While the Clock Ticked Read online

  The Hardys picked him up and they rode to the police wharf.

  Chief Collig was waiting for them. “Sorry about your boat, Tony. Those thieves are getting nervier by the minute.”

  “What about the Purdy place?” Joe asked him eagerly. “Did your men find anything when they searched last night?”

  “Nothing,” Collig replied wryly. “No thieves, no cars, no loot.”

  Just then a police boat equipped with a winch and cable for minor salvage operations came alongside the pier. The three boys and Collig clambered in, and the vessel headed for the mouth of the harbor.

  Frank said, once more picking up the thread of the case, “Do you suppose Tony’s boat was stolen by the same men who were seen in our boat earlier last night?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” Chief Collig answered.

  “Anyhow,” Joe spoke up, “we’re pretty sure the short fellow in Tony’s boat was the man who drove the limousine, and one of the harbor thieves. Sure like to know where he and his pal are hiding out.”

  By now the police boat had reached the mouth of the harbor. The officer at the wheel eyed the nearby shore warily.

  “You’re lucky you didn’t stave your own boat in,” he told Joe. “The underwater rocks are really treacherous along here.”

  “Don’t I know it!” Joe agreed.

  The officer throttled down and slowly approached the place that Joe indicated to him. A red harbor buoy bobbed nearby.

  “I’m not going inside that marker,” announced the pilot flatly, slowing to a halt.

  “Where is the Napoli from here, Joe?” Tony asked.

  “Just the other side of the red buoy, I’m afraid.”

  Around the police craft the water was clear and bluish green. Its surface was broken and dancing slightly from the effect of the waves outside the harbor. By leaning forward, the boys and Chief Collig made out a long white shape on the bottom.

  “My boat! Can we get her up, Sergeant?” Tony questioned anxiously.

  The second policeman assigned to the cruiser had been estimating their chances. “If we get her to the surface we can tow her in. The question is, can we get her to the surface? Looks pretty deep here to me. How are we going to put a line on her?”

  Regretfully, the chief agreed. “You’re right. We’ll have to go back for a skin diver.”

  Here Joe broke in with a suggestion. “If I go down and attach a line, can you raise her with the winch?”

  “But we haven’t any diving equipment,” protested the sergeant. “Not even a face mask.”

  “Faces were made before face masks,” Joe observed, grinning. Already he had kicked off his shoes. Now he was pulling his shirt over his head, revealing his tan, lithe body. “Got your line ready?”

  “You Hardys sure won’t give up.” Chief Collig nodded. “Okay. Try it.”

  The sergeant readied the salvage equipment. He extended the boom of his winch, then handed Joe a steel cable with a heavy steel hook at the end.

  The boy was now stripped to a pair of white shorts. “I’m ready.”

  “I figure it’s about twelve feet down,” the sergeant told him gravely. “There’ll be some pressure.”

  “And look out for the tow,” Tony cautioned.

  Joe accepted the cable. “I’ve done a lot of skin diving, and had experience with both,” he assured them. “Any special place I should attach this?”

  “Loop it around something solid on the Napoli, then snap the hook around the cable like this,” the sergeant replied, demonstrating.

  “Right.”

  With the cable in one hand, Joe climbed to the rail of the launch. There he balanced for a moment as he took a series of tremendous deep breaths. Then he plunged into the water.

  Those on board the launch watched anxiously, while the pilot tried to hold the boat steady. Joe soon became an indistinct blur against the sunken white craft.

  Once submerged, Joe drove himself forward with powerful kicks. He kept his hands free for the cable. He began to feel the increasing pressure, mostly on his temples and chest. Joe penetrated deeper. Finally he could touch the Napoli.

  Now he felt around it for a place to attach the cable. He moved forward and explored the front seat. There was no likely place—the steering wheel might rip out. Joe felt a pounding in his ears and he began to yearn for a breath of air. Still he groped around, feeling for something solid under the dashboard of the craft.

  At this point Joe was directly under the steering wheel, the cable beneath his body. As he rolled over on his back to investigate the under part of the dashboard, the cable wound around his body. Suddenly and painfully, the cable had tightened against his flesh. The hook, that dangled from a length of cable in Joe’s hand, had caught around a slat of the floor boards.

  Joe yanked at the hook, but was unable to loosen it. He thrashed to release himself from the cable. But he was bound fast under the steering wheel, twelve feet below the water’s surface!

  CHAPTER IX

  The Secret Room

  BACK on the launch, Chief Collig, Frank, Tony, and the sergeant waited tensely.

  “Hold this boat still!” Collig barked at the pilot.

  “Sorry, Chief. She’s drifting.”

  “The cable’s gone taut,” noted Tony. “Do you think Joe has attached it?”

  “If he has, he ought to be up any second,” Frank answered hopefully.

  But the glittering surface of the water gave no sign of the swimmer underneath. More seconds passed.

  “Something’s wrong!”

  As the words burst from Frank he, too, slipped out of his shoes and quickly stripped. In spite of anxiety for his brother, he was too wise to dive fully clothed.

  Frank knifed into the cold water. With a powerful breast stroke, he swam quickly down to the Napoli. Almost immediately Frank spotted his brother’s legs kicking from under the dashboard, and the steel cable encircling Joe’s waist, holding him fast.

  Shooting downward to the floor of the boat, Frank groped till his hand found the hook caught in the floor boards. With a tug he released it, flung away the line, grabbed Joe, and propelled him to the surface.

  As Joe’s head and shoulders popped above water, he exhaled, then gasped in a lungful of air, too exhausted to swim. The strong arms of Chief Collig and Tony hauled Joe into the boat. He lay on the deck, breathing heavily.

  Meanwhile, Frank’s head bobbed into view. “Joe okay? Hold steady. I’ll fix the cable.”

  “You come out of there,” Chief Collig roared, “before you almost drown!”

  But Frank was already well under water. Seizing the hook, he stroked toward the prow of the Napoli. There he detected a steel eye for mooring. Passing the hook through it, he looped the cable again, and surfaced.

  “Grind away,” he called cheerfully to the sergeant at the winch. Then he climbed aboard.

  By this time Joe was sitting up and slapping the water out of his ears. Chief Collig shook his head. “It’s lucky there are two of you left!”

  “I second that,” Joe said weakly. “Thanks for the rescue, brother.”

  Now the engine of the winch began grinding. The steel cable was reeled in steadily. The Napoli rose toward the surface like a big, inert fish. Quickly the pilot started the launch’s engines and pulled away. The disabled craft trailed behind, half under water.

  Back at the police wharf, Tony was informed that his boat could be repaired, although he would be without the use of it for a while.

  “I wonder if the gang used the Sleuth to steal anything,” Joe said, in a worried voice, as he, Tony, and Frank left the wharf with the chief.

  “Prepare yourself for a shock,” advised Chief Collig. “Last night there was a big theft from the captain’s cabin on one of these passenger ships. We’ve been keeping it quiet, hoping for a lead.”

  “Whew!” Frank gave a whistle. “What ship?”

  “The Sea Bright, under Captain Stroman’s command.” Here Chief Collig paused deliberately. “That
ship is owned by the Bayport and Eastern Steamship Company.”

  Instantly Joe remembered the matchbook. “Then it was our Sleuth they used,” he declared.

  Frank observed a familiar look in their old friend’s eyes. “Chief,” the boy asked suddenly, “what did the gang steal?”

  “They stole,” Collig pronounced slowly, “a very valuable jade necklace, which the captain had bought for his wife.”

  It took a split second for this information to hit home. Both Hardys exclaimed together:

  “Hurd Applegate! His stolen collection!”

  Chief Collig signified agreement. “First thing I thought of. Two thefts of jade within a few hours. It’s only logical the same person is responsible.”

  “Where’s Captain Stroman now?” Frank asked. “Can we talk to him? Does he know what the thief looked like?”

  “Whoa! He’s gone to New York to consult with the insurance company. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “All this begins to fit together,” Joe pointed out thoughtfully. “Mr. Applegate’s case is tied up with the old Purdy mansion.”

  “Yes,” Chief Collig agreed. “But how?”

  “Getaway by water!” Frank answered excitedly. “The Willow River runs right behind the Purdy property. These crooks can go there from the docks without touching dry land.”

  “And that’s where they transfer the loot to cars or trucks!” Joe finished eagerly.

  “Look, Chief,” Frank said, “Joe and I are going out to the mansion at five o’clock.” The youth checked his watch. “It’s almost noon now. We’ll see if we can turn up anything there, and get in touch with you afterward.”

  On the way home the boys dropped Tony Prito off at his father’s construction company. As he got out of the car he thanked the Hardys again for their help in raising the Napoli, and Frank and Joe wished him good luck with the repairs.

  When they reached home, Aunt Gertrude was waiting in the living room. “I never know when you’re coming back, or if you’re coming back at all,” she complained at once, heading for the kitchen. “So you needn’t be surprised if there isn’t much lunch ready!”

  Frank winked at Joe. A moment later Miss Hardy entered the dining room with a tray of sandwiches, relishes, potato salad, chocolate milk, and a whole fudge cake.

  “This is all there is,” she announced, and sat down with her nephews.

  The boys grinned. During the meal Frank and Joe told her in detail about their adventures the night before and that morning. She snorted and clucked and shook her head, but the boys knew she was enjoying every word of it.

  The brothers spent the afternoon making and studying notes about the case. At four thirty they headed the yellow convertible toward the Purdy mansion.

  When they reached the estate, Frank parked his car behind the high bushes on the other side of Willow River Road, where Hurd Applegate had hidden his old automobile.

  “No use being conspicuous,” Joe said approvingly.

  The brothers got out and walked to the heavy wooden gate. Frank gave a low whistle of surprise. “We left this open last night. Now it’s closed.”

  Cautiously the Hardys slipped through.

  “I want to check for footprints behind the house again,” Frank said as they kept to the trees along the drive. “That shut gate means somebody’s been coming or going.”

  “Probably the police closed it after they searched last night,” Joe said.

  “That’s true,” Frank replied. “But I want to look, anyway.”

  He made his way to the path in the woods where he had first seen footprints. Frank stooped to examine the ground.

  “New footprints,” he announced. “Quite a few of them. Look at those deep ones. A heavy-set fellow must have made them. Could be the limousine driver—the one you saw in the Napoli!”

  “You’re sure those aren’t the same tracks you found yesterday?” Joe inquired doubtfully.

  “Couldn’t be—not after all that rain. No, these are fresh.”

  The young sleuths followed the trail among the trees down to the water. At this point the river was fairly wide. The boys looked for signs of a boat. A minute later they heard the sound of an automobile engine coming from the driveway.

  “It may be Mr. Dalrymple,” Joe said tersely. “But it could be the harbor thieves. We’d better sneak up.”

  The boys left the path and picked their way noiselessly through the thick green brush until they had reached a spot at the side of the house. From there, they could see the front porch.

  A tall man in a lightweight suit and straw hat, obviously impatient, stood in the yard before the house, glancing around. Several times he looked directly at the boys’ hiding place but failed to see them.

  “Dalrymple?” Joe breathed. “Or his double?”

  Next time the man turned his back, they ran silently forward and stopped just behind him. Joe touched his shoulder.

  “What!” the man spun around.

  “Mr. Dalrymple,” Joe greeted him. “Sorry! But we wanted to be sure who you were.”

  “You boys did give me a start,” the banker confessed. “I didn’t see your car, so thought you weren’t here. But come along. We can’t waste a minute. The time lock is set for five o’clock exactly. We have to get in now, or lose our chance.”

  The banker opened the front door with his key. After a hasty look into the living room, which contained the grandfather’s clock the Hardys had seen through the window the night before, they hurried upstairs.

  “Another warning! he cried out, snatching up the paper

  “The secret room is down the hall,” Mr. Dalrymple explained.

  Briskly the banker entered a sitting room. While the boys watched, fascinated, he pushed aside a small framed photograph and put his fingernail into a tiny hole behind it. A very small round door opened, revealing the dials of a time lock!

  After twirling these, Mr. Dalrymple stepped back. Before the boys’ eyes, what had seemed a line in the wallpaper now developed into a crack that grew wider and wider as a door swung outward.

  “The entrance to the secret room!” Frank thought.

  Mr. Dalrymple stepped through into a small, windowless chamber. Frank, then Joe, followed closely. Joe was the first to spot a folded sheet of white paper in the exact center of the rug.

  “Another warning!” he cried out, snatching up the paper.

  In stunned silence, Frank, Joe, and Mr. Dalrymple read the penciled warning:

  “Death while the clock ticks!

  This is your last warning!”

  CHAPTER X

  The Shadowy Figures

  FRANK examined the threatening message for fingerprint smudges, but there were none. The lettering was like that of the first two warnings.

  “We’ll keep this note if you don’t mind, Mr. Dalrymple,” he said. “May need it as evidence.”

  The banker nodded gravely. “You know, boys,” he said, “it’s not so much the threat of death that bothers me. It’s the idea that somebody hates me enough to want to kill me! Who could it be?”

  Frank and Joe, too, wondered about the motive behind the strange notes.

  “What about robbery?” Joe ventured. “Has anything been disturbed?”

  Quickly Mr. Dalrymple riffled through the papers on his table, and then checked his filing cabinet.

  “No,” he muttered. “Same as before—a mysterious note in the middle of the floor. But nothing has been touched.”

  Frank Hardy looked carefully around the square, windowless room. “Well,” he said, “if someone is going in and out, we ought to be able to find out how! Please close the door, Mr. Dalrymple. Let’s get busy, Joe.”

  The banker pressed a switch, turning on an overhead light. Then he pulled shut the heavy, steel-plate door.

  The Hardys went into action. First, Frank walked to the fireplace and peered up the chimney.

  “You’re right, sir, it’s barred,” he observed. “The opening’s too small for even a baby to come d
own. No intruder came in this way.”

  Joe took a small mallet from his pocket and tapped the walls gently for a hollow sound. Meantime, Frank rolled up the rug and checked the floor for a trap door or movable boards. The entire room, however, seemed perfectly tight.

  “It doesn’t make sense!” Frank declared. “Somebody got in here with those notes.”

  “I know.” Mr. Dalrymple sighed.

  “One more possibility,” said Frank abruptly. He pulled a tape measure from his pocket and quickly took the dimensions of the room. Then he said, “Now, Mr. Dalrymple, will you let us out?”

  The banker opened the secret door and Frank took a measurement of the wall’s thickness. After they left the secret room, Mr. Dalrymple closed the door, set the time lock, and replaced the photograph. Meanwhile, Frank was measuring the sitting room. Then he slipped into the hall and measured that.

  “What’s the idea?” the banker asked.

  For a moment the boy calculated swiftly in his head. “I thought there might be some kind of secret passage behind the vault,” he explained. “But it’s impossible. All the measurements check out.”

  “I guess we’re stumped,” Joe admitted ruefully. “But you’d better take the warning seriously, Mr. Dalrymple. Stay away from here unless we’re with you.”

  The three descended the long, wide stairway in silence. Pausing at the bottom, they were startled by the only sound audible in the big, empty house.

  Tick-tock! Tick-tock! Tick-tock!

  “‘Death while the clock ticks’!” Joe exclaimed, and bolted across the hall into the living room. There stood the tall grandfather’s clock, its pendulum swinging steadily. Tick-tock!

  Mr. Dalrymple wrinkled his forehead. “I never wind that clock,” he declared.

  “Somebody has,” Joe said. “It was going last night when we were here. Maybe the same person who’s writing the notes winds it. He says he’s going to kill you while the clock ticks and he might mean this very one! We’ll spoil his game whatever it is!”

  Joe looked into the glass door of the lower case where the pendulum hung. Nothing lay inside. He cautiously opened the upper door and peered into the works behind the face.