The bay was calm when they started out, and the Sleuth was running, as Joe expressed it, “like a watch.”
It was a beautiful summer afternoon and the cool breeze out on the water was in welcome relief to the sweltering heat of the city streets. Spray flicked into their faces as the motorboat raced along toward the eastern gap. When they passed out of Barmet Bay and reached the open sea Frank headed the boat down the coast in the direction of Blacksnake Island.
“It isn’t far from the coast. There’s a channel of a little over a mile,” he said to his brother. “We won’t be able to make it tonight, but we’ll stop over at Rock Harbor and go on again in the morning. By that time, Tony and the others shouldn’t be far behind.”
Toward the end of the afternoon they were in sight of Rock Harbor, a small port, where they spied a schooner at anchor in the distance. Rock Harbor was not a shipping point of great importance, but there were always a number of miscellaneous craft in evidence.
To enter the harbor they were obliged to pass within a short distance of the schooner, swinging about beneath the bows of the vessel. As the Sleuth plunged through the water, in the very shadow of the ship, Joe suddenly gave an exclamation of surprise.
“Frank! Look up on deck—quick!”
Frank glanced hurriedly upward. He was just in time to see the figure of a boy moving away from the rail, but there was something familiar about the young fellow that made him look incredulously at his brother.
“Chet!”
“I’m sure it’s him,” returned Joe hurriedly. “I didn’t get a very good look at his face, because he only looked over the rail and then he drew back—but I’m almost positive it was Chet!”
“But what on earth can he be doing on that schooner?”
“Probably he’s a prisoner. Let’s give him a hail.”
They shouted the name of their chum half a dozen times, but their only response was from a villainous looking sailor who glared over the side at them and bade them get away from the ship.
“No use causing trouble,” said Frank, in a low voice. “We’ll go now, but we’ll come back later.”
He steered the motorboat away from the vicinity of the schooner, but instead of going on into the harbor he put out to sea again.
“It won’t be long until it gets darker. Then we’ll go back. If Chet is on that ship we’ll get word to him somehow.”
“Well, if it isn’t Chet Morton it’s his double,” declared Joe. “Even if I didn’t get a very good look at him, I know he was just about the same height and build and the same general appearance. What puzzles me is why he didn’t call out to us. And why did he draw back from the rail in such a hurry?”
“He mightn’t have had time to call to us. Perhaps he managed to escape just for a minute or so and they dragged him back before he could give a shout.”
“There’s something in that. And of course he mightn’t have recognized us.”
“He would have recognized the boat, I’m sure.”
“There’s something queer about it. If we come back later on we may be able to see him again. Did you notice the name of the schooner?”
“Yes,” answered Frank. “I watched for it. The Persis. I think what we’d better do is this: We’ll go back down the coast and loaf around until it gets darker. Then we’ll come back to the harbor and try to come up to the schooner quietly. If there’s a rope ladder handy I’ll go up over the side and see what I can find out.”
“It looks like our only chance. You’ll have to go easy. If Chet and Biff are held prisoners on that ship they’ll be well guarded. You might be captured yourself.”
“That’s where you will come in. If you hear sounds of a struggle or if I don’t come back, go right into the harbor and notify the police so they can have the schooner searched.”
Joe nodded. “All right. I’ll keep watch.”
Frank steered the motorboat back along the coast again and for the next hour or more they cruised about, waiting for twilight. At length sunset came and gradually the shadows fell. Lights began to twinkle in the town. Lights glowed from the mysterious schooner, now but a rakish shadow at the entrance to the harbor. When the lads judged that it was sufficiently dark to cover their approach, they returned, then crept quietly up on the ship.
They drew up close to the schooner’s stern without being noticed and to Frank’s relief he saw that a rope was dangling over the side. From the boat he reached out and seized it. The rope held fast; it supported his weight.
There were vague sounds from the deck above. The shuffling of feet. A burst of laughter from forward. Most of the men, he judged, would be in port, but it behooved him to move with caution.
“All set,” he whispered to Joe.
“Right.”
Frank swung himself away from the motorboat and began to climb slowly to the deck. Water lapped against the schooner’s hull. The night was very quiet. Complete darkness had fallen by now. In a few moments Joe could only distinguish his brother as an obscure shadow as he clambered slowly upward.
Anxiously, Joe Hardy watched. He saw his brother climb higher and higher until at last his head and shoulders were silhouetted above the side of the ship.
Then Frank scrambled quietly over onto the deck. He had removed his shoes so as to proceed with a minimum of sound, so that once he had disappeared over the side Joe could hear nothing. He crouched in the boat, waiting.
Finally he heard a
