"What did this man look like?" Frank asked.

The sailor suddenly reddened. "Why-er-I don't know, but he looked something like me.

Say, I can prove everything I told you!"

Turning, he yelled to the counterman to verify his story about the ring. To the Hardys'

chagrin the counterman did so, saying he had seen the transaction. Frank and Joe looked sheepish.

"We're sure sorry," Frank apologized. "We-we made a mistake. We'd like to make up for it."

The sailor grinned. "Well, all right, you can pay my lunch check," he said. "I'm broke."

"Maybe we can do better than that," Joe spoke up. "Want to sell that ring?" he asked, recalling that Mr. Delhi had said to spare no expense in following up clues.

The sailor hesitated a moment, then removed the ring from his finger, named the price he had paid for it, and said he would sell it for a few dollars profit. Frank paid him for it, as well as the lunch check, out of his mother's two hundred dollars. The sailor saluted crisply and hurried away.

Shaking their heads ruefully, the Hardys resolved to be less hasty in jumping to conclusions. They immediately went to the bank to deposit Mrs. Hardy's few remaining dollars, then continued on toward the dock where the Daisy K Daisy K tied up, but it was not in port. tied up, but it was not in port.

"As long as we're here," said Joe, "we may as well make some inquiries about the crew."

They quizzed supply men and ships' captains. Finally one of the captains furrowed his brow, rubbed at the stubble on his chin, and declared: "That sounds like a fellow named Ragu, first mate on the Daisy K. Daisy K. Heavy set. Piercing Heavy set. Piercing black eyes. Came from India. I've seen a ruby ring on him."

59 Frank and Joe could hardly believe their good fortune. That sailor they had seen leaning on the boat's rail must have been the original owner of the ring! The captain said it was Ragu's day off and he had just seen him in the Sea Foam Restaurant. The boys hurried there and spotted Ragu at a table in the far corner.

"Let's go," Joe said tersely.

He entered the restaurant and Frank followed. As the boys approached, Ragu glanced up and half rose from his chair, then slowly settled back.

"You're Ragu, aren't you?" Joe asked.

The man's face became impa.s.sive, but his eyes were gleaming. "What importance is that to you?"

"We'd like to know something about a ruby ring you've been wearing," Frank told him.

"I own no ruby ring," the sailor replied belligerently.

Frank brought out the ring he had bought and held it in the palm of his hand. "You don't own this now," he said evenly, "but you did own it. Where did you get this ring?"

Ragu's right hand whipped out, s.n.a.t.c.hed the ring from Frank violently, and threw it across the room.

"You are evil boys!" he almost screamed.

Automatically Frank and Joe turned to recover the ring and Frank picked it up. When they whirled back at the sound of a clattering chair, Ragu was dashing out a side door.

The Hardys started after him, but suddenly Frank 60 stopped and said, "Joe, what say we let him go? I'm sure that Ragu's the fellow who took the falcon from you. If he doesn't think we're after him, and if he's connected with the senders of those rubies, maybe he'll lead us to them."

"Guess you're right, Frank/ The brothers walked back to their convertible. As they started to climb into it, a vivacious voice said: "What a beautiful ring you're wearing, Frank. Is it a gift?"

Frank and Joe looked up into the smiling face of Gallic Shaw, a close friend of lola's.

Blond, quickwitted, and carefree, she appealed particularly to Frank. Although interested, and frequently very helpful, in the boys' sleuthing, the pretty brown-eyed girl loved to tease the Hardys about their detective work.

"No, Gallic," Frank replied with a smile. "It's a clue in a new case we've taken on."

lola Morton had joined the group now and was talking to Joe. She said gaily, "Just the same, don't forget the picnic this afternoon. It's going to be a fish fry."

"Wouldn't miss it for all the mysteries in Bay-port," Joe replied.

"All our friends will be there," lola said. "Why not bring along that hawk of yours to the farm and give us a demonstration?"

"What say, Joe?" Frank asked.

61 "Count me in." Joe grinned. "And I guess our falcon can take in a picnic, too."

"It's a date," Gallic said. "Be there about three. Games first and we'll eat at five."

The girls waved good-by and headed for a waterfront fish shop.

"If we're going to show off Miss Peregrine," said Joe with a laugh, "we'd better go home and groom her."

When they reached home, the boys showed their mother the ring and told her how they had paid for it. She smiled understandingly and said, "It's all in a good cause and we'll be reimbursed. But if you find out the ruby isn't from the ransom, you will have bought a valuable ring cheap."

After lunch Frank put it in his father's safe. He and Joe fixed a bath for the falcon, then after changing their clothes and picking up bird, perch, bells, and lure, they set off for the Morton farm. They found a lively gathering of a dozen couples already playing spirited games of soft ball and badminton.

But the moment the falcon, hooded and seated on Frank's gloved wrist, was noticed, attention focused on the bird. Joe set the perch on the ground and said he would let her fly later. The hawk remained quiet as he and Frank joined in the games.

Finally Chet, who was wearing a loud dark-green shirt splotched with brown and white, said, "Show them what Miss Peregrine can do, fellows."

62 Frank looked around for a quarry. Suddenly a jay flew across the field at the edge of a woods. Frank yanked off the hood and flung the hawk in its direction. As the guests excitedly watched her fly toward the jay, a short-winged goshawk came rifling in from the woods and dived toward the jay.

"That's a trained bird!" Frank exclaimed. "See the jungoli jungoli about its neck." about its neck."

"The what?" said Chet.

Frank explained that a jungoli is put around a goshawk's neck to keep it from snapping when the bird is launched horizontally from the wrist.

Instantly the two hawks started to fight over the jay. Joe started forward, calling excitedly to the falcon. Frank held him back, saying: "It's too late now. They'll fight to the death."

But the falcon, suddenly alerted, shifted to avoid the vicious talons of the goshawk and then climbed up where she would have the advantage. While the hawks were maneuvering for position, the jay disappeared in the brush.

Frank and Joe now started to whistle and shout to Miss Peregrine, hoping to stop the fight. Suddenly the goshawk took flight and disappeared into the shelter of the woods. The falcon oriented herself, located the boys by the sound of their voices, and came down obediently to the feathered lure.

"Hey! You're pretty good!" Chet exclaimed admiringly, and the other young people applauded.

The Hardys smiled, relieved that their falcon was 63 safe, then looked inquiringly toward the woods into which the goshawk had vanished as mysteriously as she had come.

"Come on, Joe and Chet!" Frank urged. "Let's find that hawk's owner!"

Frank hooded the peregrine and placed her on her perch. Then the three boys hurried into the woods.

After a moment, Joe spotted a trail of recently trampled gra.s.s. Eagerly the trio followed it. They had gone only about a hundred yards when they were confronted by a large red-and-white sign: DANGEROUS AREA! KEEP OUT!.

The boys were puzzled, especially Chet, who was well acquainted with the woods.

"Gosh, I never saw that warning before," he said. "What's going on here?"

The land looked undisturbed-no signs of digging, tree-felling, or other hazardous operations.

Frank noticed a similar sign some distance to their left, and Joe saw one to the right, both with the same words of warning. Nevertheless, they moved forward, but this time with caution. A hundred yards ahead was a string of similar signs.

Frank turned to Chet. "What could make this a dangerous area?" he asked.

"I don't know," his puzzled friend replied. "Old Mr. Smith who owns these woods used to encourage the public to come here."

"It's very strange," said Frank. "If any big project 64 were under way, everybody in Bayport would have heard about it."

"Let's split up and see if we can find out what's going on," Joe suggested.

He and Chet worked in a wide sweep on either side of the trail, while Frank followed the trampled path. The boys lost sight of each other as the foliage became more dense. But Frank could check the others' positions from the sounds of their pa.s.sage through the tangled undergrowth. Soon even these were m.u.f.fled, and the woods became a silent, twilight world.

Suddenly from Chet's direction came a cry for help.

"Chet's in trouble!" Frank yelled.

Instantly he and Joe were crashing through the underbrush to their friend's aid.

CHAPTER VIII.

The Double Attack.

for several anxious moments Frank and Joe could not locate Chet. But at last they came upon him. huddled in a clump of brush near a brook.

"He's unconscious!" gasped Joe.

They knelt beside Chet, then carefully brought their friend out of the thicket. As the boys placed him in a p.r.o.ne position, they noticed blood oozing from a wound on the back of his head.

"This proves he didn't have an accident," Frank said grimly. "Looks as if someone gave him a solid blow!"

Both boys glanced around cautiously to make sure none of them were in immediate danger, then gave Chet first aid. As Joe chafed the boy's wrists, Frank started for the brook to soak a handkerchief for Chet's brow.

He had gone only a few feet when he heard a slight rustling sound. Were they being watched? Looking around quickly, Frank spotted a movement in some bushes about fifty feet away.

Without turning, he whispered: "Joe, take care of Chet. I see someone. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Frank headed for the bushes, but almost at the same moment, someone went crashing through the underbrush. Frank increased his own pace, following the fugitive by the sounds of flight.

Several hundred yards farther on, Frank spotted the back of a tall, thin man for a fleeting second.

Then a moment later he heard a cry which sounded like "Shabash!" "Shabash!" and wondered what and wondered what it meant.

Frank put on a burst of speed which brought him closer to the man he was pursuing.

They were both making considerable noise, now, as twigs and leaves crackled under their feet. For this reason, Frank was not immediately aware that footsteps were pounding behind him. When he heard them, Frank started to turn. Before he could see who it was, a sharp, heavy blow seemed to shatter his head. Knees buckling, Frank pitched forward on his face and blacked out!

Back at the clearing, Joe had listened to the sounds of the chase for a minute, confident that his brother Frank would be more than a match for any adversary. Then he went to the brook, soaked his handkerchief in the cool, clear water, and bathed Chet's wound. The boy's eyes flickered open and he looked up dazedly.

67 "What's happened? Where are we?" he asked.

"Take it easy," Joe advised him. "Someone knocked you out. But Frank's after him now."

"I remember. Someone rushed up behind me and I yelled for help. He conked me." Chet relaxed, closing his eyes for a while.

Joe sat down on a nearby log to wait for Frank's return. Glimpsing the sky through the trees, he could see that the afternoon was waning. It struck him that the picnickers probably were wondering about the boys' long absence. Should he try to get Chet back to the Morton farm and not wait for Frank? But Joe decided against this.

"Chet should take it easy," he thought.

As time pa.s.sed and his brother still did not return, Joe grew worried. "Chet, I'd better look for Frank," he said finally. "Do you think you can make it back to the farm alone?"

"Guess so."

Joe helped him to his feet and the stout boy took a few steps, then stopped, admitting that he felt very dizzy.

"You better rest a while longer," Joe said.

He rummaged in the undergrowth and found a strong, heavy stick. Handing it to Chet, he said, "You ought to be able to defend yourself with this. I'm going to hunt for Frank."

"Okay. I'll wait here."

Joe moved off into the woods, trying to follow the general direction Frank had taken.

Several times he 68 gave the Hardys' secret whistle, which was a birdcall, and listened eagerly for his brother's response. But it never came.

Joe trudged on, following a trail of trampled gra.s.s he had picked up. As he reached a dense section, he heard someone moving just ahead of him. Joe stopped and gave the whistle again. There was no reply, but the rustling grew louder. He looked about for a weapon. He found a heavy stick similar to the one he had left with Chet, picked it up, and went forward.

As Joe crept around the bole of a large tree, he saw Frank staggering along. His brother's eyes were glazed and he obviously was trying to fight his way out of the woods on sheer nerve.

"Frank, you've been hurt!" Joe cried, gripping his brother around the shoulders and gently lowering him to the ground. As Frank looked up at him and tried to smile, Joe noticed that one of his brother's hands clutched a small pouch.

"Where did you get this?" Joe asked.

Frank blinked his eyes, looked down at the pouch as if seeing it for the first time, and muttered, "Don't know. Maybe-the fellow who attacked me-dropped it. Guess-I picked-it up." He sank back, exhausted.