Part 10 (1/2)
The boys did not know what to do. The gang might have posted a sentry. If there was only one, the Hardys might be able to jump the man and disarm him. However, they probably could not do it without making some noise and attracting the attention of the rest of the smugglers.
Frank and Joe gritted their teeth. They couldn't give up now!
As they were trying to decide how to proceed, the situation took an unexpected turn. A door slammed in the distance. Then came the murmur of voices and the sound of advancing footsteps.
”This nonsense has gone far enough,” a man said angrily. ”He'll write that note at once, or I'll know the reason why.”
The boys started. The voice was that of the man who had ordered them to leave the pond during the afternoon.
”That's right, chief!” another voice spoke up.
”Make him do as you say and get the heat off us until we've got all the loot moved.”
”If he doesn't write it, he'll never get out of here alive,” the first man promised coldly.
Instantly Frank and Joe thought of the note their mother had received. Was the man these smugglers were talking about their father? Or was he someone else-maybe Jones, who was to be forced to obey them or perhaps lose his life?
The speakers went a short distance beyond the door behind which Frank and Joe were standing. Then they heard the click of a switch. A faint beam of yellow light shone beneath the door. The brothers figured there was a corridor beyond and three or four men had entered a room opening from it.
”Well, I see you're still here,” said the man who had been addressed as chief. ”You'll find this an easier place to get into than out of.”
A weary voice answered him. The tones were low, so the boys pressed closer to the door. But try as they might, they could not distinguish the words.
”You're a prisoner here and you'll stay here until you die unless you write that note.”
Again the weary voice spoke, but the tones were still so indistinct that the boys could not hear the answer.
”You won't write it, eh? We'll see what we can do to persuade you.”
”Let him go hungry for a few days. That'll persuade him!” put in one of the other men. This brought a hoa.r.s.e laugh from his companions.
”You'll be hungry enough if you don't write that letter,” the chief agreed. ”Are you going to write it?”
”No,” the boys barely heard the prisoner answer.
The chief said sourly, ”You've got too much on us. We can't afford to let you go now. But if you write that letter, we'll leave you some food, so that you won't starve. You'll break out eventually, but not in time to do us any harm. Well, what do you say? Want some food?”
There was no reply from the prisoner.
”Give his arm a little twist,” suggested one of the smugglers.
At this the Hardys' blood boiled with rage. Their first impulse was to fling open the door and rush to the aid of the person who was being tormented. But they realized they were helpless against so many men.
Their only hope lay in the arrival of the Coast Guard men, but they might come too late!
”Chief, shall I give this guy the works?” one of the smugglers asked.
”No,” the leader answered quickly. ”None of that rough stuff. We'll do it the easy way-starvation. I'm giving him one more chance. He can write that note now or we'll leave him here to starve when we make our getaway.”
Still there was no reply.
To Frank's and Joe's ears came a sc.r.a.ping sound as if a chair was being moved forward.
”You won't talk, eh?” The leader's voice grew ugly.
There was a pause of a few seconds, then suddenly he shouted, ”Write that note, Hardy, or you'll be sorry-as sure as my name's Snattman!”
CHAPTER XIV.
Captured JOE gave a start. ”It is Dad!” he whispered hoa.r.s.ely. ”He found the smugglers' hide-out!”
Frank nudged his brother warningly. ”Not so loud.”
The boys' worst fears were realized-their” father was not only a prisoner of the smugglers, but also his life was being threatened!
”Write that note!” Snattman demanded.
”I won't write it,” Fenton Hardy replied in a weak but clear voice.
The chief persisted. ”You heard what I said. Write it or be left here to starve.”
”I'll starve.”
”You'll change your mind in a day or two. You think you're hungry now, but wait until we cut off your food entirely. Then you'll see. You'll be ready to sell your soul for a drop of water or a crumb to eat.”
”I won't write it.”
”Look here, Hardy. We're not asking very much. All we want you to do is write to your wife that you're safe and tell her to call off the police and those kids of yours. They're too nosy.”
”Sooner or later someone is going to trace me here,” came Mr. Hardy's faint reply. ”And when they do, I can tell them enough to send you to prison for the rest of your life.”
There was a sudden commotion in the room and two or three of the smugglers began talking at once.
”You're crazy!” shouted Snattman, but there was a hint of uneasiness in his voice. ”You don't know anything about me!”
”I know enough to have you sent up for attempted murder. And you're about to try it again.”
”You're too smart, Hardy. That's all the more reason why you're not going to get out of here until we've gone. And if you don't co-operate you'll never make it. Our next big s.h.i.+pment's coming through tonight, and then we're skipping the country. If you write that letter, you'll live. If you don't, it's curtains for you!”
Frank and Joe were shaken by the dire threats. But they must decide whether to go for help, or stay and risk capture and try to rescue their father.
”You can't scare me, Snattman,” the detective said. ”I have a feeling your time is up. You're never going to get that big s.h.i.+pment.”
The detective's voice seemed a little stronger, the boys felt.
Snattman laughed. ”I thought you were smart, but you're playing a losing game, I warn you. And how about your family? Are you doing them a service by being so stubborn?”