The roaring of the engine, the threshing of the sails, the warning shouts of the boys, all created a confusion of sound. The white sails seemed to loom high above the speeding boat. A hideous collision appeared to be inevitable.
II
Quick Thinking
Every second was precious.
Frank Hardy realized the full extent of their peril and in the same moment he realized the only way of averting it.
Without a word he sprang toward the helm, brushing Biff Hooper aside. In this emergency, Biff was helpless. Swiftly, Frank bore down on the wheel, bringing the boat around into the wind. At the same time, he opened up the throttle so that the Envoy leaped forward at her highest speed.
The motorboat passed just a few inches in front of the bow of the first sailboat; so close, Chet Morton said afterward, that he “could count every stitch on the patch in the sailcloth.” But the danger was not yet over. There was still the other sailboat to be considered. It was pounding along immediately ahead of them; the man at the tiller was making frantic efforts to get out of the way, but the danger lay in the fact that in trying to guess the possible course of the Envoy he might make a false move that would have him shoot directly across its path.
Frank swung the helm around again. Once more, the Envoy veered to the left so sharply that a cloud of spray drenched the boys. Another shift of the wheel and the motorboat zigzagged safely past the sailboat and on out into open water.
Not one of the boys had uttered a word during this. They had been tense and anxious, but now that the peril of a smash-up had been averted, they sank back with sighs of relief.
“I sure thought we were headed for Davy Jones’ locker that time!” breathed Chet.
Biff Hooper looked up at Frank.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’d have never got out of that mess if you hadn’t taken the wheel. I was so rattled that I didn’t know what to do.”
“After you’ve run the boat a few more weeks you’ll get so used to it that it’ll be second nature to you. But that sure was a tight squeeze,” Frank admitted. “It mighty near meant that you wouldn’t have had any motorboat left to go on that trip with.”
“It mighty near meant that we wouldn’t have been left to make the trip at all,” Chet declared solemnly. “What say we go home? I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
“It’s beginning to rain, anyway,” Biff remarked, glancing up at the sky. “I guess we may as well go back.”
The sky had clouded over in the past hour and the eastern sky was black, while scurrying masses of ragged clouds flew overhead before the stiffening wind. A few drops of water splashed into the boat, then came a gust of rain, followed by a light shower that passed over in a few minutes. The big motorboat that had crowded them had disappeared.
“A real storm coming up,” Frank said. “Let’s make for the boathouse.”
The Envoy headed for Bayport.
“I’d like to tell those three fellows in that other boat what I think of them,” declared Biff. “They got us into that jam. They were crowding me so close that I didn’t have a chance to keep an eye on the sailboats.”
“I still can’t see why they drew up alongside,” Joe observed. “They seemed mighty inquisitive. Gave us all the once-over.”
Chet offered a solution.
“Perhaps they thought we were someone else and when they found out their mistake they went away.”
“But they didn’t go away,” Frank pointed out. “They kept crowding us over. And one of them pointed at Biff.”
“At me?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t notice that.”
“He seemed to recognize you and was pointing you out to the other men.”
“Well, if he recognized me I can’t return the compliment. I never saw any of them before in my life.”
“He was probably pointing you out as a unique specimen,” ventured Joe, with a grin. “Probably those fellows are from a museum, Biff. They’ll likely make an offer for your carcass after you’re dead and they’ll have it stuffed and put it on display in a glass case. That’s why they were so interested.”
Joe’s suggestion elicited warm words from Biff and a friendly struggle ensued. Inasmuch as Biff Hooper was the champion boxer and wrestler of Bayport High, Joe was at a disadvantage, and paid for his derogatory remarks by being held over the side by the scruff of the neck and given a ducking until he pleaded for mercy.
By the time the boys reached Bayport it was raining heavily, and after leaving the Envoy in the boathouse they raced up the street to the Hardy boys’ home. The barn in the back yard was a favorite retreat of the chums and there they spent many of their Saturday afternoons. The barn was fitted up as a gymnasium, with parallel bars, a trapeze, boxing gloves and a punching bag, and was an ideal refuge on a rainy day. The thrilling experience with the sailboats and the mystery of the strange motorboat were soon forgotten.
Phil Cohen and Tony Prito, school chums of the Hardy boys, drifted in during the afternoon, as well as Jerry Gilroy and “Slim” Robinson. This comprised the “gang,” of which the two Hardy boys were the leading spirits.
Frank and Joe Hardy were the sons of Fenton Hardy, an internationally famous detective. Mr. Hardy had been for many years a detective on the New York police force, where he was so successful that he went into practice for himself. His two sons already showed signs of inheriting his ability and in a number of instances had solved difficult criminal cases.
The first of these was the mystery of the theft of valuable jewels and bonds from Tower Mansion, an old-fashioned building
