“Good night!” Frank exclaimed. “They’ll be swamped.”
“They’re taking an awful chance. Oh, well, perhaps they gave in after all. They may have headed in toward one of the villages along the shore. They’ll probably be back.”
“Let’s hope so!” exclaimed Iola. “I won’t have a minute’s rest until I’m sure they’re safe.”
Tony went on toward his own boathouse, with Jerry Gilroy and Phil Cohen, drenched to the skin, sitting ruefully in the stern. The Hardy boys and the two girls left the boathouse and were fortunate enough to meet a school chum who happened to be driving past in his car, so they drove home in shelter from the rain. Frank and Joe got off at their home after the chum had volunteered to drive the girls home.
“And I’ll make it snappy, too,” he promised. “I guess you’re in a hurry to get into dry clothes.”
“I feel like a drowned rat,” declared Callie. “And I suppose I look like one too.”
After the others drove away, the Hardy boys went into the house and made a complete change of clothes so that, fifteen minutes later, in dry garments, they were feeling at peace with the world. When they went downstairs again to tell their parents of the adventure they had just experienced, they found Mr. Hardy just snapping the catch of his club-bag, while a packed suitcase stood near by.
“Going away now?” they asked, in surprise.
“Off to Chicago. I just got a fresh clue as to Baldy’s whereabouts.”
“He’s there all right, is he?”
The detective nodded. “I’ll just have time to catch this train.”
Mrs. Hardy entered the room at that moment.
“I telephoned for a taxi.” Her face was troubled. “I do wish you didn’t have to make this journey, Fenton.”
Mr. Hardy laughed.
“You’ve never worried about me so much before, Laura. I’ve gone away on cases as bad as this dozens of times without causing you as much anxiety.”
“I know—but somehow I have a feeling that this case is a good deal more dangerous than any of the others.”
“I’ll be back in a few days, never fear.” Mr. Hardy turned to his sons. “Look after your mother while I’m away, boys. Don’t let her get worried.”
“There’s nothing to be worried about, dad. You’ll get your man all right.”
Mrs. Hardy shook her head. “You will be careful, won’t you, Fenton? From what you’ve told me of this Baldy Turk I imagine he wouldn’t stop at anything if he thought you were going to catch him.”
“He’s a pretty tough character, but I guess I can handle him,” said the detective lightly. “Well, here’s my taxi. I’ll have to be going. Goodbye.” He kissed his wife, shook hands with the boys, then picked up his suitcase and club-bag and departed. From the front doorway they watched him clamber into the waiting taxi. He waved at them as the car got under way, then it went speeding out of sight along the shimmering pavement.
Mrs. Hardy turned away. “I expect he’ll think I’m foolish for worrying so much about him this time, but I have a queer sort of feeling that this Baldy Turk is the most dangerous criminal he has ever had to deal with.”
“He’ll deal with him, mother,” declared Frank, with conviction. “Trust dad to know what he’s doing. He’ll clap the handcuffs on Baldy Turk in no time. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Well, I hope you’re right,” she replied. “Still, I can’t help but be anxious—”
With that she let the matter drop, and her fears for Fenton Hardy’s safety were not expressed again, although the boys knew that anxiety still weighed heavily upon her mind. By evening, however, she appeared to be in better spirits and the boys did their best to amuse her and make her forget their father’s absence and his perilous errand.
Next day the boys went down to the boathouse where Biff Hooper kept the Envoy, but there was no sign of the craft. The storm of the previous day had lasted well into the afternoon and there had been no doubt in their minds but that Chet and Biff had set back for Bayport, but the absence of the motorboat indicated otherwise.
“Let’s go up to Morton’s farm and see if they did come back,” Frank suggested.
“Iola was saying that Chet promised to send a post card from the first village they stopped at. They were to have spent the night at Hawk Cove and he said he’d drop a line from there so that his folks would know everything was all right.”
Hawk Cove was a small fishing village on the coast and, under normal conditions, Chet and Biff should have reached the place early the previous evening. A postal card would have caught the morning mail to Bayport.
“Let’s go, then,” Frank said. “If they went on to Hawk Cove and wrote from there we’ll know that everything is all right.”
“I’m with you.”
The Hardy boys brought their motorcycles out of the shed and drove out toward the Morton farm. They made speed on the run because both were anxious to learn if anything had been heard of their chums. But when they reached the farmhouse and saw Iola’s worried face as she greeted them at the door they knew without being told that no word had been received from Chet.
“They didn’t turn back,” said Iola, almost tearfully. “We waited all afternoon and evening expecting Chet back, but he didn’t come. They must have gone straight ahead into the storm.”
“Did the post card come?” asked Joe.
She shook her head.
“We haven’t heard from him at all. And Chet promised faithfully he’d write to us from Hawk Cove. The card should have been in the morning mail. Chet always keeps his promises. I’m so afraid something dreadful has happened.”
“Oh, there’s no need to be alarmed,” consoled Frank. “Perhaps the storm delayed them so that they didn’t reach Hawk Cove until
