The others agreed. As Frank and Chet rowed toward the farm, the boys discussed the mystery. Who
was the victim of the explosion and why had the men in the other motorboat tried to kill him?
The man they had rescued lay face downward in the bottom of the boat. He was a slim, dark-haired man
with sharp, clean-cut features, and his clothes were cheap and worn. Biff looked in his pockets for
identification but found none.
"Wonder if he's a local man," Joe said. "Never saw him around town."
The other boys declared they never had either.
By this time the boat was close to shore. Joe and Biff leaped out and dragged it part way up on the
beach. Then the four boys carried the unconscious man up the rocky shore toward the farmhouse.
At their approach a plump woman came hurrying out of the house. From the orchard nearby a burly man
in overalls came forward.
"My goodness! What has happened?" the woman asked, running toward them.
"We just pulled this man out of the water," Frank explained. "We saw your house-"
"Bring him in," boomed the farmer. "Bring him right in."
The woman ran ahead and held the door open. The boys carried the stranger into the house and laid him
on a bed in the comfortably furnished first-floor bedroom. The farmer's wife hastened to the kitchen to
prepare a hot drink.
"Rub his ankles and wrists, and get those wet clothes off him," the farmer told the boys. "That will step up
his circulation. I'll get him some pajamas."
"How about calling a doctor?" Frank asked.
"No need. He'll be okay," the farmer declared.
The victim was soon under the covers. Frank and Joe continued to massage his wrists and ankles.
At last the stranger stirred feebly. His eyelids fluttered. His lips moved, but no words came. Then his eyes
opened and the man stared at those around him, as though in a daze.
"Where am I?" he muttered faintly.
"You're safe," Frank assured him. "You're with friends."
"You saved me?"
"Yes."
"Pretty near-cashed in-didn't I?"
"You nearly drowned, but you're all right now. When you feel like talking, you can tell us the whole
story," said Frank. "But, in the meantime, we'll call the police or the Coast Guard and report those men
who tried to murder you."
The man in the bed blinked and looked out the window. Finally he said, "No, no. Don't do that."
The boys were shocked. "Why not?" Joe burst out.
The man was thoughtfully silent for a moment, then said, "Thanks, but I'd rather let matters stand as they
are. I'll take care of it as soon as I get my strength back." The rescued man turned to the farmer. "Okay
with you if I stay here overnight? I'll pay you, of course."
The farmer put out his hand. "The name's Kane and you're welcome to stay until you feel strong. Nobody
can say I ever turned a sick man away. And what's your name?"
The patient hesitated a moment. "Jones. Bill Jones," he said at last.
It was so evidently a false name that the Hardys glanced knowingly at each other. Mr. Kane did not
seem to realize that his guest was apparently trying to hide his identity.
Mrs. Kane appeared with hot broth and toast. She suggested that her husband and the boys let the
patient rest for a while. When she joined them in the living room she invited the boys to have a snack.
Chet readily accepted for all of them.
The snack consisted of sandwiches of home-cured ham with cheese, glasses of fresh milk, and rich lemon
pie, frothy with meringue. Chet beamed. "Mrs. Kane, you ought to open a restaurant. I'd be a steady
customer. You're the best pie maker I've ever met."
Frank, Joe, and Biff chuckled. How often they had heard their stout, food-loving chum make similar
remarks! But in this case they had to agree with him and told Mrs. Kane so.
She smiled. "It's the least I can do for you boys who just saved someone's life."
Her young guests said nothing of their early afternoon's adventure inside the Pollitt house, but Frank
casually asked the Kanes if they had known the deceased owner and if anyone were living there now.
"Sure I knew Felix Pollitt," the farmer replied. "Closemouthed old codger, but I did hear him once say
somethin' about havin' a no-good nephew. Pollitt said he was his only livin' relative and he supposed he'd
have to leave the property to him."
"But who'd want the place?" Mrs. Kane spoke up. "It's falling apart and would cost a mint of money to
fix up."
Joe grinned. "Sounds like a haunted house," he remarked pointedly.
"Funny you should say that." Mrs. Kane looked at Joe. "There was a family stopped here the other day.
Wanted to buy some eggs. One of the little girls said they'd had a terrible scare. They'd stopped at the
old Pollitt place to have a picnic, and were scared out of their wits by moans and groans and queer
laughs from the house."
Mr. Kane's face broke into a grin. "The kid's imagination sure was runnin' away with itself."
"I'm not so sure of that," his wife disagreed. "I think some boys were in there playing pranks."
After Frank and Joe and their friends had left the farmhouse, they discussed the strange noises at the
Pollitt place from this new angle.
Biff frowned. "If those ghosts are from Bayport High, they'll sure have the laugh on us," he remarked.
"They sure will," Chet agreed. "I'd hate to face them on Monday."
Frank and Joe were not convinced. After they had dropped their chums at the Morton and Hooper
homes, they discussed the day's strange and varied adventures all the way to the Hardy house.
"I'm sure that ghost business was meant to be something more than a prank," Frank stated.
"Right," his brother agreed. "I just had an idea, Frank. Maybe nobody was in the house, but he could
have rigged up a tape recorder to make those sounds and a remote control to start it.
What say we go back sometime and take a look?"
"I'm with you."
By this time the boys had turned into the long driveway of the Hardy home, a spacious, three-story
clapboard house on the corner of High and Elm streets. The large two-story garage at the rear of an
attractive garden had once been a barn.
Frank and Joe parked their motorcycles, unstrapped the telescope, and carried it to the back porch. As
they entered the kitchen, they found their mother, a pretty, sweet-faced woman, with sparkling blue eyes,
preparing supper.
"Hello, boys," she greeted them. "Did you have a good day? See any smugglers?"
They kissed her and Frank said, "We have a lot to tell you and Dad."
"He's in the study upstairs. I'll go up with you right away and we can talk while the chicken's roasting and
the potatoes baking."
The three hurried up to the room where Mr. Hardy was busy looking in a large metal file in which he kept
important records. The detective stopped his work and listened with rapt attention as Frank and Joe
gave a detailed account of their adventures.
"We sure fell for that cry for help," Joe explained. "I'm sorry about the stolen eyepieces from the
telescope."
"And I hope it wasn't damaged when I had my spill," Frank added. He smiled wanly. "You'll probably
want to dismiss us from your detective force."
"Nothing of the kind," his father said. "But now, let's discuss what you saw through the telescope. You
said you spotted a man who climbed down the ladder of a boat and went off in a smaller one. Could he
have been this same fellow who calls himself Jones?"
"We couldn't identify him," Joe replied, "but he might be."