Terror in their eyes, Frank's and Joe's hearts sank.

"The Sleuth!" Sleuth!" both boys thought. "It must be the both boys thought. "It must be the Sleuth Sleuth that Captain Flont has spotted!" that Captain Flont has spotted!"

CHAPTER XXII.

An Escaped Prisoner.

A feeling of utter hopelessness swept over both Hardy boys. They realized that there was no way to reach the Sleuth Sleuth and warn their friends that Captain Flont intended to fire on and warn their friends that Captain Flont intended to fire on them!

Frank paced up and down the cabin, clenching his fists. Then, suddenly, he thought of a way in which Captain Flont might be tricked into changing his mind.

Grabbing a paper napkin from one of the dining tables, Frank wrapped it around the mouthpiece of the short-wave sender. Perhaps the napkin would serve to m.u.f.fle his voice enough to prevent its being recognized when he sent a message. He cleared his throat, pressed the sending b.u.t.ton, and said: "Flont! Don't shoot! Orders from the boss!"

Frank clicked on the receiver but there was no answer. He kept repeating "Come in, Flont." Still no reply. As Joe looked on tensely, Frank continued this call intermittently for ten minutes. Finally, re175 176 ceiving no response from the captain, he gave up.

"Maybe Flont had turned off his set before I started sending my order," Frank said, worried. "Or he may have recognized my voice."

"You tried the only thing possible, Frank. It was a clever trick, too!" Joe a.s.sured his brother loyally. "Besides, even if there wasn't any answer, Flont might have heard it and been fooled. All we can do is hope he obeys."

Joe suggested that he hurry across to the other side of the island and contact the local police. "In the meantime, you stand by the radio, just in case Flont should call in again."

"Okay," Frank agreed. "But let's tie this fellow up first. He's coming to and we don't want any more trouble."

Using heavy twine, they bound the captive's ankles and arms securely, and put a gag in his mouth. Joe found a pair of shoes and a sweater, put them on, and started off.

He located a rocky trail that seemed to lead toward the inhabited part of the island and followed it a couple of miles, until he came out of the woods. Finally, nearly an hour after leaving the smugglers' hut, Joe spotted a farmhouse and dashed up to it.

Fortunately, the residents were awake. They listened in amazement and with some skepticism to the boy's story. But they permitted Joe to use their phone and offered to drive him to the chief of police in Venus Village.

177 Joe tried unsuccessfully to call one number after another on the mainland. He could not get through to either Chief Collig or his mother at the Bayport Hotel, due to the inadequate service between the island and Bayport. After several attempts, however, he finally contacted the Coast Guard. The young detective was told that men would be sent out at once to apprehend Captain Flont and learn what had happened to Chet and the others on the Sleuth. Sleuth.

On the drive to town the farmer remarked, "This is the first time I remember anything happening around here which needed the police. Chief Barton's appointment was kind of an honorary one."

When the farmer stopped at the police chief's home in Venus Village, Joe thanked him for the lift, then rang the bell.

Chief Barton himself opened the door. He was a man past middle age, with a paunch and a good-natured smile.

"Well, what brings you around here so early in the morning, stranger?" the man asked, suppressing a yawn.

"I'm Joe Hardy from Bayport. My brother and I have located the hide-out of a ring of smugglers here on Venus Island. It's on the windward side. We've got two of them tied up.

We'd like you to come and make the arrests."

"Smugglers on Venus Island!" The chief blinked, then roared with laughter. "Who you trying to kid, son?"

178 "I tell you, sir, it's true," Joe insisted, trying not to show the annoyance he felt at the man's reaction. "The Coast Guard and the Immigration Service have been trying to track them down for months. The State Department's interested, too!"

"How does the State Department figure in this?" the officer asked curiously.

"These smugglers are also kidnapers," Joe explained. "They're holding an Indian prince captive -and are demanding one ransom payment after another."

"Indian! That's rich!" the chief guffawed. "Is he Sioux or Blackfoot?"

"He's a native of India, not an American Indian," Joe told him sharply, "and this is no laughing matter."

The man finally seemed to realize the seriousness of the situation and said, "Well, there ain't no one can say that Chief Barton don't tend to business when it comes his way. I'll phone my deputy and we'll be right with you. Jest sit down in the parlor and wait."

It seemed an eternity to Joe while Chief Barton made the contact with his deputy and dressed. But at last the chief brought in a tall, lanky man whom he introduced as Al Richards. The deputy, a quizzical expression on his face, studied Joe for a moment, then commented: "So you're one of them Hardy boys, eh? I've heard tell about all the trouble you fellows get mixed up 179 in down around Bayport. What's this wild-goose chase we're going on now?"

"Smugglers!" Joe said tersely. "And let's get going before it's too late."

The young sleuth had no intention of arguing with these men now that he had at least aroused their interest. The three drove part way back to the smugglers' hide-out in a jeep, apparently the only vehicle Venus Village possessed in the way of a police patrol car. They pulled to a stop about a mile from the cabins, and Joe led the men the rest of the way on foot. A fork in the path brought them to the cabin where Joe had been a prisoner.

Frank, who had found shoes and a shirt to fit him, heard them coming and went to meet the group. He said he certainly was glad to see the police officers and reported that no radio messages had been received.

"One of the smugglers is in here," he told the men, as they paused at the cabin door.

"Well," drawled Deputy Richards, "we're ready for him. Let's see what a smuggler looks like."

They opened the door and Joe walked across to the bunk. He knelt down to pull out the trussed-up figure.

He was not there!

"Our prisoner's gone!" Joe cried, unable to believe his eyes.

"Gone!" echoed Frank. "But how?"

Deputy Richards looked at his chief and remarked 180 laconically, "Told you this would be a wild-goose chase!"

For answer, the chief shook his head slowly and shrugged, eying Frank and Joe dubiously. The Hardys, however, were not looking at the chief. They were staring at each other, blaming themselves for the prisoner's getaway. Apparently they had not tied him securely enough.

But perhaps he had not had time to go far, the boys thought. In fact, he might still be in the building! To satisfy their curiosity, they dashed into the adjoining room. The escaped man was not there and only three of the pigeons were left in the cages.

Frank tried the door to the next room-the one Joe had reported locked. It was unlocked now.

As the door swung open a strange and wholly unexpected scene met their eyes. Joe cried out, "Here he is!" and Frank yelled, "Stop!"

The police chief and his deputy rushed in. At a window the man who had been the Hardys' prisoner was just releasing two carrier pigeons.

Joe, noticing there were capsules on the birds' legs, leaped forward, trying to stop their flight. But he was too late!

"Where were those messages going?" he demanded, but the man made no reply.

Suddenly Frank saw a large perch in a corner. On it rested a hooded hawk. Certain that the falcon was their own, he picked up a heavy leather gauntlet from a window sill. Quickly donning the glove, 181 Frank took the bird on his wrist. As he removed the hood, Frank spoke softly to her. The hawk recognized him instantly and uttered a joyful keer, keer. keer, keer. He stroked her a few times, He stroked her a few times, then hooded her again.

Frank turned to the officers and said, "Here is support for our story. This is a prize hunting hawk, and it was stolen from our home in Bayport."

"Arrest this man!" Joe said. "He's in cahoots with the thief and he's one of the smugglers."

But Chief Barton made no move to take the man into custody. Instead, he blinked at the smuggler. "Why, John Cullen, what's going on?" he asked. "What're you doin' here?"

Frank was puzzled by the chief's friendliness, but he did not take time to ask questions.

He was afraid that the pigeons might be carrying notes which would alert the men holding the prince. If so, there was no telling what harm might come to the Indian youth. Frank hurried outdoors with the falcon and unhooded her.

Looking up, he saw that the carrier pigeons were circling above the cabin, picking up their directional beam preparatory to making a beeline flight to their destination. There was not a second to lose!

Frank turned the falcon loose and murmured softly, "Get one, old girl! Get both, if you can!"

To Frank's dismay, the falcon responded sluggishly. Her reactions were considerably slowed down as a result of being imprisoned for so long. There was nothing the impatient young detective could do 182 to hasten matters, however. He must wait until she regained her keenness.

At that moment Chief Barton and Deputy Richards came out of the cabin with John Cullen and Joe. In an angry tone the chief of police said to the boys: "If your whole story's as phony as this part of it, I'm afraid we can't help you."

"What do you mean by that?" Joe demanded.

"This so-called smuggler, Mr. Cullen, is one of the leading citizens here on the island, though he has only lived here a couple of years. He's a pigeon fancier and has been racing birds for a year or more. His cote's on the mainland."

The Hardys were not impressed. Turning to Cullen, Joe asked suspiciously: "How do you account for our stolen falcon being in your cabin?"

"My a.s.sistant got overenthusiastic about the whole deal, I'm afraid," the man replied suavely.

"What do you mean?" Joe probed.

"He knew that a number of my best pigeons had been killed by a hunting hawk.

Someone told him that your falcon was responsible."

Frank's and Joe's minds were racing. Surely none of their friends, including Ahmed, who knew the secret, would have given it away. Suddenly a thought came to them. Nanab! Nanab!

He had doubtless brought, the falcon to the island!

"Go on!" Frank said icily to Cullen.

183 "My a.s.sistant brought the bird here, so that I could use it as evidence in my damage suit against you," the man concluded triumphantly.

It was obvious that both Chief Barton and Deputy Richards believed the story and were about to reproach the boys when Joe challenged Cullen with: "That sounds smooth enough. Now try to explain why the other man we captured was talking by short wave to a boat with smuggled aliens in it."

"You're crazy," Cullen retorted. "Chief Barton, these boys are the ones who ought to be arrested!"

All this time Frank had not taken his eyes off the falcon. She had finally aroused from her lethargy and was now winging after the two pigeons. The hawk was still some distance from the birds, who were lining out for the mainland. Completely confident of the falcon's skill, Frank remarked: "Chief Barton, maybe our hunting hawk will prove to you that Mr. Cullen is not merely racing pigeons. She She may prove he is aiding smugglers and kidnapers!" may prove he is aiding smugglers and kidnapers!"

All eyes turned toward the three birds in the morning sky. The falcon was making wide circles that carried her ever higher. Her deep, purposeful wing beats seemed slow to the anxious boys, but they noticed that she was rapidly outclimbing the pigeons!

CHAPTER XXIII.

The Falcon's Victory the falcon was now only a tiny speck in the sky. The pigeons were out over the water but well below the climbing hawk. Frank turned to Joe and said: "I guess this is what those old-time falconers called a 'ringing flight.' I'm going to the beach to watch it." The others followed him.

At the height of her pitch the falcon plunged toward the pigeons in a long, angling stoop.

Faster and faster she dropped-until the onlookers saw only a blur of moving wings. At a speed approaching a hundred and eighty miles an hour the hawk struck one of the pigeons.

It plummeted into the water.

The peregrine mounted from her stoop and gave chase to the remaining pigeon.

Frank shouted, "Joe, take this and watch Cullen!" He thrust the hawk's hood into Joe's hand and ran into the surf. He set off at a strong, fast crawl toward the floating pigeon and soon reached it.

184.

185 As Frank swam back to the beach with it, he glanced up. The second pigeon had reversed its course and was heading toward the brushy cover of the island. With awe and admiration he and Joe watched their falcon overtake her prey in a tail chase and bind to it in mid-air. In a long glide Miss Peregrine came to rest with her quarry in her talons.

"Good girl!" Joe cried. He ran forward and picked up the pigeon.

At that moment Frank came out of the surf and joined Joe. John Cullen cried angrily, "Leave those birds alone! They're my property!" With a vicious lunge he grabbed for both of them.

To the boys' dismay, Chief Barton said, "I guess he's right, fellows. Let him have them."

Frank and Joe were nonplused. "I'll give them to you, Chief, but not to this man," Frank said firmly.

As he spoke, Frank flipped off the capsule from the leg of the pigeon he was holding, while Joe removed the one on the other bird. Cullen tried to s.n.a.t.c.h the capsules, screaming in a hysterical, high-pitched voice that this was thievery and against the law. He demanded that the policemen do something.

But the chief and his deputy seemed paralyzed by the swift-moving events. Before the men could collect their wits, the Hardys had twisted open the tops of the capsules.

Into Frank's hand dropped two rubies!

Joe's capsule contained a tightly folded note which he opened and read aloud: 186 " '12 A's gone. Spies here. We're leaving island. Advise you move at once.' " '12 A's gone. Spies here. We're leaving island. Advise you move at once.' "

Chief Barton stared in amazement. Turning to Cullen, he demanded, "What does this mean?"

But Cullen was already fleeing pell-mell over the rocks.

"I guess that proves he's guilty!" Joe exclaimed. "12 A's must mean those aliens who left here in the dory!"

Stuffing the note into his pocket, he dashed after Cullen, with the police at his heels. The chase was soon over. As the fugitive attempted to get away in a motorboat hidden in a cove, he was caught and marched back.

"I guess you're not innocent after all," said Chief Barton. "But you sure had me fooled."