The Mark On The Door Part 2

"I don't rightly know," said Mrs. Smith. "He said they would be very valuable some day.

They have something to do with oil. I'll go and get them."

Joe glanced significantly at his brother, when Mrs. Smith went into the next room and rummaged through an old desk.

"Oil certificates, I'll bet a hat," he murmured.

Joe was right. Mrs. Smith returned with half a dozen gaudily printed doc.u.ments that proved to be certificates for five thousand shares of Rio Oil Company stock.

"Are they worth much?" she asked anxiously.

"Haven't you been reading the newspapers?" asked Frank.

"My eyes have been bad lately. I haven't looked at a paper in weeks."

23 "Mr. Vincenzo must have known that. I'm afraid you have been swindled, Mrs. Smith.'*

The Hardy boys then told her about the Rio Oil fraud and the interrupted trial. The poor *woman was greatly disturbed by the news that the certificates were probably valueless.

"How much did he owe you?" asked Frank.

"Three hundred dollars. Oh, I thought I was foolish when I didn't insist on getting the money, but he said the certificates would be worth much more than the three hundred dollars and that he was giving them to me as a special favor."

The knowledge that Pedro Vincenzo had paid his landlady in certificates of Eio Oil stock strengthened the Hardy boys in their suspicion that the lodger was connected inj some way with the fraud case.

"I'd like to know more about that fellow," said Frank when they left Mrs. Smith a little later. "I should particularly like to know where he went when he hired that big speedboat from Sandy MacPherson."

"Perhaps if we take a run to the villages down the bay we may pick up some information," Joe suggested.

"That's not a bad idea. Let's go and see if the boat is ready yet."

On their way down to the waterfront the boys encountered Chet Morton and Tony Prito, 24 an Italian lad who had been one of their chums for years.

"Tony and I," announced Chet, "are looking hopefully for fun, trouble, adventure or whatever you have."

"How about a spin in the Sleuth?" Sleuth?" suggested Frank. suggested Frank.

"Let's go!" Tony said, his dark eyes fairly Bancing.

Chet considered the matter.

'' The proposal has its good points. But how long shall we be away from the home port?

Shall we be back in time for dinner! The salt water always gives me an appet.i.te and if I miss a meal I hate to think of the consequences. The shock to my stomach would be too much.''

"It wouldn't hurt you to go on a diet for a few weeks anyway," returned Tony unsympa-thetically. "You're getting too fat."

"We'll bring along a picnic basket," Joe suggested. "Then there'll be no danger of having you die on our hands through starvation."

"Now you're talking! The voyage is on."

The boys made up a substantial basket of lunch in the kitchen of the Hardy home, with Chet lending so much a.s.sistance that Aunt Gertrude finally chased him outside. He managed to scoop up a slab of pie on his way, however, so that the others found him whistling 25 happily when they joined him a few minutes later.

Sandy MacPherson had done his work well, and the motorboat showed little evidence of the previous day's accident when the boys inspected it at the boat-house. Frank and Joe questioned him, hoping that he might be able to give them a clue concerning the stranger's destination when he rented the powerboat. But Sandy insisted that the man had told him nothing.

"I found this in the boat, if it's of any interest to ye," he said, taking a colored folder off a nearby shelf.

The moment Frank and Joe examined the sheet they realized that it might be an important clue. It was a time-table of the Coastal Air Transport Company, an aviation firm that had just constructed a new airport on the bank of the "Willow Eiver, some little distance down the bay.

"First port of call!" said Frank, and put the folder into his pocket. "We'll see if the airport people know anything about him."

The boys got into the boat, Chet carefully carrying the lunch basket, and in a few minutes the Sleuth Sleuth was speeding down the bay. The day was clear and sunny, the water was calm. was speeding down the bay. The day was clear and sunny, the water was calm.

Chet busied himself trying to find a safe place for the lunch basket, which seemed to be hia 26 chief concern. He was still hunting for a satis* factory spot when Frank took a highly-colored doc.u.ment from his pocket.

"Like to buy some oil stock, Chet7" he asked.

Frank had persuaded Mrs. Smith to lend him one of the certificates Vincenzo had given her, in the hope that it might help him trace the Mexican.

"What have you there?" asked Chet, resting the lunch basket against the side of the boat.

"Rio Oil. One thousand shares. Good for starting the fire in the morning."

"Let's have a look." Chet reached for the stock certificate.

Unfortunately, Joe chose that particular moment to alter the course of the motorboat.

The craft swerved suddenly, Chet lurched off balance, lost his grip on the handle of the lunch basket, and staggered wildly.

"Look out!" he roared. "The lunch!"

He made a frantic grab for the basket as it slid overboard, and leaned far over the side *with an anguished yell when he saw the appetizing food splash into the water. Then there was a louder yell, for Chet had leaned over too far. He went tumbling headlong into the waves.

CHAPTER IV.

THE TRAIL. TO TEXAS.

tony pbito and the Hardy boys whooped *with laughter when they saw Chet 's 's sudden sudden and inglorious tumble over the side. As the fat boy came popping to the surface, his eyes wide, his mouth open, he uttered a strangled yell.

"Help! Hey-come back, you fellows! I'm drowning."

Joe was already swinging the boat around.

"You couldn't sink if you tried," jeered Tony Prito. ' You 'd float.''

Frank and Tony between them managed to haul the dripping Chet back into the boat.

He was still clutching the stock certificate that he had taken from Frank's hand just before he went overboard, but his chief grievance was that the lunch was gone.

"What are we going to do?" he wailed. "Every bit of food we had in the boat is now at the bottom of Barmet Bay. We'll starve."

"Why did you fling the basket overboard?" asked Joe innocently.

"Me!" howled Chet. "I flung flung it overboard? it overboard?

Are yon crazy? Do you think I would throw the lunch basket into the water?"

Chet was in a bad state. The thought of the lost food seemed to worry him more than his soaked clothing. Joe, with a wide grin, steered the motorboat toward an island not far away.

Chet would have to be dried out before they could go on to the airport.

"How about that stock certificate?" inquired Prank. "I hope it wasn't damaged."

"That lunch was worth a lot more than the stock certificate," Chet howled. "Here I am, soaking wet and the food all gone, while you talk about stocks that aren't worth the paper they're printed on."

Joe brought the boat in to the island, which was uninhabited, and they got out. In a short time they had a fire blazing, and Chet's clothes were drying before the flames. He was all for returning to Bayport at once, but the others would not hear of it.

"You won't starve before we get back from the airport," Tony Prito a.s.sured him. "Get Into your pants and let's be on our way."

Chet was in a better frame of mind after his garments were dried. When the trip was resumed, he actually managed to be cheerful.

"There might be a frankfurter stand at this airport," he remarked.

The motorboat sped down the bay until the 29 mouth of the Willow River came into view. Joe guided their craft into the stream, and in a few minutes the boys came in sight of the flags that marked the boundaries of the airport.

There was a small dock, where they tied up their boat. Then they followed a path that brought them to a long, low building upon which *was the sign: "Office-Coastal Air Transport Company."

"Good!" exclaimed Frank. "This is the place we want."

"I'd rather see a sign reading 'Office-Hot Dog Company of America,' " said Chet plaintively.

An alert, keen-eyed man was writing at a desk when they went in. He glanced up.

"h.e.l.lo, boys! What can I do for you?"

Joe nudged Frank.

"Do the talking," he whispered.

Frank leaned on the counter.

"Did a man by the name of Pedro Vincenzo book pa.s.sage on one of your planes within the past few days?"

The official wrinkled his brows, glanced at a book, then shook his head.

"No one by that name," he replied.

"He was a Mexican," said Frank.

"A Mexican, eh? Tall, swarthy, good-looking in a way------"

"That's the man."

30 The Mark on the Boor "There was a chap of that description in here yesterday morning. But he didn't book pa.s.sage for himself. He wanted a ticket for another man."

"Do you know that person's name?" asked Joe, eagerly.

"He is registered here as Peter Smith. He was an elderly chap, as far as I can remember."

A sudden droning that grew into a roar interrupted them. The airport official glanced at his watch.

"Crawford is just coming in now," he said. "He is the pilot who made the flight. The foreign looking man booked pa.s.sage to New York for a friend of his, but that's all I can tell you. If you're looking for information, maybe Crawford can help you."

The Hardy boys thanked him and left the office. Chet Morton and Tony Prito were very curious.

"What's it all about?" asked Tony. "Are you working on another mystery?"

"We don't know yet," Joe told him.

A big pa.s.senger plane was just settling to earth. Mechanics ran forward to take charge of the big machine. When the s.h.i.+p came to a stop the pilot clambered out, removing his helmet and goggles. He strode up toward the office.

"Are you Pilot Crawford?" asked Frank.

3l He grinned at them. "At your service!"

"The inspector has just told us that yon took an elderly gentleman to New York. Would you mind giving us a description of him?"

Crawford laughed.

"I won't forget him in a hurry," he said. "I never saw such a nervous man in the air in all my life. It was his first flight and I think he *was quite sure it was going to be his last."

"Was his name Tremmerf"

The pilot shook his head.

"He didn't tell me. He was a short, quiet Kttle fellow-about fifty, I'd say. Wore hornrimmed gla.s.ses, and had a gray mustache."

Frank and Joe looked at each other. They knew Elmer Tremmer by sight, and the pilot's description exactly fitted the missing bookkeeper.

"We're rather interested in him," Frank told the pilot. "Did he go to New York?"

"Yes, I landed him with my other pa.s.sengers and he took off in another plane right away.