The Hardys lived in Bayport, a thriving city on Barmet Bay, on the Atlantic coast. Here Frank and Joe attended the Bayport high school, where they were in their final year. Although Frank, a tall, dark, handsome lad, was a year older than his curly-headed brother Joe, both boys were in the same grade because of an illness that had caused Frank to lose time. Mr. and Mrs. Hardy were anxious that their sons should go to college after finishing high school, Mrs. Hardy wishing them to study law and medicine. But the boys were of different mind. Their father’s profession appealed to them. They wanted to be detectives.
As a matter of fact, the lads had a natural bent toward detective work and they had already proved their ability so thoroughly that Fenton Hardy was disposed to believe that they would be successful if they followed in his footsteps. The Hardy boys had solved a number of mysteries that had puzzled the police of Bayport and vicinity, and already the people of the city knew of them as boys possessing more than the usual share of initiative, resourcefulness, and deductive ability.
Frank and Joe were introduced in the first volume of this series, entitled: The Hardy Boys: The Tower Treasure, in which they solved the mystery of the disappearance of a treasure from Tower Mansion, on the outskirts of Bayport. In succeeding volumes of the series their adventures while seeking to unravel other mysterious cases in which they became involved have been described at length. During the winter previous to the time this present story opens, Frank and Joe Hardy had spent a vacation on Cabin Island, in Barmet Bay, where they had cleared up the mystery of a stolen stamp collection of great value, discovering the precious stamps after many thrilling events. These adventures have been related in The Mystery of Cabin Island, the volume immediately previous to this story.
As the Hardy boys ran back down the dirt road toward the wreckage of the airplane they had little hope that they would find the pilot alive.
“He’ll be smashed to pieces!” gasped Joe.
“The plane isn’t burning, anyway,” said Frank. “There may be a chance for him yet.”
Just then they heard a cry for help.
It came from beneath the jumbled wreckage of the plane. In a few moments the Hardy boys reached the scene.
Although the crash had been witnessed from the airport and people were already proceeding toward the spot, the Hardy boys were the first to arrive. They could hear groans and shouts from beneath the plane.
“We’ll have to lift up some of that wreckage to get the poor fellow out,” said Frank quickly. He looked around. It was futile to attempt raising the wreckage by hand. He saw a heavy rail lying at the base of the nearby fence. “Here we are. This will do as a lever.”
The boys seized the rail and carried it over to the wreckage. They inserted one end of the rail beneath the body of the plane, rolling a big rock forward as a support.
The groans and shouts continued.
“All right there!” called Frank. “We’re going to pry some of this wreckage away from you. Are you badly hurt?”
“I’m nearly killed,” groaned the pilot. “Hurry up and lift this plane off me.”
“Try to crawl out when we raise it,” advised Frank.
The boys bore down on their improvised lever. There was a clattering and crackling of the wreckage; then the mass began to move. The body of the upturned plane rose slightly. Joe caught a glimpse of the pilot scrambling out of the cockpit. The man’s face was scratched and bleeding, but he seemed to be crawling out of his precarious position quickly, so evidently no bones were broken.
The boys managed to hold up the plane by means of the strong rail until the pilot crawled out.
“Anyone with you?” demanded Frank.
The pilot, struggling to his feet, shook his head. The boys released their grasp on the rail and the wreckage subsided again with a crash.
The pilot came forward. The boys noticed that he lurched slightly as he walked and that he staggered as he came up to them. His uniform was torn and he had a few scratches across his face, but otherwise he did not appear to be badly hurt.
“How are you feeling?” Joe asked him.
Swaying from side to side, the pilot confronted them in silence. His face was flushed.
“Narrow escape,” he muttered. “Mighty narrow escape.” He turned and looked at the wrecked plane, and hiccuped.
“What happened?” asked Frank. “Engine trouble? Or did you run out of gas?”
“I dunno,” answered the pilot thickly. “I dunno what happened. It wasn’t my fault. All the fault of them fellows in the car.”
“Fellows in a car?”
“Yes. Couple of fools in a car ahead of me. I wanted ’em to stop and they wouldn’t. They rushed right ahead and got in my way. Thought I’d scare ’em and make ’em stop, but they kept on going. Then I found I couldn’t get back in the air again—flying too low—it was all the fault of those fools in the car.”
Frank and Joe glanced at one another significantly. Clearly, the man was referring to them. And it was just as clear that the pilot had been drinking.
“We were in a car,” said Frank. “If you think we’re to blame for your accident you’re badly mistaken. You mighty near cost us our lives. We had to get off the road or you would have crashed on top of our car.”
The pilot turned and looked at the boys, an ugly expression in his bloodshot eyes.
“You were in the car, eh?” he shouted. “You’re the fellows that are
