Their native city had a population of about fifty thousand people and was on the Atlantic coast, on Barmet Bay. There were good roads along both northern and southern arms of the bay, besides the State highway and the numerous country roads that led through the farming country back of Bayport.
Chet Morton, whose father was a real estate dealer with an office in the city, lived on a farm some distance off the road along the north arm of the bay, Chet making the daily journey to school and back in a roadster that had been given to him by his father. Chet was as proud of his roadster as the Hardy boys were proud of the motorboat that they had bought from the money they had received as reward for solving the Tower Mystery.
“Where shall we go?” asked Joe, as the Hardy boys rode out of the lane.
“Let’s go to the Morton farm and see Chet.”
“Good idea. I wonder if he’s able to sit down yet,” replied Joe, alluding to Chet’s practical joke earlier in the day.
The motorcycles roared and spluttered as the boys sped along the gleaming pavements of the city. They rode through the main streets, threading their way easily through the traffic until at last they were at the outskirts of Bayport. Finally they left the city behind and reached the road leading toward the Morton farm. The leaves of the trees were still wet with rain and the luxuriant grass by the roadside glistened with the heavy drops. The air was cool and sweet after the storm. The roads had dried quickly, however, and the boys experienced no inconvenience.
They reached the Morton farmhouse in good time and Chet’s sister, Iola, answered their knock. Iola was a pretty girl of about fifteen, one of the few girls at whom Joe Hardy had ever cast more than a passing glance. He lowered his eyes bashfully when she appeared in the doorway.
“Chet just left in the car about ten minutes ago,” she said smilingly, in answer to their inquiry. “It’s strange you didn’t meet him.”
“He probably went by the other road. We’ll catch up to him.”
“Won’t you come in?”
“N-no thanks,” stammered Joe, blushing. “Guess we’ll be going.”
“Oh, do come in,” said Iola coaxingly. “Callie Shaw is here.”
“Is she?” Frank brightened up at this intelligence, and at that moment a brown-eyed, dark-haired girl about his own age appeared in the hall.
“Hello!” she called, smiling pleasantly, and displaying small, even teeth of a dazzling whiteness.
“Let’s go,” muttered Joe, tugging at Frank’s sleeve. He was incurably shy in the presence of girls, especially Iola.
But Frank did not go just then. He chatted with Callie Shaw for a while, and Iola tried to make conversation with Joe, whose answers were mumbled and muttered, while he inwardly wished he could talk as freely and without embarrassment as his brother. At length Frank decided to go and Joe sighed with relief. The girls bade them goodbye after again urging them to come inside the house, and the boys departed.
“Whew!” breathed Joe, mopping his brow. “I’m glad that’s over.”
Frank looked at him in surprise.
“Why, what’s the matter? I thought you liked Iola Morton.”
“That’s just the trouble—I do,” answered Joe mysteriously, and Frank wisely forbore further inquiry.
They mounted their motorcycles again and rode down the lane, out to the road. Hardly had they gone more than a few hundred yards, however, than Frank suddenly gestured to his brother and they slowed down.
Pulled up beside the road was an automobile, and as the boys drew near they saw that three men were in the car. The men were talking together and they looked up as the boys approached.
Something in the attitude of the trio aroused Frank’s suspicions, and this prompted him to ride slower. There seemed no apparent reason why the men should have pulled their car up beside the road, for they were not repairing a breakdown and they were still a little distance from the lane leading to the Morton farmhouse. Then, as the motorcycles slowly passed the car and the three men sullenly regarded the two boys, Frank suppressed an exclamation of surprise.
The three men in the car were the three men who had pursued the boys in the motorboat earlier in the day!
Frank and Joe drove past, conscious of the scrutiny of the unsavory trio in the automobile. The men did not speak, although Frank noticed that one of them drew his cap down over his eyes and muttered something to one of his companions.
When they had gone by, Joe glanced back. The man were paying no further attention to them, but were leaning close together, evidently having resumed their interrupted conversation. There was something stealthy and secretive in their demeanor that was far from reassuring.
“Did you recognize them?” asked Frank, when they were out of earshot.
“I’ll say I did! The same gang that followed us in the motorboat.”
“I wonder what they’re up to.”
“Up to no good, by the looks of them.”
“That’s a queer place to park their car—so close to the Morton farm, too.”
“They look like a bad outfit to me,” remarked Joe.
“I’d like to know more about them. There was something funny about the way they chased us in the boat. And don’t you remember how closely they looked at Chet and Biff? It seems funny to see them hanging around the farm.”
“Well, they haven’t done us any harm. I suppose it’s none of our business—but I’d sure like to know what their game is. Let’s find Chet and tell him.”
They increased their speed and before long overtook Chet Morton on the shore road. But Chet laughed at their fears.
“You’re too suspicious,” he said. “They had probably just stopped to fix a tire when you came along. However, we’ll go back to the farm and see if they’re still on hand.”
But when the boys drove back to the Morton farm they found that the mysterious trio in
