Part 10 (1/2)

They consulted with Uncle Jim, who was shocked to learn of the ferry mishap. He readily agreed to the Hardys' proposal and was sure Mr. Davenport would concur.

The exhausted sleuths then went to bed. ”At least,” thought Chet in satisfaction as he dozed off, ”my painting is ready.”

When Joe woke the next morning he hopped to the window. ”The sun's out!” he exclaimed. ”Wake up, fellows!”

After breakfast the Hardys wished Chet luck as he hurried off with his painting. The entire school grounds were devoted to the display. Some students hung their watercolors and oils on a long wooden backing sheltered by a red-striped awning. Other paintings stood on easels scattered about the lawn. The sculpture entries were displayed on several long benches near the judges' table.

Meanwhile, the Hardys were ready to tackle their job at the fort. They had decided to go in the bateau.

Heading for the lake, they met Mr. Davenport, dressed impeccably in a white summer suit. He was in good spirits.

”Happy Senandaga Day, boys!” he drawled. ”Great idea you two being guides.” Frowning slightly, he cautioned them to admit the tourists only in groups and to keep them at the ground level of the fort ruins.

”Safer that way,” he said. ”Also, less chance for someone to sneak off alone and look for the treasure.”

”We'll do our best,” Frank promised.

Soon the brothers were paddling downlake in the bateau. They pa.s.sed several canoes and motorboats heading in the direction of Millwood.

”Looks as if the ferry accident may not affect attendance too much,” Joe said.

Rounding the promontory, the Hardys looked up at the flagpole over the sprawling, gray fortress. They could not believe their eyes. A banner fluttered from the staff, but this one bore three crosses, two red and one white on a field of blue.

”It's the British Union Jack!” Frank exclaimed.

Quickly the boys poled into a cove at the foot of the fort and beached their craft. They scrambled up a steep path and made their way around to the moss-covered entrance pa.s.sageway in the north wall.

The brothers hurried through it and found themselves on the old parade grounds. Around the sides stood the ruins of two barracks and the officers' quarters. In the center was a deep hole which, according to their map, had once been a well. As a precaution, they placed some old planks over it.

The Hardys once more stared up at the British flag.

”Well,” said Frank, ”if there's a ghost prowling around Senandaga, now's the time to track him down.

Visitors will be arriving soon.”

They walked about the ma.s.sive, crumbling interior. After circling the parapets, the boys reached the south demilune by a wooden drawbridge, which Mr. Davenport had had reconstructed. After checking the west demilune, they headed back through the entrance tunnel.

”No flag-raising ghosts so far,” Joe quipped as they walked inland to unlock the promontory gate.

”The ramparts seem safe enough,” Frank observed, ”but the west demilune, dungeons, and stores are in bad shape. They'll have to be off limits.”

Soon a trickle of tourists began. Frank and Joe took turns meeting them at the gate and escorting them, careful to keep the visitors in groups. After a while the sightseers swelled in number. Several times the Hardys were asked about the ghost rumors, and also about the British flag. The brothers would grin, merely saying these were mysteries no one had yet solved.

Frank and Joe were kept so busy they had little opportunity to look for any tomahawk marking. At noon they hastily ate sandwiches they had brought, then resumed their job. Later, Jim Ken-yon stopped in to see how they were faring.

”Business here is fine,” Frank reported. ”How is the exhibit doing-and Chet?”

”We have a good crowd. And my nephew's as happy as a lark. His painting has attracted a lot of attention.” Uncle Jim left, reminding the Hardys that the judging would be at seven o'clock.

”We'll be there,” Joe said.

During the afternoon the boys overheard some of the visitors commenting on the Millwood exhibit. One elderly lady said to her companion, ”That still life by that Morton boy is striking!” The Hardys exchanged grins.

They found most people to be impressed by the brooding majesty of the Senandaga ruins and several spoke in favor of the fort's being restored.

Minutes before closing time, Frank led the last tour around the fort. Suddenly, from the ramp, he noticed a boy of about six make a beeline for the fort well. Frank saw with horror that the boards no longer covered it, but had been s.h.i.+fted to one side!

”That's dangerous-stop!” he shouted, running down the ramp.

But the child ignored the warning and leaned far over the yawning hole. A cry broke from the boy's lips as he lost his balance. Frank just managed to yank him to safety. He patted the youngster's head rea.s.suringly as the frightened mother dashed up.

”I'm sorry,” Frank said. ”We had these boards over the hole. They were moved.”

The woman thanked Frank and quickly led her son away.

When the last visitor had left, the Hardys went over to the well. Each wondered the same thing: Had somebody moved the boards on purpose, hoping to cause an accident? If so, was it the work of the same enemy?

”I sure wish we could wait for sundown to see if anybody lowers that flag,” said Joe.

”So do I. But we promised to be back. Chet will be disappointed if we don't show up.”

It was now a little before six o'clock. They hurried down and set off in the bateau. Poling off, they looked back at Fort Senandaga. The Union Jack was still waving from the mast.

”I wonder,” Frank said, ”if these flags popping up have some connection with Senandaga Day-and that mysterious battle.”

”Could be.”

As soon as they had landed at the Millwood beach, the Hardys sought out Chet among the throng of visitors and art students.

They spotted him under a tree, and were astonished to see Chet, looking dejected, lifting his canvas from the easel.

”Why so glum, pal?” Frank greeted him. ”We heard you were a big hit!”

Chet's face grew longer. ”It was swell until just this minute,” he mumbled. ”I went to get some lemonade.

While I was gone-”

Unable to finish, Chet swallowed and held up his painting. Frank and Joe gasped. What had been a still life of purple grapes in a yellow basket was smeared with blobs of dripping, green paint!

CHAPTER XIV.

Lucky Watermelon ”MY painting's ruined!” Chet looked sadly at the ugly blotches on the canvas.

”That's a dirty trick!” Joe said, as Frank looked around angrily for possible suspects.

”What about Ronnie Rush?” Joe asked. ”I wouldn't put it past him, especially if he was jealous of the hit your painting made.”