There was a pause of a few seconds, then suddenly he shouted, 'Write that note, Hardy, or you'll be
sorry-as sure as my name's Snattman!'
CHAPTER XIV
Captured
JOE gave a start. 'It is Dad!' he whispered hoarsely. 'He found the smugglers' hide-out!'
Frank nudged his brother warningly. 'Not so loud.'
The boys' worst fears were realized-their' father was not only a prisoner of the smugglers, but also his life
was being threatened!
'Write that note!' Snattman demanded.
'I won't write it,' Fenton Hardy replied in a weak but clear voice.
The chief persisted. 'You heard what I said. Write it or be left here to starve.'
'I'll starve.'
'You'll change your mind in a day or two. You think you're hungry now, but wait until we cut off your
food entirely. Then you'll see. You'll be ready to sell your soul for a drop of water or a crumb to eat.'
'I won't write it.'
'Look here, Hardy. We're not asking very much. All we want you to do is write to your wife that you're
safe and tell her to call off the police and those kids of yours. They're too nosy.'
'Sooner or later someone is going to trace me here,' came Mr. Hardy's faint reply. 'And when they do, I
can tell them enough to send you to prison for the rest of your life.'
There was a sudden commotion in the room and two or three of the smugglers began talking at once.
'You're crazy!' shouted Snattman, but there was a hint of uneasiness in his voice. 'You don't know
anything about me!'
'I know enough to have you sent up for attempted murder. And you're about to try it again.'
'You're too smart, Hardy. That's all the more reason why you're not going to get out of here until we've
gone. And if you don't co-operate you'll never make it. Our next big shipment's coming through tonight,
and then we're skipping the country. If you write that letter, you'll live. If you don't, it's curtains for you!'
Frank and Joe were shaken by the dire threats. But they must decide whether to go for help, or stay and
risk capture and try to rescue their father.
'You can't scare me, Snattman,' the detective said. 'I have a feeling your time is up. You're never going
to get that big shipment.'
The detective's voice seemed a little stronger, the boys felt.
Snattman laughed. 'I thought you were smart, but you're playing a losing game, I warn you. And how
about your family? Are you doing them a service by being so stubborn?'
There was silence for a while. Then Fenton Hardy answered slowly:
'My wife and boys would rather know that I died doing my duty than have me come back to them as a
protector of smugglers and criminals.'
'You have a very high sense of duty,' sneered Snattman. 'But you'll change your mind. Are you thirsty?'
There was no reply.
'Are you hungry?'
Still no answer.
'You know you are. And it'll be worse. You'll die of thirst and starvation unless you write that note.'
'I'll never write it.'
'All right. Come on, men. We'll leave him to himself for a while and give him time to think about it.'
Frank squeezed Joe's arm in relief and exhilaration. There was still a chance to save their father!
Footsteps echoed as Snattman and the others left the room and walked through the corridor. Finally the
sounds died away and a door slammed.
Joe made a move toward the door, but Frank held him back. 'We'd better wait a minute,' he cautioned.
'They may have left someone on guard.'
The boys stood still, listening intently. But there were no further sounds from beyond the door. At length,
satisfied that his father had indeed been left alone, Frank felt for the knob.
Noiselessly he opened the door about an inch, then peered into the corridor which was dimly lighted
from one overhead bulb. There was no sign of a guard.
Three doors opened from the corridor-two on the opposite side from where the brothers were Standing
and another at the end.
The passage was floored with planks and had a beamed ceiling like a cellar. Frank and Joe quickly
figured where their father was and sped across the planks to the room. They pushed open the door of the
almost dark room and peered inside. There was a crude table and several chairs. In one corner stood a
small cot. On it lay Fenton Hardy. He was bound hand and foot to the bed-and so tightly trussed that he
was unable to move more than a few inches in any direction. He was flat on his back, staring up at the
ceiling of his prison. On a chair beside the cot was a sheet of paper and a pencil, evidently the materials
for the letter Snattman had demanded he write.
'Dad!' Frank and Joe cried softly.
The detective had not heard the door open, but now he looked at his sons in amazement and relief.
'You're here!' he whispered. 'Thank goodness!'
The boys were shocked at the change in their father's appearance. Normally a rugged-looking man,
Fenton Hardy now was thin and pale. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes listless.
'We'll have you out of here in a minute,' Frank whispered.
'Hurry!' the detective begged. 'Those demons may be back any minute!'
Frank pulled out his pocketknife and began to work at the ropes that bound his father. But the knife was
not very sharp and the bonds were thick.
Joe discovered that he did not have his knife with him. 'It probably slipped out of my pocket when we
undressed on the Napoli,' he said.
'Mine's gone too,' Mr. Hardy told them. 'Snattman took everything I had in my pockets, including
concentrated emergency rations. Have you anything sweet with you?'
Joe pulled out the candy bar from his pocket and held it, so Mr. Hardy could take a large bite of the
quick-energy food. Meanwhile, his eyes roamed over the room in search of something sharp which he
might use to help Frank with the ropes. He saw nothing.
Mr. Hardy finished the candy bar, bite by bite. Now Joe started to help Frank by trying to untie the
knots. But they were tight and he found it almost impossible to loosen them.
Minutes passed. Frank hacked at the ropes, but the dull blade made little progress. Joe worked at the
obstinate knots. Fenton Hardy could give no assistance. All were silent. The only sound was the heavy
breathing of the boys and the scraping of the knife against the ropes.
At last Frank was able to saw through one of the bonds and the detective's feet were free. His son pulled
the ropes away and began to work on the ones that bound his father's arms. As he reached over with the
knife there came a sound that sent a feeling of terror through the Hardys.
It was a heavy footstep beyond the corridor door. Someone was coming back!
Frank worked desperately with the knife, but the ropes still held stubbornly. The dull blade seemed to
make almost no impression. But at last a few strands parted. Finally, with Fenton Hardy making a mighty
effort and Joe clawing at the rope with his fingers, it snapped.
The detective was free!
But the footfalls of the approaching smuggler came closer.
