The Shore Road Mystery Read online

  “Well, maybe you didn’t track the carpet too badly,” she said. “But, Joe, you’d better put some antiseptic on that ugly scratch. Frank Hardy, be careful going up those steps!”

  Later, the boys joined the family at dinner. Their mother was a sweet-faced, quiet woman. Mr. Hardy was tall and distinguished looking.

  After hearing the details of the day’s happenings, the detective announced that he was leaving for New York on business. He left the table before dessert was served and hurried upstairs. Presently he reappeared, set a suitcase in the hall, and prepared to say good-by in the dining room.

  “A big case, Dad?” Frank asked him.

  “Not big enough, son.” The detective grinned. “After that last shirt was packed, I had to stand on the case to get it shut.” The pun brought pretended groans from his sons.

  Their father went on, “I’ll be in New York City, perhaps for several weeks. Authorities there have asked me to work on an arms-smuggling case. The smugglers are apparently supplying American criminals with foreign-made lethal weapons.”

  “Got any leads, Dad?” Joe asked.

  “Not yet. The government is greatly concerned over their distribution.”

  Mr. Hardy kissed his wife and sister good-by. Then Frank and Joe accompanied their father outside to wait for his taxi to the airport.

  “Too bad about Jerry’s car,” the detective said. “Chief Collig asked my help on the theft case. Unfortunately, I had already accepted the New York assignment.”

  “Do you mind if we have a try at the Shore Road mystery, Dad?” Frank asked hopefully.

  “It sounds like quite a challenge—even for my sons!” He smiled. “But I think the police could use any help available. Take care of yourselves and keep in touch. By the way, put my car in the garage before you go to bed. It’s in the driveway.”

  “Sure thing, Dad,” said Frank.

  Back at the table, the brothers discussed the day’s events with the women. “I wonder why Jerry’s stolen car was headed north,” said Frank. “The other Shore Road thieves always turned south.”

  Just then they heard a familiar voice from the kitchen door.

  “Hi, Chet! Long time no see!” called Frank.

  Stout, good-natured Chet Morton appeared, eating a piece of celery he had picked up from the kitchen table. Chet’s visits to the Hardy household at mealtimes were not a rarity.

  He greeted Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude, then said, “Hi, fellows!” Chet dropped into Mr. Hardy’s vacant chair. “Sorry I couldn’t meet you fellows at the beach today, but I’ve been kind of busy with my work.”

  “Your work?” Joe repeated. Work was not one of Chet’s strong assets.

  He reached for an olive as Mrs. Hardy said, “How about some dinner? I’ll get you a plate.”

  “Not tonight, thanks, Mrs. Hardy.”

  Aunt Gertrude raised her eyebrows. Seldom did the stout boy turn down an offer of food!

  Frank and Joe hid smiles behind their napkins. Finally Frank urged, “Come on, Chet, something’s in the air. It’s not like you to—”

  Joe was not paying attention. He interrupted to say, “Listen! I just heard a noise from the driveway. It sounded like a door of Dad’s car being shut!”

  The three boys rushed out to the back porch. “Look!” cried Joe.

  A hulking figure was getting into Mr. Hardy’s sedan. Another man was already in the car.

  “Stop!” Frank ordered.

  Tearing down the steps, the boys ran across the lawn. The men jumped out and dashed down the driveway to the street. In an instant they were picked up by a waiting car, which roared away. The boys gave chase but to no avail. Identification was impossible because the driver had put out the lights and the license number could not be seen.

  “Pretty daring thieves!” Chet commented. The boys hurried back to Mr. Hardy’s automobile. Finding no damage, Frank drove it into the garage and locked the door.

  “Those guys sure had a nerve trying to steal a detective’s car,” Chet remarked as they re-entered the house. “Any special reason, do you suppose?”

  “They probably didn’t know Dad’s away,” said Frank, “and thought this would handicap him if he should be working on the car thefts.”

  “This may have been our first look at some of the Shore Road gang,” Frank concluded.

  After reporting the attempted theft to the police, the boys went to the living room, where Chet proceeded to explain his latest project.

  “I’m studying dietary survival.” He took a book from a pocket and tapped the cover. Chet brought a carrot from another pocket and bit loudly into it before tossing the book to Joe. Its title was Vegetable Survival in the Wilderness.

  “Sounds interesting, Chet,” he said. “But what brought this on? You’ve always been the biggest eater in Bayport High.”

  “Common sense,” Chet intoned. “You see, we live in a dangerous world, never knowing where our next meal may come from. So, I figure to learn a little botany in case I’m ever marooned on a jungle island or too far from a hot-dog stand. In other words, herbivorous survival.”

  “Herb—” Frank stared.

  “Plant eating, for you laymen,” Chet said, nibbling a second carrot. “I’ve decided to live on vegetables and fruits between visits to the museum and library to study.”

  “And how long is this going to go on, Chester Morton?” demanded Aunt Gertrude as she came in. “No more chocolate fudge cake—ever?”

  Chet shifted in his chair and swallowed. “I haven’t worked out the—er—details yet, Miss Hardy. It depends upon my—er—further research.”

  Frank grinned as his aunt shook her head in puzzlement and left the room. “Well, we sure wish you luck, Chet,” he said. “Sounds pretty austere to me.”

  “I’ll make it,” Chet declared. “Tell me about your swim.”

  The Hardys told their friend of all the adventures on Shore Road that afternoon, of their plans to help Jack Dodd, and of the theft of Jerry’s new car.

  Chet’s eyes bugged out. “Wow! I sure feel sorry for Jerry. I hope the police catch those thieves.”

  Later, as the boys were listening to a television newscast, the speaker said the police had not yet apprehended the thieves.

  “Sure is a tough mystery,” Chet remarked.

  Frank suggested they all look at a map of the Shore Road area. “Maybe we can figure where the cars disappear to.”

  Just then the telephone rang. Joe took the call, then rushed back to the others.

  “That was Jack!” he exclaimed. “He sounded upset and wants us out at the farm right away!”

  Suspecting a sudden development in Jack’s secret mystery, the three boys piled into Chet’s green jalopy and headed out Shore Road. As they pulled into the dirt lane to the Dodd farmhouse, they saw the rotating red lights of police cars in front of the house.

  “Something has happened!” Joe exclaimed.

  Officers and excited reporters were assembled near the front of the big porch, while three patrolmen stood by an empty car near the back of the house. The hum of car engines filled the night air.

  After parking, the Hardys and Chet found Mr. Dodd and Jack standing next to a state trooper at the side of the building. The thin, well-dressed farmer, who had a slight mustache, looked pale and worn. Jack’s hands were clenched.

  “The Hardys! And Chet!” Mr. Dodd exclaimed, forcing a smile as the boys rushed up to them.

  “What has happened?” Frank asked immediately.

  Jack hung his head and pointed to the unoccupied automobile. “We’ve been accused of stealing that car!”

  “Stealing!”

  “Yes,” Mr. Dodd continued grimly. “Jack had just discovered this car on our property tonight when all these officers began to arrive—apparently having received a ‘tip-off’ over the phone that we were the Shore Road thieves.”

  A husky, uniformed man, Chief Ezra Collig, approached the group and greeted the Hardys. Mr. Dodd tried to recall the whereab
outs of himself and his son on the day the car was reported stolen.

  Jack added, “We couldn’t have stolen the car on that day, sir. Both Dad and I were—”

  At that moment his attention was diverted by an approaching officer. In his hand he carried a fishing pole.

  “Is this your rod, son?” he asked.

  Jack stared in surprise. “Yes, but—”

  “Then what was it doing in the trunk of the stolen car?” the officer demanded.

  CHAPTER III

  A Pilgrim Mystery

  “MY fishing pole—in the stolen car!” Jack repeated in disbelief. “It’s been missing from my boat since yesterday.”

  Chief Collig examined the rod, then frowned. “Personally, I’m inclined to believe you, Jack. But I’m afraid you and your father will have to come to headquarters. We particularly want to check the fingerprints on the car.”

  “Fingerprints?” Joe queried.

  Mr. Dodd nodded resignedly. “I’m afraid you’ll find my fingerprints inside. I got into the car, hoping to find the owner’s name in the glove compartment.”

  Frank spoke in low tones to Chief Collig as flashbulbs illuminated the area. The chief assured him the Dodds could be released on bail until a hearing, but said the figure would probably be a very high one. The Hardys promised to visit Mr. Dodd and Jack the next morning about their release.

  “We’ll contact Dad right away,” Frank told the Dodds.

  Chet added, “Jack, keep your chin up!” He drove the Hardys home, where they wired their father.

  The following morning the brothers drove to Bayport Police Headquarters to see Mr. Dodd and Jack. As they had feared, the bail figure was too high for the Dodds to pay it all at this time.

  “Frank!” Joe exclaimed as the boys left the building. “Maybe Dad will help them out with the rest!”

  Over the telephone, Fenton Hardy supported the boys’ faith in the Dodds’ innocence and promised to arrange by phone for the balance of the bail payment. Shortly after noontime the two prisoners were released.

  “We can’t thank you boys and your father enough,” Mr. Dodd said as Frank was driving them back to their farm in Mr. Hardy’s car. “Having your father’s name behind us at the hearing tomorrow will mean a great deal.”

  “We’re glad to do what we can.” Joe grinned.

  “Have you any idea who might have wanted to frame you?” Frank asked as they headed north.

  “Not really,” Jack replied. “But Dad and I have come up with one possibility.”

  “His name is Ray Slagel,” Mr. Dodd explained. “He came to the farm looking for work about a month ago. But he didn’t prove dependable, and after I had found him away from his chores several times, I had to dismiss him.”

  “Did you have any trouble with him after that?” Joe asked.

  “No,” Mr. Dodd answered, “but he threatened to get even with me. I can’t tell you much about his background, but we can describe him.”

  “Dad,” Jack interrupted excitedly, “I think I still have that picture I took of Slagel!”

  “That might give us something to go on,” Frank remarked. “Actually, we’ve got two Dodd mysteries.”

  “I almost forgot!” Jack gasped, remembering his uncle’s expected visit that night.

  Mr. Dodd laughed. “Frank and Joe, are you still interested?”

  “Interested!” the Hardys cried in unison. “We sure are!”

  Frank turned the sedan off Shore Road onto the lane leading to the Dodd house. Mr. Dodd and Jack cordially invited the Hardys inside, where they all sat down in the attractive, pine-paneled living room. Over a large flagstone fireplace hung a framed black-and-white map of the Atlantic coast. There were several early Colonial prints above the bookcases and sofa.

  “We’re ready for the story,” said Frank.

  “As you may know,” Mr. Dodd began, “the Dodd family, while small today, goes back several hundred years in this country.” He pointed to some faded, brown-leather volumes along a mahogany shelf. “There are records in these of centuries of Dodds—records that go back before the Revolutionary War. Unfortunately, they tell us little about the man at the root of the Pilgrim mystery.”

  Frank and Joe leaned forward.

  “We do know,” the farmer continued, “that in the year 1647, one Elias Dodd embarked from Plymouth Colony in a small skiff with his wife and three children. A good seaman, with considerable knowledge of astronomy, he went in search of a horseshoe-shaped inlet he had heard of from an Indian. Dodd hoped to establish a settlement to which other families might come later.”

  “A horseshoe-shaped inlet!” Joe exclaimed.

  Mr. Dodd smiled. “The inlet that is today Barmet Bay.”

  “Did he reach it?” Frank asked.

  Mr. Dodd stood up and paced the room. “That is the mystery we hope to solve. You see, Elias Dodd was never heard from again. But many years later, a bottle was found washed up on a shore farther south of here. In it was a note believed to have been written by Elias before he and his family perished in a sudden, violent storm.

  “Deterioration of the paper had obliterated some of the words. In the message, Elias hastily described their last geographical position.”

  “And you have the message here?” Frank asked.

  “Only in our heads.” Jack smiled.

  Mr. Dodd explained. “My brother Martin, who teaches astronomy at Cheston College in Greenville, has the original. You’ll be able to see it when you meet him this evening.”

  “And you’re hoping,” Joe said, “to discover whether your ancestor perished in the Bayport area?”

  “That’s right, as well as to determine the existence of the Pilgrim treasure.”

  “Treasure!” Frank and Joe echoed.

  Jack’s father went on, “When Elias left the colony for his journey, he brought with him a chest of jewels, many of which were very valuable. He hoped to use the less expensive ones to barter with the Indians he might encounter.”

  “Because of the treasure, I assume the mystery must remain in confidence,” Frank said.

  Mr. Dodd nodded. “Dishonest people mustn’t hear about it,” Jack said. “They might find the chest before we do. And there is the possibility it contains his journals which would also be valuable.”

  Frank and Joe stood up as Mr. Dodd glanced at his watch. Though eager to hear details of the Pilgrim clue, they realized that Jack and his father needed a chance to obtain legal advice for their hearing the next morning on the stolen car.

  Frank shook hands with the Dodds at the front door. “We look forward to meeting Martin Dodd —and seeing the old paper—tonight!”

  Jack smiled, fingering a rabbit’s-foot key chain, but his face seemed to cloud with the anxieties of last night’s events. 'Thanks again, fellows,” he said. ”Without you, we wouldn’t even be free to work on the mystery.”

  “As it is,” Mr. Dodd added, “we must solve it within the next few days!”

  His mention of a deadline puzzled the Hardys. He promised to explain later that night.

  Jack gave the boys a photograph of Ray Slagel. The picture revealed a burly, bald man leaning on a pitchfork before the Dodd barn. He wore a work glove with a V-shaped cuff on his left hand.

  The Hardys then drove out to Beach Grove where they locked the car and began combing the sand for clues to the thief of Jerry’s stolen car. Later, they heard Chet’s jalopy arrive, and he joined the brothers in the search.

  “I guessed you fellows would be here,” he said. He took out a large magnifier. “Thought you could use a botanical consultant. Say, do you think the evidence against the Dodds is serious?”

  “It could be,” Frank admitted, kicking into a small mound of sand. “They have no witnesses for their whereabouts the day that car was stolen, but Mr. Dodd’s good reputation can’t be discounted.”

  Chet leaned down with his magnifier at the top of a sand slope to inspect a plant. Suddenly he lost his balance, and rolled down the incline
.

  “Chet, are you all right?”

  Their rotund friend regained his feet. Scrubbing sand out of his hair, he held up a glove. “This might be a clue!”

  Frank and Joe went down to look at it.

  “It’s a work glove!” Chet said, pointing to the V-shaped cuff.

  At that moment the boys saw a car slow down on the road above them. They raced up the slope, but when they reached the highway, the car was already disappearing around the bend.

  The boys rushed to check their cars. Neither had been tampered with.

  “Wonder what he was looking for,” Joe remarked.

  “Maybe the same thing that Chet found,” Frank said. “Joe, have you that picture of Slagel?”

  Joe produced the photograph. Frank compared the left-handed glove Chet held and the one in the picture.

  The two looked identical!

  “This may be the lead we’re looking for!” Frank rejoiced as they walked to their cars.

  “Do you think this could help prove the Dodds’ innocence?” Chet asked.

  “It might if they can identify it as Slagel’s when we see them tonight.”

  Elated by the clue, the Hardys thanked Chet and headed home. After a light supper, they told of their proposed visit to the Dodds. Aunt Gertrude was skeptical about the bail which Mr. Hardy had put up so promptly. “You’re all too trustful,” she said. “Look up this Slagel in your father’s files.”

  Frank and Joe did so, and were disappointed when the files revealed no information on Slagel.

  “Reckless, plain reckless, Frank and Joe Hardy,” Aunt Gertrude said. “Why, the Dodds may really be car thieves!”

  “But Dad doesn’t think so, Aunty,” Joe reminded Miss Hardy.

  “Never you mind. You just can’t rely on men who don’t have a woman around the house to keep them straight.” Despite her words, the boys’ aunt was secretly proud of their magnanimous efforts to help the Dodds.

  When the telephone rang, Joe answered the call. “It’s Chief Collig,” he whispered to Frank. Then Joe’s jaw dropped and he slowly hung up the phone. He could hardly speak.