064-Mystery of Smugglers Cove by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-08-07T15:12:03+00:00

"Would you be willing to go to the police and blow the whistle on these guys?" Joe asked.

"You kiddin'? I've no proof. The cops wouldn't believe me. The best they'd do is let me go and start snooping around, and then Nitron would know I squealed and do me in."

"They'd believe us" Frank declared.

"Oh, sure. Who are you but just another bunch of kids on the shady side of the law!"

"We're detectives," Frank said. "The police know we're working underground. We're Frank and Joe Hardy."

"Hardy?" Junior's eyes grew round as saucers. "You mean, the Hardy boys?"

"Yes. We came here to find a priceless painting that Nitron stole from a man in Bayport. It's a portrait of Simon Bolivar. Have you seen it?"

Junior shook his head. "No, I haven't. Man, are you really the Hardy boys?"

"Believe it," Chet said. "They're working on a case, and Biff and I are helping them."

"Look, we haven't much time to waste," Joe spoke up. "Do you know where Nitron goes when he comes to Egret Island, Junior?"

I once heard him mention a hill at the head of the cove, past a tall palm tree, and beyond a pond."

All right," Frank said. "Joe and I'll go and see whether we can find out anything. If the smugglers come back, just tell them we went into the woods for some coconuts, okay?"

"Okay!" Junior declared. "And if you can get us all out of this racket and save our skins, I'll never do anything illegal again!"

Joe grinned. "We'll take you up on that!"

Moments later the Hardys were pushing through the undergrowth at the head of the cove. They followed a trail of broken branches and footprints in the sandy ground where the smugglers obviously had passed. The path slanted upward. Soon the boys found themselves at the top of the hill.

"There's the palm tree," Joe declared, pointing. "But I don't see a pond."

"Only one thing to do," Frank decided. He took off his jacket and shoes, got a grip on the tree with his hands and feet, then worked his way up until he could grab the fronds and survey the area.

"There it is," he called out. "And a barn's on the other side. That might be the place we're looking for."

He slid down the tree and put his shoes and jacket on again. The boys went to the pond, circled around it, and stopped at a clump of scrubby trees. Through the branches they could see a long wooden barn one story high with a loft above. Dense black smoke poured from the chimney.

"Somebody's home," Frank muttered.

They slipped stealthily through the bushes until they stood at the side of an open window. Cautiously they peered in.

The first thing they saw was a blazing furnace in the middle of the room. Steam poured out of its vents. Molten metal dripped into a cast-iron ramp and from there into a cast-iron vat.

A barrel filled with lumps of lead stood on one side of the furnace, a container holding slag on the other.

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