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deductions, as Joe added, “Maybe the treasure already has been salvaged from the sunken hulk.”
    Chet joined in. “Hey! The head might not have been on the ship at all!”
    â€œExactly,” said Mr. Hardy. “It may have been filched from the Katawa back in Beirut—or even in Le Havre, France, where she stopped before the crossing to New York.”
    Frank grinned and inquired, “How come you were so interested in the legend of Whalebone Island, Dad?”
    â€œBecause I have a feeling it may tie in with this case.” Fenton Hardy stirred up the fire, adding, “Before we do any more talking, let’s have another look at that map.”
    Joe handed him the paper.
    â€œHmm. The X mark appears to lie between two hills directly back of this cove,” said the detective.
    Frank bent close to peer at the map. “And these trees form a sort of arrowhead triangle pointing right at the spot.”
    Mr. Hardy rubbed his jaw. “I’m wondering if we should investigate now or wait until morning. I’d feel a lot better knowing who knocked me out —and just where he’s lurking.”
    â€œIf you ask me, that’s a good reason for checking out the X mark right now,” said Joe. “Suppose something valuable is stashed there, Dad. The person who conked you may be after it—and he might just snatch it during the night.”
    â€œYou have a point there, son,” the detective conceded. “Very well. If you’re all willing, let’s go look.”
    Dousing their campfire, the group headed inland. Beyond the screen of trees sheltering the cove, the ground rose slightly, then flattened again amid a tangle of brush that made their going difficult in the darkness.
    Presently Frank halted and touched his father’s arm. “Look! Those must be the three trees, Dad!”
    His beam, moving back and forth, showed three scrubby trees, positioned like the points of a triangle.
    Mr. Hardy nodded. “No doubt about it. Those humps on the skyline up ahead are two shallow hills.”
    The four advanced cautiously past the trees. In a few moments they came to the brink of a steep ravine, cupped between the hills.
    They began clambering down the slope into the gully. Joe shifted his flashlight to his left hand in order to seize hold of some underbrush and steady his descent. As the yellow beam veered toward the left bank of the ravine, he let out a sudden startled yell.
    â€œLook! There’s somebody!”.
    The others turned hastily, but the figure had darted out of sight.
    â€œWhere did he go?” Mr. Hardy asked.
    â€œAmong that shrubbery. I didn’t get a good look, but he—”
    Joe’s words were drowned out by a terrific blast! The left wall of the ravine exploded with a shattering force!

CHAPTER VI
    A Madman’s Scrawl
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    T HE blast knocked the sleuths flat against the bank of the ravine as fragments of rock and earth showered down upon them.
    â€œAre you all right, boys?” gasped Fenton Hardy.
    Three voices reassured him. Frank lay on his flashlight, and when he pulled it free, the beam still shone. Joe’s light had been buried somewhere in the debris.
    â€œWhew!” Chet gulped as he struggled upright. “Feels like I just got creamed by a whole football line!”
    â€œLet’s get out of here,” Mr. Hardy said.
    Shaking the dust from their clothes, the four clambered back up to level ground. Frank turned and shone his beam down into the ravine, the bottom of which was heaped with rubble.
    â€œThat fellow you saw, Joe—what did he look like?”
    â€œI hardly had time to see his face at all,” Joe replied, “but two things I did notice were—a red beard and a black cloak!”
    Chet groaned. “The Jolly Roger ghost again!”
    â€œI doubt if ghosts are capable of planting explosives,” Mr. Hardy said dryly. “It was probably