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

"Right. Perhaps by mingling with the students you can pick up some clue," replied Uncle Jim. "Though I'd hate to suspect any of them."

"Can you tell us about this Prisoner-Painter?" Frank asked.

"I could," Mr. Kenyon said, smiling, "but I think Mr. Jefferson Davenport would rather tell you himself, since the artist is his ancestor."

"The wealthy man who started Millwood?" Joe put in. "Yes. He looks forward to meeting you detectives, but he won't be receiving visitors today, because of the anniversary of a battle."

"A battle?" Frank echoed in surprise.

The instructor chuckled. "You'll find Mr. Davenport is quite a buff on the science of military fortification, in addition to his interest in painting. You'll see when you meet him tomorrow."

"What about this haunted fort?" Joe asked eagerly.

"Senandaga?" Uncle Jim's eyes twinkled. "There are apparently some weird goings-on there. But Mr. Davenport will fill you in on that, too."

Uncle Jim then took the Hardys and Chet to the Davenport lakeside mansion, an old gabled house staffed only by a woman cook and a part-time chauffeur-gardener.

"Mr. Davenport has invited us to have meals in the kitchen during your stay here," the instructor said.

After a hearty supper Mr. Kenyon took the boys on a tour. He explained that the Millwood grounds were tended by the students themselves, who rented rooms in the nearby village of Cedar-town. Art materials, all instruction, and part of rent costs were financed by the millionaire patron. Several townspeople also painted on weekends at the school.

Uncle Jim showed his visitors the studios, the gallery building from the outside, and finally, a boathouse near the mansion. Several canoes were tied up to a dock. These, Mr. Kenyon said, were for the students' use.

As he accompanied the boys back to their quarters the instructor said with a grin, "Don't expect Mr. Davenport to be too-er-ordinary." He did not explain further, and bade them good night, saying the art patron expected them to call at nine A.M. the next day.

Early the next morning Joe awoke to see an unfamiliar face peering down into their room through the single, high window. The boy, who appeared to be about nineteen, scowled at Joe, then disappeared.

At that moment Frank awakened.

"What's the matter?" he asked his brother, who was sitting up in bed staring at the window.

"Some fellow was looking in here. He didn't seem the cheerful type."

Frank laughed. "One of the students, probably. Maybe he's envious of our artist's garret. Let's wake up Chet and get some vittles."

After breakfast the three boys strolled around the grounds, already dotted with students setting up easels or heading for studio classes. Joe started as he noticed one student, carrying a small easel, approaching them.

"He's the one I saw at the window this morning!"

Like many of the other students, the boy wore a gray smock. His face, long and with pudgy lips, had a faintly insolent expression. He came up to the Bayporters.

"You new here?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes," Frank answered. "We plan to pick up some painting tips as guests of Mr. Kenyon." He introduced himself and the others.

The student stared at them speculatively. "Oh, is that so? Well, my name's Ronnie Rush." He went on sullenly, "Kenyon would have to lock up the whole gallery just because two measly paintings are gone. I could be doing some research." With a shrug Ronnie added, "Guess I got nothing against you fellows, though. See you around."

Before the Hardys or Chet could retort, the student shuffled off.