"Dixon, Franklin W - Hardy Boys 044 - The Haunted Fort (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dixon Franklin W)

CHAPTER I.

Scalp Warning.

"CHET MORTON inviting us to a mystery, I don't believe it!" Blond seventeen-year-old Joe Hardy smiled as he and his brother bounded off the back steps toward the garage.

Frank Hardy, dark-haired and a year older than Joe, eagerly keyed the car motor to life. Soon they were headed out of Bayport for the Morton farm. Dusk was falling.

"Chet seemed too excited to say much on the phone," Frank explained. "But he did mention there might be a vacation in it for us, and a haunted fort."

"A haunted fort!"

When the brothers pulled into the gravel driveway of the rambling, brown-and-white farmhouse, pretty Iola Morton, Chet's sister, danced off the porch to greet them.

"Frank and Joe! What a surprise! You're just in time for our homemade hootenannyl"

"And I can play two chords!" Callie Shaw waved from the front doorway, a large guitar hanging from her neck. Callie, a slim blonde, was Frank's special friend, while vivacious Iola often dated Joe.

"It sounds great," Frank began, "but Chet called us over to-" He glanced suspiciously at Joe. "Say, do you think these two got Chet to lure us over here about a mystery?"

"Of course not, sillies," dark-haired Iola protested, her eyes snapping. "Besides, who wants to talk about murky old mysteries? Wait until you hear Callie's new ballad records."

As the four entered the house, a round face beneath a coonskin cap peered from the kitchen. Then the stocky figure of Chet Morton made an entrance.

"Hi, Hardys! Anybody for a haunted vacation?"

"Chet! Then there really is a mystery?" Joe's face brightened as Chet nodded and motioned the brothers upstairs to his room. But not before the girls frowned disdainfully.

"Meanies!" Callie said. "Don't be forever!"

As the Hardys took seats, Chet reclined on his bed and began, "My uncle Jim phoned late this afternoon from Crown Lake in New England. You know, he's chief painting instructor at a summer art school there."

Chet explained that the place, named Millwood, was sponsored by a millionaire for the benefit of talented teen-agers.

"Sounds like a swell arrangement for aspiring artists," Frank remarked.

"Uncle Jim loves his job," Chet continued, "or at least he did before the painting thefts started."

"You mean thefts of students' paintings?" Joe interrupted, puzzled.

"No. Something much more valuable. Uncle Jim didn't go into details, but he did mention somebody called the Prisoner-Painter. Two of his pictures have disappeared."

"What about the local police?" Frank asked.

"They've already tried to solve the case. No luck. That's why Uncle Jim wants us to live at the school for a while."

"How'd he know about us?" Joe put in.

"I mentioned you fellows in letters. 'Course, I didn't tell him any of the bad things about you, only that you were a couple of great detectives."