The Secret of the Caves (6 page)

Frank's eyebrows shot up. “Oh—oh!” he exclaimed. “Here's our answer!” He slapped the booklet down on his father's desk and pointed to the words on the cover:
Delta Sigma Fraternity
—
Cadmus Quill, Faculty Adviser.
“He probably was behind the hazing.”

Mr. Hardy glanced at Frank and said, “That certainly fits in with your theory.”

“Yes,” Joe agreed. “I think the police ought to question Quill.”

Mr. Hardy also thought this would be a good idea, so Frank telephoned the police chief at Kenworthy. He told the officer what he had just learned. The chief thanked him and promised to call the Hardys back after he had interrogated QuilL

Later, just as the family was sitting down to breakfast, the phone rang. Frank answered. “Oh, hello, Chief,” he said. “Any luck with Quill?”

Mr. Hardy and Joe jumped up from the table when they heard Frank exclaim in astonishment:

“He did? ... All right. Thanks a lot.... You'll keep us posted? ... Right. Good-by.”

“What's the scoop?” Joe asked eagerly.

“More mystery,” Frank said. “Now Quill has disappeared!”

Joe gave a low whistle. “Kidnapped?”

“Maybe.”

Mr. Hardy's brow furrowed. “You boys could be close to the truth about that foreign country's being involved,” he said. “Maybe both Todd and Quill were whisked away because of some political information they gleaned.”

Frank went on to report that the Kenworthy police had issued a seven-state missing-person alarm for Cadmus Quill. “Only when he's found,” Frank added, “can we tell whether Quill is friend or foe.”

Various aspects of the case were discussed by the detective and his sons during the meal. What move to take next was the question. Mr. Hardy said that since sabotage had been definitely indicated at the radar site, he could free his sons to concentrate on the Todd matter.

“I vote we look for Quill,” Joe suggested as Mrs. Hardy sliced a broad wedge of homemade coffee cake for Frank.

“Umm! Great as usual, Mom,” Frank remarked, having disposed of a generous bite. “What do you say, Dad? Shall we follow up the Rockaway clue?”

“Maybe Joe has a point,” Mr. Hardy replied. “I have a definite feeling that if you find Quill you'll find Todd.”

Joe grinned at his brother. “Lucky our bags are still packed.”

The boys had gone to their room to bring down the luggage when the phone rang again. Fenton Hardy was first to pick up the receiver in his study.

The caller was Chet Morton, who said that he wanted all three Hardys to hear his story.

“Hold on. I'll get Frank and Joe on the other wires.”

In a few moments Frank was at the hall phone, and Joe at the upstairs extension. “Are you all there now?” Chet's voice was edged with excitement.

“Right,” Joe said. “What's up?”

“Maybe you can tell
me,”
Chet said. “What is this guy Quill anyhow? A maniac?”

“Quill?” Frank echoed as his father and brother gasped in amazement. “Have you seen him?”

“Seen him! I'll say so,” Chet replied. “I think he's out of his head.”

“Come on, boy! Give us the lowdown!” Joe prompted.

“Quill forced our car off the road on the way to Rockaway, that's what!” Chet said.

“Did he follow you all the way from the college?” Fenton Hardy put in.

Chet said that must have been the case. “After a while Biff noticed somebody tailing us.”

“How did you know it was Quill?” asked Frank.

Chet told of stopping for a traffic light. The other car had lingered several lengths behind. “But we recognized his moonface!” Chet said triumphantly.

Several miles farther on, as he and Biff rounded a curve, Quill's car had cut them off.

“My old jalopy scraped against a tree,” Chet went on. “Biff got a bump on the head, but otherwise we weren't injured. It ruined the paint job, though.”

“I'm sure glad it wasn't any worse,” Frank said.

“Did Quill keep on going?” Joe asked.

“Yes. In the direction of Rockaway. Say, why don't you fellows come down here and protect Biff and me?”

“Not a bad idea,” said Frank. “Where shall we meet you?”

“We'll go on to Rockaway and set up our tent on the beach,” Chet replied.

“Okay,” Joe put in. “Get there soon as we can.”

After Mr. Hardy added his approval to the plan, the Hardys said good-by and hung up.

The three detectives were perplexed about Biff and Chet's brush with Cadmus QuilL “Why would he pick on them?” Joe mused.

Frank shook his head. “My hunch is Quill thought you and I were in that car, Joe!”

Mr. Hardy added a word of caution. “Don't take unnecessary risks, boys. Your enemies are dangerous.”

As the brothers were about to leave, their mother said, “Oh, by the way, I have an errand I'd like you to do.”

“Anything for you, Mother,” said Frank, kissing her on the cheek.

“Well, it's really for Aunt Gertrude.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Oh—oh. Is Aunty coming for another visit?”

When Mrs. Hardy nodded, Joe remarked, “It's just as well we're leaving for Rockaway now. Aunt Gertrude wouldn't approve of this mystery, I'll bet!”

Miss Gertrude Hardy was actually a great favorite with the boys despite her tart tongue and frequent predictions of dire mishaps overtaking her sleuthing nephews.

Frank chuckled. “What's the big deal for Aunt Gertrude?”

“Get her a spinning wheel.”

“But—” Joe gulped. “Where're we ever going to find one?”

“Perhaps at the Palais Paris,” Mrs. Hardy replied with a twinkle.

“Wow!” Joe exclaimed. “Sounds real fancy—what is it?”

Mrs. Hardy explained that there was a new and very attractive French restaurant on the main highway near Rockaway. “I understand,” she added, “that the restaurant has an antique shop connected with it. It's only a few miles from where you're going. I checked it on the road map.”

The boys grimaced slightly at the idea of having to bargain for an old spinning wheel, but assured their mother they would pick one up if available.

“Wonderful,” said Mrs. Hardy. “I think your aunt will be here by the time you return.”

Frank and Joe hurriedly stowed their luggage in the car. Their parents came to say good-by. “Watch out for those saboteurs at the radar site, Dad,” Frank said.

“I intend to. Good luck yourselves.”

Both boys hugged their mother, shook hands with their father, and hopped into the car.

“The tenting equipment is already in the trunk,” Joe said. “Have we forgotten anything, Frank?”

“We're all set,” his brother replied, giving the circle sign with his thumb and forefinger.

The morning was gray and foggy as the boys set off with Joe at the wheel, but an hour later the sun shone through and burned off the mist.

The coastline now assumed roller-coaster proportions as they approached the Honeycomb Caves area. The highway was about two hundred feet above sea level. A short plateau extended to the lip of the palisades to the left of them before dropping down abruptly into the Atlantic Ocean.

“The caves are below these cliffs somewhere,” declared Joe, motioning toward the coastal side. The sea, hidden most of the time by a thick stand of woods and undergrowth, occasionally flashed through in brilliant glimmers.

Presently they approached a rambling, attractive building with stone trim and a wide porch. “There's the Palais Paris,” said Frank, pointing to a sign on a lamppost announcing the fashionable restaurant. It was set thirty feet back from the right side of the road with a neat parking area beside it. The lanes, marked with white paint, were nearly filled with expensive, late-model cars.

“A good luncheon crowd,” Joe remarked as he pulled in and parked.

The brothers got out and walked toward the entrance to the antique shop located next to the restaurant in the same building. As they passed the open door, Frank noted the well-dressed patrons seated at the tables. There was also a sign tacked to a post beside the door. It read: WAITRESSES WANTED.

“A ritzy place, I'd say, Joe,” he remarked. “And if they have a big selection of antiques we ought to be able to find Aunt Gertrude her spinning wheel.”

The boys entered the shop and looked around. The broad floor boards were pegged, giving the place an old-fashioned appearance. Several long tables were filled with ancient-looking articles such as candle molds, clocks, pewter pieces, and bed warmers. From the low ceiling hung a black iron pot and several oil lamps.

“Hey, over there, Frank!” Joe pointed to one corner of the room, where a spinning wheel was suspended on two hooks fastened to the ceiling.

“Just what we're looking for.” Frank walked over to inspect the wheel. Joe followed.

“Why have they got it hanging in mid-air?” he wondered.

“For the effect, I guess,” Frank replied. He looked about for a salesclerk. Meantime, Joe tried to lift the wheel from its supporting hooks.

A resounding
crack
made Frank whirl about, just in time to see the spinning wheel fall to pieces over Joe's head. They landed on the floor with a clatter.

“Leapin' frogs!” Frank exclaimed. “How'd that happen?”

“I don't know,” Joe said. “I only touched it.”

The noise brought a woman running from the back of the shop. She was tall, with dark eyes and black hair which was pulled back into a knot. “Oh, what did you do!” she cried with a pronounced French accent.

“Nothing!” Joe protested. “The old wheel just came apart like matchsticks.”

“We wanted to buy it,” Frank said. “It must not have been very well made.”

“That piece was valuable?” the woman declared indignantly. “It was not for sale.” She wrung her hands. “It was for show only—to set off our beautiful antique display.”

Joe was embarrassed. “I'm sorry,” he said. “Maybe we can put it back together again.” He picked up the large wheel and the spindle, still intact.

“Non!”
The woman's eyes flashed. “You do not get away so easily. I am the manageress here. You will have to pay for this wheel.”

Joe groaned. “Why didn't I keep my hands off it!”

“You will pay!” the woman repeated. She hastened into the back of the shop and returned seconds later with a tall, burly, well-muscled man.

“Marcel,” she said, “you will know how to handle this.”

“These the kids?” he growled.

“Yes,” the woman replied. “They refuse to make good for this spinning wheel which they have so carelessly broken.”

Joe opened his mouth to object, but Frank nudged him to silence. The muscular man advanced on them threateningly. In a low voice he rumbled, “I advise you to give us the money and be on your way!”

FRANK, although angry, wished to avoid a fight. He and Joe were on a sleuthing mission—this must come first. “How much do we owe you?” Frank asked the belligerent man. At the answer, Frank shook his head. “We don't have enough money, but I'll leave my watch for security.”

Marcel sniffed. “Let's see it.”

Frank slipped off the handsome stainless-steel timepiece which he had received the Christmas before. “It's a good Swiss make,” he said.

As Marcel examined the watch, Joe took twenty dollars from his pocket. “How about two sawbucks and the watch?” he asked. “That should be enough for a broken old spinning wheel.”

Marcel glanced at the woman and she gave a barely perceptible nod.

“Okay,” he said. “But don't come around here again breakin' up our antiques.”

“We'll be back,” Frank said, “with the thirty dollars to redeem my watch.”

The shop manageress grudgingly produced a cardboard carton into which Frank and Joe placed the spinning-wheel parts. Then they put the box in the trunk of their car.

As Frank drove off, he said, “Something phony going on here. That spinning wheel was only slapped together.”

“Looks like the whole shop might have been set up in an awful hurry,” Joe remarked. “I'll bet most of the other stuff is junky too.”

“I wonder how Aunt Gertrude's going to like her antique,” Frank said with an ear-to-ear grin.

“I hate to think!” Joe said wryly, taking a road map from the glove compartment.

After studying it for a moment, he announced, “We're not far from Rockaway now. Boy! It's really a small speck on the map!”

Frank laughed. “I hope we don't miss the place ”

Presently he drove down a long hill, and the Hardys found themselves in kockaway. It was nothing more than a small crossroads village on the shore adjacent to a fishing pier. The brothers soon came to the campsite on the beach and parked. They spotted Biff and Chet sunning themselves before their tent. As the Hardys parked on the shoulder of the road, their friends hurried over.

Frank and Joe got out and looked at Chet's damaged jalopy.

“Wow! That's a bad dent!” Joe said. “Cadmus Quill didn't pull any punches.”

“You can say that again!” Biff retorted.

“I think he's got it in for all of us!”

“Have you looked for him around here?” Frank asked.

“Look for yourself,” Chet replied with a sweep of his hand. “There's nothing but a couple of stores and a few shacks.”