But the footsteps on the stairs had drawn nearer and it was followed by others. The smugglers were returning.
“Quick!” whispered Frank, as he flung the ropes aside.
“I—I can’t—hurry!” gasped out Fenton Hardy. “I’ve been here too—too long.” He could hardly utter the words. His face showed his exhaustion.
“But we’ve got to hurry, dad!” came excitedly from Frank. “See if you can’t make it.”
“I’ll—I’ll do my—my best,” returned his father.
“If those fellows come back let’s fight for it,” put in Joe desperately.
“You bet we’ll fight,” answered Frank in a voice that meant a great deal.
Fenton Hardy got to his feet as hastily as he could, but when he stood up on the floor he reeled and would have fallen had not Joe grasped his arm. He had been lying bound to the cot for so long and he was so weak from hunger that a fit of dizziness had attacked him. It soon passed, however, and the three hastened toward the door through which the Hardy boys had entered.
But the smugglers were very close now. The Hardys could hear the coarse voices just outside the other door.
There was no chance of escape.
Just as the Hardy boys and their father crossed the threshold the door on the opposite side of the room was flung open.
Frank had a confused glimpse of the dark man, Snackley, whom they had seen in the cove that afternoon, with half a dozen rough men crowding behind him. Then he saw Snackley whip a revolver from his pocket.
The chief of the smugglers was filled with astonishment, but he did not lose his presence of mind. The weapon was leveled at Frank before he had time to close the door.
Snackley did not speak. He pressed the trigger and the revolver roared, the echoes crowding on one another in that narrow space. The bullet chipped into the wood of the door.
Frank ducked. Joe, who was in the lead, flung himself to one side. Fenton Hardy stumbled out on to the landing at the top of the stairs.
“Come back!” roared Snackley, plunging across the room. “Come back or I’ll fire again!”
As the smuggler drew closer Frank crouched for a spring, and then leaped directly at Snackley. He struck out at the man’s wrist and the revolver flew out of the rascal’s grasp, skidding across the floor into a corner.
Then they grappled, and so sudden had been Frank’s attack that the smuggler was taken by surprise and he reeled up against the wall. But his companions rushed to his rescue. Frank was swiftly overpowered and dragged away, while other smugglers, with drawn revolvers, pursued Joe and Fenton Hardy out on to the landing. Being unarmed, they were forced to submit, otherwise they would have been shot without mercy.
The struggle was short. The menacing revolvers gave the smugglers the upper hand.
Within five minutes Fenton Hardy was bound to the cot again while the Hardy boys were seated, trussed up and unable to move, on two chairs nearby. They were captives of the smugglers!
XX
Dire Threats
Snackley, once he had recovered from his first consternation and surprise, was in high humor.
“Just in time!” he chuckled, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. “Just in time! If we’d been a few minutes later they’d have been away from us altogether.”
The Hardy boys were silent. They were sick with disappointment. It had seemed that escape was certain, and then, in a twinkling, the tables had been turned and now they were all worse off than they had been before.
“What will we do with ’em, chief?” asked one of the men.
The voice sounded familiar to the boys and they looked up. Not altogether to their surprise, they saw that the fellow was none other than Redhead, whom they had seen at the Polucca place the day Frank discovered his father’s cap.
“Do with them?” exclaimed Snackley. “That’s quite a problem. We have three on our hands now, where we had only one. We have to make three people keep their mouths shut instead of only one. We have three people to keep guard over now.”
“We ought to do what I wanted to do in the first place,” declared Redhead doggedly. “As long as Hardy is alive, he’s dangerous.”
“You mean we should get rid of him?”
“Sure, we ought to get rid of him—and get rid of those boys of his, too.”
“That’s easier said than done,” returned Snackley, but with a sinister look at the man on the cot.
“I should think you had enough on your conscience already, Snackley!” exclaimed Fenton Hardy. “But I suppose you’re hardened enough for anything,” he added bitterly. He was thinking more of his sons and their possible fate than of himself.
“Don’t you bother about my conscience,” sneered Snackley; but a shadow crossed his face. “What do you know about me, anyhow?” he demanded roughly.
“I know all about what happened to Felix Polucca. He had a big treasure hidden in that house on the cliff and you got it, and then you started to use the place for your smuggling operations.”
“O, shut up!” Snackley snapped. “I’m going to fix you, and those kids of yours, too! Just wait and see!”
Four of the smugglers had been whispering among themselves at the back of the room during this talk between the chief smuggler and the detective, and now one of these men stepped forward.
“Got a word to say to you, chief,” he began, addressing Snackley.
“What is it now?” The chief smuggler’s voice was surly.
“It’s about what’s to be done with these three, now we have ’em prisoners,” returned the man hesitatingly. “Of course, your business is your own and we’re not asking any questions about what happened to Felix Polucca, but we’re in this game of smuggling, see? We don’t stand for anything that’s too red-handed.”
“That’s the truth!” put in another of the men.
“Kind of chickenhearted,” sneered Snackley. “You look out or I’ll fire the lot of you!”
“No, you won’t,
