The Mystery of the Aztec Warrior Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER I - The Injured Intruder

  CHAPTER II - An Attic Mishap

  CHAPTER III - A Mysterious Companion

  CHAPTER IV - The Hijacked Plane

  CHAPTER V - The Tattoo

  CHAPTER VI - Unwanted Passenger

  CHAPTER VII - Mexican Disguise

  CHAPTER VIII - Ambushed Detectives

  CHAPTER IX - Iguana Scare

  CHAPTER X - Ghost-City Search

  CHAPTER XI - Yankee Warning

  CHAPTER XII - “Five Rabbit”

  CHAPTER XIII - A Charging Bull

  CHAPTER XIV - A Matador’s Clue

  CHAPTER XV - The Tule Tree Discovery

  CHAPTER XVI - Stunning News

  CHAPTER XVII - Treacherous Trail

  CHAPTER XVIII - Vaquero Attack

  CHAPTER XIX - Island Prisoner

  CHAPTER XX - A Secret Unearthed

  THE MYSTERY OF THE AZTEC WARRIOR

  The handwritten will of a deceased world-traveler is strange and mysterious. Its cryptic instructions are to deliver “the valuable Aztec warrior to the rightful owner, a descendant of an Aztec warrior.” What is the valuable object and where is it? What is the name of the owner and where is he? Frank and Joe Hardy have only one slim clue to work with: the name of a complete stranger who can help find the answers.

  Despite the harassments, the threats, and the attacks made upon them by an unknown, sinister gang, Frank and Joe unravel clue after due in their adventure-packed search for the living descendant of the mighty Aztec nation which once ruled Mexico. The hunt leads to a market place in Mexico City, to the Pyramids at Teotihuacan, to the tombs of Oaxaca—where Chet Morton, the Hardys’ pal, is nearly buried alive by foul play.

  It takes as much high courage as clever deduction for the young detectives to defeat their ruthless foes and to decipher the fascinating secrets of the strange and mysterious will.

  “We must get to that courtyard!” Frank yelled

  PRINTED ON RECYCLED PAPER

  Copyright © 1992,1964 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

  Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam & Grosset

  Group, New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.

  THE HARDY BOYS® is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-07656-9

  2007 Printing

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  CHAPTER I

  The Injured Intruder

  FRANK and Joe Hardy followed their father into the law office of Otis Weaver, a Bayport attorney.

  “Hello, Fenton!” said Mr. Weaver, getting up to shake hands with the tall, athletic-looking detective. “Frank—Joe—how are you?”

  Tall, dark-haired Frank said, “We’re fine and ready to tackle a case, Mr. Weaver.”

  His brother Joe, blond, seventeen, and a year younger, smiled in anticipation.

  The four sat down. “I have a really mysterious one for you to solve,” the short, balding lawyer began. “You probably read in the paper recently of the death of Mr. Jonathan Moore.”

  The three Hardys nodded, and the boys’ father added, “He was a bachelor, I believe. Rather eccentric and not in town for very long periods.”

  “That’s right,” said the attorney. “He traveled a great deal. Mr. Moore had no relatives closer than cousins. There are a number of beneficiaries mentioned in his will, but none of them can receive any money until a certain mystery is cleared up.”

  Mr. Weaver revealed that although Mr. Moore had handwritten his will, it was quite clear, and legally acceptable. There had been two witnesses.

  “But these two men are deceased and therefore cannot answer any questions that might help to solve the mystery.” The lawyer smiled. “I’m sure you three sleuths are eager to hear what the mystery is. I will read you certain paragraphs in the will.”

  From a drawer he pulled out a document and read: “ ‘I direct that the valuable Aztec warrior be given to the rightful owner, who claims to be a direct descendant of an Aztec warrior.’ ”

  “Is that all?” Joe queried, as Mr. Weaver stopped speaking. “The person isn’t named?”

  “No,” the lawyer answered. “There are two other notations which concern you three.” He turned to the last sheet of the will and read aloud:

  ‘I direct that Fenton Hardy, detective of Bayport, and his sons Frank and Joe find the Aztec warrior and deliver his property to him. All expenses are to be paid from the corpus of my estate, and no monies are to be awarded to my beneficiaries until the Aztec warrior’s property is returned to him.’ ”

  Mr. Hardy asked that the two sections in the will be read again. After hearing them, he frowned, puzzled. “Have you any leads, Otis?”

  “Not one. I’ve questioned each of the beneficiaries and other people who knew Mr. Moore, but none of them can offer a solution. There’s one more item concerning you detectives. This sentence reads: ‘The Hardys must find Roberto Hermosa.’ ”

  Mr. Weaver handed a copy of the will to Mr. Hardy, asking if he would like to read it to see if there were any clue the lawyer had missed. The detective studied the document, then commented, “The rest of the will is quite clear. I’ll just copy the parts which concern the boys and me.”

  While Mr. Hardy was busy writing in his notebook, Joe remarked, “Roberto Hermosa sounds Spanish. I wonder who he is.”

  “I don’t know,” Mr. Weaver said.

  Frank asked the attorney if he had any idea what the Aztec warrior object was.

  “No, none.”

  “Maybe it’s a statue of an Aztec warrior,” Joe remarked.

  “There’s none in Mr. Moore’s house,” the lawyer answered quickly.

  “Could it be some kind of stuffed bird or animal?” Frank queried. “The winged serpent was sacred to the Aztecs.”

  “I didn’t find any on the premises—or any paintings of birds or animals,” Mr. Weaver replied. “In fact, I didn’t come across any object which might have even a remote connection with an Aztec warrior.”

  Mr. Hardy, recognizing an interesting challenge, said enthusiastically, “Otis, my sons and I will start working on the case very soon.”

  Frank and Joe were thrilled and asked if they might begin at once. Their father said he had an appointment and must leave.

  “Suppose Frank and I go out to the Moore estate,” Joe proposed. “Maybe if we look around the house we’ll find a clue to the mysterious object.”

  The lawyer said he would take them. He drove out of town along a road where there had once been large estates which were now developments. He remarked that as soon as the Moore mystery was solved, the deceased man’s property would be sold to a development company. “That will add a nice sum for the beneficiaries.”

  Presently Mr. Weaver turned into a driveway lined with stately old pine trees and pulled up to a large Victorian house, with grounds bordered by trim hedges. The lawyer parked the car and led the way up the high steps of the large porch. He unlocked the door, and the three entered.

  The interior was attractive, with highly polished mahogany furniture. Heavy red draperies hung the full length of the living-room windows, which reached almost from ceiling to floor. A large desk stood at one end of the room just beyond an enormous stone fireplace.

  “As you search for clues here,” said Mr. Weaver, “you will find that this is typically a bachelor’s home. Housekeepers whom Mr. Moore employed from time to time were not permitted to add any feminine touch to the furnishings.”

 
; Frank and Joe made a quick tour of the first floor to decide where to start their search for the Aztec warrior object. There were many objects standing on pedestals and on tables—gladiators, cowboys, and figures of athletes in action.

  “Well, what do you think, boys?” asked Mr. Weaver, who had waited for them in the main hall. “I suppose you’ll start tapping walls and—”

  At that instant there was a terrific crash upstairs.

  “What was that?” Frank asked.

  “I have no idea,” Mr. Weaver replied.

  He and the boys dashed up the stairway, two steps at a time. Quickly they separated and looked in the various bedrooms. There was no sign of anything having fallen.

  Mr. Weaver opened the door leading to the attic stairway and started up, with the boys crowding close on his heels. As they reached the attic, the three gasped. Amid a conglomerate of boxes and old furniture was a large mahogany bureau. It had fallen face forward.

  Pinioned underneath it was a man! He was struggling to free himself.

  “Wow!” Joe exclaimed, as he and Frank and Mr. Weaver dashed forward.

  In a few moments they had raised the bureau to a standing position, then turned their attention to the thin, middle-aged man who had been caught under it. He had ceased to struggle and now lay on the floor, unconscious. He had a nasty gash on his head, was extremely pale, and his pulse rate was very slow.

  “We’d better call an ambulance and have him taken to the hospital,” Mr. Weaver spoke up. “I can’t understand what he was doing here.”

  “Do you know who he is?” Joe asked.

  “I think so,” the lawyer replied. “We’ll look for some identification to be sure.” He opened the man’s jacket and pulled a wallet from his pocket. “Yes, this is John Brower. He’s one of the beneficiaries named in Mr. Moore’s will.”

  “One of the benenciaries!” Frank exclaimed. “He must have been looking for something special.”

  Mr. Weaver asked Joe to hurry downstairs and telephone for the ambulance. “We’d better not move Mr. Brower.”

  While he and Frank were waiting they kept close watch of the victim, but began to pull out the dresser drawers one by one to see what the man was after.

  The man was struggling to free himself

  “These certainly are stiff,” Frank remarked. “Mr. Brower must have tried to open one and pulled the dresser over on himself.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Mr. Weaver agreed. “He had no right being here. I wonder how he got in.”

  The drawers were filled with a collection of old books and old clothes. “Nothing unusual at all,” Frank remarked. “I was hoping maybe we could find a clue to the Aztec warrior object.”

  Joe returned from the first floor and said the ambulance would be there in a few minutes. He went back downstairs to wait for it and in a very short time an intern and an attendant carrying a stretcher came up to the attic. The doctor examined Mr. Brower, then said, “This man must be taken to the hospital.”

  The two men transferred the patient to the stretcher, carried him downstairs and out to the ambulance, with the boys following. As soon as it had driven away, Frank said he would like to return to the attic and make a search.

  “Mr. Brower may have had a good hunch. Also, I noticed several boxes of picture slides. Maybe there’ll be a clue to our case in one of them!”

  “Then let’s go!” Joe urged.

  CHAPTER II

  An Attic Mishap

  “You mean there might be a picture of the Aztec warrior among these slides?” Mr. Weaver asked, as he and the Hardys reached the attic.

  “Yes, either of the man or of the object,” Frank answered eagerly.

  Mr. Weaver was intrigued by the idea and suggested that the three of them carry the boxes of slides downstairs. “When I was searching the house, I noticed a screen and projector on the first floor. By the way, only a few of the boxes are marked, so you’ll probably have hundreds of pictures to look at.”

  Quickly they gathered up the boxes and began lugging them down the two flights of stairs. As Joe, in the lead, started for the first floor, he suddenly tripped on a worn spot in the carpeting. Two boxes flew from his arms, and he went sprawling.

  Joe started to slide downward but caught a banister rail and pulled himself up, rubbing a bruised elbow. The slides lay in the hallway below, hopelessly mixed up.

  “Great!” he said in chagrin.

  Frank chuckled. “All in a sleuth’s day.”

  The boys picked up the slides, and Mr. Weaver brought out the screen and projector.

  While Joe set these up in the living room, Frank put aside the boxes on which there were notations of Greece, Italy, Egypt, and India. “I’m sure we won’t find a picture of either Aztec warrior among these,” he said. “I’ll bet what we’re looking for has something to do with Mexico.”

  The draperies were drawn, and Frank began handing slides from unmarked boxes to Joe. The first group of pictures looked as if they had been taken in the Rocky Mountains. Then came scenes in Hawaii, Canada, and England.

  Although the boys had not yet come across any pictures of Mexico, they were so fascinated by the slides that they did not realize a full hour had gone by. Presently Mr. Weaver mentioned the time. “Two more boxes and we’ll have to quit,” he announced. “I must get back to the office.”

  Joe turned the projector to full speed, and the slides began flashing on and off the screen.

  Suddenly Frank gave a shout. “We’ve hit Mexico! That’s a building at the University in Mexico City!”

  “You’ve been there?” Mr. Weaver asked him.

  “Joe and I visited Mexico and once had a fleeting glimpse of Mexico City. But I recognized the university from pictures I’ve seen.”

  Joe then threw a slide on the screen which Mr. Weaver recognized as the Pyramid of the Sun, one of the great ruins outside Mexico City.

  “Hold that picture!” Frank called out. “It’s Aztec. There might be a clue in it.”

  The Hardys could not detect anything extraordinary. The few people in the picture were not distinct enough to be recognized.

  Joe released the hold button, and the projector began to work automatically again. There were some pictures of candle cactus, and of a lake with fishermen who held strange-looking nets.

  “That’s Lake Patzcuaro,” said Mr. Weaver. “Those are the butterfly nets. It’s the only place in the world where fish nets like those are used. Well, boys, I must leave. We’ll come back sometime and look at the rest of the slides.”

  “Would you mind if Joe and I stay here and finish them now?” Frank asked.

  Mr. Weaver smiled. “Personally, no, but I have a responsibility as an executor, and such a thing might be criticized.”

  While he was talking, Joe showed one more slide. It was a picture of two men standing side by side. Joe pushed the hold button.

  “That one on the left is Mr. Moore!” the lawyer said excitedly.

  “And the Indian-Spanish-looking gentleman with him?” Joe said. “Is he Roberto Hermosa?”

  “I don’t know,” Mr. Weaver replied.

  Frank was staring at the picture. “He just might be the direct descendant of the Aztec warrior!” he cried out.

  Mr. Weaver was so excited he forgot all about leaving. Joe quickly ran through the rest of the slides in the box. Each one showed the same two men in various parts of a lovely garden.

  “Mr. Weaver,” said Frank, “since some of these slides are similar, would you let me take one and make a print from it?”

  The lawyer considered the request, then finally consented.

  Frank picked out the clearest view of Mr. Moore and his companion, put the slide in a handkerchief, and slipped it into a pocket.

  The projector, screen, and boxes of slides were put away. Then the lawyer and the two young detectives left the house, locking the door. As soon as the boys reached home, they went to their workshop over the garage to make a print, which Frank later tucked into his wal
let.

  As the brothers were walking to the house, their father drove in. “Any luck?” he asked.

  “We think we had a little,” Frank told him, pulling out the picture. “One man is Mr. Moore. The other may be either Roberto Hermosa or the Aztec warrior descendant. We found the picture in a box of Mr. Moore’s Mexican slides.”

  The three went into the comfortable, well-furnished house, where they were greeted by Mrs. Hardy. She was a small, slender woman with a sweet smile. She tried to take the adventuresome life of her family philosophically, but worried over the dangers she knew they encountered.

  They were met also by Miss Gertrude Hardy, the detective’s sister, who lived with them. She was a tall, spare woman, who adored her nephews, but frequently made it quite clear she thought they were not cautious enough in their sleuthing. Upon a few occasions her dire predictions of danger had come true.

  Frank and Joe had been through many hair-raising adventures, starting with the mystery of The Tower Treasure. Recently they had solved a most unusual case, The Viking Symbol Mystery, in northwest Canada.

  When Aunt Gertrude heard about the beneficiary who had been searching in the attic, she said tartly, “The idea! Why, he should be cut out of the will! There’s no telling what he’s already gotten away with!”

  “We don’t know that he was trying to steal anything,” Frank defended Mr. Brower.

  Aunt Gertrude was unconvinced. “There may be secret hiding places in that house,” she declared. “If I were in Mr. Weaver’s place, I’d get out a search warrant and go through all that Mr. Brower’s effects.”

  Mr. Hardy patted his sister’s shoulder. “I’m sure that the man will have a good explanation when he regains consciousness. Let’s give him a chance to tell his story.”

  “This is your case, of course, but I wouldn’t put too much faith in that man!” she said, and hurried to the kitchen. Mrs. Hardy waited with the boys while the detective telephoned the hospital. He reported to his family that Mr. Brower was still unconscious.

  “He must have had a bad whack on the head,” Mr. Hardy remarked.