044-The Haunted Fort by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-08-07T14:26:22+00:00

"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 I 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,'"

Frank looked up in disgust. "This was written by Chauncey Oilman."

Mr. Davenport said that the critic himself had mailed him the magazine. As soon as possible the Hardys changed the subject. The boys told the patron of their unsuccessful study of Everett's fort painting, then of the canoe incident.

The Southerner, who had been tapping his cane rapidly on the floor, suddenly stopped. To the others'

amazement, he announced, "There's one more painting. It's in my attic."

"What?" cried Joe.

"I declare, it slipped my mind," said the art patron. "Guess because it's the one work by Jason I never did like. Style's different from all the others, so I just plumb hid it."

"May we see it?" Frank asked quickly.

"Might as well." Mr. Davenport led the excited group to the third floor and into a dim alcove. There he removed a dust-covered canvas from a closet and set it on an antique table. The boys studied it closely with the magnifier.

"This is a contrast to the other fort paintings," Frank remarked. "It's all done in blacks, grays, and pale yellows. The storm clouds over the fort are ghostlike."

"Indeed they are," said Mr. Davenport. "I don't know what got into Jason."

Frank examined the back of the picture. He pointed to one corner, where a faded date was scrawled in a

wavering hand: April 1, 1865.

"That was just before the Civil War ended," said Uncle Jim.

Again the boys scrutinized the gloomy scene. The artist's initials were as usual in the lower corner, but were fainter than in the other paintings. Frank's mind was racing. Why had the Prisoner-Painter changed to such a somber style?

Just then Mr. Davenport looked at his watch. "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me," he said. "Expecting the carpenter any minute. He's working on a project for me." A mischievous twinkle came into the man's eyes, and as they went downstairs, he chuckled softly.

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