While the Clock Ticked (7 page)

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:

CHAPTER X

F
RANK
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 down. 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.

“Nothing here,” he announced.

Suddenly Frank remembered something. “Mr. Dalrymple,” he said, “do you have a set of keys for us?”

The banker looked dismayed. “Oh, tosh!” he exclaimed. “I’ve so much on my mind. I forgot all about it. I’ll have them made first thing tomorrow.”

A short time later the boys’ yellow convertible rolled up the Hardy driveway and into the garage. From directly overhead came the sound of loud laughter, people talking, and a series of heavy bumps on the floor.

“What’s going on!” Joe exclaimed. The brothers rushed upstairs.

The door of the Hardys’ laboratory opened on the spectacle of Jerry Gilroy rolling about on the floor. Chet Morton seemed about to step on Jerry with his whole weight. Tony Prito and Biff Hooper were howling with delight, and Phil Cohen was photographing the scene with one of Joe’s cameras.

“Strong stomach muscles, you say?” Chet
roared. “Hold still, and I’ll test ‘em for you.”

“No! No!” pleaded Jerry. “Not that. They’re
weak.
I give in!”

Phil Cohen was the first to notice the newcomers.

“Gentlemen!” he cried out. “There will be a moment of silence while we all observe the arrival of the Hardy boys! Look at them closely, gentlemen! Feast your eyes! Do not neglect this opportunity. For the Hardys come, and the Hardys go, but what they’re up to, does anybody know?”