“That storm was too terrible!” declared the girl. “They should never have gone on. They should have turned back when the rest of us did.”
“I guess they didn’t want to turn back once they had started,” ventured Joe. “Biff doesn’t like to admit he’s licked.”
“Neither does Chet,” the girl replied. “They’re both headstrong and I guess they thought we’d make fun of them if they had to come back to Bayport and start over again.”
“Well, we’ll be back tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll hear from him by then,” said Frank reassuringly. “And if we hear anything we’ll let you know.”
“Please do.”
The Hardy boys walked back to their motorcycles. When they were out of hearing Frank remarked in a low voice:
“I don’t like the looks of this, at all! I’m beginning to think something has happened.”
VI
Missing
No word came from Chet Morton or Biff Hooper the following day. Although the parents of the chums tried to allay their fears by assuming that the lads had not stopped off at Hawk Cove after all or had neglected to write, as is the way of boys the world over, when three days passed without further news, the situation became serious.
“They were wrecked in that storm, I know it!” declared Iola Morton, with conviction, when the Hardy boys called at the farmhouse on the third day. “Mother is almost frantic and daddy doesn’t know what to do. It isn’t like Chet to make us wait this long for some word of where he is, particularly when he knew we’d be anxious.”
“The Hoopers are terribly worried about Biff,” Joe put in. “We went over there last night to see if they had heard anything. Mr. Hooper had telephoned to nearly all the fishing villages up the coast, but none of them had seen anything of the boat.”
Iola turned pale.
“They hadn’t seen the boat at all?”
Frank shook his head.
“Either the boys were wrecked or they were swept out to sea,” said the girl. She turned away and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. She was on the verge of breaking down. “Oh, can’t something be done to find trace of them?”
“It’s time we were getting busy,” Frank agreed. “I think we’d better organize a searching party.”
“With the motorboats?” asked Joe.
“Yes. We can take our boat. Perhaps Tony Prito will be able to come along with the Napoli and we’ll get the rest of the fellows. We can cruise along the bay and up the coast and perhaps we’ll find some trace.”
“Will you do that?” asked Iola, brightening up. “Oh, if you only will! At least we’ll know that someone is searching for them.”
“I’ve been thinking that possibly their boat got wrecked and they were washed up on an island or on some part of the coast a long way from any village,” Frank observed. “I don’t think they’ve been drowned. They are both good swimmers and it would take a lot to kill either of them.”
“Well, if we’re going to go we may as well get started.”
“All right, Joe. We’ll take some grub with us and count on staying until we find some trace of them. Perhaps two or three days.”
A sudden thought struck Joe.
“How about mother?”
Frank whistled.
“Gosh—I’d forgotten! But perhaps she can get someone to stay with her. Seeing it isn’t a pleasure trip we’re going on, she might let us go.”
“Oh, I hope she does!” exclaimed Iola. “As long as we know you boys are out searching for Chet and Biff we’ll be a lot easier in our minds.”
“Well, let’s go back home and see what arrangements we can make,” Frank said briskly. “The sooner we get away, the better.”
The lads mounted their motorcycles and turned toward the city. The idea of organizing a searching party for the missing chums had occurred to Frank previously, but he had been waiting, hoping against hope that some word might be received regarding the two boys. The fact that Mrs. Hardy would be left alone at home had been the one circumstance that had prevented him from starting out in search of the chums before this, but now the situation seemed to warrant action at all costs.
“If mother is afraid to stay at home alone, I guess the trip is off,” he said to Joe. “But when she knows how serious it is, I don’t think she’ll mind.”
“I don’t like to leave her alone, myself,” replied Joe. “But someone has to organize a searching party. I’ve been more worried about Chet and Biff than I’d like to admit.”
“Me too.”
When the lads returned to the house they found Mrs. Hardy opening the morning mail. She had a letter in her hand as they entered the living room and she glanced up with a smile of pleasure.
“We’re going to have a visitor.”
“Who?”
“Your Aunt Gertrude!”
Frank glanced at his brother.
Well did they know their Aunt Gertrude. She was a maiden lady of middle-age who spent the greater part of her life in a sort of grand circuit series of visits to all her relatives, far and near. Aunt Gertrude had no fixed place of abode. Accompanied by numerous trunks, satchels and a lazy yellow cat by the name of Lavinia, she was apt to drop in at any time in the course of a year, brusquely announcing her intention of remaining for an indefinite stay. Then she would install herself in the guest room and proceed to manage the household until the hour of her departure.
Aunt Gertrude was formidable. Her word was law. And, because she was possessed of a small fortune and a sharp tongue, none dared offend her. Relatives had discovered that the best plan was to suffer her visits in silence and pray for her speedy departure.
Now she was coming to
