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

They trudged up the drive and came upon Alex, now in overalls, weeding a flower border. Even in work clothes, the man had a formal manner. He nodded slightly to the boys as they passed.

Inside, the Hardys and their companions found the elderly Southerner in his study, moodily poking his cane at the toy fort. He brightened at the entrance of his visitors.

"I declare, I'm delighted to see you all. My fort problem's sort of getting me down. Any progress on the treasure?"

Frank took a deep breath. "I'm afraid we have another theft to report."

Mr. Davenport was greatly agitated after hearing of Joe's experience. "Bad business," he muttered. "Don't like any of you boys getting hurt."

Joe grinningly assured him, "We're rugged. I'm sorry about the map, though."

"Have one other copy tucked away." Mr. Davenport extracted a photostat from his safe and handed it to Frank.

"We'd like to visit the fort again," Frank said.

"Go right ahead. I don't mind you boys being there, so long as the confounded pub-"

Joe broke in hastily to query him about the strange drumbeats. Mr. Davenport was intrigued, but had never heard the sounds.

Frank then asked about the sculptor's claim that French soldiers had been the last to leave the fort in the disputed battle.

The elderly man gave a little smile. "My feeling is, boys, that there's truth on both sides. Trouble is, both Lord Craig and Chambord lost their lives at a battle just after Senandaga. There are questions no one may ever be able to answer."

Chet spoke up. "We've studied the pictures some more. We even visited Chauncey Oilman, oh!"

The forbidden name was out of Chet's mouth before he realized it! Mr. Davenport began thumping his cane on a tea table, jarring the china.

"Oilman!" his voice rose. "Oilman! That long-nosed, uppity Yankee! If that stuffed-shirt critic's trying to carpetbag more of my fort paintings-or the treasure, Why, I'll-"

Chet's uncle quickly eased the breathless art patron into a chair while Frank said soothingly, "Mr. Davenport, we understand how you feel. But as detectives we have to investigate every lead. Mr. Gilman isn't very likable, but I don't think he's a thief."

The old man gradually calmed down, and wiping his brow, apologized for his outburst. He gave Joe a key to the fort gate and a short while later the boys departed.

Outside, Joe said eagerly, "I'm for a trip to the fort, pronto."

Chet looked unhappy. "You go, fellows. I, er-have some work to do."

"Work!" Joe echoed teasingly.

Uncle Jim grinned. "Chet has promised to help spruce up the grounds for our exhibit. My students are devoting all their time to finishing their entries."

Joe grinned. "We'll pitch in and give you a hand if you'll drive us to Senandaga. Is it a bargain, Chet?"

"Okay, okay!"

While Jim went off to a class, the Bayporters set to work. Chet and Joe teamed up to wash windows. Frank mowed the grass, starting with the area around the gallery.

Still wondering about the stolen fort map, he kept his eyes open for Ronnie. But the youth was nowhere to be seen.