HARDY BOYS #002 - THE HOUSE ON THE CLIFF
FRANKLIN W DIXON
CHAPTER I
Spying by Telescope
'So YOU boys want to help me on another case?' Fenton Hardy, internationally known detective, smiled
at his teen-age sons.
'Dad, you said you're working on a very mysterious case right now,' Frank spoke up. 'Isn't there some
angle of it that Joe and I could tackle?'
Mr. Hardy looked out the window of his second-floor study as if searching for the answer somewhere in
the town of Bayport, where the Hardys lived. Finally he turned back and gazed steadfastly at his sons.
'All right. How would you like to look for some smugglers?'
Joe Hardy's eyes opened wide. 'You mean it, Dad?'
'Now just a minute.' The detective held up his hand. 'I didn't say capture them; I just said look for
them.'
'Even that's a big assignment. Thanks for giving it to us!' Frank replied.
The lean, athletic detective walked to a corner of the study where a long, narrow carrying case stood.
Tapping it, he said:
'You boys have learned how to manipulate this telescope pretty well. How would you like to take it out
onto that high promontory above the ocean and train it seaward? The place I mean is two miles north of
the end of the bay and eight miles from here.'
'That would be great!' said seventeen-year-old, blond-haired Joe, his blue eyes flashing in anticipation.
Frank, who was a year older than his brother and less impetuous, asked in a serious tone of voice, 'Dad,
have you any ideas about the identity of any of the smugglers?'
'Yes, I do,' Mr. Hardy answered his tall, dark-haired son. 'I strongly suspect that a man named Felix
Snattman is operating in this territory. I'll give you the whole story.'
The detective went on to say that he had been engaged by an international pharmaceutical company to
trace stolen shipments of valuable drugs. Reports of thefts had come from various parts of the United
States. Local police had worked on the case, but so far had failed to apprehend any suspects.
'Headquarters of the firm is in India,' the detective told the boys. 'It was through them that I was finally
called in. I'm sure that the thefts are the result of smuggling, very cleverly done. That's the reason I
suspect Snattman. He's a noted criminal and has been mixed up in smuggling rackets before. He served a
long term in prison, and after being released, dropped out of sight.'
'And you think he's working around Bayport?' Joe asked. He whistled. 'That doesn't make this town a
very healthy place to live in!'
'But we're going to make it so!' Mr. Hardy declared, a ring of severity in his voice.
'Just where is this spot we're to use the telescope?' Frank asked eagerly.
'It's on the Pollitt place. You'll see the name at the entrance. An old man named Felix Pollitt lived there
alone for many years. He was found dead in the house about a month ago, and the place has been vacant
ever since.'
'It sounds as if we could get a terrific range up and down the shore from there and many miles across the
water,' Frank remarked.
Mr. Hardy glanced at his wrist watch. 'It's one-thirty now. You ought to be able to go out there, stay a
fair amount of time, and still get home to supper.'
'Oh, easily,' Joe answered. 'Our motorcycles can really burn up the road!'
His father smiled, but cautioned, 'This telescope happens to be very valuable. The less jouncing it
receives the better.'
'I get the point,' Joe conceded, then asked, 'Dad, do you want us to keep the information about the
smugglers to ourselves, or would it be all right to take a couple of the fellows along?'
'Of course I don't want the news broadcast,' Mr. Hardy said, 'but I know I can trust your special
friends. Call them up.'
'How about Chet and Biff?' Joe consulted Frank. As his brother nodded, he said, 'You pack the
telescope on your motorcycle. I'll phone.'
Chet Morton was a stout, good-natured boy who loved to eat. Next to that, he enjoyed being with the
Hardys and sharing their exciting adventures, although at times, when situations became dangerous, he
wished he were somewhere else. Chet also loved to tinker with machinery and spent long hours on his
jalopy which he called Queen. He was trying to 'soup up' the motor, so that he could have a real 'hot
rod.'
In contrast to Chet, Biff Hooper was tall and lanky. To the amusement-and wonder-of the other boys, he
used his legs almost as a spider does, covering tremendous distances on level ground or vaulting fences.
A few minutes later Joe joined his brother in the garage and told him that both Chet and Biff would go
along. Chet, he said, had apologized for not being able to offer the Queen for the trip but her engine was
'all over the garage.' 'As usual,' Frank said with a grin as the two boys climbed on their motorcycles and
set out.
Presently the Hardys stopped at Biff Hooper's home. He ran out the door to meet them and climbed
aboard behind Joe. Chet lived on a farm at the outskirts of Bayport, about a fifteen-minute run from the
Hooper home. The stout boy had strolled down the lane to the road and was waiting for his friends. He
hoisted himself onto Frank's motorcycle.
'I've never seen a powerful telescope in operation,' he remarked. 'How far away can you see with this
thing?'
'It all depends on weather conditions,' Frank replied. 'On a clear day you can make out human figures at
distances of twenty-four miles.'
'Wow!' Chet exclaimed. 'We ought to be able to find those smugglers easily.'
'I wouldn't say so,' Biff spoke up. 'Smugglers have the same kind of boats as everybody else. How dose
do you have to be to identify a person?'
'Oh, about two and a half miles,' Joe answered.
The motorcycles chugged along the shore road, with Frank watching his speedometer carefully. 'We
ought to be coming to the Pollitt place soon,' he said finally. 'Keep your eyes open, fellows.'
The boys rode on in silence, but suddenly they all exclaimed together, 'There it is!'
At the entrance to a driveway thickly lined with trees and bushes was a stone pillar, into which the name
'Pollitt' had been chiseled. Frank and Joe turned into the driveway. The only part of the house they could
see was the top of the roof. Finally, beyond a lawn overgrown with weeds, they came upon the tall,
rambling building. It stood like a beacon high above the water. Pounding surf could be heard far below.
'This place sure looks neglected,' Biff remarked.
Dank, tall grass grew beneath the towering trees. Weeds and bushes threatened to engulf the whole
building.
'Creepy, if you ask me,' Chet spoke up. 'I don't know why anybody would want to live here.'
The house itself was in need of repair. Built of wood, it had several sagging shutters and the paint was
flaking badly.
'Poor old Mr. Pollitt was probably too sick to take care of things,' Frank commented, as he looked at
