The Secret of Pirates' Hill by Franklin W. Dixon

asked.
    â€œForget it.”
    â€œLook, Mr. Bowden, you can’t play hide-and-seek with facts and expect us to do a good sleuthing job for you!”
    The man smiled. “No need for you to get hot under the collar. Gorman’s hipped on finding a miniature cutlass—says it’s a lost heirloom. He puts the question to everyone.”
    The Hardys thought this was an unlikely story. They left shortly, saying they planned to continue their search for the cannon.
    â€œI wish Dad would come back from Florida,” Joe remarked as they rode along. “This case is getting knotty.”
    â€œJoe, it had me baffled until just now. But I believe I have the answer,” Frank declared.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œIt might sound farfetched,” Frank replied, “but the combination of cannons, cutlasses, and the story about the pirates’ fight all lead in one direction.”
    Joe smiled. “You mean hidden treasure?”
    â€œRight. But we’ll have to dig up more clues before we can dig up any treasure,” Frank said.
    Since the boys had to pass near their home to take the road to Pirates’ Hill, Frank suggested that they stop and see if there was a letter or phone message from Mr. Hardy.
    The telephone was ringing persistently as they entered the house. “Nobody’s home,” Frank said. “Grab it, Joe.”
    The boy picked up the instrument in the front hall. “Yes, this is Joe Hardy.... Why do you want to see us, Mr. Smedick?” Joe listened for a moment and added, “All right. Frank and I will come immediately.”
    Joe hung up and turned to his brother. “A guy with a strained voice, named A. B. Smedick, wants to see us at the Bayport Hotel. Room 309. It has something to do with the cannon mystery.”
    â€œWe’d better watch out. This may be a trap. I suggest we stay in the hall to talk to that fellow,” Frank cautioned.
    A few minutes later Joe buzzed 309. Presently the door opened. The Hardys gasped. Tim Gorman stood there!
    â€œWhat’s the idea of this?” Joe asked.
    â€œPlease step in,” Gorman invited. “I’ll explain.”
    â€œWe prefer staying here,” Frank said coolly.
    Quickly Gorman reached into his coat pocket, extracted a wallet, and took out a paper and a card. He handed them to Frank.
    On the card the boys saw the small photograph of the man in a Navy uniform. Joe inspected it closely to see if any touching up had been done.
    It was Gorman, all right, beyond any doubt. The paper was a statement of his honorable discharge from the United States Navy two years earlier.
    â€œPlease come in,” Gorman said, and the Hardys entered the room. Their host locked the door and they all sat down close together.
    â€œI’m using the name of Smedick here for protection against certain people in Bayport who would like to see me harmed,” he said in a low voice. Obviously he was afraid that he might be overheard.
    Without explaining further, he went on, “I’ve investigated you boys thoroughly and know you’re trustworthy. I’m very eager to have you help me solve a mystery.”
    â€œWe’re pretty busy right now on another case,” said Joe, who still felt skeptical about the man.
    Gorman looked disappointed. “I’m sorry to hear that. I really need your help.”
    Frank suggested that Gorman tell them what the mystery was. Perhaps they could work on it along with their other sleuthing.
    Gorman pulled a pad and pencil from his pocket and wrote:
    MEET ME TOMORROW AT 2 P.M. IN THE BROWN SHACK ON THE DUNE A MILE NORTH OF PIRATES’ HILL. I’LL TELL YOU THEN.
    The boys read the message. Frank nodded. But Joe, suspicious, said, “Before we go any further, suppose you tell us what you know about cutlasses.”
    The boy’s remark hit Gorman like a bombshell. He sat bolt upright in his chair, and his face flushed. “Please, not now,” he