The Hidden Harbor Mystery by Franklin W. Dixon Read Free Book Online Page A

mainland.
    â€œNo breakfast ration today, boys,” Chet said grimly. “No cookies, no water. I won’t put up with it. There are fish in this ocean, and I’m going to get one somehow!”
    While the stout boy lumbered off with a determined frown, Frank and Joe discussed the case once more.
    â€œWho’s trying to get rid of us?” asked Frank. “Blackstone? Then he sure will go to any length to keep Bart from proving the rumor.”
    â€œIt must be Blackstone,” Joe decided. “He deliberately let us think Rand was out here. He must have faked that note.”
    â€œHe could have been fooled by it,” Frank commented. “Who else might have guessed we’d come here? Cutter? Stewart? The boat owner?”
    â€œMaybe Cutter and Stewart,” Joe agreed. “That pale-faced Cutter seems mighty interested in us. Maybe he’s working for Blackstone.”
    A shout from Chet interrupted their speculations. Dripping wet, the stout boy hustled toward them. In his arms gleamed a big mackerell
    â€œIt was washed into a tide pool,” he cried excitedly. “I waded in after it!”
    A few minutes were enough to rip out part of the railing of the wooden staircase and build a fire. “Here goes my last match,” said Chet. Soon he had planked the mackerel in fine style. Using sea water for salt, the boys regaled themselves on the tasty fish.
    As they finished, a drone overhead announced the return of the silver seaplane. The boys signaled frantically. This time the craft circled once, then settled down on the calm water.
    â€œHot dog!” yelled Chet in fervent relief.
    The seaplane taxied up to the stone dock, and the cabin door opened. “Hello, there,” called the slim, sunburned young pilot, leaning out. “I didn’t see your signals earlier, but my passenger did. He didn’t tell me until we landed—thought it was a joke.”
    â€œSome joke!” said Chet as the boys clambered in.
    â€œFigured ”I’d better check,“ said the pilot. ”My name’s Al West. I’ll take you to Larchmont Airport and drive you to town, if that’ll help.“
    â€œThanks a million!” Joe said gratefully.
    â€œSame here!” Frank exclaimed. “We thought we were stuck on that rock pile for good!”
    Exactly one hour later the Hardys and Chet, who was still shirtless, stepped from Al West’s car, waved good-by, and trooped into the Larchmont Record office.
    Bart Worth stared at them, flabbergasted, and upon hearing their story, expressed still further amazement. “You come home with me for a change of clothes and a solid meal,” he ordered. “And you’d better forget my case. This newspaper isn’t worth risking your lives.”
    â€œWe’ll accept that meal,” Frank answered for the three, “but if you think anything could keep us from this job now, you’re mistaken. We have several scores of our own to settle.”
    While the hungry youths feasted at Worth’s bountiful table, the editor paced the floor.
    â€œThe lawsuit against me is coming up for trial, and I haven’t a shred of proof that some outsider tampered with my editorial,” he said. “Jenny Shringle first told me that story. She may have something to back it up, if we could find her.”
    â€œSomebody besides her neighbor must have seen her leave,” Frank reasoned. “We’ll comb the town.”
    â€œGood!” said Worth. “I’ll come along.”
    The boys set out, accompanied by the editor. First, Chet bought a blazing yellow shirt with a pattern of zigzag lightning on it.
    â€œThis’ll make a swell distress signal”—he grinned—“if we need one again.”
    They started from the town square and questioned everyone who might have noticed the seamstress departing a few mornings before. No one had. Gradually the four worked their way to the