The Haunted Fort

Table of Contents

 

 

A long-distance telephone call from Chet Morton's uncle summons Frank and Joe Hardy and their staunch pal Chet to a summer art school, located near old Fort Senandaga which is reputed to be inhabited by a ghost. The young detectives' assignment: recover two famous oil paintings stolen from the valuable Prisoner-Painter collection owned by Jefferson Davenport.

Mr. Davenport, millionaire sponsor of Millwood Art School, reveals that one of the famous Fort Senandaga pictures painted by his artist ancestor, General Jason Davenport, contains a clue to the hiding place of a priceless chain of gold.

Vicious threats and deadly traps beset Frank, Joe, and Chet as they search for clues to the stolen paintings and the gold treasure—a search that is complicated by a stormy feud between a proud Englishman and an equally proud Frenchman over the military history of the ancient fort.

Here is a thrilling mystery-adventure guaranteed to hold the reader in breathless suspense from first page to last.

“Watch out!” Frank cried out. “The wall!”

Copyright
©
1993,1965 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Pumam & 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. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 65-13775

eISBN : 978-1-101-07657-6

2008 Printing

“CHET MORTON inviting us to a mystery—I don't believe it!” Blond seventeen-year-old Joe Hardy smiled as he and his brother bounded off the back steps toward the garage.

Frank Hardy, dark-haired and a year older than Joe, eagerly keyed the car motor to life. Soon they were headed out of Bayport for the Morton farm. Dusk was falling.

“Chet seemed too excited to say much on the phone,” Frank explained. “But he did mention there might be a vacation in it for us—and a haunted fort.”

“A haunted fort!”

When the brothers pulled into the gravel driveway of the rambling, brown-and-white farmhouse, pretty lola Morton, Chet's sister, danced off the porch to greet them.

“Frank and Joe! What a surprise! You're just in time for our homemade hootenanny!”

“And I can play two chords!” Callie Shaw waved from the front doorway, a large guitar hanging from her neck. Callie, a slim blonde, was Frank's special friend, while vivacious Iola often dated Joe.

“It sounds great,” Frank began, “but Chet called us over to—” He glanced suspiciously at Joe. “Say, do you think these two got Chet to lure us over here about a mystery?”

“Of course not, sillies,” dark-haired Iola protested, her eyes snapping. “Besides, who wants to talk about murky old mysteries? Wait until you hear Callie's new ballad records.”

As the four entered the house, a round face beneath a coonskin cap peered from the kitchen. Then the stocky figure of Chet Morton made an entrance.

“Hi, Hardys ! Anybody for a haunted vacation?”

“Chet! Then there really is a mystery?” Joe's face brightened as Chet nodded and motioned the brothers upstairs to his room. But not before the girls frowned disdainfully.

“Meanies!” Callie said. “Don't be forever!”

As the Hardys took seats, Chet reclined on his bed and began, “My uncle Jim phoned late this afternoon from Crown Lake in New England. You know, he's chief painting instructor at a summer art school there.”

Chet explained that the place, named Millwood, was sponsored by a millionaire for the benefit of talented teen-agers.

“Sounds like a swell arrangement for aspiring artists,” Frank remarked.

“Uncle Jim loves his job,” Chet continued, “or at least he did before the painting thefts started.”

“You mean thefts of students' paintings?” Joe interrupted, puzzled.

“No. Something much more valuable. Uncle Jim didn't go into details, but he did mention somebody called the Prisoner-Painter. Two of his pictures have disappeared.”

“What about the local police?” Frank asked.

“They've already tried to solve the case. No luck. That's why Uncle Jim wants us to live at the school for a while.”

“How'd he know about us?” Joe put in.

“I mentioned you fellows in letters. 'Course, I didn't tell him any of the bad things about you—only that you were a couple of great detectives.”

Frank grinned and arced a slow-motion swing toward his teasing pal, but in a flash Chet was on his feet, twirling his coonskin cap. “I'm half-packed already.” He brightened, a hopeful look in his eye. “Will you fellows come along?”

“Try and keep us away!” Joe exclaimed. He was as excited as Frank at the prospect of adventure.

Both boys, sons of Bayport's famous detective, Fenton Hardy, had already tackled and solved many mysteries. From the baffling secret of The
Tower Treasure
to their most recent case, The
Mystery of the Aztec Warrior,
the boys welcomed each new challenge. Chet, their loyal and close friend, though sometimes reluctant to sleuth with them, often proved to be of great help.

“Chet,” Frank added, “didn't you mention a haunted fort on the phone?”

“Oh that!” Chet groaned. “Yes, I did. Uncle Jim said something about an old French fort nearby, but maybe it's not important. Gee, fellows, haunted places don't agree with me!”

“I don't know,” Frank mused, winking at Joe. “I hear some ghosts are pretty well-fed. Think we could introduce Chet to one or two up at Crown Lake?”

Chet could not repress a smile as the brothers chuckled, then patted him on the back. Suddenly they heard a scream from the front porch.

“That's Callie!” Joe cried out.

The three boys rushed downstairs. Iola stood trembling in the doorway. Callie, pale with fright, pointed to a hairy object on the lawn.

“What happened?” Frank asked in alarm.

Callie said that a speeding black car had slowed in front of the house and somebody had tossed out the object.

“It looks like—like a scalp!” Iola shuddered.

The Hardys rushed out to the lawn and Frank knelt over the strange thing.

“It's a scalp!” Frank exclaimed

“It's a scalp all right—made of papier-mâché! Looks pretty real with all this red paint.”

Joe picked it up. “There's a note attached!” He removed a small piece of paper from the underside. Frowning, he read the typewritten words aloud:

“Did you get a look at the driver?” Frank asked, as Iola and Callie joined the boys.

“No, but I think it was an out-of-state license plate,” Callie replied. “I thought he was just a litterbug until I saw—
that.”

The gruesome-looking object was made from black bristles of the sort used in paintbrushes. Frank turned to Chet and Joe. “What do you fellows make of it?”

Joe shrugged. “Who would want to stop us from going to Crown Lake—and why?”

“Also,” Chet added, “how did anybody even know we had been invited up to Crown Lake by my uncle?”

The young people discussed the strange warning as the Hardys returned to their car, where Frank deposited the fake scalp.

“This grisly clue indicates one thing,” Frank concluded. “Somebody wants us to stay away from Millwood Art School! If that's where our ‘scalper' is from, it might explain how he learned of Mr. Kenyon's invitation.”

“Speaking of invitations,” Joe said, “what time do you want to leave tomorrow, Chet?”

“Leave!” Iola and Callie exclaimed.

“Sure.” Frank grinned. “I've always been interested in Indian haircuts—that is, unless Chet wants to back out.”

“Me—back out?” Chet swallowed, then resolutely replaced the coonskin cap on his round head—backward. “Fur Nose Morton will pick you up tomorrow morning at ten sharp. Don't forget to pack some warm duds!”

The girls protested in vain. After making the boys promise not to be away for the whole summer, they wished them a safe and pleasant trip. As Frank drove the car down the drive, Joe leaned out the window.

“We'll take a rain check on that hootenanny, girls. See you in the morning, Chet!”

Full of anticipation about their new mystery, the Hardys drove directly to their tree-shaded house at the corner of High and Elm streets. After securing permission from their parents for the trip to Crown Lake, the excited boys spent the rest of the evening packing three large suitcases. Before retiring, they quickly perused several school-books on the history of the Crown Lake region. It had been an area of conflict during the French and Indian War.