“I threw it out. Thought the kids around here were playing a joke on me. Now it looks as if I could have been wrong.”
Frank telephoned the desk and reported the assault. The clerk said he had not seen anyone suspicious and promised to notify the police at once.
When Bowden's condition improved, the Hardys tried to ferret out more information from their mysterious client. “Where did you say you live in Tampa?” Joe inquired.
“I didn't say. Why do you ask?”
Joe explained that he thought Bowden's family should be notified in case of serious trouble.
“Forget it,” Bowden replied with a wave of the hand. “I haven't any family.”
The man's reluctance to tell where he lived seemed to confirm Mr. Hardy's suspicion that Bowden might be mixed up with a group of swindlers.
“About the demiculverin,” Frank went on. “I read that it's a fieldpiece and not used on ships.”
Bowden was startled for a moment but regained his composure by pulling out a cigar. Lighting it, he said, “I admire your thoroughness. But I didn't want the cannon for a ship, only for a pageantâas part of the shore batteries.”
“Oh,” Frank said nonchalantly, “then the demiculverin isn't too important.”
“What?”
“If it's just for a dummy shore battery, you can rig up a wooden one,” Frank added.
“Butâbut, boys!” Bowden's face grew red with excitement. “I must have the old cannon. Everything has to be authentic.”
He laid a firm hand on Frank's arm. “You've got to help me! I'll double the reward. How about two thousand dollars?”
“It's not the money, Mr. Bowden,” Frank replied. “It's just thatâ”
“All right, I'll cooperate better,' he said pleadingly.
“For example?”
“I can't reveal all my secrets, but I feel certain the cannon will be found along the shore here.”
“We'll do our best,” Frank promised.
When the police arrived, the boys told them all they knew about the attack on Bowden but said nothing about the threat to themselves. Then they left.
“What do you make of it?” Joe asked his brother as they drove away from the motel.
“This mystery is getting more complicated by the minute,” Frank replied. “Bowden has an enemy all right, and he's lying when he says he doesn't know who he is.”
On the way home the boys noticed another convertible following them. In the rear-view mirror Frank saw that the driver was a good-looking young man in his twenties. He was alone.
“Do you think he's trailing us?” Frank asked.
The car had remained fifty feet behind the Hardys' for about half a mile.
“Why don't you find out? Slow down and see if he'll pass,” Joe suggested.
Frank did so. The other driver pulled out and zoomed ahead, staring intently at the Hardys as he passed them.
“Did you recognize him, Frank?”
“Never saw him before.”
When they arrived home Aunt Gertrude told them that the Historical Society had just decided to hold a special meeting that evening. “You can drive me over, then move the cutlasses to the basement,” she said.
After supper Frank and Joe accompanied Miss Hardy to the Historical Society building. When they pulled into the parking lot in the rear of the old stone building, several members were going in the front entrance.
As Miss Hardy alighted she pointed to a basement window which was open. “Such carelessness!” she sputtered. “I must speak to Mr. Lightbody. FrankâJoe, please close it and lock it when you're down there. Humph! The whole place will be full of stray cats!”
Her nephews grinned as they followed their aunt to the front of the building and went inside.
“The cutlasses are at the rear of that corridor,” Aunt Gertrude said, pointing. “Carry them downstairs and don't disturb our meeting!”
Then she walked briskly into the auditorium.
Frank and Joe went down the corridor. At the end of it stood a case with the six cutlasses from the Entwistle estate. Joe lifted out two of the short swords and examined them.
“Boy, the real thing!” he remarked in a low voice. “They're heavy. And look at this edge, Frank.” Taking an old envelope from his pocket he sliced it in half with an effortless motion.
“I'd say these are more dangerous than the cannon,” Frank murmured. “Maybe that's why some of the Society members don't want them on exhibit here.”
“How about a look at the heavy artillery?” Joe said as the boys replaced the cutlasses in the case.
They looked about for the custodian to show them the basement entrance, but could not locate him.
“I guess we can find our way,” Frank said.
He walked over to a door and pulled it gingerly. Instead of leading to the basement, it opened into the auditorium.
Aunt Gertrude was on the dais, gavel in hand. “The meeting will come to order,” she said with authority, and the ensuing bang made it plain that she meant every word.
As the members quieted, Frank saw the custodian seated in the front row. He was a small, thin man with gray hair and a wispy mustache. The boys decided not to bother him.
“Let's try this door,” Joe said, walking across the corridor. He turned the knob. The door yawned open into pitch blackness.
“This is the basement entrance, all right.” He reached inside for the light switch and flicked it on. Nothing happened.
“I guess the bulb's burned out,” Joe said. “I'll get a light from the car, Frank.”
He hurried outside and brought back a flashlight which the boys carried with them at all times. As he beamed it down the steps, Frank lifted the case of cutlasses to his shoulders.
“Lead the way, Joe.”
Joe went slowly down the cellar steps.
“Careful,” he warned. “They're steep.”
The next moment he pitched forward. A blow on the side of his head had knocked him unconscious!
“Joe, what happened?” Frank cried as the flashlight flew forward and rolled under a table.
In the feeble glow Frank missed his footing and lost his balance. The case of swords fell from his shoulder and landed with a jangling crash. Frank banged his head on the case and blacked out.
His outcry and the crash of the case threw the Historical Society meeting into an uproar. Mr. Lightbody jumped to his feet.
At the same time Aunt Gertrude pounded her gavel for order. “Keep calm. I'll find out what's wrong downstairs. Come, Mr. Lightbody. Vice-President, please take the chair!”
Miss Hardy charged to the basement door ahead of the custodian and groped her way down the steps. “Frank! Joe!” she called.
She found the flashlight, which was still beaming. Waving it around, she gasped.
Dashing for the open window was a man in a motorcycle jacket, a mask over his face.
In his arms were five cutlasses, which had been hurled from the case. The sixth lay on the floor, next to the motionless Hardys.
Quickly sizing up the situation, Aunt Gertrude reached down for the sword, at the same time crying, “You scoundrel! What have you done to my nephews?”
With a flailing motion, she slapped the man's back with the broad side of the cutlass. He shoved her back.
“Oh, no, you don't!” she cried out.
Thwack!
She hit him again. Terrified, the burglar dropped the five cutlasses and leaped to the sill. As he started to crawl through the window, Aunt Gertrude whacked him again!
CHAPTER VII
The Battle of Bayport
THE next moment the intruder was gone. Miss Hardy turned her attention to Frank and Joe.
“Where's the electrical panel, Mr. Lightbody?” she asked.
“Under the stairs.” He found it and reported that the basement switch had been pulled, probably by the intruder. The custodian flicked the handle up and the place was flooded with light.
“What happened?” someone called out from the top of the stairs. “Do you need help?”
“Phone the police,” said Miss Hardy as she began to chafe her nephews' wrists and the backs of their necks. They soon regained consciousness.
The only injuries the boys had sustained were bruises on their heads. Joe surmised that he had been hit with a blackjack.
After Aunt Gertrude had given a brief description of the assailant, Frank said tersely, “Sounds like Latsky. Let's check for clues to make sure.”
As they searched, Mr. Lightbody said the basement windows were always locked. The intruder must have forced one open.
When Chief Collig arrived, Aunt Gertrude told him the story of the attempted theft. “Frank and Joe think it was Latsky,” she concluded.
The officer agreed. But a search outside failed to reveal any clues.
The Hardys were still looking in the basement for clues when Chief Collig came downstairs. Suddenly Frank said, “Hey, here's a button from the fellow's jacket!” On the floor near the open window lay a triangular black button imprinted with a motorcycle wheel!
Collig dropped the button into his coat pocket and said, “The motorcycle rider hasn't come back to the cabin yet, but I'm hoping he'll show up soon.”
After the chief had left, Joe turned to his aunt. “We haven't thanked you for saving us from further damage.”
“Oh, well, somebody had to look after you!” she said, going out the door. “Mr. Lightbody, lock and bar the window. Boys, take those cutlasses. Let's see, where will they be safe? There's a closet upstairs. We'll lock them in there for the time being.”
When Mr. Lightbody and the boys climbed upstairs a few minutes later and put away the swords, they found Aunt Gertrude surrounded by members of the Society, praising her for her winning the “Battle of Bayport.”
“It was nothing,” she insisted. “Now we'll resume the meeting.”
All the members followed her into the auditorium except Mr. Lightbody. “I can tell you about a real Battle of Bayport,” he said to Frank and Joe.
He explained that in reading pirate lore, he had learned that in 1756 a buccaneer ship had attacked two armed merchantmen off Bayport. One of the trading vessels had been sunk with all the officers and crew lost. The other merchantman had managed to sail away.
“The pirate ship,” Mr. Lightbody continued, “had had so much of her sail raked by the cannon of the merchantmen that she was unable to give chase. Instead, for some unknown reason, she sent a landing party ashore. Some time later the party returned aboard and the pirate ship limped off.”
“Where did this happen?” Joe asked.
“Off Pirates' Hill,” Mr. Lightbody replied. “The hill is really named after that incident.”
Frank and Joe eyed each other. Maybe this was the basis for Jim Tilton's account of the cannon buried in the sand!
“That's quite a story,” said Frank. “And now we'd like to see the old cannons in the basement.”
Mr. Lightbody led the way down another stairway and unlocked a door to a dusty, vaultlike room. Three old weapons, green with age, were set up in a row on oak mounts.
“All three are British pieces,” the custodian said. “They're a
minion,
a
saker,
and a
pedrero.
And they're all made of cast bronze.”
“What interesting names!” Joe exclaimed.
“The
saker
was named after the saker hawk, one of the fiercer birds used in falconry. The
pedrero
âyou'll notice that it's longer than the othersâIs relatively lighter because it was used to hurl stone projectiles. The
minion
is the smallest.”
“They have beautiful decorations,” Frank observed.
The pieces were covered with flower-and-leaf designs. Atop the
saker,
at its balance point, was a handle in the shape of a dolphin.
“This handle,” Mr. Lightbody explained, “was used for lashing or lifting the piece. And cannon like these often had colorful nicknames set in raised letters on the barrel.”
“This first one is marked
Wasp,”
Joe commented. “The other cannons have no names on them.”
The boys studied them for a while, then Mr. Lightbody locked the door and led the way upstairs. Reaching the hall, Frank whispered to Joe, “That clue to the demiculverin petered out. Let's try Pirates' Hill next.”
“Right. We'll go there tomorrow.”
Just then Aunt Gertrude, followed by the other Society members, came from the meeting room. The boys' aunt was beaming.
“The Society has just voted to present us Hardys with one of the cutlasses,” she told them.
Frank and Joe grinned in delight, “Great!” said Frank, and Joe added, “It'll be a swell souvenir of the Battle of Bayport! Let's take the one you used to scare off the thief!”
He and Mr. Lightbody went to the closet to get it.
The Hardys returned home directly and Joe made a rack for the prized cutlass. Frank hung the weapon on the stairway wall.
“Looks good,” Joe remarked. “I think Dad will like it.”
As the boys prepared for bed, they speculated about the masked thief's reason for wanting the cutlasses. But they could come to no conclusion and finally they fell asleep.
Next morning after breakfast the boys made plans for their trip to Pirates' Hill.
“Bowden seemed pretty sure the demiculverin's somewhere around there,” Frank mused. “Let's try to get a little more information from him before we leave.”
He went to the phone and called the Garden Gate Motel.
“Bad news,” he said, returning to Joe. “Bowden checked out early this morning!”