Mr. Hardy shook his head soberly. "The police have found no trace of them."
"If only we knew where to start looking!" Joe said worriedly. "But we haven't a single clue to go on."
"The State Police are searching, too," Mr. Hardy told them. "A lead may turn up before the day is over. I hate to mention it," he added, "but the boys might have been kidnaped. So, to be on the safe side, there'll be absolutely no publicity."
"Good idea," Frank agreed.
For a minute he and Joe sat in glum silence. "What about the Sleuth?" Joe asked finally.
"The Coast Guard hasn't found it yet," Mr. Hardy replied, "and there are no leads on the bank robbery, either."
"How about the stolen car?" Frank queried. "Who owns it?"
"A man living up the coast," his father answered. "It disappeared day before yesterday while he was at a boat regatta in Northport."
"A boat regatta-" Joe murmured. "Where have we heard of one lately?"
"At the Coast Guard station," Frank prompted.
"That's it! Seaman Thompson thought the boat that tried to ram us might have come down
from the regatta in Northport."
"Looks like Northport might furnish a lead to more than one mystery," Frank declared. "Let's take a run
up there and see if we can pick up a due."
"If I go up the coast, I want to go in the Sleuth!" Joe answered firmly. "We must find her!"
At this point, Mrs. Hardy brought the discussion to an end by setting before each boy a stack of steaming, golden-brown pancakes.
Aunt Gertrude came in behind her with a block of yellow butter and a tall pitcher of maple
syrup. "There are more cakes on the griddle," she said.
"You need your strength. And for goodness' sake, find those poor lost boys!"
"If we can help-" Mrs. Hardy began.
"Thanks," Frank said.
After breakfast the brothers hurried to the garage. "The bank robbers must have beached the Sleuth somewhere," Joe reasoned. "If we follow the shore, we're sure to find her."
The black-and-silver motorcycles backfired like pistol shots, then roared from the drive and
down High Street. The riders headed out Shore Road, past the private docks.
The fog of the night before had given way to a bright-blue summer morning. As the boys sped
along in a cool, salty breeze they watched the white sand of the beach on their right. There was no sign of the Sleuth.
Finally they reached the head of the bay and turned sharply, following the seacoast northward.
For a while Frank and Joe saw only the big green rollers of the Atlantic as they broke into
foaming white along the sand and rocks.
The brothers spotted the squatters' colony of slapped-together board dwellings ahead.
The cycles chugged up Shore Road, which rose and twisted along the top of high, rocky cliffs
along the sea.
"Look down there!" Joe called out suddenly. He had caught the glint of sunshine on a familiar hull. The Sleuth! It was stranded on the beach!
"Yippee!" exclaimed Frank. "The robbers must have floated her in at high tide." The boys parked their motorcycles and hurried to the edge of the bluff. Below them, the rocky cliff fell straight down to the boulders bordering the sand.
"I don't see a path," Frank said. "Wait! Here's a place we can go down."
As he leaned over the edge, a mass of loose sod and stone gave way at his feet. With a startled cry Frank slid downward. Desperately he grasped for a hold, his clawing fingers closing on a
sharp slab jutting out just below the lip of the bluff. His body hung a hundred feet above the rocks and sand below.
"Hang on!" Joe shouted, and whipped his extra-long leather belt from its loops. Lying flat, he inched downward over the cliff edge until he could pass the leather under Frank's armpits. He
slid the end through the buckle and pulled the belt tight.
Joe squirmed back again, braced himself, and hauled. For one sickening moment Frank swung
like a pendulum beneath the cliff. With all his strength, Joe jerked the belt again and a moment later helped Frank clamber to safety.
"Whew! That was close!" Frank said, gasping. "If it hadn't been for you-"
"Better leave the boat," Joe panted, retrieving his belt. "We can come by sea with the Coast Guard and get her." Still shaking from fright, Frank agreed.
The brothers went at once to the Coast Guard station on the pier. When Lieutenant Parker
heard Frank's story, he called two men and led the way to a patrol boat. The powerful craft
headed straight out the mouth of the bay and turned sharply up the coast.
The beach was a whitish line on their left. Soon it broadened, and the tumble-down buildings of Shantytown came into view.
"Wait! Wait a minute!" Frank called out. "Can we slow down? What's that white thing floating in the water?"
"A dead fish," suggested a Coast Guardman.
The patrol boat throttled down and slid nearer the object. Leaning far over the side, Joe lunged and scooped it from the sea.
"This isn't a fish!" he cried out excitedly. "It's a rubber mask turned inside out!"
As he spoke, his fingers moved nimbly. In an instant a limp gorilla face appeared.
"This belongs to Chet!" Frank exclaimed.
CHAPTER VII
Dangerous Beachcombing
FRANK took the mask from Joe and examined it carefully. "You're right. Here's the place where Chet ripped it at the party."
"But what's it doing floating in the bay?" asked Joe in great concern. "He and Biff must have gone out in a boat after all."
"But whose?" Frank queried.
"And why would they go out in the fog?" Joe added. Then he voiced the question uppermost in both their minds. "You don't think they could have drowned?"
Frank's face was grim. "Chet and Biff are excellent swimmers. Maybe, for a reason we don't know yet, they're hiding somewhere-perhaps Shantytown!" Frank gazed intently across the
water at the squatter colony, now falling astern.
"Could be," Joe said. "They knew about our case. Maybe they picked up a clue and landed in Shantytown. We'd better find out as soon as we get the Sleuth."
The boys lapsed into worried silence until the Coast Guard boat came within sight of rocky cliffs towering
high above the white beach.
A seaman scanned the shore with binoculars and sang out, "There she is, sir! It's the Sleuth, all right. I can read her name."
The engines of the cutter shuddered as it swung in toward the beached motorboat. The Hardys
whipped off their shoes and leaped overboard into thigh-deep water as the craft crunched
against the sandy bottom. Joe was the first to reach the derelict Sleuth.
"She looks okay," he called out to his brother.
"Yes, but high and dry," Frank said as he waded ashore.
"We'll help you float her," a seaman offered.
Quickly gathering large pieces of driftwood, the boys improvised a crude skidway. Then, with
the Coast Guardmen helping, they slid the boat down to the water. A towline was secured and
the Sleuth bobbed toward Bayport in the wake of the Coast Guard patrol boat.
"Let's tow her straight to the boatyard," Frank suggested. "Maybe they have the new part by now."
His guess proved correct. While the patrol boat waited, the young mechanic quickly examined
the Sleuth.
"Have you been using her?" he asked the Hardys.
"Well-somebody has, Charlie," Joe replied.
The mechanic nodded. "Hm-thought so. The temporary repair I made didn't last. But if you
keep turning the wheel, you can make her steer a little-enough to get by."
"That's how the bandits slipped away in the fog last night," Frank whispered to his brother.
"I'll be finished in an hour," Charlie said. "Shall I have her taken to your boathouse?"