Part 9 (1/2)
”Yes, and the firebug who caused the trouble hasn't been apprehended yet,” Joe said grimly.
Joe ga.s.sed up the Sleuth Sleuth while Frank took the wheel. Soon they were speeding out of while Frank took the wheel. Soon they were speeding out of Bayport harbor. There were a number of islands near the inlet where they could wait for their quarry. Frank chose one that lay in shadows, cut the motor, and turned off their running lights.
”I feel like one of those falcons 'waiting on' until its prey comes along,” Joe remarked with a grin.
In the bright moonlight the boys could see other boats plying up and down the harbor, but all of them were pleasure craft. Finally, however, Frank whispered: 103 ”I think this is it. There's a boat with the Daisy K's Daisy K's lines.” lines.”
Both boys positively identified Captain Flont's craft as it moved past them. They gave it a reasonable lead, then started after it. The chase continued for about five miles, then the boys noticed the Daisy K Daisy K slowing down. Frank cut the slowing down. Frank cut the Sleuth's Sleuth's engine. engine.
A few minutes later a large motor dory appeared beyond the fis.h.i.+ng boat and pulled alongside. A rope ladder clattered over the rail of Flont's s.h.i.+p and two men scrambled down the rungs into the dory.
As the smaller boat pulled away toward the open sea, the Daisy K Daisy K started up again, started up again, turned in a wide arc, and headed back toward Bayport.
”We must must find out where that dory's going!” Joe said. find out where that dory's going!” Joe said.
The Sleuth Sleuth took up the chase! took up the chase!
CHAPTER XIV.
Hunting a Hawk.
the Hardys had been following the mysterious motor dory in their own boat for some time when suddenly the Sleuth's Sleuth's motor began to sputter and the craft lost way. motor began to sputter and the craft lost way.
Joe, seated on the forward deck as lookout, whirled around and asked, ”What's the matter?”
”Sounds as if we're out of gas,” Frank replied. ”Didn't you fill the tank?”
”Of course I did,” Joe insisted. ”The gauge read full when I stopped pouring.”
Frank unscrewed the cap and beamed his flashlight inside. ”I have news for you, Joe,”
he said grimly. ”The gauge still reads full, but there isn't a drop of gas in the tank!”
”Well, for Pete's sake!”
The Hardys examined the gauge carefully and discovered that it was jammed.
104.
105 ”This didn't jam by itself,” Frank declared. ”Someone tampered with it!”
”Think it might have been someone from the Daisy K?” Daisy K?” Joe asked. Joe asked.
”Could be. But it sure puts a monkey wrench in our plans for tonight.”
The motor dory was out of sight by this time. In disgust the boys brought out the emergency fuel can and emptied its contents into the tank. Since there was little hope now of locating the dory, even in the moonlight and with their limited fuel supply, the boys headed for home. While Frank fixed the gauge, they speculated about where the dory had come from. Perhaps from a s.h.i.+p waiting at sea? The boys could see no lights to indicate any vessel, however, and concluded that the dory might be planning to meet a pa.s.sing s.h.i.+p later.
”I wonder who those two men were who climbed off the Daisy K,” Daisy K,” Frank said Frank said thoughtfully.
Joe shrugged. ”I guess our only hope of solving that is to keep the Daisy K's Daisy K's crew under crew under close observation,” he commented. ”When we get back to town, let's ask one of Dad's operatives to watch them.”
”Jeff Kane's in town. He's a good man,” Frank suggested.
When the brothers reached Bayport, Frank telephoned the detective. Kane readily agreed to take over the a.s.signment, leaving the boys free to track down their other clues.
Early the next morning, after feeding the falcon, 106 they took turns phoning the three pet shops which they had not had time to call the day before, plus several in nearby counties. This time they were more successful. Two of the owners supplied them with the names of six carrier-pigeon fanciers. Three of these were in Bayport, while the others were some distance away. With Frank at the wheel of the convertible, the boys started on their quest. The first place was only half a mile from their home. The pigeon keeper, a young man about twenty-five, proved to be a squab breeder who kept a few carrier pigeons as a hobby. He showed them to Frank and Joe.
”I enter these in cross-country races,” he said. ”It's a swell sport.” The pigeon fancier smiled. ”My birds have brought me several cups and ribbons,” he added, stroking one of the racers fondly.
In reply to a question from Frank, the young man said he had never taken his birds out on the water and released them.
”In fact, I don't know anyone around here who would have reason to,” he said, ”because the contests are always from inland cities to the coast.”
The Hardys thanked him for the information and went on their way. Both of the other local men proved to be above suspicion as well.
The next name on their list was that of a Reed Newton who lived about five miles away.
When Frank and Joe reached his home, they found him to be a retired man in late middle age, who had flown 107 pigeons as a hobby for many years. He had a large cote and several breeding cages.
”You raise more pigeons than you train and fly, don't you, Mr. Newton?” Frank asked.
”Oh, yes,” the fancier replied. ”I sell them.” He smiled boyishly. ”I may sound a bit vain, but my pigeons are becoming known all over the world.”
”Has anyone purchased a large number of birds from you recently?”
Reed Newton wrinkled his brow for some moments, then replied, ”Not recently. But about two years ago I had a big order. A young man from India, named Bhagnav, bought a whole flock of pigeons.”
”Bhagnav!” Joe exclaimed, but recovered quickly and added, ”That's an unusual name.”
”Can you describe this man?” Frank asked.
Mr. Newton hesitated, then answered, ”Well, as I remember, he was a tall, slender, rather handsome fellow of about twenty-six. One thing I do particularly remember was that he had a scar at the base of his chin. It stood out clearly because it was a slightly lighter shade than the rest of his face.”
Frank and Joe could hardly believe their good fortune in picking up this clue. Was the Bhagnav who had purchased the pigeons related to the maha-rajah's cousin who was now using the name of Delhi?
After the brothers had left Mr. Newton and were on their way to interview the next fancier, they began to speculate about the man named Bhagnav who had bought the pigeons.
108 ”It's possible,” said Frank, ”that he was an impostor who had planned this smuggling racket as far back as two years ago.”
”Right. Figuring that if anyone uncovered the plot, the real Bhagnav would be blamed.
We must phone Mr. Delhi about this as soon as we get home.”
The drive to the farm of John Fenwick, the last pigeon fancier on the boys' list, took them some time and on the way they stopped at a roadside restaurant to have lunch. During the last part of the journey both boys breathed deeply of the clean country air and enjoyed the verdant rolling landscape. When Joe suddenly spotted a sign reading FENWICK at the foot of a lane, he exclaimed: ”What a weird setup for a pigeon fancier!”