Franklin Dixon - The House on the Cliff

"Not bad," he muttered. "I hadn't thought of Ali Singh. Yes, he'd take care of them. They'd never get

back here." He smiled grimly.

"From what he told me about that friend of his, the captain'd probably dump the Hardys overboard

before they got very far out," the man went on smugly. "Seems like he don't feed passengers if he can get

rid of 'em!"

"All the better. We wouldn't be responsible."

"Leave them to AH Singh." Red chuckled evilly. "He'll attend to them."

Snattman walked over to the cot and looked down at Mr. Hardy. "It's too bad your boys had to come

barging in here," he said. "Now the three of you will have to take a little ocean voyage." He laughed.

"You'll never get to the Coast Guard to tell your story."

The detective was silent. He knew further attempts at persuasion would be useless.

"Well," said Snattman, "haven't you anything to say?"

"Nothing. Do as you wish with me. But let the boys go."

"We'll stick with you, Dad," said Frank quickly.

"Of course!" Joe added.

"You sure will," Snattman declared. "I'm not going to let one of you have the chance of getting back to

Bayport with your story."

The ringleader of the smugglers stood in the center of the room for a while, contemplating his captives

with a bitter smile. Then he turned suddenly on his heel.

"Well, they're safe enough," he told Red. "We have that business with Burke to take care of. Come on,

men, load Burke's truck. If any policemen come along and find it in the lane we'll be done for."

"How about them?" asked Red, motioning to the Hardys. "Shouldn't they be guarded?"

"They're tied up tight." Snattman gave a short laugh. "But I guess we'd better leave one guard, anyway.

Malloy, you stay here and keep watch."

Malloy, a surly, truculent fellow in overalls and a ragged sweater, nodded and sat down on a box near

the door. This arrangement seemed to satisfy Snattman. After warning Malloy not to fall asleep on the

job and to see to it that the prisoners did not escape, he left the room. He was followed by Red and the

other smugglers.

A heavy silence fell over the room after the departure of the men. Malloy crouched gloomily on the box,

gazing blankly at the floor. The butt of a revolver projected from his hip pocket.

Frank strained against the ropes that bound him to the chair. But the smugglers had done their task well.

He could scarcely budge.

"We'll never get out of this," he told himself ruefully.

Joe was usually optimistic but this time his spirits failed him. "We're in a tough spot," he thought. "It looks

as if we'll all be on that ship by morning."

To lighten their spirits the Hardys began to talk, hoping against hope to distract the guard and perhaps

overpower him.

"Shut up, you guys!" Malloy growled. "Quit your talking or I'll make it hot for you!" He tapped his

revolver suggestively.

After that, a melancholy silence fell among the prisoners. All were downhearted. It looked as if their fate

truly were sealed.

CHAPTER XVI

Quick Work

IN DESPAIR the boys glanced over at their father on the cot. To their surprise they saw that he was

smiling.

Frank was about to ask him what he had found amusing about their predicament when his father shook

his head in warning. He looked over at the guard.

Malloy was not watching the prisoners. He sat staring at the floor. Occasionally his head would fall

forward, then he would jerk it back as he struggled to keep awake.

"Snattman sure made a poor selection when he chose Malloy as guard," the boys thought.

Several times the burly man straightened up, stretched his arms, and rubbed his eyes. But when he settled

down again, his head began to nod.

In the meantime, the boys noticed their father struggling with his bonds. To their amazement he did not

seem to be so tightly bound as they had thought. Both of them tried moving but could not budge an inch.

The boys exchanged glances, both realizing what had happened. "Dad resorted to an old trick!" Frank

told himself, and Joe was silently fuming, "Why didn't we think of it?"

Mr. Hardy had profited by his previous experience. When the smugglers had seized the detective and

tied him to the cot for the second time, he had used a device frequently employed by magicians and

professional "escape artists" who boast that they can release themselves from tightly tied ropes and strait

jackets.

The detective had expanded his chest and flexed his muscles. He had also kept his arms as far away from

his sides as he could without being noticed. In this way, when he relaxed, the ropes did not bind him as

securely as his captors intended.

"Oh, why were Frank and I so dumb!" Joe again chided himself.

Frank bit his lip in utter disgust at not having remembered the trick. "But then"-he eased his

conscience-"Dad didn't think of it the first time, either."

Mr. Hardy had discovered that the rope binding his right wrist to the cot had a slight slack in it. He began

trying to work the rope loose. This took a long time and the rough strands rubbed his wrist raw. But at

last he managed to slide his right hand free.

"Hurray!" Frank almost shouted. He glanced at the guard. Malloy appeared to be sound asleep. "Hope

he'll stay that way until we can escape," Frank wished fervently.

He and Joe watched their father in amazement, as they saw him grope for one of the knots. The detective

fumbled at it for a while. It was slow work with only his one hand free. But the boys knew from his

satisfied expression that the smugglers in their haste apparently had not tied the knots as firmly as they

should have.

At this instant the guard suddenly lifted his head, and Mr. Hardy quickly laid his free hand back on the

cot. He closed his eyes as if sleeping and his sons followed his example. But opening their lids a slit, they

watched the smuggler carefully.

The guard grunted. "They're okay," he mumbled. Once more he tried to stay awake but found it

impossible. Little by little his head sagged until his chin rested on his chest. Deep, regular breathing told

the prisoners he was asleep.

Mr. Hardy now began work again on the knot of the rope that kept his left arm bound to the cot. In a

matter of moments he succeeded in loosening it and the rope fell away from his arm.

After making sure the guard was still asleep, the detective sat up on the cot and struggled to release his

feet. This was an easier task. The smugglers had merely passed a rope around the cot to hold the

prisoner's feet. A few minutes' attention was all that was necessary for the boys' father to work his way

loose.

"Now he'll release us," Joe thought excitedly, "and we can escape from here!"

As Fenton Hardy tiptoed toward his sons, the board floor squeaked loudly. The guard muttered again, as

if dreaming, shook his head, then sat up.

"Oh, no!" Frank murmured, fearful of what would happen. He saw his father pick up a white rag

someone had dropped.

A look of intense amazement crossed Malloy's face. As he opened his mouth to yell for help, Fenton

Hardy leaped across the intervening space and flung himself on the smuggler.

"Keep quiet!" the detective ordered.

Malloy had time only to utter a muffled gasp before the detective clapped a hand over the guard's mouth,

jammed the rag in it, and toppled him to the floor. The two rolled over and over in a desperate, silent

struggle. The boys, helpless, looked on, their fears mounting. They knew their father had been weakened

by his imprisonment and hunger, and the guard was strong and muscular. Nevertheless, the detective had