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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

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BOOK: The Yellow Feather Mystery
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“Frank, port, hard!” Joe commanded.
Desperately Frank spun the wheel. There was a slight scraping along the starboard gunwale, and a gasp of relief from Joe, as an ominous section of ice floated astern.
“How far off Rocky Point are we, Tony?” Frank asked, peering into the darkness.
“We must be getting close. Maybe you'd better cut her down some. You can almost drift in.”
“See anything ahead there, Joe?” Frank called in a low voice.
“Not a thing.”
In a few minutes they were in the shadow of sheer rocks of the Point that towered menacingly. The
Napoli
was crawling now. Joe kept a constant watch for ice, while Tony searched the sea for the shadowy outline of another craft.
Suddenly there was the sharp
boi-i-ng
whine of a projectile near their heads! Instinctively the boys ducked.
Splash!
The object struck the water ten feet from the craft.
“Where'd that come from?” Joe called.
Neither Frank nor Tony could answer.
Before the boat had gone twenty yards there was another whine. This time all three felt a convulsive shudder jar the boat. The
Napoli
had been hit!
“Look at this!” Tony cried.
The tip of a small harpoon was embedded in the wood of the boat about a foot above the water line. Tony wrenched the missile loose and pulled it into the cockpit.
“Holy crow!” Joe exclaimed. “Let's get out of here quick.”
Frank spun hard to starboard and the
Napoli
lurched seaward. A second later there came another twang, followed by a splash sending a spout of water high into the air directly in front of them.
“We're in a trap!” Frank exclaimed. “Our only chance is to hide!”
Pulling on the wheel frantically, he headed the boat back toward the protection of the rocks.
“Frank! Ice!” Joe warned him.
Blocking their course to the safe shelter of the Point was what looked like a flotilla of ice floes! Frank realized that it would be almost impossible to steer through them. Desperately he searched for an escape route. He saw only one possible way out of their hazardous situation.
“Joe! Come back here!” he called.
At the same time he cut the throttle, spinning the wheel first one way, then the other, so that the
Napoli
course made the boat a difficult target.
Joe crawled back along the deck and jumped to his brother's side. Quickly Frank related his plan. Instantly Joe grabbed a boat hook and slid up to the bow again. At the same time Frank cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled at the top of his lungs:
“Help! We're sinking! Save us!”
Then he steered the speedboat toward an overhanging cliff, and under the jutting cover. With the boat hook Joe kept her from bouncing against the rocks.
The boys waited, but there were no more
twangs
of death-dealing harpoons. The ruse had worked!
“Where do you suppose the harpoons were fired from?” Tony whispered.
“They seemed to come out of nowhere,” Joe replied in a low voice. “I didn't even hear the sound of a gun firing them, did you?”
“No,” the others answered.
“What puzzles me,” Frank mused, “is those funny
twang
sounds we heard just before the harpoons landed.”
“Hold it!” Joe demanded. “Listen!”
In the crash of surf and the whistle of wind they heard another sound.
“A motorboat!” Frank said hoarsely.
The unseen craft was evidently speeding toward them. The noise grew louder with every second.
“Do you suppose he knows we're here?” Tony asked fearfully. “If not, there's going to be a crash!”
“Let's move,” Joe suggested.
“But where? We don't dare show ourselves,” Frank objected. “I say, take a chance and stay here.”
The boat continued on in their direction at breakneck speed.
“This is it!” Joe announced tersely as the other craft did not swerve. “Get ready for a fight with the Yellow Feather!”
They waited tensely while the sound of the approaching motor came closer. Then the outline of another speedboat took form in the darkness, zigzagging about fifty yards off their starboard side.
“It's searching for us!” Frank whispered.
The craft was almost abreast when a water-spout seemed to rise directly in front of it.
“She's being fired on, too!” Joe cried.
The boat practically jumped from the sea as its skipper gave it the gun. But even as he did, another big splash rose alongside the craft.
By this time it was evident to the Hardys that the harpoons were coming from the high rocks of the Point rather than from a craft.
“Whoever's in that boat is going to make a run for it!” Frank stated.
“Why don't we make our break now, too?” Joe suggested. “Two boats out there will divide the target.”
“Okay,” Frank agreed. “Besides, I want to see who's in that boat.”
He started the motor and waved Joe to let go with his grappling hook. The Napoli streaked forward, angling from left to right.
“We'll be out of range in a minute!” Frank yelled. “Then we'll take off after that other boat.”
The boys heard one more big splash behind them, then the attacks stopped. The pilot of the craft ahead had opened up and ripped off in a straight course toward Bayport.
“That fellow can really handle a boat,” Tony remarked as they watched him cut between ice floes without losing speed or direction.
Frank tailed the other craft. But in spite of the wide-open throttle and a path to follow, he could not gain on it.
“We'd better let him go before we crack up the
Napoli!”
Frank said. “How about my taking her into your boathouse, Tony, instead of Segram's Cove? That hole the harpoon made ought to be checked right away.”
“Okay. I'll drive you back in my jalopy to pick up your car,” Tony suggested.
At the boathouse the boys used a block and tackle rigged to an electric motor, and hauled the
Napoli
up on rollers to examine the damage.
“Not as bad as I thought,” Tony said.
“I'm relieved,” said Frank. “Just the same it will cost something to fix. Joe and I will pay for it.”
Tony would not agree to this, and the Hardys could not change his mind.
“It's all in the cause of detective work,” he said.
“Well, at least let us help you patch it. Got any stuff here?”
“No.”
“We have some in our boathouse,” Joe said.
“Okay,” Tony said. “Let's get it and I'll make the repairs tomorrow.”
The three boys hurried to the Hardy boathouse, which was not far from Tony's. Frank unlocked the door and switched on the light. The trim
Sleuth
gleamed in her berth.
“Hey, she's wet!” Joe cried suddenly. He jumped in and felt the motor. “Why, she's just been used!”
The next instant Tony groaned. “There's a small hole in her side just like the one the harpoon put in the
Napoli!”
The boys looked at one another in consternation.
“Listen, if those crooks think they can steal our own boat to chase us in—” Joe began.
Suddenly Frank burst into laughter. Tony and Joe stared at him in amazement.
“I think I know whom we were chasing.” Frank chuckled. “Detective Fenton Hardy!”
“What! Your dad?” Tony gasped.
“No wonder he outmaneuvered us,” Joe said, grinning. “Dad's the only one I know who handles a boat that well.”
Frank laughed. “Will we give him a cross-examination!”
He quickly found the calking material and handed it to Tony.
“Thanks,” Tony said. “I know you fellows want to get home, so I'll drive you to your car.”
A little while later Joe slid behind the wheel of the convertible and drove home.
Bursting into the living room, they found their father in lounging jacket and slippers before the fireplace. He was reading an FBI report.
“Nice night for a boat ride, wasn't it, Dad?” Frank queried.
The boys eagerly watched their father's face, but he only raised his eyebrows questioningly. Joe touched the detective's tousled hair.
“Um, damp,” he said. “Couldn't be from the salt spray, could it?”
The corners of Mr. Hardy's mouth crinkled and he broke into a hearty laugh. “All right, you win!”
“And what were you doing out in the bay?” Frank asked.
“Well, I happened to notice the ad about the Yellow Feather in today's paper,” Mr. Hardy explained, “and called the school to ask if you had seen it. When Chet told me where you'd gone, I decided you might need some help.”
Frank told his father about trailing Benny to the
Times
office, and the discovery of the advertisement.
“Well,” Mr. Hardy said, “the code was rather easy to figure out. That made me think that it was a plant.”
“We suspected it, too, But by whom? The Yellow Feather?”
“Possibly. In any case it was designed to put us off the case for good!”
“Dad, now that we know Kurt is tied up in this do you think he could be the Yellow Feather?” Frank asked.
“Until I have more proof, I'll reserve judgment. I do believe, though, that he's trying to steal the Woodson estate from Greg, and perhaps old Elias was afraid of him.”
“Was that the reason you called Mother about us being in danger?” Frank wanted to know.
“Yes. We must get back the original cutout paper which Greg lost,” Mr. Hardy declared.
Joe told of his suspicions that Henry Kurt might keep it locked in his office filing cabinet.
“I saw him take out a sheet of paper and put it in his pocket,” Joe went on. “Maybe when he's alone he tries to figure out what the cutouts mean.”
“That's very likely,” his father said. “I think that Kurt made the one he left with me as a cover-up for his own underhanded work.”
After talking to Mr. Hardy a while longer, the boys said good night and took off for the Academy. They were halfway along the winding country road when Joe noticed a peculiar reflection in the sky.
“Looks like a fire,” he said. “Frank! Do you suppose it's at the school?”
CHAPTER XII
A Disastrous Fire
FRANK gave the car the gun and the convertible roared along the road. He braked to a stop at the edge of a field that bordered the campus.
Before them an immense bonfire was sending flames high into the air. In its flickering light was a group of excited students.
“Say, what's this?” Frank murmured, jumping from the car.
“There's Skinny and Chet,” Joe said.
“And Benny,” Frank added, almost bumping into the bully. “What's going on, Tass?”
“Semester celebration! We don't have to go to bed until we want to. It was Kurt's idea. He gave us a lot of old record books to burn up.”
“Record books?
He can't do that!” Frank cried in dismay. He whispered to Joe, “If those records are destroyed, we'll never find out anything about Harris Dilleau!”
The Hardys ran over to Chet and took him aside. “Where's Greg?” Joe asked. “He'd better order the boys to stop this!”
“Greg's gone,” Chet replied. “He received a message calling him back to college.”
Realizing that there was no time to lose if the records were to be saved, Frank leaped between the fire and the students.
“Fellows!” he cried. “We have to put out this fire! Important papers are being burned. Grab all the snow you can hold and throw it on the flames!”
But before the boys could carry out his order, Benny jumped forward and shouted, “Bunk! Why should we put it out just because you say so? It's been a long time since we had a fire like this!”
“There are valuable records in there,” Frank retorted. “We must save them!”
He leaped to a nearby snowbank and swept up an armload of snow. As he turned to throw it on the fire, the bulky figure of Benny Tass blocked his path.
“Look out, Frank!”
Joe's warning shout cut through the hubbub of excited students, but it came too late.
Frank did not see Benny's foot, which the bully had stuck out deliberately to trip him. The young detective sprawled headfirst toward the fire.
Like a cat, Joe pounced after his brother and grabbed his coat. He pulled Frank clear of the blaze before it had time to ignite his clothing, then helped him to his feet.
“Is he all right?” Skinny cried, seeing Frank's blackened face.
Anxiously everyone gazed at the unfortunate boy, who rubbed his face with his glove. The only apparent injury was a pair of singed eyebrows.
Chet angrily faced Benny. “That was a dirty trick,” he said. “You tripped him on purpose!”
The students gathered around, sensing a fight.
“It was an accident,” Benny declared as Chet doubled up his fists. “I'm sorry.”
Despite his apology, the onlookers stared at one another in disbelief. A few minutes previously, most of the students had been ready to side with Tass. Now the entire group turned against him.
“Let's put out that fire as Frank said!” one of them shouted.
Before Benny could protest, the boys began to throw snow on the flames.
“Here's a fire extinguisher,” cried Skinny, who had run to the school's garage to get it.
Between the extinguisher and the snow heaped on the giant blaze, it soon died down. Chet, meanwhile, had hurried off to the tool shed and soon returned with two steel rakes. Joe grabbed one. Together they pried into the sodden mass, yanking out what was left of the record books.
BOOK: The Yellow Feather Mystery
6.57Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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