The Wailing Siren Mystery Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER I - Money from the Sky

  CHAPTER II - Two Losses

  CHAPTER III - Telltale Tracks

  CHAPTER IV - Followed!

  CHAPTER V - The Ransom Demand

  CHAPTER VI - Tailing a Pigeon

  CHAPTER VII - A Suspicious Salesman

  CHAPTER VIII - The Night Prowler

  CHAPTER IX - A Cry for Help

  CHAPTER X - The Detector

  CHAPTER XI - A Hoax

  CHAPTER XII - A Strange Pet

  CHAPTER XIII - Another Theft

  CHAPTER XIV - The Mysterious Light

  CHAPTER XV - An Urgent Plea

  CHAPTER XVI - Two Knockouts

  CHAPTER XVII - Trouble at Sea

  CHAPTER XVIII - Caught!

  CHAPTER XIX - Danger in North Woods

  CHAPTER XX - A Surprise Capture

  THE WAILING SIREN MYSTERY

  CAUGHT in their motorboat the Sleuth, by a sudden storm at sea, Frank and Joe Hardy are helpless when the engine conks out. Drifting farther from shore amid the tumultuous waves, the boys are relieved to see the lights of a yacht. But their SOS is ignored.

  The shrill sound of a siren fills the night air. Moments later, a helicopter drops an object alongside the Sleuth. To the young detectives’ astonishment it proves to be a wallet containing two thousand dollars.

  The next day their dose pal Chet Morton rushes to the Hardys’ home to report that the Morton farm truck carrying a shipment of high-powered rifles belonging to his uncle, a big-game hunter, has been stolen.

  These two apparently unconnected events are clues in a tangle of mystery which turns out to be one of the detective brothers’ most exciting adventures.

  “Stand where you are!” the man ordered

  Copyright © 1979,1968, 1951 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

  Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam & Grosset

  Group, New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.

  THE HARDY BOYS® is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc. Libray of

  Comgress Catalog Card Number: 68-29946

  eISBN : 978-1-101-07644-6

  2008 Printing

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  CHAPTER I

  Money from the Sky

  THE Sleuth roared toward Barmet Bay as fast as its propeller could churn the sullen sea. At its wheel sat Joe Hardy, tensely watching the black clouds. His brother Frank bent anxiously over the throbbing motor.

  “Think we’ll make it?” Joe asked.

  “If the engine holds out. Listen! It’s missing again!”

  The motor coughed. At the same time a jagged bolt of lightning flung itself from a towering thunderhead. It was followed by a deafening crash. As rain poured down on the boys in blinding sheets, the engine suddenly conked out.

  “We’re in for it!” Frank called.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “It could be the gas line.”

  Frank opened the hatch to the engine, grabbed the toolbox, and set to work. Without power, the Sleuth was in danger of being capsized by the giant waves.

  “I’ll try to keep her heading into the wind,” Joe shouted.

  The storm had broken in all its fury. Lightning flashed almost continuously, and the air reverberated to the roll of thunder. One blinding flash hit the water not far from the boat.

  “Wow!” Joe exclaimed. “A little closer and we would have had it!”

  “Never saw a storm come up so fast,” Frank said.

  The Hardys, high school boys out for an evening cruise in their motorboat, had gone farther into the ocean from Barmet Bay than usual. Dark-haired Frank, tall, slender, and keen-witted, was worried. Joe, a year younger, with blond, wavy hair and an impetuous nature, was not too concerned as yet.

  This trait of Joe’s was responsible for their present predicament. Joe had listened to only the first half of the late-afternoon weather report. Now the two boys were caught in the center of a heavy summer squall.

  Frothy whitecaps slapped over the side of the boat as it rocked dangerously in the turbulent sea. The ponchos that the boys had grabbed out of a locker gave them some protection from the rain, but their slacks and sneakers were becoming soaked. And the Barmet Bay inlet, with its blinking beacons, seemed to be drifting away from the Sleuth at an alarming rate.

  “How’s it coming?” Joe called.

  “No luck yet. If this storm keeps up, Mother will be a wreck. You know how she worries about us being out here in bad weather.”

  “And Aunt Gertrude isn’t helping her any,” Joe added. “She’s probably telling Mother of the perils of the sea and why boys shouldn’t have motorboats.”

  “I wish Dad were home to calm them,” Frank said. “Did he say when he was coming back from Washington?”

  “No,” Joe replied. “He never can tell how long his secret government cases are going to last.”

  “I wonder what it’s about this time. Dad said we might be of some help to him in—”

  Frank was interrupted by another large wave which struck the Sleuth with a resounding whack.

  As Joe pulled hard on the wheel to avoid an avalanche of water, he cried out, “Frank, look!”

  In the distance a yacht was bobbing up and down in the giant waves.

  “Maybe the captain will help us out,” Frank suggested. “Let’s signal.”

  He picked up a flashlight and beamed an S O S, hoping to attract attention. There was no response. The Sleuth was evidently too low in the water for the signal to be seen.

  In a matter of minutes it was completely dark on the water. The lightning and thunder ceased, but the rain and heavy wind continued.

  The motor of the Sleuth was still dead. Frank had been unable to locate the trouble with the craft rocking so violently. The use of tools was out of the question.

  Suddenly Joe shouted, “Frank, the yacht’s heading this way. She’ll run us down!”

  Frantically Joe signaled with his flashlight. A moment later the winking lights of the ship were blotted out.

  Hearts beating wildly, the boys waited. If the ship came closer without seeing them, there would be only one thing for them to do—jump overboard!

  Suddenly the boys saw the yacht’s lights again. They were farther away than before.

  “Whew!” said Frank in relief.

  “I think I hear a helicopter,” Joe said. “Let’s signal again.”

  Above the roar of the wind and the breakers came the sound of whirling rotors.

  “That pilot’s crazy to be out in a storm like this,” said Joe.

  “Maybe he’s lost. From the sound, he must be circling. But I can’t see him.”

  “Nor I. Hope he doesn’t think the light on the yacht is a landing field,” Joe said with a shudder.

  At that moment the wail of a siren filled the air, “Where’s that coming from?” Joe asked.

  “She’ll run us down!” Joe shouted

  “Either the copter or the yacht,” Frank reasoned. “The sound couldn’t carry this far from shore in the storm.”

  The yacht’s deck lights blazed again. Then, as before, they disappeared.

  “What’s going on?” Joe asked.

  “Wish I knew.”

  Clear vision was cut off by the blinding rain. Five minutes, ten minutes went by. The rotors could be heard faintly.

  Then suddenly the sounds of the helicopter became clearer again. Within a matter of seconds the craft was directly overhead. As the boys looked up, there was a swishing sound, then a sm
ack on the water directly alongside the Sleuth. Leaning way over, Frank just managed to grasp an object as it was about to sink beneath the waves.

  “What is it?” Joe asked.

  “Feels like a wallet! And a fat one too.”

  Focusing his flashlight on the billfold, Frank whistled. “It’s full of money!”

  CHAPTER II

  Two Losses

  JOE’S eyes popped at the sight of the bulging wallet. “It must have dropped from the helicopter—but why, is more than I can figure out,” he muttered.

  Frank exclaimed, “Hundred-dollar bills!” As he started to count them, Joe shouted, “Hang on!”

  A big wave was bearing down on them. It hit the craft broadside, tilting it and throwing Frank and Joe into the churning water. Automatically they struggled out of their ponchos.

  Despite the predicament they were in, Frank and Joe kept their heads. Being sons of Fenton Hardy, the famous detective, they had been well schooled in meeting perilous situations.

  Starting with the mystery of The Tower Treasure, they had had many narrow escapes tracking down criminals. Their latest case, known as The Secret of the Lost Tunnel, had taken them to the South on the trail of Civil War gold. But now they realized that the elements could be as dangerous as the craftiest of criminals.

  Spluttering and struggling, Frank and Joe fought their way toward the Sleuth. Though expert swimmers, they had all they could do to overtake it.

  Joe was the first to grasp the side of the boat. With eyes smarting and head spinning, he hauled himself over the gunwale.

  Then Frank hoisted one leg over the side and tumbled into the bottom of the boat.

  “Did—did you lose the wallet?” Joe asked.

  Frank held up the dripping wallet. A quick flip showed the money was still there. They could count it later. Frank put it in his pocket.

  The rain had stopped, and visibility was better. The yacht was now in sight, but moving rapidly southward.

  “It made a quick getaway,” Frank remarked. “Wonder where it’s going.”

  While Joe bailed out the boat with a large can from the locker, Frank continued his work on the motor and repaired it quickly.

  “Try the starter, Joe.”

  The motor roared into action. One danger was over, although it would still require skillful piloting to make the inlet.

  “I’m curious about that wallet,” Joe said as they plowed along through the stormy sea.

  “I think I’ll count it.” Frank beamed his flashlight on the bills and thumbed through them.

  “How much?” Joe asked eagerly.

  “Two thousand dollars!” Frank exclaimed. “And not a mark of identification in the wallet.”

  Joe grinned. “We’ll have a sweet time finding the owner.”

  “He might not want to be found,” Frank said slowly. “Maybe it’s stolen money.”

  The boys continued to speculate about the wallet until they neared the mouth of the inlet. Then conversation ceased while Joe put all his energy into the task of keeping the Sleuth on a straight course.

  Joe took a bearing on the blinker of the entrance buoy, and in five minutes the turbulent ocean was behind them.

  “Neat navigating!” Frank commented as he looked at the lights of Bayport twinkling in the distance.

  When the Sleuth finally came to the Hardys’ boathouse, Joe cut the motor. Frank leaped out and secured the line.

  Two men entered the side door of the boathouse. Frank recognized them as Detective Smuff and Patrolman Con Riley of the Bayport Police Department.

  “Where have you two been?” Smuff shouted.

  “Why? Were you looking for us? Anything wrong at home?” Frank asked.

  “No,” said Riley. “But see here, you’ve been lost. Didn’t you know it?”

  “Who sent out the alarm for us?” Frank asked.

  “Your mother.”

  “Lock up, Joe, while I telephone home,” Frank directed.

  He ran halfway down the block to a drugstore. After telephoning Mrs. Hardy that they were safe, he hurried back to Joe. Then the boys drove home in their convertible.

  Mrs. Hardy flung open the front door and hugged her sons as they came in. She was a petite woman, with a pretty face and wavy hair. Frank and Joe bent down to kiss her.

  “Thank goodness you’re safe!” she exclaimed.

  “It was rough going for a while,” Joe said, putting an arm around his mother’s shoulder. “But we ran into what may turn out to be a big mystery.”

  “What was that? Another mystery?” The voice belonged to Aunt Gertrude, unmarried sister of Mr. Hardy, who lived at their home. She came bustling down the stairs. “Well, you keep out of it!”

  Tall, angular Aunt Gertrude was a very energetic person. She felt that her chief mission in life was to protect her nephews from the dangers involved in their mysteries, especially when their father was away from home.

  While the boys changed into dry clothes, Mrs. Hardy prepared sandwiches and milk. As they ate, Aunt Gertrude plied them with questions. They told of their strange experience during the storm —the yacht that had vanished so suddenly, the helicopter, the wailing siren, and finally the wallet.

  Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude gasped in amazement. “Two thousand dollars!”

  “And it fell right out of the sky with no identification,” Frank explained.

  “Nothing good will come of this,” Aunt Gertrude predicted. “Get rid of it right away. Some cutthroat will come here to recover it.”

  “We’ll take the wallet and money to police headquarters,” Frank said.

  The boys hurried to headquarters. Smuff and Riley were there, reporting to Police Chief Collig about the safe return of the Hardys.

  When Smuff and Riley left, Frank handed the wallet to Collig and told about the helicopter.

  The chief said he would send out a teletype notice of “a large sum of money found near Bayport,” and hope for a quick response.

  Curious to hear whether the message had brought forth any claimants, Frank telephoned Collig after breakfast the next morning. There was no news.

  Joe suggested to Frank that they drive to Bay port Airport. On reaching the administration building there, Frank asked the airport security chief if any pilot had mentioned losing anything from a plane the night before.

  “Last night, you say? Nobody was up in that storm.”

  “We heard a helicopter.”

  “It wasn’t from here,” the man said. “And no one landed during the storm.”

  The boys telephoned two other airports in the vicinity and received the same answer. As the Hardys drove back to the city, Frank said:

  “It’s my guess the chopper was a private one.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why the wallet fell out,” Joe mused. “And it’s pretty certain the owner wouldn’t expect to recover the money from the ocean. What do you think we ought to do about it?”

  “I think we should put an ad in the newspaper,” Frank replied. “Let’s stop at the News on the way home.”

  When they reached the office of the Bayport News, Frank filled out a form and handed it to the classified ad clerk. The advertisement read:Found: Wallet near Bayport. Contains sum of money. Owner identify and write Q.E.D., Box 22, News Office.

  “I hope this lands the real owner,” Joe said on the way home, “and not a lot of phonies.”

  The boys had just finished eating lunch when they heard someone run up the front porch steps. A second later the doorbell rang frantically.

  Frank opened the door. The boys’ overweight friend Chet Morton raced in. From his flushed face and heaving chest it was evident that he had run a long distance.

  “Frank! Joe!” he shouted. “You’ve got to help me quick!”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “We’ve been robbed! Somebody stole our truck! All my uncle’s rifles were in it!”

  CHAPTER III

  Telltale Tracks

  THE Hardys learned that
Chet had gone to the railroad station in the farm truck to pick up a box of high-powered rifles. The guns had been purchased by Tyler Morton, Chet’s uncle and famous big-game hunter.

  “Uncle Ty’s coming to our place in two weeks to get his stuff for a trip to Africa,” Chet explained. “But now his plans will be ruined. His guns are gone!”

  “How come? Where was the truck?” Frank asked.

  Chet said he had loaded the big box onto the truck and then had driven to the Wells Hardware Store to pick up a chest of tools for his father.

  “While I was at the store,” Chet continued, “I picked out a lot of camping equipment I knew we would need for our trip.” Sheepishly he added, “I picked out a dandy canoe, too.”

  “Did you pay for all this stuff?” Joe queried.

  “No. Charged it. I thought if you didn’t like the stuff, I could return it.” Chet put his head in his hands and moaned. “If I don’t get ‘em back, I’ll have to pay for’em all!”

  “Pretty tough,” Frank remarked. “Then what happened?”

  “Everything was loaded into the back of the truck,” Chet explained. “I started to drive home. But I was hungry, so I pulled into the Pines, a roadside eating place.”

  “I only had a couple of three-deckers,” the plump youth explained. “When I went outside for the truck, it—it was gone.”

  “You left the keys in it?” Joe asked, frowning.

  “Yes.”

  “How long ago did this happen?” Frank asked. “Did you notify the police, Chet?”

  “No. I came right here.”

  Chet was so flustered he could not remember the license number of the truck. Frank telephoned Chief Collig what had happened. Then he ran out of the house with Chet and Joe, and took the wheel of the boys’ convertible.

  “We’ll start from the Pines,” he said.

  There was silence for a few seconds, then Joe asked, “Why did you buy all that camping stuff, Chet?”

  “We were talking about a trip, weren’t we?”

  “Nothing was definite.”