After school the following afternoon, the Hardy boys repaired to the boathouse at the end of the street, where they kept their fast motorboat, the Sleuth.

They had bought this boat out of money they had received as a reward for their work in clearing up the mystery of the Tower Treasure and in the capture of a band of smugglers. It was a speedy craft, and the boys had enjoyed many happy hours in it.

Tony Prito, one of their chums, an Italian-American lad, also owned a motorboat, the Napoli, as did Biff Hooper, the proud skipper of the Envoy. Tony’s boat had been the fastest craft on Barmet Bay until the arrival of the Sleuth, and there was much friendly rivalry between the boys as to the speed of their respective boats.

Chet Morton was sitting in the Sleuth, awaiting Joe and Frank by appointment.

“Come on,” he said. “Tony and Biff are out in the bay already.”

The Hardy boys sprang into their craft, and in a few minutes the Sleuth was nosing its way out into Barmet Bay. The boys could see the other boats circling about, as Tony and Biff awaited their arrival. Tony waved to them and in a short time they drew alongside the Napoli.

“Where shall we go?” shouted Frank.

“Anywhere suits me. Might as well just cruise around.”

There was a roar as the Envoy surged up, with Biff at the wheel, Jerry Gilroy and Phil Cohen were with him.

“I don’t suppose you want to go to Blacksnake Island, do you, Biff?” called out Joe.

“I’ll say I don’t! Once is enough.”

“Me, too,” chimed in Chet, as the three boats, running abreast, headed in the direction of Barmet village.

Blacksnake Island, out in the open sea some distance down the coast, had been the scene of perilous adventures for the chums. Some time previous Chet Morton and Biff Hooper had gone out in Biff’s launch and had been kidnaped by a gang of crooks who mistook them for the Hardy boys and who wished to revenge themselves upon Fenton Hardy. They had been taken to Blacksnake Island, as has already been told in the fourth volume of this series, “The Missing Chums.”

“I never want to see the place again,” shouted Biff. “I had enough of it to last me a lifetime.”

“Between snakes and crooks, we had plenty of excitement,” Frank said.

“Excitement!” declared Chet, settling back comfortably. “Why, I am sure that was nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?” demanded Joe. “If anything more exciting ever happened to you, I’d like to hear of it.”

“Haven’t I ever told you of the time I was the only survivor of a shipwreck that cost ninety-four lives?”

His comrades looked at Chet suspiciously. Chet Morton’s joking proclivities were well known. His jests were invariably harmless, but he dearly loved a laugh and some of his hair-raising fictions were famous among the boys.

“First time I’ve ever heard of it,” Frank said. “When were you ever in a shipwreck that cost ninety-four lives?”

“Off Cape Cod in ’23,” declared Chet dramatically. “It was the night the good ship Brannigan went down with all on board. Ah, but that was a terrible night. As long as I live, I’ll never forget it! Never!”

“I don’t think you even remember it,” sniffed Frank.

But Chet went on, getting up steam.

“The Brannigan left Boston harbor at four bells and there was a dirty sea running, with a stiff breeze from the north. I had booked my passage early in the morning, but as sailing time approached, my friends beseeched me not to go. ‘It is death!’ they told me. But I merely laughed. ‘Chet Morton is not afraid of storms. I shall sail.’ The Brannigan was not out of sight of shore before the storm broke in all its fury. Thunder and lightning and a roaring rain! It was the worst storm in twenty years, the captain said. The passengers huddled in their cabins, sick with fear. Some of them were seasick too. The storm grew worse.”

“This sounds like a big whopper,” declared Joe, interested in spite of himself.

Chet’s face was solemn as he continued.

“Night fell. The waves rolled over the staunch little ship. The helmsman clung to the wheel. Down in the lee scuppers⁠—whatever they are⁠—the first mate lay with a broken leg. Down in the forecastle the crew talked mutiny. Then came a dreadful cry. ‘A leak! The ship has sprung a leak!’ And, by golly, it had. The skipper came down from the bridge. ‘Take to the boats,’ he cried. ‘Women and children first.’ But the Brannigan was sinking fast by the stern. Before they could launch a single boat the ship sank swiftly, and eighty-five people went to a watery grave.”

He shook his head sadly, as though reflecting on this horrible tragedy.

“Eighty-five?” said Frank. “A little while ago you told us ninety-four.”

“Ninety-four lives,” Chet pointed out. “Eighty-five people, but ninety-four lives. The ship’s cat was drowned too.”

Joe snorted as he saw how neatly Frank had fallen into the trap. Frank looked foolish. Then Joe spoke, chuckling.

“And you were the only survivor!” he exclaimed. “How did you escape?”

Chet stood up and gazed out over the waves.

“I missed the boat,” he explained gently.

Joe glared wrathfully at the jester, then jumped for the wheel. He bore down on it so suddenly that the nose of the Sleuth veered into the wind, and Chet was thrown off his balance, sitting down heavily in the bottom of the craft, with a yelp of surprise.

“That’ll teach you!” said Joe grimly, struggling to suppress his laughter at Chet’s melodramatic tale of the shipwreck. But the plump youth only grinned.

“Oh, boy, how you both bit!” he exploded. “How you gaped! You didn’t know whether to believe it or not!” He roared with laughter. “Wait till I tell the others about this. ‘How about the other nine lives?’ ‘How did you escape?’ Wow!” He sat in the bottom of the boat and laughed until the tears came to his eyes. Frank and Joe joined in the laugh against themselves, for they were accustomed to Chet by now. Biff and Tony steered their boats over toward the Sleuth to learn the cause of all this mirth, but the boys refused to enlighten them as Chet wanted to reserve the yarn for a more convenient occasion when he might have some fresh victims.

For over an hour, the three motorboats raced about the bay, until the boys were aware that it was time to go home. The Sleuth reached the boathouse first, with the Napoli close behind, Biff Hooper’s craft bringing up the rear. The launches safely in the slips, the six boys went up the street toward their homes.

“Going to try for the rewards?” asked Jerry Gilroy of the Hardy boys.

Frank smiled. “We won’t turn them down if we happen to run into the auto thieves,” he said. “A thousand dollars is a lot of money.”

“Not to you,” said Biff. “What do you two want with money after landing a fat reward in that gold case out West?”

He was referring to a case centering about some missing gold, in which the boys had gone all the way to Montana from their home on the Atlantic coast in order to help their father, who had fallen ill while tracking down the criminals.

Their good work in this case had netted them a handsome sum of money and they had the satisfaction of seeing their friend Jadbury Wilson, an old-time prospector who had come to Bayport to live, relieved from poverty. He had been one of the original owners of the gold and, following its disappearance, had fallen upon evil days.

“One can always use more money, you know,” said Frank. “It’ll come in handy if ever we go to college.”

“I’ll tell the world!” declared Chet. “Your father won’t have to worry much about that. I wish my dad could say the same.”

They had now reached the Hardy home and Frank and Joe said goodbye to their chums. When they went into the house they found that supper was almost ready. Aunt Gertrude sniffed, as they appeared, and expressed her amazement that they had managed to get home before mealtime. “For a wonder!” she said grimly.

Fenton Hardy emerged from his study. His face was serious.

“Well,” he said, “I suppose you’ve heard the latest development?”

The boys looked at him blankly.

“Development in what?” asked Joe.

“In the car thefts.”

“We haven’t heard anything,” Frank said. “Have they found the thieves?”

Mr. Hardy shook his head.

“No such luck. The thieves are still very much at large.”

“You don’t mean to say another car was stolen?” exclaimed Joe.

“Not only one. Two cars.”

“Two more?”

Their father nodded.

“Two brand new autos, a Franklin and a Studebaker, were stolen last night,” he told them. “Right in the city.”

“Good night! And there’s been no trace of them?”

“Not a sign. The police kept it quiet all day, hoping to recover them without any fuss, but they’ve had to admit themselves beaten. The cars have absolutely disappeared.”

Aunt Gertrude spoke up.

“Mighty funny there were no cars stolen while those Dodds were in jail,” she said pointedly. “The minute they get out⁠—away go two new automobiles.”

The boys glanced at one another uncomfortably. They were quite convinced that Jack Dodd and his father were innocent of any complicity in the car thefts, but they had to admit to themselves that their aunt had expressed a suspicion that might be commonly maintained throughout Bayport.

“The Dodds didn’t have anything to do with it,” said Fenton Hardy quietly. “I’m sure of that. Still⁠—it looks bad.”

“It certainly does!” declared Aunt Gertrude.

Frank turned to his brother.

“It’s time for us to get busy,” he said. “We’ll go out on the Shore Road again tomorrow afternoon.”