Frank Hardy was still dissatisfied. He had really wanted to remain behind and probe the mystery of the house on the cliff further. He held no stock in the ghost theory. The shrieks and the mocking laugh, he was sure, were of human origin. But what could have been the motive? It may have been that some boys had been in the house when they arrived and had simply seized the opportunity to play a joke on them.
“In that case,” he muttered to himself, “the story will be all over the Bayport high school by Monday and we’ll be kidded within an inch of our lives for running away. We should have stayed behind.”
Something told him, however, that this was no ordinary schoolboy prank. The incident of the fallen ceiling had unnerved him slightly. It was only by good luck that none of them had been seriously hurt. Of course, it may have been entirely accidental, but it seemed to have happened at a strangely opportune time. Then the recollection of the shrieks and the mocking laugh came back to him again and he shivered as he recalled the maniacal intensity of the tones.
“If it was any fellow like ourselves he was a mighty good actor,” Frank said to himself. “I’ve heard of a person’s blood running cold, but I never knew what it meant until I heard those yells.”
Suddenly his motorcycle began, as he termed it, “acting up.” It coughed, lurched, backfired explosively, and then the engine died.
“What a fine time for a breakdown,” Frank said, as he dismounted.
Joe drew up alongside. “What’s the matter?” he called.
“Engine broke down.”
“Gosh, aren’t you lucky!” exclaimed Joe, grinning. “There’s a shed over at the side of the road. Bring it over under cover.”
He pointed to a tumble-down shed nearby. Frank realized that it might take some time to discover the trouble, so he trundled the motorcycle over to the refuge his brother had indicated. In the meantime, Chet Morton had looked back, to find that the others were not following him, and had decided to return. The roar of his machine could be heard through the rain as he rode back toward them.
In the shelter of the shed, Frank first of all took off his coat and cap, which were dripping wet, and hung them up on a projecting board. Then, as Joe and Jerry stood by, glad of the chance to get in out of the rain, he rolled up his sleeves and prepared to find the source of the trouble.
They could hear Chet calling for them, as he drove along the road in the rain.
“Thinks we’re lost,” laughed Joe. He went over to the front of the shed and hailed their companion. “Come on up here!” he shouted. “Had a breakdown.”
Grumbling audibly, Chet dismounted and came over toward the shed.
In the meantime, Frank had opened the tool box of his motorcycle.
The others were startled by a sudden exclamation. Frank was staring at the tool box, with a bewildered expression on his face.
“My tools!” he exclaimed. “They’re gone!”
The other boys crowded around. The tool box was empty.
“Did you have them when you left Bayport?” asked Joe.
“Of course I did. I never go anywhere without them. Who on earth could have taken them?”
“You can have mine,” offered Joe, going over to his own motorcycle. He snapped open the tool box on his machine and then gave a shout of astonishment.
“Mine are gone too!”
IV
The Chase in the Bay
The boys stared at one another in bewilderment.
“I know my tool box was full when I left home,” said Frank.
“And so was mine,” came from Joe. “I was using the pliers just before we started out.”
“Where could they have gone?”
“They must have been stolen while the motorcycles were in the shed at the Polucca place,” Chet suggested.
“It’s the only time they could have been taken,” declared Frank. “It was the only time they were left unguarded.”
Joe was frankly puzzled.
“But we didn’t see anyone around the place,” said Jerry.
“No—but there was someone there. We heard those shrieks and the laugh. Someone stole those tools while we were in the house.”
“It’s some kind of a practical joke, that’s what I’m beginning to think,” declared Frank. “Let’s go back and get those tools.”
“Not on your life,” objected Jerry decisively. “This is a little too much. First of all we hear those shrieks, and then the house almost comes down around our ears, and now we find that the tools have been stolen by somebody we didn’t see. We’re safer away from there.”
Biff Hooper nodded agreement.
“That’s what I think. There’s something queer about that house. We’ll get into trouble if we go butting in any more.”
“But we want our tools!”
“Good night!” Chet exclaimed. “Perhaps mine are gone too.” He ran out of the shed over to the road and hastily examined the tool box on his machine. Then he straightened up with an audible sigh of relief.
“Thank goodness, they’re here! Guess whoever took the others figured he had enough.”
“I’m going back!” declared Frank.
“If you do, you’ll have to excuse me,” Chet said. “You’re welcome to use my tools to fix up your machine, but I won’t go back with you.”
“Me neither,” chimed in Jerry and Biff simultaneously.
Frank and Joe were silent. They wanted to go back to the Polucca place and investigate the matter further, but they did not want to break up the party, so they decided it would be better policy to remain with their companions.
“All right,” Frank said. “Lend me a pair of pliers and I’ll have this trouble fixed up in no time.”
He went over to Chet’s motorcycle and got the desired
