The Secret of Pirates' Hill by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

said in a strained voice. “Tomorrow. I’ll tell you then.”
    He arose, took a lighter from his pocket, and burned the note. Then he walked to the door, unlocked it, and ushered the boys out.
    The Hardys did not speak until they reached their car. Then, as they drove off, Joe burst out, “What do you make of all this?”
    Frank said his curiosity was aroused and he would like to go to the shack. “But I’ll watch out for any double-crossing.”
    â€œWell, we’d better get back to our search for the demiculverin,” Joe urged.
    â€œLet’s borrow Dad’s magnetometer,” Frank added. This was an electronic mine detector for locating metals under sand.
    They picked up the instrument at their house, then drove to Pirates’ Hill.
    â€œLet’s do our searching systematically,” Frank said. He proposed that they mark off sectors and work along the beach and the dunes, moving slowly up the hill.
    They worked steadily until one o’clock. The magnetometer had indicated nothing of importance. The boys sat down to rest and eat the sandwiches they had brought. It was ebb tide and the beach was deserted.
    As soon as they had finished, they resumed their work with the magnetometer. Whenever it indicated a metal object under the sand, the boys dug hopefully. As time passed, they discovered a battered watch, a charm bracelet and a cheap ring, along with soda cans and an old, rusty anchor.
    â€œSay, we could open a secondhand store,” Joe quipped.
    â€œA junk yard’s more like it,” Frank said.
    By five o’clock they had dug several holes on the beach and part of the hill but had not found any artillery. Unfortunately, the magnetometer short-circuited. It would take some time to repair it, they knew. Weary, they gave up the search.
    â€œAt this rate it’ll take us all summer to cover Pirates’ Hill,” Frank remarked, flopping down on the sand.
    â€œYes, and Bowden’s in a hurry,” Joe answered with a grin.
    They went back to their convertible and started homeward. Soon after dinner the phone rang. It was Chief Collig.
    â€œI have some important news for you,” he told Frank, who had answered.
    â€œWhat’s up, Chief?”
    â€œFirst, I want to tell you that we still have the stakeout posted at the cabin in the woods, but no one has showed up yet.”
    â€œToo bad,” said Frank.
    â€œSecond, the department has been working on the fireworks case. Since you fellows are interested in finding that phony helper I thought you’d like to know we’ve traced him to a rooming house.”
    â€œWhere?” Frank asked.
    â€œRight here in Bayport. His name is Guinness. He skipped out just before we got there, but we picked up a clue that may help us locate him. Officer Smuff discovered it in a wastebasket in Guinness’s room.”
    Frank gripped the phone excitedly. “What is it?”
    â€œAn address on a scrap of paper,” the chief replied. “It reads A. B. Smedick, B. H.”

CHAPTER XII
    Startling Developments
    STUNNED by the information, Frank echoed, “A. B. Smedick, B. H.!”
    â€œRight,” said the police chief. “What do you think B. H. stands for?”
    â€œI’m sure that it means Bayport Hotel,” Frank replied, “because we talked to a person there by that name.”
    â€œWhat! Well, then, maybe you can tell us where Smedick is now. He checked out.”
    Frank, amazed to hear this, said he had no idea. “Joe and I are supposed to meet him tomorrow afternoon along the shore. He probably won’t show up. But if he does, I’ll try to find out if he knows where Guinness is.”
    â€œDo that,” said Chief Collig and hung up.
    As soon as Frank replaced the phone in its cradle, he rushed to tell Joe, his mother, and Aunt Gertrude the news.
    â€œIt sounds to me,” Aunt Gertrude commented, her jaw set firmly, “as if