from the city with the trooper a little while ago.”

“Did they really find a stolen car here?” asked Chet.

Jack nodded.

“They found one all right, but how on earth it got here, I don’t know. It’s a Packard and somebody must have driven it in and left it among the bushes behind the barn. We never noticed it.”

“Well,” the state trooper was saying, “I’m going to drive the car back to Bayport and return it to the owner. You don’t claim it’s yours, do you?” He gestured toward a splendid touring car near by.

“Of course it isn’t mine,” said Mr. Dodd. “I’ve never seen it before and I never want to see it again⁠—”

“I guess you don’t,” growled one of the detectives.

“How it got here, I can’t tell. I certainly had nothing to do with stealing it.”

“People don’t leave perfectly good cars hidden behind other people’s barns,” said the other detective. “You’d better tell us a straight story, Dodd. It’ll be easier for you.”

They emerged on an open stretch of road where a sand embankment sloped steeply down to Barmet Bay. The beach lay beneath them at the foot of the sheer declivity and the waters of the bay sparkled in the rays of the late afternoon sun.

A movement on the beach caught Frank’s eye and he brought his motorcycle to a sudden stop.

“What’s the matter?” asked Joe, swerving wildly to avoid piling headlong into Frank’s machine.

“Run out of gas?” inquired Chet, putting on the brakes.

But Frank had dismounted and was walking over to the side of the road, out on to the top of the embankment.

“There’s somebody down on the beach.”

“What of it? Somebody swimming or fishing. Do you mean to say you stopped just because of that?”

But Frank was gazing down the steep, sandy slope.

“There’s something queer about this,” he said slowly. “There are two men down there, lying on the sand.”

Joe and Chet, immediately interested, came running over. The three boys looked down at the two figures on the beach far below.

“They’re not asleep,” said Joe. “One of them seems to be rolling around.”

“They’re tied!” shouted Frank. “Look! You can see the ropes! I was wondering what was so queer about them. Those men are tied hand and foot!”

Joe was examining the embankment at their feet.

“Why, they’ve been rolled down the side!” he exclaimed. “Look where the sand has been disturbed!”

Someone 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.