The Disappearing Floor by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

“At least take him home and put him to bed for a while.”
    Once they were seated in the convertible and the ambulance had departed, Joe protested, “Listen, I’m not sleepy! Why should I go to bed?” he argued. “Then we’d have to tell Mom what happened. And think of the fuss Aunt Gertrude would make!”
    â€œOkay, if you’re sure you feel all right.”
    As the boys walked back to the dock, Joe said, “The frogman who attacked me must have come from that cabin cruiser in the cove,” he reasoned.
    â€œI think that cruiser pulled out before Frank and I started sun-bathing,” Tony objected.
    â€œJoe could still be right. The cruiser could have left and arranged to pick up the frogman somewhere else,” Frank pointed out. “It’s a cinch he couldn’t have been lurking on shore, just waiting for us to show up. We didn’t even know, ourselves, that we’d be going to that particular spot to swim.”
    â€œI guess you’re right,” Tony agreed, frowning thoughtfully. “Must’ve been just bad luck. The cruiser spotted us, and whoever was aboard decided this was a perfect chance to nail at least one of the Hardys.”
    The boys boarded the Napoli and made a quick scouting trip back to the cove. The cruiser was nowhere in sight. Neither Tony nor the Hardys had paid enough attention to the craft to be able to identify it. Nor had Frank seen the frogman clearly enough to provide the police with a useful description.
    The boys dressed aboard the Napoli and headed back to the dock. Frank and Joe then said good-by to Tony and drove home. Chet Morton’s tomato-red jalopy was parked in front of the house. A girl was seated in one of the porch rockers.
    â€œThat’s Iola!” Joe exclaimed as they drove up.
    She came running to meet them as they got out of the car. “Oh, thank goodness!” Iola said excitedly. “I was afraid you might not get back in time!”
    â€œSomething wrong?” Frank asked.
    â€œI think we’ve found the man who stole our amethyst—at least we think we know where he is!”
    â€œWhere?” Joe blurted.
    Iola explained that she, Callie, and Chet had gone rock hounding again that morning in the hills outside Bayport. While they were trying to locate the spot where the girls had picked up the amethyst, they had glimpsed a man trailing them at a distance.
    â€œDid he look like the fellow who questioned you at the gem shop?” Frank put in,
    â€œHe was skulking too far behind—and ducking out of sight whenever we looked back,” Iola said, “so we couldn’t be sure.”
    â€œWhere are Chet and Callie?” Joe asked.
    â€œThey stayed behind. We made a fire and now they’re having lunch—acting as if nothing’s wrong. But Chet told me to sneak back to the car and get you two.”
    â€œOkay. Hop in your jalopy and lead the way,” Frank said. “We’ll follow you.”
    Iola drove into the hills west of Bayport. Frank and Joe stayed close behind in their convertible. Finally the jalopy pulled off the road. The Hardys parked nearby.
    â€œWe’ll have to do some walking,” Iola said.
    A five-minute hike brought them to a hill overlooking a narrow ravine. Iola explained that Chet and Callie were waiting just beyond. “And the man who’s been shadowing us is down there somewhere among all those rocks and shrubs—at least, he was when I left to get you.”
    â€œA perfect setup,” Joe gloated. “Frank, suppose you and I go into the ravine at this end and flush him out? Then he’ll either have to break for high ground or go right out past Chet.”
    Frank agreed to the plan, and the boys wound their way down the hillside and up the floor of the ravine. Iola headed along the brow of the hill to rejoin Chet and Callie.
    The Hardys spread out, searching among the brush and boulders. Twenty minutes