The Shore Road Mystery/Chapter 7

Detective Smuff walked back as far as the road with the boys, and then clambered into his car, where another detective on the Bayport force was waiting for him.

"You're just wastin' your time hunting through the woods," he told the boys heavily. "A car couldn't get down there, anyway, and we've hunted through there pretty thoroughly in the second place."

"It'll give us something to do," Frank said cheerfully.

"Keep you out of mischief, I guess," agreed Smuff, as though this were some consolation at any rate. He nodded to the boys and the car sped off toward Bayport.

"Dumb but good-hearted," said Chet.

"He isn't a bad sort," Joe remarked, "He's no great shakes as a detective, that's sure, but there are lots worse."

The boys crossed the road and struck off down a narrow trail that led through the un​dergrowth into the woods on the sloping land between the Shore Road and Barmet Bay. For the most part there were steep bluffs lining the bay, but at this point the declivity was more gradual.

"I think he's right about searching down through here," said Jack Dodd dubiously. "A car could never get down into this bush."

"A car mightn't but the car thieves might," Frank pointed out. "It seems mighty queer that none of the stolen cars have been traced at either end of the Shore Road. Those automobiles stolen the other night should have been picked up in one of the three towns on the branch roads. Smuff said the thefts were discovered in plenty of time to send out warning."

"It does seem strange. Out of so many cars, you'd imagine at least one or two would have been traced outside Bayport."

"I have a hunch that this whole mystery begins and ends right along the Shore Road," said Frank. "It won't hurt to scout around and see what we can find. Maybe there's a hidden machine shop where they alter the appearance of the autos."

"I was reading of a case in New York City not long ago," remarked Joe, as they pushed along. "The auto thieves got cars downtown and drove them to some place uptown. The ​police followed half a dozen gangsters for two weeks before they got on to their trick, which was to drive into an alleyway that looked as if it came to an end at the back of a barn. They found that a section of the side of the barn went up like a sliding door. The thieves would drive in with a stolen car. Inside the old barn was an elevator running down to a cellar. In the cellar was a machine and paint shop and five or six workmen down there could so alter a car in a few hours that the owner himself couldn't tell his own machine."

"Can you beat it!" exclaimed Chet. "Gee, it's a wonder they wouldn't work at something honest!"

Among the woods on the slope the boys wandered aimlessly. The sun cast great shafts of light through openings in the leaves above and once in a while they could catch glimpses of the blue waters of the bay in the distance.

Frank was in the lead. He was proceeding down a narrow defile in the forest when the others saw him suddenly stop and turn toward them with a finger on his lips, cautioning silence.

They remained stock-still until he beckoned to them, and then moved quietly forward, their feet making no noise in the heavy grass.

"I heard voices," Frank whispered as they came up to him.

​"Ahead?" asked his brother.

Frank nodded.

"We'll go easy."

He moved on cautiously and the others followed. In a few moments they heard a dull murmur of voices and smelled the unmistakable odor of a wood fire. So far they could see no one, but soon the faint trail wound around in the direction of a clearing ahead and those in the rear saw Frank crouch among the bushes, peering through the leaves.

Quietly, the others came up. The four boys gazed through the undergrowth at the scene in the grassy clearing.

Three men were seated about a small fire, over which one was holding a tin pail suspended from a green branch. They were unshaven, frowsy-headed, untidy fellows, and they sprawled on the ground in careless attitudes.

"Tramps," whispered Chet, but Frank pressed a restraining hand on his arm.

There was one thought in the minds of the four boys—that this trio might be the automobile thieves!

"Not far from Bayport, are we?" growled one of the men.

"Not many miles farther on," replied the man holding the branch.

"It's the first time I've ever been in these parts."

​"It ain't so bad," volunteered the third man, lighting his pipe. "Easy pickin's around the farmhouses. It didn't take me ten minutes to rustle that grub to-night."

"You did well, Bill," said the man at the fire, glancing at a package of food near by.

"I wonder where that guy is that we met on our way in here? He gave us a funny look."

"He minded his own business, anyway."

"Good thing for him that he did. I don't hold with bein' asked questions."

"Me neither. A good rap over the dome for anybody that wants to know too much—that's my motto."

"Is that mulligan ready?"

"Not yet. We'll be eatin' in about five minutes."

Frank turned and gestured to the others, indicating that they might as well withdraw. It seemed clear to him that these men were simply tramps preparing their evening meal in the shelter of the woods, and nothing would be gained by making their presence known.

Jack Dodd and Joe turned and moved silently away, but the luckless Chet had not gone two paces before he tripped over a root and fell sprawling on the ground, with a grunt of pain and surprise.

One of the tramps looked up.

"What was that?"

​"Somebody in the bushes," said another.

The two men scrambled to their feet and came directly toward the boys. Jack and Joe took to their heels, but Frank waited to help Chet up and the delay was fatal. The tramps came crashing through the bushes and caught sight of them.

"Kids, eh?" roared one. He sprang toward Frank and caught him by the shoulder. The other seized Chet. Joe and Jack were out of sight beyond the trees by now and the tramps were evidently unaware of their presence.

"Take your hands off me," said Frank coolly.

Somewhat taken aback, the tramp regarded him for a moment in a surly manner.

"What do you mean by spying on us?" he demanded.

"We weren't spying on you."

"What brings you around here, then?"

The other tramp had abandoned the pail of stew at the fire and came through the bushes toward them.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "What's goin' on here?"

"A couple of kids spyin' on us," said Frank's captor, and tightening his grip on the boy's shoulder.

"We oughta skin 'em alive," declared the ​newcomer. "How long have you been hiding in them bushes, boy?"

"We just came up a minute ago and when we heard voices we looked to see who was there. We were just going away."

"You were, eh? What were you going away for?"

"It wasn't any of our business if you wanted to cook your supper in the woods."

This answer seemed to placate the tramps, for they glanced from one to the other, seemingly reassured.

"You weren't going for the police?" asked one suspiciously.

Both boys shook their heads.

"Did somebody send you here?"

"No. We were just wandering through the wood and we came on your fire."

"That fellow we met a little while ago didn't send you here, did he?"

"We haven't seen anybody," said Frank. "What did he look like?"

"Thin, hard-lookin' guy with a hook nose."

"We haven't seen any one like that."

"He was prowling around here a little while ago," said the tramp, in a more friendly tone. "I guess you boys are all right. If we let you go will you promise not to run and tell the police?"

"Oh, sure!" piped Chet, in vast relief.

​"We're not doin' any harm here. We're just three poor chaps that's out of work and we're on our way to Bayport to look for a job," whined one of the others. "You wouldn't set the police on us, would you?"

"It's none of our business who you are or what you're doing," Frank assured them. "We won't mention seeing you."

"All right, then." His captor released his grip on Frank's shoulder. "Beat it away from here and don't bother us again."

The two boys lost no time in making their way out of that vicinity. The three tramps stood watching until they disappeared beyond the trees at the bend in the trail, then went back to their fire.

Some distance away, Frank and Chet came upon the other boys, who had halted and were devising ways and means of rescue.

"Golly!" said Joe, "we thought you were in for it. We were just going to toss up and see who would go back to find out what had happened to you."

"Why couldn't you both come back?" Chet asked.

"We thought if one of us went back he might be caught too, and that would still leave somebody to go for help."

"Good idea. They were only tramps. Gave us a bit of a scare," said Chet airily. He had ​been almost frightened out of his wits. "We just talked right up to them and they let us go."

"I wonder who is this hook-nosed man they were talking about," said Frank. "They seemed to be worrying more about him than about us."

"A hook-nosed man?" exclaimed Jack Dodd. "What about him!"

"You remember when they were talking by the fire, they mentioned meeting somebody on their way into the wood. They asked us about him, and seemed to think he may have sent us in to spy on them."

"Thin, hard-looking chap," Chet remarked, remembering the description the tramp had given.

"Why, that must be—but it couldn't be him!" exclaimed Jack.

"Who?"

"Gus Montrose. The hired man that Dad discharged a little while ago. I was telling you about him. The description fits him exactly."

"I thought he went away," said Joe.

"We haven't seen him since he left the farm, but I've always had an idea he was prowling around."

Just then Frank clutched Chet's arm.

"Listen!"

The boys halted. They could plainly hear ​the sound of snapping twigs and a scuffing that indicated the approach of some one on the trail ahead. A moment later, a man came into view.

He stepped out from among the trees and came to a stop, staring at the lads, plainly astonished at seeing them. Then he wheeled about and sprang into the bushes. They could hear him plunging through the undergrowth as he disappeared.

Although they had only a momentary glance, the boys readily identified him as the man the tramps had mentioned. Disreputably clad, he was a thin man with a cruel mouth and a hooked nose.

"Gus Montrose!" exclaimed Jack Dodd.