“But Fenton Hardy is a Bayport citizen.”
“What d’you think about it, Smuff?”
“Just a minute—it’s my move.” Smuff meditated over the checkerboard for a while, made his move, then looked up judicially. “To tell you the truth, chief,” he said, “I think we’d be just as well stayin’ away from that Polucca place. There’s been queer stories about it.”
“That’s what I think,” agreed the chief.
“Do you mean to say you won’t help us look for him?” exclaimed Frank.
“Oh, we’ll keep our eyes open,” the chief promised. “But he’ll show up all right. He’ll show up. Don’t worry.”
“He’ll never show up if we wait for the Bayport Police Department to get into action,” declared Chet warmly.
“Is that so?” said Chief Collig, nettled.
“Of course, chief,” said Frank smoothly, “if you’re afraid to go up to the Polucca place just because it’s supposed to be haunted, don’t bother. We can tell the newspapers that we believe our father has met with foul play and that you won’t bother to look into the matter, but don’t let us disturb you at all—”
“What’s that about the newspapers?” demanded the chief, getting up from his chair so suddenly that he upset the checkerboard over Smuff’s lap. “Don’t let this get into the papers.” The chief was constantly afraid of publicity unless it was of the most favorable nature.
“The taxpayers mightn’t like it,” suggested Joe. “They pay you to enforce the law and if they know you’re afraid to go up to the Polucca place—”
“Now, now,” said the chief nervously. “Who said anythin’ about being afraid of the Polucca place? Can’t you take a joke? Of course I’ll go up and investigate this—at least I’ll send Smuff up—”
“Who, me?” demanded Smuff, in alarm.
“Smuff and me, we’ll go up together.”
“I’m doggone sure I won’t go up alone,” declared Smuff.
“Well, as long as we’re sure you’ll investigate, we won’t say anything to the newspapers,” said Frank, and Chief Collig breathed a sigh of relief.
“That’s fine. That’s fine,” he said. “Smuff and me, we’ll go up there first thing tomorrow morning and if we find out anything we’ll let you know.”
But although Chief Collig and Detective Smuff duly departed from Bayport the next morning in an exceptionally noisy and decrepit flivver, with Smuff perched nervously at the wheel, they returned before noon with the news that they had been able to discover nothing further regarding Fenton Hardy. They had, they said, called at the house, but the people there had given a reasonable explanation as to the finding of the cap.
“Real nice people, they were too,” added Chief Collig. “The man said he found the cap on the road, and why should he tell a lie about it? So Smuff and me, we came away.”
“Yes,” agreed Smuff profoundly, “we came away.”
“In a hurry,” suggested Joe sarcastically.
Collig and Smuff looked uncomfortable. To tell the truth they had been so impressed by the fearful stories they had heard of the house on the cliff that they had stayed no longer than was necessary. They had merely asked a few perfunctory questions of Redhead, had received his explanation of the finding of the cap, and had then hastened from the farm as quickly as was consistent with dignity.
“We’ve done our duty,” declared Chief Collig. “No man can do more.”
And with that the boys had to be content.
But they were not satisfied.
“There’s some connection between this smuggling outfit and the house on the cliff,” declared Frank. “This man Snackley is mixed up in all this, I’m sure.”
“Didn’t mother say he was related to Felix Polucca?”
“Yes—and isn’t it likely that he inherited the Polucca farm after the old miser died? Perhaps that’s what encouraged him to move his smuggling operations here.”
“Perhaps Snackley was one of the two men we saw at the farm.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Frank. “But what I’m thinking of is this—where did these two motorboats come from that day Jones was shot? We didn’t see them out in the bay. They seemed to come right out from under the cliff.”
“Do you mean you think there is a secret harbor in there?”
“There might be. Look at it this way. Snackley was the man who ‘got’ Jones that day, as he said. Snackley was related to Polucca, and may now own the farm. Snackley has been smuggling in Barmet Bay from some base that the government men have been unable to find. Perhaps that base is the Polucca farm.”
“But it’s on top of the cliff!”
“There may be a secret passage from the house to some hidden harbor at the foot of the cliff.”
“Gosh, Frank, it sounds reasonable!”
“And perhaps that explains why the kidnappers got away with Jones so quickly that day. If they left the Kane farmhouse just a little while before we did, we should have been able to get within sight of them, anyway. But we didn’t.”
“You mean they turned in at the Polucca place?”
“Why not? Probably Jones is hidden there right now. That is—if they haven’t killed him,” he added hesitatingly.
“But what could have happened to dad?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out. What do you say to asking Tony if his father will lend us his motorboat and let us investigate the foot of that cliff?”
“What do you expect to find?”
“We’ll find out if there’s any place where motorboats could be hidden. And if we get any information we can turn it over to the government officials and have the Polucca place raided. Then we’ll get some satisfaction out of it, anyway, and perhaps find out what happened to dad.”
XIV
Private Property
The Hardy boys explained their plan to Tony Prito, who promised to ask his father about the motorboat provided they allowed him to go with them.
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” he said. “You let me come along on this trip with you and I’ll see that we get the boat.”
“We wouldn’t go without you, Tony,” promised Frank.
“I’ll
