Part 11 (1/2)

”My, my. If this is one of the best, what must the worst be!”

With apprehension, the boys watched Gilman proceed, audibly abusing the paintings and sculptures one after another.

”Tsk! Tsk! Who victimized this canvas?” He pointed at a landscape done in watercolor. The girl who had painted it seemed on the verge of tears.

When he came to Chet's still life, the reviewer burst into high-pitched laughter.

”Oh, priceless, priceless! The blue ribbon must be from a fruit market!”

Although annoyed, Chet was not greatly upset by Oilman's remark, and Uncle Jim said, ”The judges thought the exhibition today was one of the finest they had ever seen. The worst thing,” he added, ”is that Oilman's derogatory comments about Millwood will be printed.”

Mr. Davenport had been unusually quiet. The boys noticed a peculiar expression on his face as Chauncey Oilman closed his notebook and said, ”Thank you all for a most entertaining evening. Better luck next year!”

As Oilman strutted toward his rowboat, Mr. Davenport whispered to Jim Kenyon. The instructor, looking puzzled, called for everyone's attention. ”Mr. Davenport wants us all to go right out to the promontory,” Uncle Jim announced. ”It's a surprise.”

The group, sensing something unusual afoot, soon gathered at the end of the dusky headland. Oilman's rowboat could be seen approaching the lighted cruiser.

The Hardys and Chet were surprised to see Mr. Ashbach crouched beneath them on the bank, and, at some distance to the right, Mr. Davenport, also bending low. Each man held the end of a wire!

Oilman's droning laugh could be heard over the splash of the oars. Then, at a signal from the millionaire, Mr. Ashbach began pulling his wire.

The next moment a luminous serpent's head with gleaming white teeth broke the surface just ahead of the rowboat! Writhing, it headed for the craft.

Oilman shot up out of his seat, giving a shriek of terror.

”A m-monster! It's-it's a monster! Rogers! Help! Rogers!” he blubbered. ”Save me!”

CHAPTER XV.

An Eerie Vigil THE hideous serpent b.u.mped violently into the rowboat. With howls of horror, Chauncey Oilman and his pilot were pitched overboard. They floundered wildly in the lake, and the soggy notebook sank out of sight.

As the glistening monster hove from the water toward them, Gilman and the boatman splashed furiously for the cabin cruiser.

The group gathered on the promontory rocked with laughter. Doubled up with mirth, the Hardys, Chet, and Uncle Jim saw a grinning Mr. Davenport finally relax his wire, and the carpenter did the same.

”So the 'monster' was constructed just for Chauncey Gilman!” Joe said as the millionaire climbed up to join them.

”Yes, siree. And I'll see that he reads a detailed account-in print,” declared Mr. Davenport.

Happily, the group dispersed for the night. All the next day the Mill wood grounds echoed with laughter at the successful serpent scare.

Monday morning, as Frank hung up the phone in the mansion hallway, Joe asked, ”Any word on Adrian Copier?”

”Not a thing,” Frank reported. ”The chief says Copier's done a complete vanis.h.i.+ng job. The police did find an unrusted hacksaw underwater near where the ferry cables were cut. They're following that clue.”

Frank also had learned that a statewide check was being made on art dealers for the stolen fort paintings.

Chet, having just finished breakfast, joined the brothers. ”Well,” he said as they went outside, ”what's for today?”

”A camp-out tonight,” Joe said promptly.

”Great!” Chet responded. ”Where?”

”Senandaga.”

”S-Senandaga?” Chet gulped. ”Of all places to pick!”

Frank grinned. ”Chet, you may have a chance to paint some ghosts.” He added seriously, ”We've got to unearth that tomahawk clue before somebody else does.”

”You're right.”

The Bayporters went into Cedartown to buy food and other necessary supplies. Finding no hardware store, they went to the sport shop. Myles Warren was not there, but a crew-cut youth waited on them. With difficulty, he finally located three folding-type spades.

”Sorry for the delay,” he apologized. ”Don't know the stock as well as Mr. Warren.”

”Is he on vacation?” Frank asked.

”No, but several days a week he goes out to do some painting. Can I get you anything else?”

The boys picked out three high-beam flashlights, sleeping bags, and a scout knife. ”Guess that's all,” Joe said.

”Where are you fellows going to camp?” asked the clerk.

”Probably down at the south end of the lake,” Frank replied noncommittally.

The clerk shook his head. ”You wouldn't catch me in that neck of the woods. From what I hear about that fort, I'd keep as far away as I could. But-good luck.”

After informing Uncle Jim and Mr. Davenport of their camping plan, the boys loaded up the bateau.

Swiftly they pushed off and headed south. When the fort came into view, they glanced at the flagpole.

The Union Jack was gone.

Joe stopped paddling. ”That's weird,” he said. ”First French, then British, now none!”

”Whoever put them up,” said Frank, ”may come by boat. He'd have an easier time getting in than climbing the fence.”

”By boat,” Joe repeated.

The brothers exchanged glances. ”You two have an idea,” Chet said knowingly. ”What is it?”

Frank reminded him of the wet rowboat on Turtle Island, which contradicted the hermit's claim that he had not left the island for a month. ”He was mighty opposed to the French claims at Senandaga,” Frank recalled. ”And don't forget his true account of-Fort Royal. He might have raised the Union Jack.”

The bateau was guided past protruding rocks, and into the cove. The boys landed and climbed up to the old fort.

”We might as well start on the outside,” Frank suggested, referring to the map. ”If you see anything resembling a tomahawk, let out a war whoop.”