The Clue in the Embers Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER I - A Strange Inheritance

  CHAPTER II - A Stolen Curio

  CHAPTER III - Fire in the Mummy Case

  CHAPTER IV - Skylight Escape

  CHAPTER V - Missing Valuables

  CHAPTER VI - Mr. Bones

  CHAPTER VII - A Street Chase

  CHAPTER VIII - An Amazing Discovery

  CHAPTER IX - The Peculiar Ping

  CHAPTER X - A Shattered Window

  CHAPTER XI - A Near Capture

  CHAPTER XII - The Black Sheep

  CHAPTER XIII - News of Buried Treasure

  CHAPTER XIV - Confessions

  CHAPTER XV - Volcano!

  CHAPTER XVI - A Kidnapped Companion

  CHAPTER XVII - The Weird Ceremony

  CHAPTER XVIII - Into Dangerous Country

  CHAPTER XIX - Followed!

  CHAPTER XX - The Secret Revealed

  THE CLUE IN THE EMBERS

  Tony Prito enlists the help of his detective friends Frank and Joe Hardy when a sinister stranger demands that Tony sell him the bizarre curio collection he has just inherited.

  While the boys are discussing this suspicious incident, the stranger, Valez, telephones and threatens Tony. That same afternoon the three boys collect the cases of curios at a freight station. On their way back to Tony’s house an attempt is made on Joe’s life. The next day a red-haired seaman claims that two medallions in the collection are his. But the medallions are missing! Did Valez steal them? And what was their significance?

  Unraveling the clues in this exciting mystery takes the Hardys and their friends to a desolate region in Guatemala and straight into the hands of a gang of dangerous thugs.

  “We’re trapped!” cried Chet

  Copyright © 1972, 1955, 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 : 978-1-101-07649-1

  2008 Printing

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  CHAPTER I

  A Strange Inheritance

  THE shrill ringing of the Hardy telephone greeted Frank and Joe as they swung into the driveway after a preseason football practice at the Bayport High field.

  “Hurry!” Mrs. Hardy called a moment later. “This is the third time Tony Prito has phoned!”

  “Must be important,” said blond, seventeen-year-old Joe to his brother Frank, dark-haired and a year older. “Be right there, Mom!”

  Clearing the porch steps in two strides, Joe hurried in to the phone. “Hello, Tony. What’s up?”

  “How would you and Frank like to see some shrunken heads?”

  “See what?”

  “Six shrunken human heads!”

  “Where are they?”

  “I’ve inherited a lot of mysterious curios from my uncle Roberto,” Tony replied excitedly. “He had a shop full of them in New York when he died. The shipment, including the shrunken heads, will arrive at the railroad station here at one-forty this afternoon.”

  “And you need our muscle to help you load and unload?” Joe asked with a chuckle.

  “Right. But what’s more important, I’ve received a strange telegram in connection with this stuff. I’ll show it to you when you get here.”

  “Sounds like a new mystery. Wait till I tell Frank! Well, we’ll be at your house around one.”

  Joe hung up and told his brother about their appointment with Tony. He had not quite finished when Mrs. Hardy came in.

  “What’s this about a mystery?” the slender, attractive woman asked.

  The boys related the story.

  “You’re both just like Dad,” their mother said with a smile.

  Fenton Hardy, an internationally famous detective, had served many years with the New York City police force. Later he had settled in Bayport, a bustling seaport of fifty thousand inhabitants. From his big house at Elm and High streets he carried on a busy practice as a private investigator. His sons were following in his footsteps. The first case they had solved was The Tower Treasure, and their latest one was The Hooded Hawk Mystery.

  “I’ll sure need some nourishment if I’m going to hassle with a lot of shrunken heads,” Frank declared. “Joe, let’s finish that clam chowder Mother made yesterday.”

  “It sure was good.” Joe laughed. “Chet ate three bowls of it while he was here.”

  Chet Morton was the Hardys’ chubby pal who often went along with them to follow up dues. He lived on a farm about a mile from Bayport.

  “Shall we phone Chet and ask him to come to the station?” Joe asked.

  “I’m sure Tony called him already,” Frank replied.

  Within ten minutes the boys were on their way to Tony’s house. They found their friend sitting on the front steps. One of the Prito Construction Company’s large trucks was parked at the curb. Tony waved anxiously at the boys.

  “Now what’s this all about?” Frank asked.

  “Somebody wants to buy the curio collection sight unseen.”

  “That’s strange,” Joe commented.

  “Look,” Tony said, reaching into his pocket. “Here’s the telegram I got.”

  Signed with the single name Valez, the message was an offer to buy, for two hundred dollars, the entire collection of curios.

  “This arrived yesterday,” Tony explained. “And notice that Valez, whoever he is, says he’s going to phone this afternoon and make arrangements to pick up the stuff.”

  Suspicious, the Hardys glanced at each other. Frank suggested that the collection might be worth much more than two hundred dollars.

  “Sure,” said Joe. “I wouldn’t take his offer.”

  “Right,” Frank continued. “Valez is too eager to make a deal. Besides, I think he has a nerve to assume you’re going to sell him the curios before you’ve had a chance to have them appraised.”

  “Do you have a list of all the things, Tony?” Joe asked.

  “No, not a complete one,” Tony replied, “but this letter from the estate’s executor, a bank in New York City, mentions several of the items.”

  The boys scanned the paragraph that told of the curios.

  “Look!” Joe exclaimed. “You even have four Moorish scimitars!”

  “What about them?” Tony asked.

  Frank, who had done some research on swords in connection with a previous mystery, explained that a scimitar is a crescent-shaped saber used originally by Moorish horsemen, and still popular during the Wars of Napoleon. Made of fine Damascus steel, often with guards of gold set with precious stones, these antique weapons are rare and valuable.

  “And see here,” Frank continued. “The shrunken heads are mentioned, too.”

  These heads, or tsanstas, the letter explained, have a considerable value in the souvenir market, despite laws against their sale or barter.

  “The Andean Indians used to take the heads of their enemies in local warfare,” Joe said. “I read up on this once. The skull was removed from the severed head and boiled until it was reduced to the size of a man’s fist. Then the eyes were pinned and laced, and the inside treated with hot stones and sand. Through the use of a local herb, the hair remained long and kept its original luster.”

  “Pretty savage,” Tony remarked.

  “Well, we’d better head for the station,” Frank urged. “The train’s about due.”

  Just then the phone in the Prito hallway rang.

  “Maybe i
t’s Valez,” Tony said and ran inside. Frank and Joe followed.

  Tony picked up the phone and listened. His jaw tightened. For several seconds the three boys stood still while the high-pitched voice on the other end chattered without a pause.

  Tony indicated to the Hardys that it was Valez. Then he said, “No. I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in your offer. Thanks just the same.”

  Valez’s voice grew loud and angry.

  “I’m not selling at this point,” Tony said firmly.

  The Hardys heard Valez snap one more remark as Tony hung up.

  “What did he say?” Frank asked.

  “He threatened me,” Tony replied. “Said I’d be sorry. And he’s right here in Bayport!”

  “Wow!” Joe exploded. “We’d better get down to the station. He might try to pull a fast one.”

  “I’m glad you fellows are coming along,” Tony said as they went out of the house. “I called Chet, but he couldn’t make it.”

  The train had not yet arrived when the boys reached the terminal.

  “According to Valez’s accent he’s definitely Spanish,” Tony said. “I imagine him to be the small, excitable kind.”

  They glanced around the platform, but no Spanish-looking man was in sight.

  “Here comes the train,” Frank said.

  They watched the freight agent run his cart to a boxcar. The door opened. Crates and cartons were quickly lifted out.

  “They’re all yours,” the agent told Tony.

  Joe whistled. “Some haul,” he said as box after box, some with strange, foreign-looking markings, was piled high onto the cart. The trio watched alertly out of the corners of their eyes for the sudden appearance of any particularly interested person.

  “Okay, Tony!” the agent said at last, and handed him the bill of lading to be signed.

  Without losing a moment, the three boys helped pull the cart to the truck and started loading the cases onto it. Working feverishly to finish the job so they could get home and examine the curios, they were glad to have the help of two friends whom they had spotted on the platform.

  “They’re all yours,” the agent told Tony

  As Joe lifted the last case onto the truck, he said, “Frank, you sit up front with Tony. I’d like to stay back here and act as a lookout.”

  “Okay,” his brother agreed as their two friends waved good-by. He jumped into the cab. Tony climbed to the driver’s seat and started the motor. Seconds later they were on their way to the Prito house.

  Sitting atop one of the cases in the open back of the truck, Joe had a good view of the station and the public square. “Still no sign of action from Valez,” he mused. “I wonder if the whole business was just a hoax.”

  Frank was thinking along the same line. As they turned into the tree-lined avenue two blocks from the Prito home, he let out a sigh of relief. “It seems our buddy gave up on us,” he said.

  But Tony did not share his optimism. “Maybe he’s just biding his time.”

  “Let’s see if Joe noticed anything,” Frank said, and slid back the glass panel in the rear of the cab. “Joe,” he called out, “this job turned out to be a lot easier than I expected. Anything new on your end?”

  Joe was about to answer, when he caught sight of an arrowhead-like missile streaking through the air directly toward him!

  CHAPTER II

  A Stolen Curio

  SEEING the missile whizzing toward him, Joe ducked, but he felt a stinging blow on his right arm.

  “Stop!” he yelled to Tony. “Get that fellow! He shot at me!” Joe pointed to a man who had dodged from behind a tree and was now running away at top speed.

  The vehicle lurched to a halt. Frank flung open the cab door and raced toward a wooded stretch beyond the sidewalk.

  “Watch it!” Joe called after his brother. “That guy’s got a blowgun!”

  Frank pursued the assailant into the woods and disappeared.

  Meanwhile, Tony eased the truck to the edge of the road. He turned to see what had happened to Joe. “Something hit you?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Joe showed a small arrowhead which he had picked up from the floor. A tiny paper was glued to its base. Without taking the time to examine either, Joe thrust them into his pocket. He told Tony to guard the truck, and dashed off in search of his assailant.

  He sprinted a hundred yards into the woods. Thrashing through a stretch of thicket, he called, “Frank! Where are you?”

  “Over here!” Frank was standing near a wire fence that enclosed two closely spaced factory buildings.

  “He jumped the fence,” Frank panted as Joe came up to him. “Took off between the two plants. We’ll never catch him now!”

  “Let’s get back to the truck,” Joe suggested.

  “This attack might have been a ruse to lure us away!”

  They hurried toward the street. To their relief, the truck was still there.

  “Did you get a good look at the man?” Tony asked.

  “Not too good,” Frank replied. “He’s short, thin, dark, and I think he’s got a small mustache.”

  Joe frowned. “How old do you think he is?” Frank shrugged. “Whatever his age, he’s very wiry. You should have seen him vault that fence!”

  “Joe, you’d better sit up front with us now,” Tony said. “We can’t afford to let that guy take any more pot shots at you.”

  Once inside the cab, the boys examined the lead arrowhead and the paper covering its base. A message was scrawled in barely legible script, warning Tony not to dispose of the curios.

  “First Valez wants me to sell the stuff, and now he tells me not to or I’ll get in trouble!” Tony exclaimed.

  “You’re jumping to a conclusion,” Frank objected. “We don’t really have any proof that this man was Valez.”

  “That’s right,” Joe said. “There’s a good chance that someone else is after your curios.”

  Tony sighed. “Looks as if we have a full-fledged mystery on our hands.”

  Joe changed the subject. “Tony, what are you going to do with all these things?” he asked.

  “Put them in the garage for the time being. I can’t think of where else to store them.”

  “I’m not so sure that it is the safest place,” Frank commented.

  “I have an idea,” Joe said. “Why don’t you ask the new Howard Museum to take care of them? Maybe you can give them some of the pieces and see if Mr. Scath will store the rest in return.”

  “Good thinking,” Frank agreed.

  “Okay,” Tony said. “I’ll give him a ring.” Soon the trio arrived at the Prito home. Tony parked the truck, and while the Hardy boys guarded the shipment, he went inside and phoned Mr. Scath.

  “The museum is open late tonight,” said the curator. “I suggest that you bring your curios around about nine o’clock, after closing time. There won’t be anybody in the building and I’ll have a chance to look at them.”

  As Tony stepped into the yard he was startled to see a man tiptoeing along the side of the garage. He was short and wore a felt hat pulled low.

  Tony yelled. The intruder took off like a streak of lightning. Tony chased him down the block, but he escaped in a car.

  Frank and Joe had heard Tony call out. “I’ll go, you stay with the truck,” Frank said and ran after Tony. They met in the street.

  “What was that all about?” Frank asked.

  “A guy was sneaking around our garage. Probably Valez. Too bad I couldn’t catch him. He drove off.”

  The boys were worried when they talked things over with Joe. “That guy means business!” Joe declared. “We’d better keep a lookout.” They took turns keeping watch as they inspected the curios in the garage.

  Tony found a pair of old Indian clubs and started swinging them. Joe pulled out a small stuffed alligator of little value. But in the same box was a set of rare old travel books from the sixteenth century. Another interesting find was a small chest filled with old silver pieces.

  �
�Probably belonged to some pirate,” Joe remarked, while Frank stacked four scimitars on a wall rack.

  As time passed, one thing became certain: the collection was worth much more than two hundred dollars.

  “Do you realize what time it is?” Frank asked hours later. “Almost six-thirty. And I’m starved!”

  “My folks won’t be home for dinner,” Tony said. “Why don’t you call your mother and tell her you’ll eat here?”

  “Great idea!” Joe said. “I’ll phone.”

  He went into the house while Tony padlocked the garage doors. A few minutes later the three boys met in the kitchen.

  “And now for some food!” said Tony. Soon he had a large pot of spaghetti cooking on the stove. “My mother made a lot of good meat sauce to go with this,” he said. “And there’s homemade apple pie for dessert.”

  The boys took their time eating and were deep in conversation when Frank suddenly interrupted. “Sh-h!”

  “What’s the matter?” Tony asked.

  “I heard a noise coming from the garage!” They were silent and listened tensely. Then Joe got up and walked to the window. He peered out, then shrugged. “Nobody outside,” he said.

  Frank was not convinced. “We’d better have a look,” he said.

  The boys went out. Seeing that the garage was still padlocked, they ran around to the rear. The window was wide open!

  “Take it easy,” Tony warned as Joe leaped onto the ledge and climbed in. Frank followed.

  Tony walked around front again, opened the padlock, and entered the garage through the door. No one was inside but Frank and Joe.

  Quickly the trio checked the crates. Nothing seemed to be disturbed. Suddenly Frank’s eyes focused on the wall rack.

  “One of the scimitars is missing!” he exclaimed.

  CHAPTER III

  Fire in the Mummy Case

  DISMAYED, the boys saw that only three of the Moorish swords remained in the rack. Frank and Joe dashed outside and made a quick search through the neighborhood. They found no trace of the burglar.