# The Missing Chums/Chapter 5

CHAPTER V
No Word from the Chums
Frank Hardy bore down on the helm as the boat heeled over. For a breathless second he thought the craft would be swamped. Water poured over the gunwales. The girls screamed. Joe was thrown off his balance and went sprawling into the stern.
But the Sleuth was staunch. In a moment it recovered, righted itself, and surged on through the storm. Frank breathed a sigh of relief. The engine throbbed steadily and, although the boat was rocking and swaying in the turbulent sea, it was drawing nearer shore and already he could distinguish the line of boathouses through the downpour.
For all its violence, the storm was brief. The wind began to die down, although the rain continued as though the heavens had been opened up. In a few minutes Frank was able to pick out his own boathouse and he headed the Sleuth directly for it. The sturdy craft sped swiftly toward the open doorway, then ​Frank shut off the engine and the boat came to rest.
"Some trip!" remarked Joe, shaking himself like a dog emerging from the water, so that spray flew from his clothing in every direction.
"My hair is all wet, and I won't be able to do a thing with it," mourned Callie Shaw, with feminine concern for her appearance first of all. In spite of the shelter afforded by the tarpaulin, both girls were thoroughly drenched. As for the boys, their clothing clung limply to their bodies. Frank clambered out of the boat and moored it fast, while Joe helped the girls up onto the landing.
"We're mighty lucky to be back at all," Iola Morton said. "I was sure the boat would be swamped."
"It takes a pretty big storm to swamp our boat," boasted Joe. "Although, to tell the truth, I was pretty nervous for a while."
"I was so frightened I couldn't speak," confessed the girl. "I do hope Chet and Biff turned back. They would never get through that storm alive."
Frank went to the door.
"No sight of them yet," he reported. Then he peered through the driving screen of rain again. "Just a minute—I hear a boat coming this way."
​"Perhaps it's Tony."
"I hope it's one or the other. I couldn't see the Napoli at all after the rain started."
In a few minutes they discerned a motorboat heading inshore. It was Tony Prito's craft, the Napoli.
"Good!" exclaimed Joe. "Chet and Biff should be along, too. They won't start on that trip to-day."
"I should hope not!" exclaimed Iola.
But when Tony's boat drew near the entrance of the boathouse on the way to its own shelter a short distance away, Tony shouted to Frank:
"All safe?"
"Everybody O.K.! How about you?"
"We're all right. Had a tough time getting back, though."
"So did we," Frank shouted. "Did Biff turn back?"
Tony shook his head. "Not a chance. We signaled to him that he'd better come back but he just shook his head, and Chet pointed to the end of the bay. They kept right on going. The last we saw of them they were heading right into the storm."
"Good night!" Frank exclaimed. "They'll be swamped."
"They're taking an awful chance. Oh, well, perhaps they gave in after all. They may have ​headed in toward one of the villages along the shore. They'll probably be back."
"Let's hope so!" exclaimed Iola. "I won't have a minute's rest until I'm sure they're safe."
Tony went on toward his own boathouse, with Jerry Gilroy and Phil Cohen, drenched to the skin, sitting ruefully in the stern. The Hardy boys and the two girls left the boathouse and were fortunate enough to meet a school chum who happened to be driving past in his car, so they drove home in shelter from the rain. Frank and Joe got off at their home after the chum had volunteered to drive the girls home.
"And I'll make it snappy, too," he promised. "I guess you're in a hurry to get into dry clothes."
"I feel like a drowned rat," declared Callie. "And I suppose I look like one too."
After the others drove away, the Hardy boys went into the house and made a complete change of clothes so that, fifteen minutes later, in dry garments, they were feeling at peace with the world. When they went downstairs again to tell their parents of the adventure they had just experienced, they found Mr. Hardy just snapping the catch of his club-bag, while a packed suitcase stood near by.
"Going away now?" they asked, in surprise.
​"Off to Chicago. I just got a fresh clue as to Baldy's whereabouts."
"He's there all right, is he?"
The detective nodded. "I'll just have time to catch this train."
Mrs. Hardy entered the room at that moment.
"I telephoned for a taxi." Her face was troubled. "I do wish you didn't have to make this journey, Fenton."
Mr. Hardy laughed.
"You've never worried about me so much before, Laura. I've gone away on cases as bad as this dozens of times without causing you as much anxiety."
"I know—but somehow I have a feeling that this case is a good deal more dangerous than any of the others."
"I'll be back in a few days, never fear." Mr. Hardy turned to his sons. "Look after your mother while I'm away, boys. Don't let her get worried."
"There's nothing to be worried about, dad. You'll get your man all right."
Mrs. Hardy shook her head. "You will be careful, won't you, Fenton? From what you've told me of this Baldy Turk I imagine he wouldn't stop at anything if he thought you were going to catch him."
"He's a pretty tough character, but I guess ​I can handle him," said the detective lightly. "Well, here's my taxi. I'll have to be going. Good-bye." He kissed his wife, shook hands with the boys, then picked up his suitcase and club-bag and departed. From the front doorway they watched him clamber into the waiting taxi. He waved at them as the car got under way, then it went speeding out of sight along the shimmering pavement.
Mrs. Hardy turned away. "I expect he'll think I'm foolish for worrying so much about him this time, but I have a queer sort of feeling that this Baldy Turk is the most dangerous criminal he has ever had to deal with."
"He'll deal with him, mother," declared Frank, with conviction. "Trust dad to know what he's doing. He'll clap the handcuffs on Baldy Turk in no time. There's nothing to worry about."
"Well, I hope you're right," she replied. "Still, I can't help but be anxious—"
With that she let the matter drop, and her fears for Fenton Hardy's safety were not expressed again, although the boys knew that anxiety still weighed heavily upon her mind. By evening, however, she appeared to be in better spirits and the boys did their best to amuse her and make her forget their father's absence and his perilous errand.
Next day the boys went down to the boat​house where Biff Hooper kept the Envoy, but there was no sign of the craft. The storm of the previous day had lasted well into the afternoon and there had been no doubt in their minds but that Chet and Biff had set back for Bayport, but the absence of the motorboat indicated otherwise.
"Let's go up to Morton's farm and see if they did come back," Frank suggested.
"Iola was saying that Chet promised to send a post card from the first village they stopped at. They were to have spent the night at Hawk Cove and he said he'd drop a line from there so that his folks would know everything was all right."
Hawk Cove was a small fishing village on the coast and, under normal conditions, Chet and Biff should have reached the place early the previous evening. A postal card would have caught the morning mail to Bayport.
"Let's go, then," Frank said. "If they went on to Hawk Cove and wrote from there we'll know that everything is all right."
"I'm with you."
The Hardy boys brought their motorcycles out of the shed and drove out toward the Morton farm. They made speed on the run because both were anxious to learn if anything had been heard of their chums. But when they reached the farmhouse and saw Iola's ​worried face as she greeted them at the door they knew without being told that no word had been received from Chet.
"They didn't turn back," said Iola, almost tearfully. "We waited all afternoon and evening expecting Chet back, but he didn't come. They must have gone straight ahead into the storm."
"Did the post card come?" asked Joe.
She shook her head.
"We haven't heard from him at all. And Chet promised faithfully he'd write to us from Hawk Cove. The card should have been in the morning mail. Chet always keeps his promises. I'm so afraid something dreadful has happened."
"Oh, there's no need to be alarmed," consoled Frank. "Perhaps the storm delayed them so that they didn't reach Hawk Cove until it was too late to catch the mail. Or perhaps they stopped off at one of the other fishing villages down at the entrance to the bay. A dozen things might have happened. You'll probably hear from him to-morrow—or to-night, perhaps."
"That storm was too terrible!" declared the girl. "They should never have gone on. They should have turned back when the rest of us did."
"I guess they didn't want to turn back once ​they had started," ventured Joe. "Biff doesn't like to admit he's licked."
"Neither does Chet," the girl replied. "They're both headstrong and I guess they thought we'd make fun of them if they had to come back to Bayport and start over again."
"Well, we'll be back to-morrow. I'm sure you'll hear from him by then," said Frank reassuringly. "And if we hear anything we'll let you know."
"Please do."
The Hardy boys walked back to their motorcycles. When they were out of hearing Frank remarked in a low voice:
"I don't like the looks of this, at all! I'm beginning to think something has happened."