The Secret Warning (11 page)

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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: The Secret Warning
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“That sky's getting darker,” Joe commented.
“Wind's whipping up, too,” said Frank. “We'd better not stay out too long. We might have a rough time getting back.”
Soon the
Petrel
came sharply into view and the companions saw that a boom for a diving stage had been rigged out. Frank brought their motorboat alongside and Joe made fast a line.
“Ahoy there! Coming aboard!” Chet called up. When a head popped over the side, they climbed a series of steel rungs onto the deck.
Captain Rankin greeted them cordially and shook hands with Frank and Chet as Joe made the introductions.
“Have you located the
Katawa
yet, sir?” Joe asked.
“Not yet. Rollie's down on the bottom right now. Follow me.”
He led the boys around to the portside where the diving crew was standing by, under the command of Matt Shane. Here the young sleuths met Perry's tender, a husky Negro named Sid Carter, who was manning the undersea telephone. The return phone lead was plugged into a loudspeaker.
Carter smiled at the boys and jabbed a finger toward the bottom. “Rollie's been down long enough to have found Davy Jones himself.”
“It's slow going,” Matt commented, his eyes glued to the bubbles erupting on the sloping green waves.
Suddenly Perry's voice came through: “Think I see her! ... Wait—yes! It's the
Katawa,
all right!”
“Nice going!” said Joe.
Matt hastily donned a headset. “How is she positioned, Rollie?”
There was a moment's hesitation. “Way over on her portside—almost bottom up. Looks like quite a mess. The
Carona
really sliced her!”
Silence again as the diver made his way closer to the wreck. Suddenly there was a startled exclamation, and Perry's voice crackled over the speaker:
“Matt! Someone got here before us.”
“What do you mean?”
“There's a hole cut in her side!”
CHAPTER XV
Trouble Ashore
 
 
 
 
 
S
o the
Katawa
had been raided by an unauthorized diver! Frank's and Joe's eyes widened. Did this explain how the golden Pharaoh's head had come into the possession of the thieves who sent the ransom note to Zufar?
“Where was the hole cut, Rollie?” the salvage master called down.
“Can't see too clearly, Matt, till I get closer—but it looks from here like the engine room.”
The Hardys and Chet clung tightly to the rail as a gust of wind swept the ship. The sea was getting rougher by the moment. They saw the radioman emerge from his shack and hurry across the deck to speak to Captain Rankin. The captain listened and glanced at the threatening sky, then came over and spoke to Matt Shane.
“That hurricane's veering our way, Matt. We'll just get the fringes, I think, but it may be pretty hard to hold our station. Can you secure from diving for now?”
“Sure, Cap'n. We've found the wreck—that's the main thing. Rollie can start fresh in the morning and get the lay o' things inside.”
Orders were called down for the diver to come aboard the stage, or platform. After the
Petrel
dropped a marker buoy, the slow process of raising Perry to the surface began.
Being experienced scuba divers, the Hardys knew that this was done gradually to prevent a diver from suffering an attack of the bends, caused by nitrogen bubbles forming in the blood when a diver is decompressed too quickly.
By the time Perry stepped aboard from the diving stage, the sky was almost as dark as night and the ship rolled and pitched violently.
The
Sleuth,
meanwhile, had been hoisted aboard. At Captain Rankin's invitation, the boys had decided to return to the island on the salvage ship.
Perry sat on the diver's stool while his tender unsuited him. Joe introduced Frank and Chet to Perry as soon as his helmet was removed.
“From the looks of this weather, I should have stayed at the bottom,” Perry remarked.
Bucking heavy seas, the Petrel plowed back to Whalebone Island. Soon after it had dropped anchor in the cove, the
Simon Salvor
also put in for shelter. Gale-force winds were now bending the trees on shore, and within minutes solid sheets of rain came lashing down on the two ships.
Frank and Joe enjoyed a hearty dinner in the crew's mess. But, for once, Chet seemed to lack appetite. He said nothing, but his pals guessed the heaving motions of the ship were responsible.
“Say, I wonder if Captain Early might be home by now,” Joe mused.
“Maybe,” Frank said. “Why?”
“We might be able to contact him by ship-to-shore telephone. I'd like to find out for sure about those pearls.”
“So would I—if we can get along the deck without being blown overboard.”
“Wind's died down quite a bit,” Sid Carter spoke up. “Go ahead—you can make it to the radio shack without any trouble.”
Chet, welcoming the chance for fresh air, accompanied the Hardys as they scooted forward, hugging the deckhousing for shelter. The rain, too, had abated, and the boys reached the radio compartment without much difficulty.
The radioman, Harry Egner, readily agreed to put through their call. In a few moments Captain Early was on the line.
Frank related their theory that the pearls might have been the object of the burglary attempts and told how they had found the cane to be empty.
“Don't worry. I haven't carried any pearls in the cane since I retired from the Service,” Captain Early replied. “You fellows deserve credit for a smart guess, though.”
The captain explained that the pearls which he had collected had been made into a necklace for his late wife, and now were owned by one of her relatives.
Frank, somewhat letdown, observed, “Even so, the burglar must have thought the cane still held a fortune in pearls, just as we did.”
“Hmm. I suppose that's possible,” Captain Early agreed, “if he'd heard about me from some acquaintance in the Navy.”
“One thing has us stymied,” Frank went on. “How did he know the cane was still at our house? If he trailed you there Monday night and saw you leave the next day, I should think he would've been fooled by seeing you carry Dad's walking stick.”
“Hold on! Maybe he was!” Captain Early said excitedly. “You remember my telling you about that motorist who picked me up?”
“Yes.”
“The fellow seemed interested in my cane—even asked to take a look at it after I got into his car. It was then I first noticed I'd taken the wrong one, and I mentioned the mix-up.”
“Wow! That could mean he drained the gas tank Monday night!” Frank exclaimed. “He may have counted on picking you up when you ran out of gas, swiping your cane, and pushing you out of the car!”
Joe, who was listening in on the conversation, broke in, “So he knew where to look for the cane—at our house.”
“Well, boys, your theory seems to explain all the angles of the case,” Captain Early said. “At any rate, the burglar hasn't come back. And I hope he doesn't.”
Frank ended the call after getting a description of the motorist and his car.
The rain ceased and the skies began to clear soon after the boys emerged from the radio shack. Roland Perry met them out on deck.
“Looks as though we're in luck,” he remarked. “Captain says the hurricane's moving out to sea again.”
“Hmm! That air sure smells good,” said Chet, who was rapidly regaining his usual healthy appetite. “Think I'll go see if the cook has any leftovers.”
“Watch it. He may put you to work washing dishes,” Joe joked.
“Who cares? It'll be worth it!” Chet said breezily, and trotted off toward the galley.
Stars were now twinkling brightly and the cove lay silvered with moonlight. Voices carried across the water from the
Salvor
anchored nearby.
Perry eyed the other boat suspiciously. “I'd sure give a lot to know what those bilge rats are after.”
The Hardys, recalling Bock's threat to their father, expressed the same interest. Frank then told the diver about the cave on the island. “It looks as if somebody lived in it.”
“And it may be the answer to a ghost mystery,” Joe stated. “You want to have a look at it?”
Perry, intrigued, quickly agreed to accompany the Hardys ashore. The
Sleuth
was lowered over the side and a few spurts of her motor brought them quickly to the beach.
When they reached the cave, Frank led the way inside. He shone his flashlight beam over the campsite traces on the floor, then upward to the tally marks scratched on the wall.
“Poor guy. Must have had a pretty rugged diet,” said Perry, toeing the scattered bird bones. “I'd say he was probably a shipwrecked sailor or a stranded fisherman.”
“In that case, why live in a cave when there's a perfectly good lighthouse handy?” Joe countered.
“Hmm, you have a point there.” The diver rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “What's this ghost mystery you mentioned?”
“A lighthouse keeper here years ago claimed he saw—” Suddenly Joe broke off and pointed to the mouth of the cave.
A glow of light was visible outside!
Perry strode through the cave entrance, Joe and Frank pressing close behind. A dazzling glare struck their eyes. The boys countered with their own flashlights, revealing two figures in the darkness. One was a lanky, baldheaded man with tufted, sandy eyebrows.
The other was Gus Bock!
“Well, well! I might've known,” Perry said coldly. “Sneaky as ever—eh, Bock?”
The burly diver's face took on an ugly scowl. He shot a glance at Frank and Joe and grunted. The boys saw his hamlike fists clenched.
“Stow it, Perry!”
“Maybe you'd like to tell us what you're doing here,” Perry retorted. “Besides eavesdropping, that is.”
Bock advanced, his jaw jutting furiously. “Maybe you'd like a mouthful of knuckles!”
“Nein,
Bock!
Lass das!”
With a guttural growl, the baldheaded man tried to hold back his companion. “We do not want trouble!”
“He's asking for it!” Bock shook off the man's restraining hand.
“Looks as if we don't have to ask,” Perry said evenly. “Someone slipped our anchor for us last night.”
Bock let out a hoot of raucous laughter, but it broke off abruptly, as Perry added, “At least that's a change from cutting air hoses.”
With a snarl, Bock hurled a punch at his former shipmate. Perry ducked fast enough so the blow only grazed his jaw. Then his own fist smashed out at Bock and the burly diver went sprawling on the ground.
Bock's face was contorted with rage as he picked himself up. “Okay, Perry! This time you really get the works!”
“Hold it!”
Everyone turned at the barked-out order. Captain Rankin had materialized out of the darkness, accompanied by his brawny bos'n.
“That'll be enough!” Rankin's tone of command had the desired effect. Bock froze sullenly. “On your way, you two.”
“We'll go—for now,” Bock snarled. “But I ain't finished with you, Perry.” He glared at Frank and Joe. “And you better watch it, too.”
He turned and slunk off with his companion.
Perry watched until they were out of earshot, then said to Captain Rankin, “What's the idea, skipper? You on shore patrol?”
“You might call it that, Rollie. I saw Bock and his friend go ashore after you three did and figured there might be trouble. Seems I was right.”
Perry retorted dryly, “Bock and I are in for a showdown sooner or later.”
Frank told the men of the hostile diver's visit to their home. Rankin looked concerned and suggested, “Maybe you boys had better bunk on board tonight—just to be on the safe side.”
The Hardys accepted, eager to learn what Perry would find on his next descent to the
Katawa.
The next morning they tried to persuade the diver and Matt Shane to let them accompany Perry down and help search the hulk.
Shane shook his head. “Not a chance, lads. The engine room's one of the most dangerous places for a diver to go on a wreck. It's a regular tangle of pipes and machinery, and the spilled oil makes it twice as hazardous.”
“At least let us watch,” Frank pleaded. “We've had plenty of experience scuba diving, and we'll promise not to go aboard.”
Shane and Perry finally gave consent. The Hardys made a quick trip ashore with Chet to retrieve their scuba gear from the lighthouse. Then, in the
Sleuth,
they sped out to the marker buoy, where the salvage ship had already taken up its position.
Chet stood by, fascinated, while Frank and Joe donned rubber suits, flippers, masks, and breathing apparatus. Roland Perry was already encased in his diving dress on the stool, a red wool cap on his head.
“You're going in through the engine room?” Joe asked.
“I'll have to. The top hamper's all smashed and half buried in silt, the way she's lying. Remember now, you fellows take care.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Frank grinned and saluted.
Perry's helmet was screwed on, the glass faceplate attached, and the air supply checked. Then he clumped onto the diving stage in his lead-weighted boots and was lowered into the water.
Meanwhile, Frank and Joe had pulled down their masks, inserted their mouthpieces, and tested their regulators. Both leaped over the side.
The Hardys cleaved their way steeply downward into the cold depths, trying to keep Perry in sight. The water darkened to a murky gray-green as they descended. At last the shattered hulk of the
Katawa
came in sight.

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