# The House on the Cliff/Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV
The Chase in the Bay
The boys stared at one another in bewilderment.
"I know my tool box was full when I left home," said Frank,
"And so was mine," came from Joe. "I was using the pliers just before we started out."
"Where could they have gone?"
"They must have been stolen while the motorcycles were in the shed at the Polucca place," Chet suggested.
"It's the only time they could have been taken," declared Frank. "It was the only time they were left unguarded."
Joe was frankly puzzled.
"But we didn't see any one around the place," said Jerry.
"No―but there was some one there. We heard those shrieks and the laugh. Some one stole those tools while we were in the house."
"It's some kind of a practical joke, that's ​what I'm beginning to think," declared Frank, "Let's go back and get those tools."
"Not on your life," objected Jerry decisively. "This is a little too much. First of all we hear those shrieks, and then the house almost comes down around our ears, and now we find that the tools have been stolen by somebody we didn't see. We're safer away from there."
Biff Hooper nodded agreement.
"That's what I think. There's something queer about that house. We'll get into trouble if we go butting in any more."
"But we want our tools!”
"Good night!" Chet exclaimed. "Perhaps mine are gone too." He ran out of the shed over to the road and hastily examined the tool box on his machine. Then he straightened up with an audible sigh of relief.
"Thank goodness, they're here! Guess whoever took the others figured he had enough."
"I'm going back!" declared Frank.
"If you do, you'll have to excuse me," Chet said. "You're welcome to use my tools to fix up your machine, but I won't go back with you."
"Me neither," chimed in Jerry and Biff simultaneously.
Frank and Joe were silent. They wanted to go back to the Polucca place and investigate ​the matter further, but they did not want to break up the party, so they decided it would be better policy to remain with their companions.
"All right," Frank said. "Lend me a pair of pliers and I'll have this trouble fixed up in no time."
He went over to Chet's motorcycle and got the desired tools. Then he began to tinker with his machine. It was only a minor defect, and a few minutes' work sufficed to repair the damage. In the meantime it was apparent that the rain was letting up, and by the time the Hardy boys took their motorcycles out of the shed and regained the road, it had died away to a mere drizzle.
"This has been some holiday!" Chet muttered, as he mounted his machine again. "I'm going home. Jerry, you and Biff had better come up to our place for dinner. How about you and Joe, Frank!"
"Thanks just the same, but we couldn't. We promised to be back home this afternoon."
"There's a side road turns off here that makes a nice short-cut to our farm. I guess I'll go that way. There should be room for three on this bike, with a little crowding."
Jerry and Biff Hooper clambered on the motorcycle with Chet Morton and started off. The Hardy boys followed on their own ma​chines until they reached the side road, about a hundred yards away. There the others left them, after shouting good-bye. Frank and Joe watched Chet's motorcycle, heavily loaded disappear into the mists that hovered over the road, and then they prepared to continue their journey back to Bayport.
The shore road dipped at that point and wound down along the edge of the bay in a deep spiral, which brought them at one point almost back to the cliff at the top of which the Polucca place was located, although by now they were nearer the water's edge. From there the road sloped directly down to the shore, then ran along the edge of the bay and in toward the city.
Frank looked up toward the top of the cliff that loomed high above them. They could not see the Polucca place from where they were, as it was on the high ground and almost masked by trees, but the mystery of the place still preyed on their minds.
"I'd like to go back there yet," said Frank suddenly. "That affair of the tools has me guessing."
"Me too. But I think we'd better go on home. We can come back some other time and look for them."
"One minute I think it was only a practical joke of some kind. And the next minute I think ​it's something a whole lot deeper than that. There's something strange going on up there."
"There were sure a lot of strange things going on when we struck the place―that's certain. I can hear those shrieks yet."
"Well, I guess you're right, Joe. We may as well go on home. But I'd like to get to the bottom of it."
"Whoever stole those tools made quick work of it. We weren't in the house very long."
"It proves that it wasn't a ghost, anyway."
"I never did believe in the ghost theory. No, some human being took those tools. And he was watching us, too. He saw us put the bikes in the shed and he took the tools while we were in the house."
"Unless they were taken after we left the bikes under the trees in the first place."
"He wouldn't have had time. We only stepped into the front room and then we all came out after that first shriek. No, the tools were taken when the bikes were in the shed."
The boys rode on. The rain had ceased now, but the road was greasy and they had to call on all their skill to keep from skidding as they drove down the steep road toward the bay, so they did not talk again until they reached the more level highway at the shore.
A sound out in the bay attracted Frank's attention and he looked out over the rolling ​sweep of waters. He could see a powerful motorboat plunging through the waves about a quarter of a mile out. It was just coming into view around the base of the cliff, and as Frank looked he saw the nose of still another boat emerging into sight. Each craft was traveling at high speed.
"Looks like a race!" remarked Joe.
The Hardy boys stopped their motorcycles and watched the two boats. But it was soon apparent that this was no friendly speed contest. The boat in the lead was zigzagging in a peculiar manner, and the pursuing craft was rapidly overhauling it. The staccato roar of the powerful boats was borne to the lads' ears by the wind.
"See! The other boat is chasing it!" Frank exclaimed. He had caught sight of the figures of two men standing in the bow of the pursuing craft. They were waving their arms frantically.
The first boat turned as though it were about to head inshore at the cliff and then, apparently, the helmsman changed his mind, for at once the nose of the boat pointed out into the open bay again. But the moment of hesitation had given the pursuers the chance they wanted, and swiftly the gap between the racing craft grew smaller and smaller.
The Hardy boys saw that there was but one ​man in the foremost craft. He was bent over the wheel. In the other boat they caught sight of one figure who had snatched up an object that appeared to be a rifle. To their amazement they saw him aim at the man in the leading craft. Then, across the water, they heard the sharp report.
The lone figure in the first boat dropped out of sight. Whether he had been hit or not the boys could not tell. But the craft did not slacken speed. Instead, it still continued to race madly through the waves.
But the pursuers rapidly drew closer until at last the boats were running side by side. They were so close together that it appeared as if a collision were imminent.
"The whole crowd of them will be killed if they aren't careful!" muttered Frank.
Then, just when it seemed that both boats must crash together, the pursuing craft, as though it had given up the chase, veered abruptly away and headed out toward the middle of the bay.
The speed of the other boat decreased. The roar of its exhaust became intermittent.
"Engine trouble!" suggested Joe.
But there was more than engine trouble.
With startling violence, a sheet of flame leaped high into the air from the motorboat. There was a stunning explosion and a dense ​puff of smoke. Bits of wreckage were thrown high into the air, and in the midst of it all the Hardy boys, horrified, saw the figure of the man they had noticed before, as he was hurled into the water.
The whole boat was swiftly ablaze. Hardly had the wreckage begun to fall back into the water with spasmodic patterings and splashes than the craft was in flames from bow to stern.
"Look!" shouted Frank. "He's still alive!"
The man of the boat had been killed by neither the rifle shot nor the explosion.
They could see him struggling in the water not far from the blazing craft. His head was a dark oval above the water and he was slowly trying to swim ashore.
"He'll never make it!" gasped Joe.
"We'll have to try to save him!" answered his brother.