The House on the Cliff/Chapter 21
CHAPTER XXI
Quick Work
The Hardy boys glanced over at their father on the cot.
To their surprise they saw that he was smiling. Frank was on the point of asking him what he found in the situation to smile at when he caught a warning glance. He looked over at the guard.
Malloy was not bothering with the prisoners. He was not even looking in their direction. Instead, his head was already beginning to nod, as though he were going to sleep.
Snackley had made a poor selection when he chose Malloy as guard. The man had been up the entire previous night helping bring in the shipment of smuggled goods from Li Chang's vessel, and he had had no sleep that day. He was very tired. Sleep stole upon him without his being aware of it.
Several time he straightened up and rubbed his eyes, but eventually he would bow his head again and give in to the luxury of a little doze.
In the meantime, Mr. Hardy was busy. He had profited by his previous experience.
When the smugglers seized him and attempted to tie him to the bed for the second time he had made use of a trick frequently employed by magicians and professional "escape" artists, who guarantee to escape from ropes and strait-jackets. He had expanded his chest and held his muscles rigid, keeping his arms as far away from his sides as possible, so that later, when he relaxed, he found that the ropes did not bind him as tightly as his captors had intended.
This gave him a small leeway. He found that the ropes were especially slack about his right wrist, so he began to work laboriously to free himself. For a long time he thought it would be impossible, and the rope chafed his wrist, but at last he managed to slide his hand free.
Joe and Frank watched this performance with amazement, and new hope came into their eyes as they saw their father slowly groping for one of the knots. The detective fumbled at it for a while. It was slow work, for he had but one hand free, but in their haste the smugglers had not tied the knot as firmly as they should, and before long Fenton Hardy had loosened it to such an extent that soon the ends of the rope fell away.
His arms were now free, so he braced himself against the sides of the bed and struggled to release his feet. They had not been bound so securely, being simply tied down under one strand of rope about the cot, and after silently struggling for a few minutes he was able to work his way free.
The detective's next move was to take off his boots, which he did swiftly and quietly, placing them noiselessly on the bed. Then he crept out onto the floor and began to steal over toward the guard.
Malloy was half asleep, but the detective had not gone more than two yards before a slight sound, a slight creaking of the floor, warned the guard that something was amiss.
He turned, blinking.
A look of intense amazement crossed Malloy's face and he opened his mouth to yell for help, but Fenton Hardy leaped across the intervening space and hurled himself upon the smuggler before the guard had time to utter more than a muffled gasp.
He clapped one hand over Malloy's mouth and bore the guard to the floor, where they rolled over and over in a desperate and silent struggle. Although Fenton Hardy was weakened by his imprisonment and privation and although the smuggler was strong and wiry, the detective had the advantage of a surprise attack, and Malloy had no time to collect his faculties.
Joe and Frank watched the battle in an agony of suspense. It was, they knew, their last hope.
Fenton Hardy still kept his hand over the other man's mouth, although Malloy was gasping and gurgling and making frantic efforts to call out for help. The detective dug his knee into Malloy's stomach and when the smuggler tried to wriggle out of the way he snatched for the revolver.
Their hands closed about the butt of the weapon at the same instant.
The struggle was short and bitter.
Malloy tugged at the revolver, trying to draw it from his pocket. Fenton Hardy dug his knee sharply against the man and Malloy loosened his grasp, with a groan of pain. The detective snatched the revolver free and then flung himself back, leveling the weapon at Malloy.
"Not a word out of you!" he whispered.
Malloy's hands rose in the air. He did not utter a sound. He was sitting helplessly on the floor, his mouth opening and closing as he painfully drew breath. He was beaten.
The detective spied a knife in a leather sheath at the smuggler's belt so he reached forward and seized the weapon.
Then, still keeping Malloy covered with the revolver, he walked slowly backward until he reached Joe's side. Without removing his eyes from the smuggler, Fenton Hardy bent down and sliced at the ropes that bound his son.
The knife was sharp and the ropes soon fell apart. Joe leaped from the chair, casting aside the rope ends, and took the proffered knife. Then, while his father still covered Malloy, he went over to Frank and set him free.
Still without saying a word, Fenton Hardy motioned toward the bed and indicated by signs that the smuggler was to lie down on the cot. A gesture of refusal on the part of Malloy was met by a vigorous forward thrust of the revolver and the smuggler hastily retreated.
The ropes on the bed had not been cut, so they were still available for trussing up Malloy just as Mr. Hardy had been bound. The boys did the job with neatness and despatch and they even gagged the smuggler with his own handkerchief and one of the ropes from the chairs.
Within five minutes their erstwhile guard was lying helpless on the bed, bound hand and foot and gagged so firmly that only a muffled and subdued muttering escaped him.
"What now?" asked Frank, in a low tone.
"We can't go out by the cove," replied his father. "There are two men down there now signaling to the motorboat. We'd better go upstairs."
"Where does that lead to?"
"Outside. It will bring us into the shed near the house."
Fenton Hardy moved over toward the door.
"We haven't any time to lose," he said. "I have the revolver. If we meet any one—"
He opened the door cautiously and peeped out. There was no one beyond. There was nothing but a flight of steps leading upward into darkness.
The detective went forward, his sons following close at his heels.
Step by step they made their way on up in the darkness, for Joe had closed the door behind them and Frank did not dare make use of the flashlight.
At last Fenton Hardy came to a stop. He was fumbling at something immediately above.
Then the boys saw a faint opening which grew larger above them and resolved itself into a square of grey light against which the head and shoulders of their father were fully silhouetted. Fenton Hardy had raised the trapdoor that concealed the entrance to the underground caves and passages.
Mr. Hardy looked out carefully. There was no sign of the smugglers. He proceeded to the very top of the steps, then moved clear of the stairway.
Frank and Joe followed, rising out of the ground like mysterious spirits of the earth, and the three stood in the shelter of the shed.
It was a dark night and the trees were moaning in the wind from the sea. Immediately before them rose the gloomy mass of the house on the cliff. There were no lights.
In the direction of the lane they could hear dull sounds, no doubt from the truck that the smugglers were loading with goods which were to be disposed of by the man called Burke.
"Safe so far," whispered the detective to his sons.
They moved out of the shed, after closing the trapdoor, and stood in the shadows.
"We can't go by way of the lane," whispered Frank.
"There's a prisoner in the cellar of that house," said Fenton Hardy. "I hate to go without setting him free."
"A prisoner?"
"I heard them talking about him."
"Why can't we go to town for help?"
"Once they find us gone they'll clear out."
"But three of us can't do much against this gang. They'll just capture us all again."
The detective considered this for a moment. At last he sighed.
"Yes, the risk is too great!" he said. "And I've let you take too many risks already. We'd better go back to town."
Having arrived at this decision, they moved slowly across the grass of the yard, heading toward the bushes that flanked the lane. The great bulk of the old stone house loomed heavily and darkly in the night.
Then, suddenly, they heard a harsh sound that struck terror into their hearts—the clatter of the trapdoor being raised!