The Hidden Harbor Mystery by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

Blackstone’s place, your former employer showed us a friendly note from the professor—to prove the two of them are on good terms.”
    A flicker of surprise showed in the woman’s gray eyes. Abruptly she addressed Frank.
    â€œYou helped me,” she said, “so I’ll tell you this much. In all the thirty years I worked in that house, the Blackstones had nothing to do with the Rands. Oh, they weren’t feuding. They just ignored each other—never even sent greeting cards. Ruel Rand would as soon write Blackstone a friendly note as jump into that pond I heard them quarreling about!”
    â€œThen you don’t think Rand wrote it?” Frank asked as he escorted the woman up to her cousin’s little white house.
    â€œImpossible,” said Jenny, slipping inside.
    In thoughtful silence the young detectives and their client drove back to Larchmont. Night had fallen before they reached the high dunes around the campsite. As the sound of Bart’s car died away on the road back to town, the boys busied themselves with supper preparations.
    The camp stove was lighted. Meanwhile, Chet broke a dozen eggs into a bowl and beat them furiously. Joe heated a greased deep skillet over the flame. While the Hardys watched, Chet poured his omelet mixture, muttering all the time like a witch over her brew.
    â€œAh ... bits of ham—so. Chopped onions ... potatoes ... salt ... Now, with the turner, flip!”
    A few minutes later, each boy was balancing a tin plate filled with a huge steaming third of the puffy omelet, and eating by flashlight.
    Finishing, Chet gave a sigh of appeased hunger. At that moment, in the rays of the light, Joe saw a pair of white eyes in a dark face. Quickly he signaled the others to remain still. After a moment, the face disappeared.
    â€œIt’s the boy who was eavesdropping on us today,” Joe whispered. “Now our campsite is known.” He and Frank decided to trail the lad.
    The small figure proved easy to follow among the dunes, for the moonlight was already bright.
    â€œHe’s carrying a package,” Frank noted.
    The boy had struck across the sand toward the pond. With the help of the moon, the young sleuths kept him in sight all the way.
    â€œHe’s heading for the Rand place,” Joe observed as the lad turned left at the pond.
    The little boy, however, merely skirted the water and went into the swamp.
    â€œI’ll bet he knows we’re following him,” whispered Frank. “He’s trying to throw us off.”
    The lad took the same trail over which the Hardys had chased the tall figure in the long coat a few nights before. The hedge loomed up at the end of the path. The boy disappeared through it.
    â€œLet’s wait here,” Frank suggested. “He’ll think he’s rid of us and come back.”
    The brothers crouched behind a bush. Presently a light rustling in the hedge alerted them. In a moment the small boy passed by them. Without his package, he scuttled alongside the pond and over to the Blackstone property. Frank and Joe saw him pause near the big house and look back. Then he vanished into its cellar.
    â€œThat’s funny. He sure knows his way around here. Wonder who he is,” Frank muttered.
    â€œMysterious character number seven.” Joe chuckled. “Let’s have another look at the pond.”
    Noiselessly the two boys walked on until they reached the westerly edge of the still water. Suddenly, in the moonlight, a ripple marred the surface very near them.
    â€œThe monster!” Joe whispered excitedly.
    The saw-tooth fin emerged eerily in the moonlight. The huge creature remained visible for a few seconds, then slipped out of sight into the depths of the pond.
    â€œBack to camp,” Joe said excitedly. “We’ll get our diving gear and bring underwater lights. We’ll find out what that thing is yet!”
    â€œRight,” Frank agreed. “Let’s