The Secret of Skeleton Reef by Franklin W. Dixon

harsh words. We’re all friends here.”
    â€œI said scram!” Flask thundered.
    â€œIt’s a free sea!” Rob yelled. “We’ll scram when we’ve got a mind to scram!”
    â€œIsaac,” Flask said quietly.
    Isaac lifted his rifle to eye level. Then he pulled the trigger, and a shot resounded in the open air. Isaac fired again. Joe could see Isaac was aiming wide of the Australians, trying only to scare them.
    â€œOn second thought,” Rob called out, “maybe we’d better scram now. Don’t worry though, Captain, you haven’t heard the last of us!”
    â€œOh, no!” Davy added. “Not by a long shot.”
    The two Australians howled with laughter as they turned their boat around and zoomed away.
    â€œGood work, Isaac,” Flask said. “From now on, I want you and Ishmael to be extra careful. Crazy as they are, those guys are smart and dangerous—like a pair of hyenas.”
    â€œFear not, Skipper,” Isaac said. “Isaac and Ishmael can handle those two just fine.” Ishmael gave one nod, then the two cousins headed back to their post on the top deck.
    â€œIsaac and Ishmael,” Flask told the Hardys,“they’re not afraid of anything. Well, no, maybe there’s one thing they’re afraid of.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” Frank said, watching Rob and Davy’s boat disappear in the sun’s glare.
    â€œThere’s a ghost that supposedly haunts the waters around here,” Flask said.
    â€œRebecca,” Joe said.
    â€œYeah, I think that’s her name,” Flask said, fingering the gold coin around his neck. “One night Isaac and Ishmael thought they saw the ghost, and it near scared them to death. I don’t believe in ghosts myself, but some of these island folk are pretty superstitious.”
    Using this as a cue, Flask began telling the Hardys a few tales of his travels around the many Caribbean islands. He seemed to have no shortage of stories, but after half an hour he left to consult with Brunelli over some nautical matter.
    â€œWhat did you find out about the redhead?” Joe asked, once the Hardys were alone.
    The sun was beating down hard on the deck, and Frank wiped sweat from his forehead. “Her full name is Peg Riley,” he said. “I think she transferred the stolen goods to her duffel bag. It also turns out she’s Chrissy’s roommate.”
    â€œInteresting,” Joe said, brushing back his blond hair. “Maybe she’s been bringing her stolen goods home, and Chrissy found them. That would give Peg a reason to attack Chrissy.”
    â€œShe didn’t seem all that worried about Chrissy, either,” Frank added.
    â€œI had a chat with Pierre Montclare,” Joe said.
    â€œWhat did he have to say?” Frank asked.
    â€œNot much,” Joe replied. “He said he’s in the banana business and he didn’t want us on the boat because we’re not covered by his insurance policy. I didn’t get to ask anything about Chrissy. He seemed to be in an awfully foul mood.”
    â€œSomething occurred to me while you were diving,” Frank told Joe. “The person who tried to kill Chrissy might believe she died in the water last night. What I’m saying is, we might look for signs of guilt in the people we speak to today. For example, that could explain why Montclare was in such a bad mood.”
    â€œI’ll keep that in mind,” Joe said. “Then again, not all criminals show any sign of guilt.”
    â€œThat’s true,” Frank said.
    Frank saw Brunelli approaching. He was cleaning his fingernails with some object, and Frank realized it was the type of spear used with a speargun. “You boys seem awfully interested in this expedition,” Brunelli said, leaning on the gunwale.
    â€œIt’s interesting stuff,” Frank said.
    â€œI guess it is,” Brunelli said, glancing from Frank to