The Shore Road Mystery Read Free Page B

driving them back to their farm in Mr. Hardy’s car. “Having your father’s name behind us at the hearing tomorrow will mean a great deal.”
    â€œWe’re glad to do what we can.” Joe grinned.
    â€œHave you any idea who might have wanted to frame you?” Frank asked as they headed north.
    â€œNot really,” Jack replied. “But Dad and I have come up with one possibility.”
    â€œHis name is Ray Slagel,” Mr. Dodd explained. “He came to the farm looking for work about a month ago. But he didn’t prove dependable, and after I had found him away from his chores several times, I had to dismiss him.”
    â€œDid you have any trouble with him after that?” Joe asked.
    â€œNo,” Mr. Dodd answered, “but he threatened to get even with me. I can’t tell you much about his background, but we can describe him.”
    â€œDad,” Jack interrupted excitedly, “I think I still have that picture I took of Slagel!”
    â€œThat might give us something to go on,” Frank remarked. “Actually, we’ve got two Dodd mysteries.”
    â€œI almost forgot!” Jack gasped, remembering his uncle’s expected visit that night.
    Mr. Dodd laughed. “Frank and Joe, are you still interested?”
    â€œInterested!” the Hardys cried in unison. “We sure are!”
    Frank turned the sedan off Shore Road onto the lane leading to the Dodd house. Mr. Dodd and Jack cordially invited the Hardys inside, where they all sat down in the attractive, pine-paneled living room. Over a large flagstone fireplace hung a framed black-and-white map of the Atlantic coast. There were several early Colonial prints above the bookcases and sofa.
    â€œWe’re ready for the story,” said Frank.
    â€œAs you may know,” Mr. Dodd began, “the Dodd family, while small today, goes back several hundred years in this country.” He pointed to some faded, brown-leather volumes along a mahogany shelf. “There are records in these of centuries of Dodds—records that go back before the Revolutionary War. Unfortunately, they tell us little about the man at the root of the Pilgrim mystery.”
    Frank and Joe leaned forward.
    â€œWe do know,” the farmer continued, “that in the year 1647, one Elias Dodd embarked from Plymouth Colony in a small skiff with his wife and three children. A good seaman, with considerable knowledge of astronomy, he went in search of a horseshoe-shaped inlet he had heard of from an Indian. Dodd hoped to establish a settlement to which other families might come later.”
    â€œA horseshoe-shaped inlet!” Joe exclaimed.
    Mr. Dodd smiled. “The inlet that is today Barmet Bay.”
    â€œDid he reach it?” Frank asked.
    Mr. Dodd stood up and paced the room. “That is the mystery we hope to solve. You see, Elias Dodd was never heard from again. But many years later, a bottle was found washed up on a shore farther south of here. In it was a note believed to have been written by Elias before he and his family perished in a sudden, violent storm.
    â€œDeterioration of the paper had obliterated some of the words. In the message, Elias hastily described their last geographical position.”
    â€œAnd you have the message here?” Frank asked.
    â€œOnly in our heads.” Jack smiled.
    Mr. Dodd explained. “My brother Martin, who teaches astronomy at Cheston College in Greenville, has the original. You’ll be able to see it when you meet him this evening.”
    â€œAnd you’re hoping,” Joe said, “to discover whether your ancestor perished in the Bayport area?”
    â€œThat’s right, as well as to determine the existence of the Pilgrim treasure.”
    â€œTreasure!” Frank and Joe echoed.
    Jack’s father went on, “When Elias left the colony for his journey, he brought with him a chest of jewels, many of which were very valuable. He