The Pentagon Spy by Franklin W. Dixon

marina was a man named Herb Chelski. As the bell on the door announced the entry of the Hardys, he looked up from a crab net he was inspecting on the counter.
    â€œWhat kind of boat do you want?” he inquired. “I have boats for the bay and the deep sea, and any kind of fishing boat you can mention. Except whale fishing,” he added with a laugh. “If you’re after Moby Dick, forget it.”
    â€œWe’re not after Moby Dick,” Frank told him. “We’re after Clifford Hunter.”
    Chelski stopped laughing. “Oh, the navy guy who disappeared. I told the FBI everything I know.”
    â€œWe’re cooperating with the FBI,” Joe stated. “We’re working for the Pentagon.”
    The Hardys produced their credentials, which Chelski scrutinized carefully. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll tell you how it was. Hunter owns a sailboat that he keeps docked here. He rents the space by the month. I got to know him pretty well. I thought he was a nice guy. What’s he done?”
    â€œI wish we could tell you,” Frank replied. “But we can’t. It’s top-secret navy stuff.”
    â€œI understand. Well, I was here when Cliff came for his sailboat. He surprised me because it was a weekday and he usually takes his boat out on weekends. Besides, there was something funny about him this time.”
    â€œIn what way?” Joe inquired.
    â€œHe didn’t seem to be himself—acted nervous, if you know what I mean. But it didn’t affect his sailing. He handled the boat as expertly as ever.”
    â€œAnd that was the last you saw of him?” Frank wanted to know.
    â€œYes. When he didn’t come back, I figured he was on one of his longer trips down the bay. But when the FBI started asking questions, I realized Cliff was in some kind of trouble.”
    â€œCan you give us a description of Hunter’s sailboat?”
    â€œSure. A thirty-three footer with a sail, and a motor for emergencies. The name Bay Queen is painted in green letters on the stern.”
    â€œI’d like to write down his address, too,” Joe said. Chelski gave it to him, then the boys left the marina and strolled down the dock.
    â€œI can understand why Hunter was nervous,” Joe commented. “I’d be nervous too if I had just stolen a top-secret document from the navy.”
    Frank suddenly gripped Joe’s arm. “Look there!” He pointed to a small, wizened figure walking along the dock ahead of them.
    â€œEd Bryle!” Joe marveled. “Where did he come from?”
    â€œHe doesn’t know we’re here. Let’s brace him.”
    The Hardys applied their detective training to capturing their suspect. Joe stayed on Bryle’s trail to make sure they would not lose him. Frank slipped around the dock and stepped out in front of the former farmhand. Joe at the same time closed in from the rear.
    Bryle started when he saw Frank. He turned as if to run, but Joe was too near for him to get away.
    â€œHello, Bryle!” Frank said.
    â€œLong time no see,” Joe added.
    Bryle flushed red and blinked his eyes. His voice shook. “What do you guys want?”
    â€œA few answers,” Frank replied. “What are you doing in Chesapeake Crossing?”
    Bryle looked sullen. “I work at the marina. You got any complaints?”
    â€œWe heard you left the Hammerley farm,” Joe stated.
    â€œSo? I got a better job here. Any objections?”
    â€œNot as long as you return the Galloping Rider. Remember? The weather vane you snatched at Joshua Korbo’s auction.”
    â€œYou must be nuts!” Bryle snarled. “I wasn’t at no auction.”
    â€œCome on, Bryle, we saw you!” Frank said. “You probably stole the Galloping Rider and hid it at the auction when Korbo wasn’t looking. Then you came back to sneak it out during the bidding.”
    â€œAnd you only got