Franklin Dixon - The House on the Cliff

By this time the boat was close to shore. Joe and Biff leaped out and dragged it part way up on the

beach. Then the four boys carried the unconscious man up the rocky shore toward the farmhouse.

At their approach a plump woman came hurrying out of the house. From the orchard nearby a burly man

in overalls came forward.

"My goodness! What has happened?" the woman asked, running toward them.

"We just pulled this man out of the water," Frank explained. "We saw your house-"

"Bring him in," boomed the farmer. "Bring him right in."

The woman ran ahead and held the door open. The boys carried the stranger into the house and laid him

on a bed in the comfortably furnished first-floor bedroom. The farmer's wife hastened to the kitchen to

prepare a hot drink.

"Rub his ankles and wrists, and get those wet clothes off him," the farmer told the boys. "That will step up

his circulation. I'll get him some pajamas."

"How about calling a doctor?" Frank asked.

"No need. He'll be okay," the farmer declared.

The victim was soon under the covers. Frank and Joe continued to massage his wrists and ankles.

At last the stranger stirred feebly. His eyelids fluttered. His lips moved, but no words came. Then his eyes

opened and the man stared at those around him, as though in a daze.

"Where am I?" he muttered faintly.

"You're safe," Frank assured him. "You're with friends."

"You saved me?"

"Yes."

"Pretty near-cashed in-didn't I?"

"You nearly drowned, but you're all right now. When you feel like talking, you can tell us the whole

story," said Frank. "But, in the meantime, we'll call the police or the Coast Guard and report those men

who tried to murder you."

The man in the bed blinked and looked out the window. Finally he said, "No, no. Don't do that."

The boys were shocked. "Why not?" Joe burst out.

The man was thoughtfully silent for a moment, then said, "Thanks, but I'd rather let matters stand as they

are. I'll take care of it as soon as I get my strength back." The rescued man turned to the farmer. "Okay

with you if I stay here overnight? I'll pay you, of course."

The farmer put out his hand. "The name's Kane and you're welcome to stay until you feel strong. Nobody

can say I ever turned a sick man away. And what's your name?"

The patient hesitated a moment. "Jones. Bill Jones," he said at last.

It was so evidently a false name that the Hardys glanced knowingly at each other. Mr. Kane did not

seem to realize that his guest was apparently trying to hide his identity.

Mrs. Kane appeared with hot broth and toast. She suggested that her husband and the boys let the

patient rest for a while. When she joined them in the living room she invited the boys to have a snack.

Chet readily accepted for all of them.

The snack consisted of sandwiches of home-cured ham with cheese, glasses of fresh milk, and rich lemon

pie, frothy with meringue. Chet beamed. "Mrs. Kane, you ought to open a restaurant. I'd be a steady

customer. You're the best pie maker I've ever met."

Frank, Joe, and Biff chuckled. How often they had heard their stout, food-loving chum make similar

remarks! But in this case they had to agree with him and told Mrs. Kane so.

She smiled. "It's the least I can do for you boys who just saved someone's life."

Her young guests said nothing of their early afternoon's adventure inside the Pollitt house, but Frank

casually asked the Kanes if they had known the deceased owner and if anyone were living there now.

"Sure I knew Felix Pollitt," the farmer replied. "Closemouthed old codger, but I did hear him once say

somethin' about havin' a no-good nephew. Pollitt said he was his only livin' relative and he supposed he'd

have to leave the property to him."

"But who'd want the place?" Mrs. Kane spoke up. "It's falling apart and would cost a mint of money to

fix up."

Joe grinned. "Sounds like a haunted house," he remarked pointedly.

"Funny you should say that." Mrs. Kane looked at Joe. "There was a family stopped here the other day.

Wanted to buy some eggs. One of the little girls said they'd had a terrible scare. They'd stopped at the

old Pollitt place to have a picnic, and were scared out of their wits by moans and groans and queer

laughs from the house."

Mr. Kane's face broke into a grin. "The kid's imagination sure was runnin' away with itself."

"I'm not so sure of that," his wife disagreed. "I think some boys were in there playing pranks."

After Frank and Joe and their friends had left the farmhouse, they discussed the strange noises at the

Pollitt place from this new angle.

Biff frowned. "If those ghosts are from Bayport High, they'll sure have the laugh on us," he remarked.

"They sure will," Chet agreed. "I'd hate to face them on Monday."

Frank and Joe were not convinced. After they had dropped their chums at the Morton and Hooper

homes, they discussed the day's strange and varied adventures all the way to the Hardy house.

"I'm sure that ghost business was meant to be something more than a prank," Frank stated.

"Right," his brother agreed. "I just had an idea, Frank. Maybe nobody was in the house, but he could

have rigged up a tape recorder to make those sounds and a remote control to start it.

What say we go back sometime and take a look?"

"I'm with you."

By this time the boys had turned into the long driveway of the Hardy home, a spacious, three-story

clapboard house on the corner of High and Elm streets. The large two-story garage at the rear of an

attractive garden had once been a barn.

Frank and Joe parked their motorcycles, unstrapped the telescope, and carried it to the back porch. As

they entered the kitchen, they found their mother, a pretty, sweet-faced woman, with sparkling blue eyes,

preparing supper.

"Hello, boys," she greeted them. "Did you have a good day? See any smugglers?"

They kissed her and Frank said, "We have a lot to tell you and Dad."

"He's in the study upstairs. I'll go up with you right away and we can talk while the chicken's roasting and

the potatoes baking."

The three hurried up to the room where Mr. Hardy was busy looking in a large metal file in which he kept

important records. The detective stopped his work and listened with rapt attention as Frank and Joe

gave a detailed account of their adventures.

"We sure fell for that cry for help," Joe explained. "I'm sorry about the stolen eyepieces from the

telescope."

"And I hope it wasn't damaged when I had my spill," Frank added. He smiled wanly. "You'll probably

want to dismiss us from your detective force."

"Nothing of the kind," his father said. "But now, let's discuss what you saw through the telescope. You

said you spotted a man who climbed down the ladder of a boat and went off in a smaller one. Could he

have been this same fellow who calls himself Jones?"

"We couldn't identify him," Joe replied, "but he might be."

Frank snapped his fingers. "Yes, and he could be one of the smugglers."

"But who threw that hand grenade at him?" Joe asked. "Not one of his own gang, surely. And those guys

in the other speedboat-they couldn't have been Coast Guard men, even in disguise. They wouldn't use

grenades."

"Joe's right on the second point," Mr. Hardy agreed. "But Jones may still be a smuggler."

"You mean he might have done something to make his boss mad and the boss sent out a couple of men

to get him?" Joe asked.

The detective nodded. "If this theory is right, and we can persuade Jones to talk before he either rejoins

the gang or starts trying to take revenge, then we might get him to turn state's evidence."