The Missing Chums by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

from there after watching the regatta.”
    â€œDon’t forget,” said Joe, “he’s a pal of Sutton’s.”
    â€œNorthport might provide clues to Chet and Biff, the bank robbery, and the Shantytown trouble,” Frank concluded.
    The boys finished their breakfast and rode to the Hardy boathouse. As Joe stepped into the Sleuth, he kicked off his moccasins. The next moment he cried, “Ouch—hey! Broken glass!” He lifted the floor rack. “There’s a whole mess of it in the bottom. Looks like a soda bottle.”
    â€œThat’s funny,” said Frank. “We didn’t notice any yesterday.”
    â€œThat’s because the glass was all hidden under the rack,” Joe pointed out. “This piece was forced up between the slats overnight by the rocking of the boat.”
    While he gingerly extracted a sliver of glass from his toe, Frank picked up the jagged fragments. “These weren’t here the day before the robbery,” he broke in excitedly. “We took out the rack and emptied the boat completely. It’s a clue, Joe! We’ll put these pieces together at home.”
    He found some cheesecloth in the dashboard compartment, gathered all the glass fragments into it, and put the little bundle in his pocket. Joe, meanwhile, stuck a small bandage on his foot and put on his shoes.
    After filling the tank with fuel, the boys headed for Northport. The motorboat streaked across the bay, with Frank at the wheel. Skillfully he throttled down a bit as his craft moved into the long, dark swells of the Atlantic.
    Steadily the Sleuth plowed northward. Joe shaded his eyes with his hand as dots of land appeared off the coast ahead. “There are the islands where Chet and Biff wanted to camp,” he noted. “Say! They’re pretty isolated—and would be likely spots for hiding kidnap victims! We ought to search them if we don’t find some clue to the boys in Northport.”
    â€œI’ll pass them as close as I can,” Frank offered. “Maybe we’ll see something.”
    One by one the line of islets could be seen. Though the Hardys watched carefully, they saw only sand, pines, and huge stone formations. Some of the islands were surrounded by dangerous half-submerged rocks.
    â€œWe’re getting close to Jagged Reef,” Joe reminded his brother. “Better take her out. Those rocky teeth can bite the bottom of a boat!”
    Frank turned the Sleuth’s prow seaward. As he revved up the engine, however, he was startled by a shout from Joe.
    â€œHold it! There—submerged just off those rocks—” Joe pointed to a little island. “It looks like the wreck of a motorboat!”
    Immediately Frank throttled down and headed toward the spot. Finally he let the engine idle. “I don’t dare go any closer,” he said. “Can you see her from here?”
    â€œOnly the outline,” reported Joe, who was standing up now with one foot on the gunwale. “Looks as if she hit a rock close to shore and sank. She’s a good size.”
    â€œThose fragments on the rock look black,” Joe noticed. “So does the outline. Say, do you suppose it’s the boat that nearly hit us—the Black Cat?”
    â€œWe can find out,” Frank said promptly. “Our underwater equipment is in the locker. Take the wheel. I want to get a look.”
    Quickly Frank donned a face mask with a wide glass plate. Leaning over, he put his head in the water and strained to see the wreck more clearly.
    Lifting his face, he exclaimed, “It is black! I can’t tell if it’s the Black Cat at this distance. Keep her in close, Joe. Why are we drifting away?”
    â€œCan’t help it.” Desperately Joe yanked at the wheel. “We’re caught in the current!” he exclaimed frantically.
    While the boys had been intent on the sunken hull, the swift, strong current had caught their craft.