Just a short time ago, Sean Prescott had been a happy man.  Not only had he successfully cleared Chet Morton of all charges, but he had just spent a wonderful evening with a beautiful woman.  Valerie St. James was not only attractive, she was intelligent and funny.

Now, however, he was a worried man. He had tried to contact the Hardys and the Mortons, but there had been no answer on the motel phone.  He left a message on Fenton Hardy’s cell phone to meet him at eight the next morning, yet he still hadn’t heard from them.  He decided to go immediately to the motel on the edge of Moundville.

Sean pulled into the parking space near the motel’s office and hurried inside.  The sight of Chester Morton pacing nervously in the lobby brought him no comfort.

“Mr. Morton?  What’s going on?”

“Oh, Mr. Prescott,” Chester turned to face the young attorney, “Maybe I should have waited for Fenton and Frank to get back here, but it’s just been too long.”

“Too long for what?”

“Chet and Joe never got back,” Chester explained.  “We split up this morning.  Chet and Joe took copies of the pictures of the lighter and walked down the main street of town.  Frank and I hit the side streets.  We got back hours ago and Frank went with his father to follow up a lead we found.  I waited here for Chet and Joe to get back, but they haven’t come yet.”

Sean glanced at his watch.  It was almost five o’clock.  He frowned.  Something didn’t feel right.  Mr. Morton was right.  The boys should have returned long ago; the main street was not very big.

“When did Fenton and Frank leave?” Sean asked.

“A couple hours ago, but Fenton called and said they were going to the airport to pick up my family.”

“And they haven’t heard from Chet or Joe, either?”

“I’m afraid not,” Chester replied, the worry evident in his voice.

“I think I’d better take a drive and see if I can find them,” Sean suggested.  “You should stay here and…”

“No! I’ve done quite enough waiting, thank you!” Chester cried.  “I’m going with you.”

They wrote a quick note and left it with the desk clerk, just in case the boys returned.

* * *

Sam Radley waved across the black tarmac as he watched Fenton and Frank Hardy walking toward them.  Jack Wayne had just rolled the small plane to a stop and helped Sam escort Betty and Iola Morton out of the plane.

“How was your flight?” Fenton asked. He wore a smile on his face, but Sam noticed his voice carried an edge of worry.  He looked into his friend’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Sam whispered.

“We need to get these ladies to the motel,” Fenton said, forcing cheerfulness for the sake of the Morton women. “Chester should be waiting for us there.”

“And Chet?” Iola quickly signed with her slender fingers.

Frank glanced at his father before giving Iola a smile. “Chet and Joe are tracking down a clue,” he simply told her.

Jack also realized the Hardy men were not telling them everything, but saw that Fenton and Frank didn’t want to alarm Betty and her daughter.

“I’m saddle sore from the flight,” Jack said with a broad grin, rubbing his backside.  “Let’s hit the road, gents!”

* * *

David Neel watched with curious interest as the group of men hurried out of the wooded lowland along the Black Warrior River.  He knew the swampy area wasn’t a place most people would venture, and he couldn’t imagine what the four of them were doing there.

The foursome hurried up a path to the gravel access road that ran along the Black Warrior River.  David could barely make out the two vehicles as they drove away: a blue van and an old Impala.

He walked to the edge of the make-shift path the men had come out of and peered into the shadows created from the cypress and willow trees.  He saw nothing out of place.

“They must be nuts goin’ in them woods,” David thought as he made his way back upriver toward the County Line Bridge.  “Ain’t nothin’ in there but snakes ‘n ‘gators.”

* * *

“Thanks,” Joe sighed as he rubbed his sore wrists.  It had taken Chet quite a while to get the nylon rope off Joe, but now both boys were untied.

“What next?” Chet asked, glancing up the tall shaft.

“Well,” Joe said as he stood, “I’m pretty good at rock climbing, but I don’t usually do it without ropes.”

“Joe, that opening’s got to be forty feet or more above us.”

“Yeah,” Joe agreed, but he moved to the wall and ran his hand along it.  “I’ve got to try, Chet.  It’ll be dark soon enough and I really don’t want to be down here or out in those woods after dark.” Chet bit his lip.  While Joe was one of the strongest, toughest guys he knew, he also understood what Joe was saying.  The woods they passed through were swampy and Chet could only imagine what kind of slithering creatures were crawling around out there.

“I think I found a place to start,” Joe’s voice broke into Chet’s thoughts.  “Give me a boost.”

Chet moved beneath Joe and gave him a leg-up.  The blond Hardy boy reached up the slick, muddy walls until he found one handhold, then another.  He glanced down and shoved his wet sneakers into two small openings.

“Okay,” Joe said, and he took a deep breath.  He pressed his body close to the wall, releasing his right foot.  Joe inched his shoe along the wall until he felt a space big enough to jam his toes into.  He repeated the task, but searched the wall with his left hand, stretching as high as he could.  Next he moved his left foot, then his right hand, right foot, left hand…slowly creeping up the wall of the pit.

It seemed like it was taking forever and progress was slow.  Many times, a hand or foothold would break away and Joe would grope madly for a new position.  It seemed like the hole was disappearing, but then Joe realized it was getting dark.  The blue afternoon sky had given way to a dark gray, shadowy dusk.

“You’re more than halfway,” Chet shouted encouragingly.  “Keep going, Joe! You can do it!”

Joe pressed on, fighting the weariness he was feeling in his shoulders and thighs.  He pushed harder and despite the damp chill in the air, found himself sweating so bad his eyes were burning.

Finally, Joe pulled himself up over the edge of the pit.  He dug his sneakers into the wall for one final push, but then froze.  Just inches from where his right hand precariously gripped an exposed tree root, a tri-colored snake hissed a warning.