“Look out!” Joe yelled. “It's a bulldozer!”
CHAPTER VIII
An Unheeded Horoscope
FRANK pulled Chet from his cot, an instant before it was cut in half by the bulldozer's blade. All three dived out a window to safety.
The bulldozer's operator stared bug-eyed as his machine crunched to a halt.
“I'm sorry, boys. I had no idea anyone was inside.” The operator said his job was to flatten the shack for a housing development.
“Who told you the cabin was empty?” Frank asked.
“The Fidelo Corporation. Did anyone know you were in here?”
“Al Hinkley from the Starfish Marina. He said we could use the place.”
“Where can we find Mr. Fidelo?” Joe inquired.
“There's no Mr. Fidelo. That's just the name of the company.”
“Who's the boss?”
“Big Malarky. He has an office in Providence.”
The man waited until the boys retrieved their meager baggage before backing his machine for another thrust at the cottage.
Frank, Joe, and Chet hastened to the marina, where they talked to Al Hinkley. He shook his head in disbelief at their narrow escape.
“I heard yesterday that the building was due to be demolished,” he admitted. “But no one told me they'd start so soon.”
Convinced that there was nothing more to be learned from Hinkley, the boys left their suitcases at the marina and boarded the
Sleuth
for a reconnaissance expedition around the basin of the docks.
“The sooner we find the cruiser, the sooner our stargazer gets his job back,” Frank said.
They had been searching along the coast for over an hour when Chet stood up and pointed toward the shore. “There's the boat!” he yelled.
The stolen craft was rocking in a swell, heading dangerously toward a rocky promontory.
“Full speed, Joe!” Frank ordered.
His brother headed the
Sleuth
toward the cruiser.
“Nobody's aboard! She's abandoned!” Chet cried as Joe pulled alongside. A quick inspection showed no damage had been done.
“What a load off my mind! Must have been taken by some joy-riders who left it here after they'd had their fun!”
The cruiser was out of gas, so the boys towed it to the marina. Al Hinkley was as good as his word. Happy to have the missing boat back safe and sound he rehired Chet as his assistant.
As the Hardys helped Chet fuel the boat Frank spotted an outboard motorboat chugging back and forth in front of the marina.
“Recognize the fellow in it?” he asked Joe.
“Sure do. The artist who won't let anyone see his work. Wonder what he's doing out there. Want to go see?”
“Not yet. Chet can keep an eye on him. First we'd better visit Big Malarky. I'm still not convinced that the demolition business this morning was really an accident.”
Joe nodded. “We'll see you later, Chet.”
Frank and Joe found the office of the Fidelo Corporation. It was in the only high-rise building in Providence. A secretary ushered them into a room with oak paneling, a thick carpet on the floor, and a large kidney-shaped desk.
A big man sat behind it. He was at least six-three and two hundred fifty pounds, Frank thought.
Malarky got up. “What can I do for you?”
Frank told the story of their narrow escape.
“I'm awfully sorry,” Malarky said. “Yes, I ordered the demolition. But I had no idea that the cabin was occupied.”
Frank changed the subject. “You're in real estate, Mr. Malarky?”
“Right. We're developing a large area on the cape.”
“Do you know Spencer Given?” Joe asked.
“Sure, sure. He's my only competition. One of us will do real well. Look here,” he added abruptly, “I'd like to offer you my hospitality. I own a couple of cottages. One's empty, and no one'll knock it down, either!”
“Thanks, Mr. Malarky,” Frank said. “We'd be happy to accept.”
The builder handed him the key. “The cottage is close to the Starfish Marina, not far from the site of the wrecked cabin. Stay as long as you want.”
As they emerged from the lobby a familiar face passed by in the crowd.
“Our mysterious friend the artist!” Joe hissed. “Let's trail him!”
The man led them down the main street to Rance Nepo's photography shop. He entered and spoke to the owner. The boys paused before the window but close enough to the open door to hear the conversation.
“I'd like to rent a camera for aerial photos,” the artist said. “And I'll need some film.”
Nepo replied, “I have an old Speed Graphic somewhere. Let me look in the storage room. I'll be right back.”
Gesturing for Joe to follow, Frank walked into the shop. Close up the artist looked like a friendly individualâsandy hair, light-blue eyes, and a pleasant smile. He responded readily when Frank began to talk about photography.
Frank introduced himself and Joe. The stranger stuck out his hand. “Henry Chassen's the name. Profession: photography. Hobby: painting. Prospects: good, if I succeed on my present assignment, taking aerial pictures of Cape Cutlass, the kind that can be reproduced on post cards.”
Frank and Joe exchanged glances. Was the stranger really as harmless as he sounded?
Frank was not convinced. He wanted to find out more about Chassen. An idea came to him. “Tell you what,” he said to Chassen. “We're renting a plane for a spin this afternoon. Would you like to come along and take some pictures? We're licensed pilots.”
Chassen jumped at the opportunity. “That'll be a big help. Save me a pilot's fee!”
“Okay. We'll meet at two oâclock at the Providence airport.”
Just then Nepo walked in with a camera in his hand. He looked at the Hardys and grinned. “Did you find your girl friends?”
“Of course,” Joe said breezily. “No sweat. So long, Chassen.”
Frank and Joe had lunch before returning to the marina, where Chet was finishing a large pizza. They told him of their plan.
“Jumping Gemini, you can't do that!” Chet protested through a mouthful. “This is not the day for you to have anything to do with air travel!”
“Why not?” Joe demanded. “Is the sky about to fall?”
“Saturn has just moved out of Aries andâ”
“Oh cut it out!” Frank sounded irritated. “The solar system can't be all that concerned about our doings here at Cape Cutlass. Saturn is millions of miles away. I doubt that it's going to interfere with one little airplane.”
Chet shook his head sadly. “Mark my words, Saturn has set the stage for you today. There's no escape. Your trip will be ill-fated.”
“We'll chance it,” Joe said.
Leaving Chet to grumble about his disbelieving friends, the Hardys deposited their baggage at Malarky's borrowed cottage, then joined Chassen at the Providence airport, a short strip that handled nothing bigger than two-engine planes. They rented a four-seater model and took off with Frank at the controls.
As the plane zoomed over Cape Cutlass, Chassen snapped a series of photos.
“Good flying,” Chassen complimented Frank. “I'm getting just the scenes I need.”
After a while Joe remarked casually, “We saw you painting near the Starfish Marina. Something in oils?”
Chassen smiled. “Nothing but an outline for a picture to be filled in later. It's hard to work on the docks. People continually come up to see the picture. And I can't stand that.”
“I see,” Frank said. To himself he thought, “Seems we were on the wrong track to suspect this guy. He's on the level!”
“Could we fly along the coast?” Chassen asked. “I still need shots of the coves and inlets.”
Frank complied. The plane passed over the indented coastlineâflying and photography both going smoothlyâuntil the engine began to sputter.
“Out of fuel!” Joe exploded, with a glance at the instrument panel.
Frank looked grim. He picked out a level stretch of shoreline and nosed down gradually. The wheels touched with a thump in the grip of wet sand, causing the aircraft to bounce wildly until it swerved around and came to a halt.
The three occupants were shaken but unharmed. They climbed out of the cockpit onto the sand and surveyed their situation. Frank noticed a stain on both sides of the fuselage where the fuel had been leaking out of the wing tanks. “Somebody sabotaged our plane!” he declared.
“Lucky for us this terrain was firm enough to land on,” Chassen observed.
“Unlucky for us that we're so far from the nearest town,” Joe replied.
Chassen shaded his eyes in the direction of the sea. “Say, isn't that a speedboat out there?” he asked.
“Sure thing!” Joe exclaimed. “They must have seen us land.”
“They're coming to help,” Frank said.
The boat beached itself and three men jumped out. They strode up the beach, smiling. They wore skivvies and dungarees, like fishermen out on a holiday.
“Perfect timing, gentlemen,” Chassen saluted them. “We've had an accident. Could you help us get back to Providence?”
One of their rescuers made a quick move and the Hardys gasped.
They were staring into the muzzle of a revolver!
CHAPTER IX
A Buddy Lost
“OKAY, reach!” snarled the man with the gun. The smiles had vanished. “And no tricks!” His confederates frisked Frank, Joe, and Chassen.
“All clean, no rods on them,” one reported.
“What's going on?” Frank demanded. “Is this a holdup?”
“They think they're on TV,” Joe said.
“Real pop-offs, ain't you?” rasped the gunman. “How'd you like a taste of this?” He moved as if to pistol-whip Joe.
“Don't lose your cool, Spike!” the tallest man warned him. “We got nothing to gain from messing them up until later.”
Frank, Joe, and Chassen were tied up, blindfolded, and carried aboard the speedboat, then it purred away from the shore.
Side by side on the floor of the cabin the trio discussed their predicament in low whispers.
“What are they going to do with us?” the photographer murmured.
Frank moved his wrists to get relief from the chafing caused by the rope. “Who are they? That's the question.”
Joe shifted a cramped shoulder and managed a grin. “Our predicament lies squarely with Saturn!”
“How's that again?” Chassen asked.
“A friend of ours dabbles in the signs of the Zodiac,” Frank said. “He warned us not to fly today.”
“What are we going to do?” Chassen whimpered.
“Play it by ear, that's all we
can
do right now,” Frank said.
After what seemed like a very long ride, two of the men removed the ropes and blindfolds and herded the captives on deck. It was growing dark. The speedboat pulled alongside a weather-beaten dock on the rocky coast.
“Out!” the leader commanded and pushed the boys toward a shabby boathouse.
Frank tried to get his bearings. High above the boathouse on the side that faced the road, he saw what seemed to be the glow of a red neon sign. The next instant he was shoved inside. The building was filled with dust and cobwebs. Joe started to sneeze.
“Okay, into the cabinet,” ordered the leader, and the boys were quickly marched toward a large closet.
The door swung shut with a clang. The lock grated into place. They were left in darkness. Moments later they heard the speedboat roar off.
“Not much air in here,” Joe stated grimly as he felt his way around.
“We'd better get out quickly,” Frank warned. “We'll suffocate if we donât!”
Henry Chassen was terrified. “You have any ideas?” he asked, his voice shaking.
“Not yet,” Joe replied. “Let's find out what's in here besides us.” He crouched down and began a minute examination of their prison with his hands. Frank followed his example.
“There's something under my heel,” Chassen said. “Wait a minuteâOh, a book of matches!”
“Great,” Frank said. “Light one, Henry!”
Chassen struck a match and held it up so that it threw a flickering light over the interior. Peering around, Frank and Joe spotted a pair of dirt-stained license plates nailed to the door.
“Real antiques,” Joe remarked.
Frank read the year of issue on the plates. “Twenty years old.”
True to their training in detection, the boys memorized the numbers on the plates.
“Ouch!” Chassen dropped the burnt match-stick as the flame licked his fingertips. Frank lit another one.
Chassen fumbled around the shelves lining the sides of the closet. “This might be useful,” he suggested. “A blowtorch!”
“Nice going!” Joe said. “Here, let me see if I can cut through this door!”
He lit the torch, knelt down, and applied the blue flame to the area around the lock. Smoke rose from the heated metal.
Joe wiped the perspiration from his eyes and kept working. He was finding it difficult to breathe.
Frank's voice sounded far away. “Joe, I'm feeling faint! We're using up all of our oxygen! We may never get out alive! Weâllâ”
The two collapsed onto the floor of the cabinet âunconscious!
Laterâhow much time had elapsed they did not knowâthey regained their senses. Cold water was being splashed on their faces. A voice rang through the buzzing sound in their ears. “Fellows, are you all right? You had a close call!”
They opened their eyes to see Chassen bending over them. The door of the cabinet was open. They could breathe again!