The Secret of the Caves (9 page)

Chet beamed. “Well, fellows, I guess I found a mystery. Want to solve it?”

“And leave the trail of Todd and Quill?” Joe asked. “Nothing doing!”

“Just a minute,” Frank put in. “How do we know Cadmus Quill didn't drop the pistol?”

“Wow!” Joe clapped a hand to his forehead. “That's a pretty wild guess for you, brother.”

“You're dreaming, Frank!” Chet chimed in.

Biff, too, thought Frank's guess was farfetched, and added, “Enough of deductions. How about some chow? I'm famished.” He looked hopefully up the ravine, but Chet, for once, was more excited about detecting than eating.

“Please, fellows,” he begged, “let's go a little way up the beach yet. Who knows what I'll find!”

“Okay,” Frank agreed. “Only a quarter of a mile. Then we turn back.”

The sandy shore wound about the face of a great bluff of black rock, and when the boys had skirted this precipice they were confronted by a dark opening at the base of the cliff just a few yards away.

“Another cave!” Frank exclaimed.

Chet gave a cheer and ran ahead with his detector.

When they were just in front of the entrance the boys halted with exclamations of surprise.

Tacked on a board stuck in the sand beside the cave mouth was a tattered sheet of paper. Scrawled in heavy black letters were the words
No Trespassing.

The companions looked at the sign in astonishment, then Chet grinned. “By order of the Rockaway chief of police, no doubt. Maybe somebody put it here for a joke,” he said. “Let's take a peep inside.”

Frank was first to reach the cave and peer inside. Then he turned back to the others. “This sign isn't a joke,” he said quietly. “Somebody does live here!”

Curiously the boys crowded into the mouth of the cave. In the gloom they could see a crude table and a mattress with blankets. On a ledge of rock was an improvised cupboard consisting of an old soap carton containing canned goods and other provisions.

“Well,” Chet declared, “we have a neighbor who might offer us some grub.”

“We certainly have,” Biff said, looking down the beach. “And if I'm not mistaken, here he comes now.”

Along the shore strode a tall, gray-haired man wearing a blue shirt and overalls, the legs of which were tucked into high rubber boots. The man, oblivious to the boys, held a bugle in his left hand. He stopped, looked at the sea, and blew a loud, clear call. Then he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and continued toward the cave.

When he spotted the four boys he stopped short, blew another flurry on the bugle, and hastened up to the Bayporters.

“I'm Commander E. K. T. Wilson, Queen's Navy, retired,” he announced. “You should have saluted, but I guess you didn't know.”

To make up for this breach of etiquette, the boys saluted smartly. This appeared to gratify the man immensely.

“You're landlubbers, eh?”

“I suppose so,” Frank admitted with a smile.

“Well, we can't all be sailors. It isn't often people come to see me.”

“Do you live here?” Joe asked, indicating the cave.

“This is my home when I'm ashore. I'm resting up between cruises just now. What are your names?”

The boys introduced themselves.

“Glad to meet you,” returned Commander Wilson. “I get used to being alone, but it's a pleasure to have visitors.”

“It's lonely enough here,” Frank agreed.

“Isn't bad. Not half as lonely as the time I got marooned in the South Seas.”

The boys looked at him with new interest.

“You were really marooned?” Chet asked.

“Aye. It was when I was in command of a destroyer cruising the South Seas a good many years ago. We landed for water on a little island that you won't find on any map. It was a hot day—very hot. Must have been over a hundred degrees in the shade. So while my men were loading the water on my ship I sat down in the shade of a cactus tree. Before I knew it, I was asleep.”

“And they went away and left you?” Joe put in.

“They did.”

“But you were the captain!”

“I guess they thought I was in my cabin, and of course none of ‘em dared disturb me. When I woke up, the ship was gone.”

“Ee-yow!” Biff exclaimed.

“Well, sir, I didn't know what to do. I was like this here fellow Robinson Crusoe that you read about. But I had to make the best of it, so I fixed myself up a little house and lived there for nearly six months, all by myself.”

“Didn't the ship come back for you?”

“They couldn't find the island again. Anyway, the quartermaster who took charge of the ship didn't want to find me, I guess. He wanted my job.”

“Did you have anything to eat on the island?” Biff asked.

Chet interrupted. “Speaking of food, Commander, could you help us out with some breakfast?”

“Sure, me hearties. Growing boys should eat plenty. Now what was I talking about? Oh, well, doesn't matter.”

A wink passed around the circle of friends as the man went inside and returned with a slab of bacon. Chet volunteered to start a fire, and got it going quickly as the old man cut strips of bacon and put them into a skillet.

“How about a swim while we're waiting?” Frank suggested.

“Let's go!” Joe shouted.

The boys skinned off their clothes and ran into the surf. Joe swam beside his brother. “Frank, Wilson doesn't sound much like an Englishman.”

“I don't think he has all his marbles,” Frank replied.

“Do you think Wilson helped himself to our supplies?”

“I didn't see them in his cave,” Frank said, adding, “He seems harmless. I'd like to ask him some questions, though.”

“And could I go for some crisp bacon! Race you back to shore!”

Using the Australian crawl, the brothers streaked over the wave tops and hit shore together. There Biff and Chet joined them, and after they dressed, the refreshed quartet trotted up to Commander Wilson, who sat near the fire. The skillet lay at the sailor's side—empty, and Wilson was chewing on the last piece of bacon. He looked up.

“Who are you?” he asked bluntly.

“The Hardy boys,” Frank began in surprise. “And—”

“Well, beat it! Scram! I don't want you around here!”

COMMANDER WILSON'S gruff order to leave caused the four boys to stare at him in wonderment.

“But, Commander,” Joe protested, “you—”

“Don't ‘Commander' me!” the man said, rising to his feet and shaking his fist at the boys. “I want to be left alone! That's why I'm a hermit.”

Frank shook his head. “No use arguing, fellows,” he murmured. “Come on.”

They strode away across the sand, with Chet muttering about the loss of a good meal.

“That old sailor's a real lulu,” Biff said, disgruntled. He glanced at Frank. “What'll we do now?”

“First thing is to get some food.”

“And where is the food?” Biff asked sarcastically.

“Maybe we can grow mushrooms in the cave,” Joe quipped.

Chet trailed behind. The headphones were clamped to his ears, and once more he swung his metal detector back and forth over the sand.

“If you have strength enough,” Frank told Biff, “we can climb up the ravine, cross the cliffs, and go back down to Johnny the fisherman's place. Maybe he'll give us chow, or else we can drive back to Rockaway for more supplies.”

“Bright prospects!” Biff grumbled. “I thought I could do some fishing today. It's great after a storm.” Then suddenly Biff recalled that his fishing gear had been stolen with the rucksacks. “Doggone it!” he exclaimed. “That burns me up! I'll bet that Commander Wilson took our stuff and stashed it out of sight!”

“I doubt it,” Frank said. He turned and called to Chet, who was now a hundred paces behind. “Come on, hurry up!”

Chet waved and nodded, but still continued to swing his detector. Then he gave an excited bellow.

“Sounds like the mating call of a walrus,” Biff commented.

“He may have discovered another weapon,” Joe said as they hastened back to their stout pal.

“Hey, fellows, there must be a whole arsenal underneath here,” Chet said. “You should have heard the terrific noise in my ears.”

All four boys dropped to their hands and knees and dug like fox terriers in a bone yard. Biff was first to reach something solid. He tugged and yanked, finally coming up with a rucksack!

“Look!” Biff cried out. “It's mine!” He brushed the wet sand from the knapsack, opened it quickly, and pulled out his collapsible fishing gear.

The other three quickly recovered their supplies, a little damp, but none the worse for their burial in sand.

Chet unscrewed the lid of his canteen and took a long swallow of water. “I told you this metal detector would pay off,” he said.

Biff grinned. “I could kiss you, Chet, for finding my tackle.”

Chet stepped backward in mock horror. “Please, please, not here,” he said, and the others roared with laughter.

As their own cave was not far from the spot, the boys hastened back and broke out the rations. A fire was quickly started and Chet presided over the skillet filled with crisp bacon. “Phooey on the commander,” Chet said smugly.

“Which reminds me,” Frank put in, “I'm not finished with that old codger yet.”

“What more could you learn from him?” Joe asked. “He's as nutty as a fruitcake.”

“Maybe he is, maybe he isn‘t,” Frank replied. “In either case, I'd like to study him a little closer and ask some more questions.”

Joe looked thoughtful as he spooned a portion of scrambled eggs into his mess kit. “Do you think he might have seen Cadmus Quill or some other mysterious prowlers around here?”

As Frank broke off a piece of crusty bread from a long loaf, he said that was exactly his idea.

“Well, you fellows go about your sleuthing,” Biff said. “I'm going fishing.”

“Where?” asked Chet.

“From the top of the cliff,” Biff replied. “I can heave my line a mile out from that point. Maybe I'll catch something big where the water's deep.”

“I'm with you,” Chet said. He turned to the Hardys and added, “If you fellows run into trouble with Wilson, just call us.”

During the rest of the meal, the boys talked about the thief who had buried their supplies in the sand.

“If he didn't keep them for his own use, what was the point of stealing ‘em?” Biff mused.

“To get us away from here,” Joe said promptly. “Somebody doesn't want us around.”

“Like Commander Wilson,” Biff said. “What do you think, Frank?”

The young sleuth shrugged. “There might be one man or two—maybe a whole gang operating around here. But we'll find out sooner or later.”

“You'd better find out sooner,” Chet declared, “else we'll be starving again.”

“If you mean somebody's going to steal our supplies a second time,” Joe said, “you're mistaken.” He told of having seen a small crevice fifty yards away at the base of the ravine. “We'll hide our stuff there until you two get back with the whale you're going to catch.”

When the fire had been put out and their camping place policed up, the four adventurers hid their rucksacks and parted.

Frank glanced over his shoulder to see Chet and Biff trudging up the ravine, as he and Joe trotted toward Wilson's cave. They saw the old sailor standing in front of his cave, sketching something in the sand with a slender stick. When he saw them approach, he quickly rubbed the sole of his boot over the sand and hailed the brothers. “Hello there! Have you come to visit me?”

Frank and Joe exchanged glances, and walked up to the man. “Why, yes,” said Frank. “Do you remember us, Frank and Joe Hardy?”

“Of course I do. Where did you go after I invited you to breakfast?”

“Why, we came—” Frank began. “Didn't see hide nor hair of you. Thought you went back to Bayhill, or Portside, or wherever you came from. Where are your two friends?”

“They went fishing,” Joe replied.

“Where?”

“To the top of the cliffs.”

“Dangerous. Mighty dangerous. I hope they come back all right,” Wilson said.

He shook his head, clasped his hands behind his back, and walked in circles before his cave.

“Commander Wilson,” Frank began slowly, “have you seen any people prowling around Honeycomb Caves?”

Wilson stopped short and looked Frank squarely in the eyes. “I'm alone. A hermit. That's what I am. I haven't seen anybody. Nobody comes near me. They think I'm queer.”

Joe described both Todd and Quill. “Have you seen anyone resembling them?” he persisted.

“No. But come to think of it, there
was
a fellow—”

The Hardys looked alertly at the old sailor. Had he seen one of the missing men?

“Yes, go on,” Frank encouraged. “What did he look like?”

“The first one you mentioned.”

“Todd?”

“Yes. I once knew a fellow like that. He was second mate on my cruiser in the Philippines.”

Joe turned aside and made a wry face as the man continued:

“Come to think of it, his name was Todd. Yes, it was,” the commander went on. “He shipwrecked me deliberately and I had to climb a pineapple tree until the natives stopped beating their drums and went home.”