CHAPTER I

TROUBLE!

Tap! Tap! Tap!

"It's a mystery to me," said Joe Hardy as he worked over the engine of the Sleuth, "what it is that puts this motor out of order all the time."

"If we were in Dad's shoes, we'd have the case cleared up at once," replied his brother Frank, referring to their father, Fenton Hardy, well-known detective. "And speaking of shoes, I'll bet you don't know which is the heaviest pair of shoes in the world."

Chet Morton, their stout chum, who was propped comfortably against a bulkhead while the brothers worked over their motorboat, grinned good-naturedly.

"Maybe Frank means mine!" he drawled.

"I'm sure I don't know," admitted Joe.

"I'm afraid you both flunk the examination," declared Frank. "No, Chet's shoes are not the

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heaviest in the world unless they happen to weigh thirty-two pounds apiece."

The other two whistled in surprise.

"Thirty-two p--pounds apiece!" exclaimed Chet. “Whew! Must be made for dinosaurs!''

"If you weren't one of the best students in Bayport High I'd say you're a bit daffy," said Joe, giving his brother a playful push. "Even a circus fat man doesn't wear such heavy shoes."

Frank was obviously enjoying the stir he had created in the little group.

"No," he said, "the people who wear thirty-two pound shoes aren't dinosaurs and they aren't circus fat men. They're divers. Deep-sea divers."

Chet scratched his tousled head thoughtfully. "That's right," he exclaimed. "I remember reading about them somewhere."

"But you don't remember just what or where," taunted Joe. "Frank, where did you learn so much about divers all of a sudden!"

His brother carefully scraped some carbon from a spark-plug. "Fellow I met yesterday in the barber shop told me a lot about deep-sea diving for sunken treasure. Said he was a diver himself. His shoes have to be weighted down with lead to keep him upright under water and what's more, he has to carry eighty pounds of lead weights over his shoulders; one on his back, the other on his chest to steady him under the surface."

Trouble! 3

"Say, I'd like to meet that fellow!" exclaimed Joe. "Who is he, anyway?"

The words were barely out of his mouth when Frank, who had happened to glance up, caught his brother's arm.

"Look, Joe, there he comes now along the dock. Yes, it's the same man!"

Joe saw a tall, lanky figure sauntering along the wooden walk in their direction.

"You chaps wait here a minute," Frank suggested. "I'll speak to him."

He jumped to the pier just as his new acquaintance arrived at the Sleuth's mooring cleat.

"Why, hello there!" greeted the newcomer affably. "Aren't you the chap I met yesterday in the barber shop?"

"I certainly am, Mr.-----"

"Perry," finished the other, smiling agreeably. "Roland Perry. Fine-looking boat you have there. Is it yours?"

"My brother Joe and I own it. Joe," he called, "this is Mr. Perry, the diver I told you about. And this is Chet Morton," he added.

The stranger climbed down into the boat and shook hands with the boys. Then he seated himself astride an old box.

"We'll be through in a few minutes, Mr. Perry," said the older Hardy boy as he turned to replace a cleaned spark-plug. "I've been telling my brother and Chet about the thirty-two pound shoes you said divers have to wear."

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Perry leaned back languidly and half closed his blue eyes. "Yes, we have to wear heavy shoes, all right."

He seemed to be meditating, and for a moment said nothing more. Finally he stretched his long legs across an oil tin and chuckled.

"Funny thing, fellows, how I am reminded of the time I was caught in a room just about the size of this boat on the old Borentic. I was on a diving job. Boy! I thought that would be my last minute-and it almost wasl"

"The Borentic!" exclaimed Frank. "I remember when that sank-during a hurricane, wasn't it? Did you dive for that?"

Perry grinned. "Well, I didn't exactly dive for the Borentic, but I did make a try for the hundred thousand dollars she had in her vault. What a job! She was lying at a forty-five degree angle in almost two hundred feet of water, and Kuntz and I were detailed to find the vault, blow it open, and bring up the valuables."

"And you got caught in the room? How come?" queried Frank, while the others stared open-mouthed at the engaging narrator.

Perry's eyes once again assumed a far-away look. "Well, we had to cut a hole in the side of the ship to get in. We did this with blowtorches. When we finished this job, I was ordered to go in first."

By this time the brothers had ceased their tinkering completely, and were listening to the story-teller breathlessly.

Trouble! 5

"And you had only ten minutes in which to find the vault?" interposed Joe.

Perry nodded. "Not a second more. There was no telling what obstacles I might encounter in that short space of time. Well, I-" He hesitated as the roar of a passing motorboat momentarily drowned out his words. Then he went on, "I climbed carefully through the jagged hole in the side of the vessel and slowly felt my way along the tilted corridor."

"I can feel cold chills along my spine already," Joe murmured.

"Me too!" came Chet's emphatic agreement.

Perry's face grew tense. "All of a sudden, without any warning whatsoever, the rotting timbers gave way beneath me and I crashed into a cabin below. My lifeline was caught in some splintered rafters above my head and couldn't be used to pull me up. I had only four minutes left!"

"Whew!" whistled Chet, mopping his brow. "I think I'll leave diving off my list of sports!"

"What happened then, Mr. Perry?" asked Frank.

The diver shrugged his shoulders. "I'm still here, so you know I moved successfully. Just as I was about to faint from exhaustion, for I'd been down long past my limit, my foot touched a metal ladder that had been used to reach a trapdoor. That contrivance saved my

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life, but I was in the hospital for nearly three months afterward."

The tense silence that followed Perry's tale was broken only by the hoarse cough of another motorboat cruising near them in Barmet Bay. At length Frank stood up and reached for his wrench.

"Who was that Kuntz fellow you mentioned?" he queried.

Perry's face took on a worried look. "He used to work with me, but now he has a diving corporation of his own. I think he's one of my bitterest enemies."

The Hardys looked wonderingly at the tall, scowling fellow before them. They sensed that trouble of a deep nature had stirred this man, and they feared that there might be more in the offing.

"Maybe we can help you!" exclaimed Joe.

Perry brightened, waved his big hand, and quickly changed the subject. "Say, here I've been doing all this talking and keeping you boys from your work. How's it coming?"

"Ho! I think we'd all rather hear your experiences than work on a motor," Frank laughed, and his chums agreed heartily. '' There seems to be something wrong with this timing gear," he continued. "I can't seem to straighten it out."

"Let me have a look," Perry offered. In an instant he had shown the boys how to adjust the delicate mechanism. "I think we have it

Trouble! 7

now," he said a moment later. "Start her up, Frank."

"All right, Mr. Perry."

Frank turned on the ignition. The engine spluttered, hesitated, then sprang into life. An instant later the boat lurched suddenly and spun away from the dock.

"Thought we'd better have a little spin before lunch!" came a cry from Chet who was at the helm.

Joe laughed. "It's mutiny, Frank!" he shouted above the clatter of the motor. "You didn't tell Chet to go! Maybe you'd better take the wheel yourself. No saying what our Quartermaster will bump into, with all the Yacht Club boats anchored around."

"And I must be going," said Perry, cupping his hands to make himself heard. "Better drop me off at the dock first if you're sailing any distance. I've an important engagement."

As Frank took a step toward Chet, the fat boy gave the wheel a sudden sharp twist.

"Buoy ahead!" he shouted. "Almost-----"

He was interrupted by a cry from Joe. "Lookout!"

The younger Hardy lad's warning came too late. With a sudden splintering crash the Sleuth plowed into a smaller motorboat that suddenly had appeared from astern.

The impact flung Perry into the water. Two irate men in the other boat cursed loudly and shook their fists at the boys.

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"You'll pay for this-plenty!" snarled one, a short, thick-set individual with a vicious face.

"Yeah-you Hardys'11 hear from us!" yelled his companion menacingly. He was thin and bony, with a hawk-like nose and a plainly visible scar across one cheek.

Before the boys had time to collect their wits, the strangers, muttering threats, gunned their motor and headed swiftly for the opposite shore of the bay.

Frank Hardy leaped to the Sleuth's helm. "Where's Perry?" he yelled. "Joe! Chet! Where's-----"

"Over here!" came a hoarse cry from somewhere astern.

Frank advanced the throttle to full speed and the Sleuth lunged through the heavy surf like a giant fish. A moment later Joe tossed out the life-ring.

"I have it!" gasped the diver. He was a strong swimmer, but his heavy clothes and the choppy waters handicapped him considerably.

Frank kept the Sleuth's bow headed into the wind while Joe and Chet tugged at the life-line. A few seconds later Perry, dripping and disheveled, was back on deck.

"Whew!" he panted as the boys eyed him with concern. "Fine sort of an accident for a professional diver!" Suddenly his sheepish grin became a frown. "But look at me-and I'm supposed to meet Fenton Hardy, the detective, in ten minutes!"