The Missing Chums

Table of Contents

 

 

Something is amiss in Bayport, the Hardy boys' home town. First, there is trouble in Shantytown, then a strange black craft tries to ram Joe and Frank's boat, the
Sleuth.
That night the local bank is robbed. And later that same night the young detectives' pals, Chet Morton and Biff Hooper, mysteriously disappear after a masquerade party.

Are the events related? And do they emanate from Shantytown—or from Hermit Island, an isolated land mass inhabited for many years by a strange recluse? Is it significant that both the missing boys and the bank robbers wore masquerade masks? Or is it more important that Chet was wearing a costume identical to Frank's?

One by one, Frank and Joe tackle the clues, hardly daring to think what might have happened to their missing friends. But it is not until the two brothers confront the kidnapers that the overall pattern begins to emerge. The kidnapers ruthlessly plan to force Frank and Joe's famous detective father into choosing between justice and his sons!

How the Hardy boys use all their courage and skill to outwit the criminals provides an exciting climax to one of the most baffling mysteries the young detectives have ever encountered.

“I hate to think what
that
costume means,
if it's a signal,” Joe said

Copyright © 1990, 1962, 1955, 1928 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.

eISBN : 978-1-440-67318-4

2006 Printing

“JOE, how soon will you be ready to roll?” Frank Hardy burst into the garage where his brother was working on a sleek, black-and-silver motorcycle.

“Right now, if this machine kicks over,” Joe replied, putting down a wrench. “But what's the rush? We're not going to meet Chet and Biff for two hours.”

Joe looked up quizzically at his brother.

“Chief Collig phoned,” Frank said. “You'll never believe it, but he has a case for us.”

“You're sure he didn't mean Dad?” Joe asked. Fenton Hardy was a widely known private investigator. His sons had learned from him about sleuthing, and acquired a great deal of skill.

“Positive. He said he wanted the detective's sons this time—and right away.”

“Wow!” Joe exclaimed happily. “What a break! Summer vacation and a mystery to solve!” He swung into the saddle and kicked down hard on the starter. A roar filled the garage and he grinned in satisfaction.

Dark-haired, eighteen-year-old Frank had jumped onto an identical motorcycle, standing beside that of his blond brother, who was a year younger. The two machines roared out into the hot morning sunlight. Ten minutes later the boys arrived at police headquarters in downtown Bayport.

They were greeted by the desk sergeant. “Hello Frank—Joe!” He waved them toward the chief's office. “He's waiting for you.”

“Come in, boys,” boomed Chief Collig through the open door. He was a vigorous, middle-aged man with iron-gray hair. “I'll get right to the point. There's something funny going on in the squatter colony at the end of the bay.”

“You mean Shantytown?” Joe asked, referring to a settlement of shacks on the ocean shore north of Bayport. The odd community was composed mostly of men who had seasonal or temporary jobs—and some who did not work at all.

Chief Collig nodded. “The men there seem to be in an ugly mood—violence and fighting at night. The charitable landowner who permits them to stay there wants us to investigate, but it'll have to be an undercover job because those drifters recognize the police.”

“And that's where we come in?” Frank guessed.

“Yes. I want you to put on old clothes, muss your hair, and hang around Shantytown for a while. See if you can discover what's been stirring up the group. Will you do it?”

“Will we!” Joe exclaimed without hesitation. He turned to Frank and added, “Chet and Biff aren't due at the boathouse for an hour. Let's take a look at Shantytown.”

“Thanks, boys. Be careful,” Chief Collig said as they hurried from the office. Outside, Frank and Joe mounted their motorcycles and rode through the downtown traffic to the Bayport waterfront.

Leaving the big commercial piers behind, they took the Shore Road, past a section of private docks to where the brothers kept their trim speedboat, the
Sleuth.
Driving on, the Hardys followed the road along the curve of the left bank of the bay to the mouth of the harbor. Here they turned north and continued parallel with the ocean.

Soon they saw a jumble of board shanties on the wide beach ahead. Some were nothing more than open lean-tos, but others had glass windows and stovepipes. Pieces of ragged clothing fluttered from ropes in the breeze. Smoke curled up lazily from a small fire around which three men lay, watching the steam from a black pot which hung on a tripod above the flames.

The boys parked a distance away and observed them intently. “Looks peaceful,” Joe commented.

“A lot of them must be away at work,” Frank remarked. “Remember, the trouble comes at night, when they're all here together.”

After studying the quiet scene for a few more minutes, Frank said, “We'll come back later.”

The brothers turned their motorcycles around and headed toward the outskirts of Bayport, where the many private docks lay. Brightly painted cabin craft and sailboats with slender masts rode at mooring floats.

Seeing a yellow jalopy parked in front of the Hardy boathouse, Joe remarked, “Chet's here.”

Frank and Joe parked their motorcycles beside his car, named the Queen. A broad-shouldered, good-looking boy stepped through the small side door of the boathouse. He held a key, one of the duplicates the Hardys had given to their close friends.

“Hi, Biff!” Frank greeted him. “Where's Chet?”

Biff Hooper answered in an unnaturally loud voice and winked at them. “Why—uh—he'll see you soon.”

“What's up?” Joe whispered.

Biff merely shrugged and kept on grinning. The Hardys knew some joke was in the making!

Frank asked in a low tone, “Have you opened the bay door yet?”

Biff nodded. “And unmoored the
Sleuth.”

Frank raised his voice and continued talking with Biff, at the same time motioning to his brother to tiptoe to the boat door.

Joe chuckled, took a bamboo pole from against the boathouse, and picked his way across the cat-walk to the front. He peered in, then upward.

Jammed between the rafters and the ceiling was plump Chet Morton! He was looking the other way, toward the small door.

Silently Joe unmoored the
Sleuth,
and using the pole, pulled the craft halfway out of the boathouse, leaving a clear surface of water beneath Chet. Then Joe playfully jabbed at his friend with the bamboo pole.

“Yow!” Chet bellowed. There followed a great splash, and a geyser of water drenched the inside of the boathouse, as the chubby boy went under. A second later he popped to the surface, just as Frank and Biff ran in.

“Why, Chet, what are you doing in the water?” Frank asked, pretending astonishment.

“As if you didn't know! Where's Joe?”

“Right here, Chet,” he said.

“All right, you turned the tables,” Chet sputtered good-naturedly as they hauled him out of the water. “I was going to scare you. Biff, did you give me away?”

“Of course not.” Biff laughed. “If I'd known it was a swimming party, I'd have worn my trunks!”

Chet grinned and began peeling off his wet shirt. “Good thing I wore
my
trunks under my clothes,” he said.

In a few minutes his wet garments were drying in the stern of the
Sleuth
while the powerful craft, with Joe at the wheel, cut smoothly through the waters of Barmet Bay. The boys munched on sandwiches, which Chet had brought along.

“Say, how about a camping trip, fellows?” Biff suggested. “We could go to some of the islands along the coast.”

“This boat would hold plenty of provisions,” Chet chimed in.

“We can explore Hermit Island,” Biff went on. “I heard that the old man who owns it lives there all alone.”

“Afraid we can‘t, fellows,” Frank answered. “We have a new case.” Quickly he told them about it.

Biff whistled appreciatively but Chet groaned. “Ever since you solved
The Tower Treasure
mystery, our lives haven't been the same.”