"At Bayport, day before yesterday," Joe replied. "She tried to ram us."

Caine looked astonished. "What happened?"

"We pulled away from her."

"You fellows must have a pretty good boat yourselves!"

"Who was piloting the Black Cat, Mr. Caine?" Frank asked. "Did he wreck her?"

"I should say not! She's tied up to the dock right this minute."

"We saw the sunken hull of a black boat off one of the islands," Joe explained.

"Oh, yes, the poor old Queen of Spades" Mr. Caine replied. "Too bad she was wrecked. Like to have a look at my boat?"

"We sure would!" Joe declared.

Caine obligingly led the way out on the long pier. As he walked, the old salt rambled on about the Black Cat. "She's a fast boat, all right. Let's see-day before yesterday-that was the last day of the regatta.

Three men from San Francisco hired her."

"Three?" Joe caught him up. "There were only two men aboard when they tried to ram our boat."

"Well, three hired her, but only two went out in her. Let's see-there were the Stark brothers, Ben and Fritz, I think their names were, and a third fellow-big and bald. He and Ben went out in the boat. The men said they came all the way here on their vacations, especially to see the regatta."

"Are they still around?" Frank asked.

"They're back in California by now, I guess," Caine replied. "Said they were taking a plane." He stopped at the edge of the dock and motioned downward. "There she is," he said proudly.

Frank and Joe found themselves looking into the same sleek, black powerboat which had nearly rammed them.

Joe stepped into the boat and looked around carefully. "Sure they didn't leave anything behind?"

"Yep. I always clean my boats out good after people bring 'em in."

"Well, the Black Cat sure is a nice boat," Joe declared as he climbed back onto the dock. "Which one of the renters was driving her? A dark fellow, with black hair combed straight back?"

"Yes," Caine replied. "That would be Ben Stark."

"We reported the attack to the Coast Guard," Frank told the manager.

"And right you were!" said Mr. Caine. "Just let them turn up here again, and I'll have 'em arrested."

"If you should hear anything about them, please let us know," Frank requested, and gave his name and address.

"Glad to!" exclaimed Caine. "Now can I give you some gas?"

"We'd better get some," Frank replied, "and start for home."

By the time the boys were ready to leave, the sun was setting. Frank revved up the Sleuth's power plant and sent the craft knifing through the swells.

Soon the boys pa.s.sed out the narrow mouth of Northport harbor. Frank turned the Sleuth southward toward Bayport.

The sea was calmer than it had been during the day. On the ocean's horizon the darkness gathered slowly, and finally a few stars were beginning to push through when the coastal islands came into view on the Sleuth's starboard side.

After pa.s.sing Jagged Reef safely, Frank ran in closer to the islands. Ahead they saw a tall, limp white sail.

As the Sleuth drew nearer, the boys made out the masts and hull of a trim-looking schooner, anch.o.r.ed for the night off one of the islets.

"Nice lines," commented Joe. "Pa.s.s close to her, will you, Frank?"

Quietly, with her engine throttled down, the motorboat drew abreast of the larger vessel. It was now dusk and a light shone in her cabin from which came the sound of activity. Frank gazed in admiration at the tall masts and shipshape rigging-Suddenly Joe's fingers clutched his brother's shoulder. "Look! On the deck!"

As the Sleuth pa.s.sed the schooner, Frank caught a quick glimpse of the figure of a boy leaning over the rail.

Joe cried out, "That was Chet!"

CHAPTER X.

A Narrow Escape "IT'S either Chet or his double!" Joe exclaimed. "But I'm sure my eyes weren't playing tricks."

"Do you suppose he's a prisoner on that schooner?" Frank asked. "Well, we'll soon find out!"

He turned the wheel sharply and the Sleuth swung about. It circled close to the anch.o.r.ed vessel.

"Chet!" cried Joe, making a trumpet of his hands. "Chet Morton! It's Frank and Joe! Are you all right?"

"Che-e-t!" both boys yelled together. "Che-e-t Mo-or-ton!"

A momentary hush followed, as the Hardys paused for breath. All sounds of activity aboard the schooner ceased. Abruptly a burly sailor in white duck trousers appeared on deck.

"What's all the holler?" he barked. "Clear out of here, or you'll get in plenty of trouble!"

As Joe stood up to retort, Frank yanked him down again. "We should go!" he whispered. "Let him think he scared us off."

The Sleuth's engine roared louder, and the boat moved along the sh.o.r.e of the island until the white sails were out of sight.

"It'll be black night out here in half an hour," Frank explained. "Then we'll go back and see what's up."

Daylight faded away, leaving in its place broadly sprinkled stars. A calm ocean swayed their boat gently.

Rocks along the sh.o.r.e humped up, ma.s.sive shapes in the darkness.

"Now!" Frank said softly.

Joe took the wheel and throttled the smooth-running engine so low that its sound was only a faint hum.

Keeping as close to sh.o.r.e as possible, the Sleuth crept toward the anch.o.r.ed schooner.

When the vessel loomed just ahead, Joe cut the throttle completely and the motorboat glided noiselessly under her stern. Frank, holding out his hands to ward off the hull, suddenly felt rough fibers.

"A rope ladder!" he whispered. "I'm going up!"

"I'll follow," said Joe.

After securing their own boat with a loose hitch, Frank cautiously drew his body upward, rung by rung.

Joe was right behind him. Frank slipped underneath the rail and crawled along the empty deck.

Joe reached the top of the ladder and stepped forward. Suddenly, from out of the darkness, two powerful arms seized him in a viselike grip, and a man's sandpaper voice called out: "Here! I caught one of them!"

Joe tensed in surprise, then spun around, breaking the grip. He ducked. With all his strength he drove upward, his head hitting the midsection of his attacker like a battering ram.

As the man fell back, gasping, Joe leaped to his feet. "Frank!" he cried hoa.r.s.ely. There was no reply, but a wild clamor rose from the fore part of the deck.

"Here he is!" someone cried out.

"No, here!" another rasped.

"That's me, you fool!"

Someone began ringing the deck bell. There came the shuffle of running feet and the grunting of men short of breath.

Then Frank's clear voice sang out, "No use, Joe! Overboard!"

Both boys vaulted the rail. As Joe hit the water, another geyser of spray rose several feet from him. The Hardys popped to the surface, then disappeared under the dark water again.

"Harbor thieves!" came shouts from the deck. "Get them!" The bell clanged on. There were two sudden bursts of light, accompanied by sharp explosions. Someone was shooting wildly!

Frank and Joe surfaced near the rope ladder and quickly untied the Sleuth. Swimming with swift, silent strokes they pushed their craft away from the schooner into the protecting darkness.

"Whew!" breathed Joe as he tumbled, panting, into the motorboat. "They must have been on deck, watching."

"Anyhow, I found out what we wanted to know," Frank reported. "That wasn't Chet, but a boy who looks a lot like him."

"How do you know?"

"He tackled me. I said, 'Chet, it's Frank!' but he hung on tightly. That's when I yelled for you to go over the side."

Joe started the motor and opened the throttle all the way. As the Sleuth gained power, the prow lifted and the boat leaped forward. Safely away from the yacht, Joe switched on the running lights. Along the sh.o.r.e, they could see a solitary light here and there. Presently the bright glow of beach fires told them they were pa.s.sing Shanty-town.

"No more stops tonight," Frank said with a chuckle.

The Sleuth crossed the quiet expanse of Bayport harbor and finally entered their boathouse. Twenty minutes later they reached the Hardy house. Their mother and aunt were anxiously waiting.

"Goodness gracious!" scolded Aunt Gertrude. "Is this a time to come home-" She stopped and gasped.

"Oh! Look at them! Soaking wet-like a pair of drowned rats!"

"We're almost dry, Auntie," Joe replied with a laugh. "We fell in over an hour ago."

"Fell in!" their mother exclaimed. "We can't wait to hear! But first you'd better go upstairs and change, then have some supper."

Soon Frank and Joe, comfortable in fresh, dry clothes, were seated at the kitchen table before a late but steaming dinner.

"Where's Dad?" Frank asked.

"He left town this afternoon," Mrs. Hardy replied. "He's checking an out-of-state clue on the bank robbery. Now tell us what happened to you boys."

"Well, we thought we saw Chet on a schooner," Frank began, as he cut into a generous slice of roast beef.

"Only it wasn't Chet . . ." Joe said, and helped himself to a baked potato.

"They thought we were thieves . . ." Frank tried again.

"So we jumped overboard!" Joe added.

"A very clear account," Aunt Gertrude commented tartly.

As soon as the brothers finished eating they excused themselves, jumped up, and headed for the back door.

"Oh, no!" cried Aunt Gertrude in alarm. "Where are you off to now?"

"Just out to the laboratory, Auntie," Frank rea.s.sured her. "We found something today we must work on."

The boys ran up the garage stairs and Joe unlocked the door at the top. Frank switched on the fluorescent light over a clean table. On it he laid the cheesecloth bundle of gla.s.s fragments from the Sleuth.

"We'll need something to hold these together," he noted, unwrapping the green shards. As the brothers examined them, Frank reached for a container of putty. "This will be better than glue."

Treating the fragments like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, the young sleuths rebuilt a twelve-ounce, green-tinted pop bottle.

"Fizzle," Joe read from the raised gla.s.s letters. "Fizzle-where-"

"Harry's confectionery in Northport!" Frank broke in excitedly. "The owner said that the bald man bought several bottles of Fizzle!"

"You mean he might have been the one who left the broken gla.s.s in the Sleuth?"

"Yes! Not only that-he might have done it while helping to steal our boat."

"Wait a minute!" Joe's thoughts raced as he followed his brother's line of deduction. "If that's true, he could be one of the bank robbers! They stole a car in Northport!"

"And don't forget the postcard business, which may tie him in with the kidnaping of Chet and Biff!"