XX
Tables Turned
The dazzling glare of the big lamp was turned full in the faces of the Hardy boys.
They heard a gasp of astonishment.
“Why, it’s a couple of kids!” exclaimed one of the men.
“Couple of kids!” rasped Gus Montrose, in astonishment. “Do you know who we’ve got here?”
“Who?”
“Them Hardy boys. The pair that followed me yesterday.”
“What?”
“It’s them. The very same spyin’ pair of brats.” A rough hand seized Frank’s shoulder and swung him around. “I’d know them anywhere. Fenton Hardy’s kids.”
The name of Fenton Hardy made a distinct impression on the gang. There were mutterings of anger and fear.
“The detective’s boys, eh?” growled one. “What are you doin’ here, boys?”
“That’s for you to find out,” replied Frank shortly.
“Is that so? Well, you’ve got no business here. You know that, don’t you?”
“Your own business here doesn’t seem any too lawful.”
“Never mind about us. You come spyin’ around here and you’ve got to expect to take the consequences. What’ll we do with ’em, Gus?”
“They’re not goin’ out of here, that’s certain. We’re not goin’ to let them go back home and tell what they’ve seen.”
“Or what they heard. How long were you two boys hidin’ in that tunnel?”
“You can try to find that out, too,” retorted Frank.
“Smart, ain’t you?” snarled Montrose. “You won’t be so smart when we get through with you. Anybody got a rope?”
“Here’s some,” said a man in the background.
“Give it here, then. We’ll tie these brats up and keep ’em until we figure out what to do with ’em.”
“You let us alone,” said Frank.
“You have no right to make us prisoners,” added Joe.
“We’ll take the right.”
“You are mighty high-handed.”
“Rats! You’ll be lucky if you don’t get worse,” growled one of the auto thieves.
“We ought to throw ’em into the bay,” added another.
“Yes, with a few big stones in each pocket to hold ’em down,” came the response from a third.
“Shut up, you all talk too much,” commanded Montrose. “Where is that rope you spoke of?”
He snatched a length of heavy cord from the man who handed it to him. Frank was turned roughly around and his arms thrust behind his back. In a moment his wrists were firmly tied. Joe received the same treatment. The boys were bound and helpless.
“Put ’em over in the corner,” ordered Montrose.
The boys were pushed and jostled across the rocky floor and were made to sit down against the wall at the back of the cave. The big lamp was turned on them all this time and they could see the faces of none of their captors.
“This is a fine mess!” grumbled one of the men. “It ruins the whole game.”
Montrose turned on him.
“We were going to clear out tomorrow anyway, weren’t we?” he said. “We’ll just have to work a little quicker, that’s all. Instead of sending one car out tonight and the rest tomorrow night, we’ll get busy and drive ’em all out right now.”
“What about these kids?”
“Leave ’em here.”
“They’ll starve,” said one man dubiously.
“What of that?” demanded Gus Montrose. “They’d have had us all landed in jail if they could.”
“Well—I don’t hold—”
“They brought it on themselves. Who’ll ever find ’em here, anyway?”
“I’d rather take ’em out to the railway and dump ’em into an empty box car. They might be five hundred miles away before anybody found ’em. That would give us plenty of time to scatter.”
Murmurs of approval from the other men greeted this plan.
“Do as you like,” growled Montrose. “I figger we ought to clear out and leave ’em here.”
Suddenly the big lamp, which one of the gang was holding, dimmed and went out.
“What’s the matter now? Turn on that light, Joe.”
“It’s gone out.”
“D’you think we’re blind? Of course it’s out. Turn it on.”
“The lamp’s gone dead, I think. There’s somethin’ wrong with it. It won’t light again.” They could hear the man tinkering at the lamp. “No use,” he said at last.
The cave was in pitch blackness. One of the men struck a match, and it cast a faint illumination.
“There’s candles around here somewhere, ain’t there?” asked Gus Montrose.
“Whole box of ’em around if I can find them.”
The man with the match moved off into another part of the cave. He fumbled around for a while, then announced with a grunt of satisfaction:
“Here they are.” He lit one of the candles, brought it over and stood it on a box.
“Light some more,” ordered Gus.
The man did as he was told. In a few moments half a dozen candles provided a fair amount of light in the gloom of the cave.
“That’s better.”
Just then there was a shout from the passage leading into the main cave. Gus Montrose wheeled about.
“Who’s that?”
The men crouched tensely.
“I don’t know,” whispered one. “We’re all here but Dan.”
In a moment footsteps could be heard in the passage. Then a voice:
“Hey—come out and help me. My car got stuck!”
“It’s Dan,” said Montrose, in a tone of relief.
A man entered the cave. He stopped short, in surprise.
“For the love of Pete!” he exclaimed. “What’s this? Prayer meetin’?”
“The lamp went out,” explained Gus. “We caught a couple of kids spyin’ on us.”
The newcomer whistled.
“Spies, eh? Where are they?”
“We got ’em tied up. In the corner, there.”
Dan, who was evidently the man who had driven the roadster down from the Shore Road, came over and regarded the Hardy boys.
“This don’t look so good,” he said. “What are we goin’ to do?”
“We’ll attend to ’em,” growled Montrose. “Your job is to drive that car in to Clancy’s place. The rest of us are bringin’ the other cars in tonight.”
“Clearin’ out a day earlier, eh?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Well, you’ll have to come out and help me get my car out of the mud or none of us will get away.”
“You’re bogged?”
“Up to the hubs. There’s been so much rain that the gully road is
