044 The Haunted Fort by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER X

Mysterious Flag

COLD stinging water coursed through Joe’s mouth and nose as he sank beneath the surface. He could see the shadow of the capsized canoe above.

Shooting up for air, he immediately plunged beneath again.

With a mighty yank he freed Frank’s leg from the hull, and both boys were soon hugging the splintered boat.

“Are—are you all right?” Joe gasped.

Frank coughed for several moments before answering. “Yes, except my leg’s a bit sore. I don’t get it, Joe. This canoe is practically new.”

As the Hardys signaled an approaching motorboat, Joe noticed something on the canoe’s hull. “Frank, look!”

Joe pointed to a wide crusted hole where Frank’s leg had gone through, then noticed several smaller holes edged with a painted paste.

“This canoe was sabotaged!” he panted, tread ing water. “Somebody must have cut these holes, then used a sealer and paint! Whoever did it knew that it would just be a matter of time before water—or we—went through.”

The motorboat, manned by a man and his wife, pulled abreast of the stranded sleuths and helped them aboard. With the canoe in tow, they were soon on their way back to Millwood. Frank pulled wet book from the pocket of his slacks.

The True Story of Fort Royal was soaked but safe!

At the school dock the Hardys thanked their rescuers and hurried across the grass. Several students eyed the water-soaked boys curiously. Chet and his uncle spotted them and came rushing up. The two were mystified and worried upon hearing of the boat incident.

“Somebody must have been hoping you’d use my canoe,” the instructor said grimly.

“You mean the trap was intended for Frank and Joe,” Chet finished. “And maybe me too. No place is safe around here!”

As the Hardys changed into dry clothes they told of their visit to Lloyd Everett. Uncle Jim grinned. “He takes that battle as seriously as René Follette and Mr. Davenport.”

“And how!” Frank looked thoughtful. “He’s friendly enough-doesn’t look or act much like a hermit.”

During a late lunch the three boys and Uncle Jim discussed possible suspects in the canoe episode. Ronnie Rush? The short thief? The gallery prowler?

Joe noticed that Chet was staring into space and said, “You decided what your picture’s about?”

Chet grinned good-naturedly. “Okay, mind reader, I have. But you’ll have to wait and see.”

“Is your entry a still life, Chet?” Frank asked.

“Yes. A moving still life!”

The others groaned at the pun.

They were just leaving the kitchen when the art patron stormed out of his study, swinging his cane. A magazine was clutched in his hand.

“Confound him! That fogbound, silky-voiced, boiled shirt! That honey-dewed melonhead—”

“Now what?” murmured Chet.

Mr. Davenport was finally persuaded to calm down and explain. “Just look at this!” he directed, opening the magazine and pointing to a paragraph which read:“In the coming days, it will be my consummate pleasure to review the Millwood Art Exhibit, the annual artistic joke of the region. The public would better spend its time at nearby Fort Senandaga than risk dying of laughter at the ‘wood’ painted at the Davenport ‘mill.

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