The Secret of the Caves by Franklin W. Dixon

man advanced on them threateningly. In a low voice he rumbled, “I advise you to give us the money and be on your way!”

CHAPTER VIII
    The Old Man’s Warning
    FRANK, although angry, wished to avoid a fight. He and Joe were on a sleuthing mission—this must come first. “How much do we owe you?” Frank asked the belligerent man. At the answer, Frank shook his head. “We don’t have enough money, but I’ll leave my watch for security.”
    Marcel sniffed. “Let’s see it.”
    Frank slipped off the handsome stainless-steel timepiece which he had received the Christmas before. “It’s a good Swiss make,” he said.
    As Marcel examined the watch, Joe took twenty dollars from his pocket. “How about two sawbucks and the watch?” he asked. “That should be enough for a broken old spinning wheel.”
    Marcel glanced at the woman and she gave a barely perceptible nod.
    â€œOkay,” he said. “But don’t come around here again breakin’ up our antiques.”
    â€œWe’ll be back,” Frank said, “with the thirty dollars to redeem my watch.”
    The shop manageress grudgingly produced a cardboard carton into which Frank and Joe placed the spinning-wheel parts. Then they put the box in the trunk of their car.
    As Frank drove off, he said, “Something phony going on here. That spinning wheel was only slapped together.”
    â€œLooks like the whole shop might have been set up in an awful hurry,” Joe remarked. “I’ll bet most of the other stuff is junky too.”
    â€œI wonder how Aunt Gertrude’s going to like her antique,” Frank said with an ear-to-ear grin.
    â€œI hate to think!” Joe said wryly, taking a road map from the glove compartment.
    After studying it for a moment, he announced, “We’re not far from Rockaway now. Boy! It’s really a small speck on the map!”
    Frank laughed. “I hope we don’t miss the place ”
    Presently he drove down a long hill, and the Hardys found themselves in kockaway. It was nothing more than a small crossroads village on the shore adjacent to a fishing pier. The brothers soon came to the campsite on the beach and parked. They spotted Biff and Chet sunning themselves before their tent. As the Hardys parked on the shoulder of the road, their friends hurried over.
    Frank and Joe got out and looked at Chet’s damaged jalopy.
    â€œWow! That’s a bad dent!” Joe said. “Cadmus Quill didn’t pull any punches.”
    â€œYou can say that again!” Biff retorted.
    â€œI think he’s got it in for all of us!”
    â€œHave you looked for him around here?” Frank asked.
    â€œLook for yourself,” Chet replied with a sweep of his hand. “There’s nothing but a couple of stores and a few shacks.”
    True, Rockaway could hardly be called a town. It was a sleepy little place, quite picturesque and redolent of fish. A weather-beaten frame building stood across the street. Above the door was a large sign: TUTTLE’S GENERAL STORE.
    â€œLet’s stock up on grub,” Frank said. He and Joe took rucksacks from their car and the four boys headed for the store.
    A venerable man with whiskers was seated behind a counter. He was intently scrutinizing a newspaper.
    The old gentleman put aside the newspaper and regarded them through his thick-lensed spectacles with grave curiosity, as though they were some new specimen of humanity.
    â€œYou’re Mr. Tuttle?” Frank ventured.
    â€œYup. What can I do for you?”
    â€œWe’d like to know how far it is to Honeycomb Caves.”
    The man’s eyes widened. “Honeycomb Caves!” he repeated in a high, cracked voice. “You lads going to pass by there?”
    Chet spoke up. “No, we’re going to camp in the caves and do some beachcombing.” He told of his metal detector and how they hoped to locate some