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

Later, at the sculptor's studio, as the students were leaving, Frank found Joe washing the outside panes.

"This is one way to earn our keep." Frank grinned. "Say, where's Chet?"

"Don't know," Joe replied. "He and Uncle Jim went to the oil-painting studio about an hour ago. Let's check."

Joe put down his bucket and rags and the brothers walked over to the studio. Chet was perched atop a high, three-rung stool before an easel. He moved the brush slowly over his large canvas.

"Well," Joe said, laughing, "from window washer to artist. I should've known-from those fine rag strokes on certain windows."

Chet looked up. "I'm sorry, Joe," Chet said. "I'll do my share. But I just got so interested in-er-my painting. Besides, Uncle Jim thinks it's not bad."

"You know, Chet," Frank said, "I have a wild hunch your painting will turn up at the exhibit."

Somewhat embarrassed, Chet admitted this was his secret plan. The Hardys watched as their pal continued to work. When not biting the end of his paintbrush with indecision, he would hunch forward, dip the brush in a thick purple blob on his palette, and absorbedly make a squiggle on the canvas.

"What's it going to be?" Joe asked at last.

"You'll see," was all Chet said.

After a while the boys returned to their chores, and it was not until after supper that everything was finished.

The Hardys and Chet went down to the lake for a cooling dip before starting out for Senandaga. The afterglow of sunset cast the opposite shore in a pale-rose light. Dusk shrouded the wide lake. Frank was swimming some distance from shore when he heard a sound that made his spine tingle.

Like a distant heartthrob behind the promontory came the single beat of a drum, then silence, then the beat again!

"Fellows! Listen!" he shouted and swam over to Joe and Chet. They strained their ears.

"The drum!" Joe hissed.

The boys dashed out of the water. They found Uncle Jim and Mr. Davenport talking near the mansion. Upon hearing the boys' report, both men agreed the young sleuths should investigate the fort at once, but cautioned them to be on guard.

"Not that I believe in any haunts, of course," added Mr. Davenport. "But there could be some kind of danger lurking there."

The boys hurriedly dressed and drove off in the jalopy. Darkness was falling as they headed south. Chet switched on the high beams and guided the Queen around a series of curves until they reached the end of the lake. There were few houses, and only rarely a light in one. Chet slowed down.

The trees grew dense and overhung the road. From deep in the woods came the hoot of an owl, mournfully echoing over the constant whisper of cicadas. Like brittle witch fingers, branches clawed the side of the car.

"Willikers, it's spooky!" Chet said, rolling up his window. He turned right up a winding dirt road, then left.

Suddenly Chet screeched to a halt. The road was blocked by two wooden sawhorses! By the light of a flashing red lantern, the boys saw an arrowed white sign: DETOUR-LEFT-ROCKSLIDE.

"Guess we haven't much choice," Joe said. Chet turned the car and started down what proved to be an extremely narrow, steep lane.

The lake was visible below. Suddenly a tree loomed directly in their path. Hastily Chet yanked the wheel, but the car scraped against high rocks. As the Queen bounced over a yawning hole, Frank cried out:

"This isn't any detour! It's a trap!"

Panicky, Chet hit the brakes. But the left front tire had already pitched steeply down. Desperately he tried to swerve the rolling car.