The Hooded Hawk Mystery

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER I - Sender Unknown

  CHAPTER II - Peregrine’s Prize

  CHAPTER III - Smugglers

  CHAPTER IV - A Suspicious Sailor

  CHAPTER V - Indian Intrigue

  CHAPTER VI - A Big Boner

  CHAPTER VII - Dangerous Explorations

  CHAPTER VIII - A Strange Lead

  CHAPTER IX - A Harsh Skipper

  CHAPTER X - Hunting a Hawk

  CHAPTER XI - A Ruse

  CHAPTER XII - Intercepted Ransom

  CHAPTER XIII - Attack in the Night

  CHAPTER XIV - Doubting a Friend

  CHAPTER XV - A Nautical Clue

  CHAPTER.XVI - Forbidding Island

  CHAPTER XVII - An Escaped Prisoner

  CHAPTER XVIII - The Falcon’s Victory

  CHAPTER XIX - Confessions

  CHAPTER XX - A Touch-and-Go Triumph

  THE HOODED HAWK MYSTERY

  A trained peregrine falcon that the young detectives receive as a gift involves them in an exciting mystery. Imagine their astonishment when the swift-flying falcon brings down a homing pigeon carrying two precious rubies! Startling events that ensue indicate the gems are part of a ransom that has been paid for the release of a kidnapped student from India, who had come to the United States to complete his education. But Tava Nayyar, the son of a wealthy industrialist, is still being held captive.

  Hoping to find a clue to Tava’s whereabouts, the Hardys try to track down the owner of the ruby-bearing pigeon. Their every move, however, is thwarted by the dangerous criminals not only involved in the kidnapping, but also in the large-scale smuggling of aliens from India into the United States. How Frank and Joe eventually outwit their adversaries climaxes this thrill-packed mystery adventure.

  Joe was snatched violently in mid-air

  Copyright © 1971, 1954 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.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-07648-4

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  The author hereby acknowledges

  his gratitude to Dr. John J. Craighead, falconer

  and wildlife research scientist

  for his assistance in the preparation

  of the falconry material

  used in this story

  CHAPTER I

  Sender Unknown

  “Frank, come here!” Joe Hardy called excitedly to his brother from the front porch of their home.

  It was early afternoon on a hot August day, but tall, eighteen-year-old Frank ran down the stairs at top speed. He knew from the tone of Joe’s voice that something unusual was happening.

  When he reached the porch, Frank stopped short and stared in amazement. An expressman, who stood there, grinning, had just delivered a burlap-covered crate and a package. Joe, blond and a year younger than Frank, had already removed the burlap. In the crate was a fine, proud-looking hawk.

  “What a beauty!” Frank remarked. “Is it for us?”

  “It says ‘Frank and Joe Hardy, Elm Street, Bayport,’ ” the expressman answered, holding out a receipt for the boy’s signature. As Frank wrote his name, the man added, “This is a peregrine falcon and you’d better take good care of the young lady. She’s valued at five hundred dollars.”

  “Wow!” Joe exclaimed. “That’s an expensive bird!”

  “Who sent her?” Frank asked. He looked at the package and read the name and address aloud, “‘Rahmud Ghapur, Washington, D.C.’ Never heard of the man.”

  “Nor I,” said Joe. “We’ll ask Dad when he gets home.”

  As the expressman left, Frank opened the package. It contained several items which the boys knew were falconry equipment.

  “Looks as though Mr. Ghapur expects us to become falconers,” Frank declared. “But why?”

  They searched for a note in the wrappings but found none. “We’ll probably get a call or a letter of explanation,” said Joe.

  Frank agreed. “In the meantime, let’s learn something about falcons. Dad has some books on the subject in his study.”

  All this time the blackish-blue hawk, with a black-barred creamy breast, had been sitting quietly in the crate, eying her new masters. Now she raised up, fluttered her wings, and cried keer, keer, as if she wanted to be released.

  The boys carried the bird and her trappings through the hall and upstairs to Mr. Hardy’s study. Here the famous detective had several file cabinets of criminal cases and photographs of underworld characters. Frank and Joe, endowed with natural sleuthing ability, had had many opportunities to work with their father. Frank was serious and an honor student at Bayport High, while Joe was rather impulsive but always dependable. Though they had different temperaments, the boys made an excellent team.

  Joe found two volumes on falconry in his father’s bookcase.

  He handed one to Frank and began to flip through the pages of the other book. When he came to a series of pictures of the articles that the expressman had delivered, he said:

  “Look, Frank, this is the leather hood. It’s put over the hawk’s head, so she’ll sit quietly when she’s being carried. And one of these bells is fastened to each of her legs so the owner can keep track of her movements.”

  Frank nodded and looked at an illustration in his book. “Here are those two leather straps. They’re called jesses. One end of each jess is looped and tied around each of the hawk’s legs. The free ends of the straps are fastened to a swivel, which consists of two rings connected by a bolt that allows each ring to turn separately. Both straps are tied to one of the rings and this long leather leash to the other ring. Pretty clever, Joe, because in that way the leash never gets tangled or twisted with the jesses.”

  Joe’s eyes darted toward the crate. “Think we should try these trappings on Miss Peregrine?”

  Frank laughed. “Maybe. But first, let’s find out some more about falcons.”

  Joe, reading on, remarked, “She prefers pigeons to all other foods. But she can be brought back from a flight with any kind of meat or even the lure, if she’s well trained.” He picked up the lure, a short stick on the end of which was a thick bunch of feathers.

  Frank, meanwhile, was studying the falconer’s glove which had come in the package. “Joe,” he said, “this glove must belong to someone from India or the Far East.”

  “How do you know?”

  “My book said that in those countries falconers use right-handed gloves, while Europeans and Americans wear left-handed ones.”

  “Come to think of it,” said Joe, “the name Rahmud Ghapur sounds Indian—or Far Eastern.”

  Frank agreed. “But the whole thing’s still a mystery. Well, let’s put the hawk’s gear on.”

  As Frank held the equipment ready, Joe carefully opened the crate door. Although not sure how to handle the falcon, he quickly grabbed both legs so that the bird could not use her talons. She struggled while Frank fastened the jesses, then tied the straps and leash to the swivel. The boys kept a wary eye on the hawk, in case she should

  Joe held the falcon by both legs so she could not lash out suddenly slash at them with her beak. But the bird made no such attempt.

  “I guess the book was right when it said a falcon seldom uses its beak for defense,” Joe remarked.

  After Joe attached the little bells to the hawk’s legs, Frank pulled on the glove, grasped both jesses, and lifted the falcon to his wrist. She sat there proud and defiant—a truly noble bird.

  “So far, so good,
Frank,” Joe said. “Now what?”

  “We’ll take her outside and let her fly around a bit,” his brother replied. “And let’s get that old block perch Aunt Gertrude once used for her parrot. It’s in the cellar.”

  “Good idea,” replied Joe. “Miss Peregrine can rest on it when she’s not flying. By the way, the book said that hawks should get plenty of exercise.

  As they started downstairs, Joe suggested they show the bird to their Aunt Gertrude, who was in the kitchen.

  The boys and their pet got only as far as the first-floor hall when suddenly the falcon yanked free and made a beeline for the living room. Just then the doorbell and the telephone rang. Frank sprang toward the door and Joe headed for the phone.

  At that instant the kitchen door at the end of the hall opened and a tall, angular woman rushed forward. She was Mr. Hardy’s sister, who lived with the family.

  “Aunt Gertrude, watch the hawk in the living room, will you?” Joe requested, picking up the phone.

  “Watch what?” his aunt exclaimed. But the bewildered woman received no further explanation. Joe was already speaking on the phone.

  “Hello, Chet. Say, someone sent us a peregrine falcon.”

  “Great! What’s that?” was the reply.

  When Joe told him it was a hunting hawk, Chet said excitedly, “Bring it out to the farm, will you? I’ve never seen one.”

  “We will. Got to hang up because the bird’s loose. See you later.”

  When Joe went into the living room, Aunt Gertrude was standing motionless staring at the hawk, which was now alternately rising and diving from windows to furniture.

  “Joe!” Miss Hardy finally managed to exclaim. “Get that bird out of here at once!”

  Frank stepped to the doorway of the living room and reported to Joe that the mail had come. There was a registered letter for Mr. Hardy, but nothing about the mysterious bird.

  “What’s going on here?” Aunt Gertrude demanded. “Where did you get that monstrous creature?”

  “Well, we don’t know the person who sent her—” Frank began. As he told Aunt Gertrude how the bird had arrived, the hawk suddenly lunged at her and grasped at her hands.

  “Help! Take it away!” she cried frantically.

  Joe yelled, “It’s that piece of meat you’re holding, Aunty! She thinks it’s a lure!”

  Aunt Gertrude looked at the raw meat she had absentmindedly brought from the kitchen. Frank took it from her hand and immediately the falcon returned to his glove to eat the meat.

  Joe put his arm around Aunt Gertrude. “The falcon was only doing what she has been taught to do. Pieces of raw meat are used as lures for training these birds. The falcon didn’t intend to harm you.”

  “Well, maybe you’re right,” Aunt Gertrude conceded grudgingly. “But falconers don’t train their birds in a living room! Take her out of here.”

  With this ultimatum, Aunt Gertrude turned on her heel and stalked back to the kitchen.

  Joe looked at Frank, grinned, and told him of Chet’s invitation. “Let’s take Miss Peregrine out to the farm,” he said.

  Chet Morton, a school chum, lived on a farm outside Bayport. A chubby, good-natured boy, he had frequently shared in the Hardys’ adventures.

  Frank took the hood from his pocket and attempted to put it over the head of the peregrine. The bird flew off his gloved hand, but the jesses and leash held her. She soon stopped flapping and perched on the glove.

  “Boy, this is harder than I thought,” said Frank.

  Joe, recalling what he had read in the falconry book on how to “break” a falcon to the hood, said, “We ought to lay a small piece of meat inside the hood before putting it on her.”

  Frank nodded. He said that the falcon is also fed a choice morsel of food after the hood is put on. Thus she connects a pleasant experience with hooding and does not struggle or fear the temporary blindness that the cover imposes.

  After Joe had coaxed several scraps of raw meat from Aunt Gertrude, Frank managed to hood the hawk. He was awkward at it and resolved to practice until he could do it deftly.

  As he carried the bird to the back yard, Joe ran to the cellar for the block perch. When he reappeared, Frank took the perch and said:

  “I’ll get the convertible and meet you in the driveway. You bring the hawk.”

  “Okay,” Joe agreed, taking the glove and bird.

  He paused to call good-by to Aunt Gertrude, then started toward the driveway.

  A man, masked by a red-and-white bandanna and wearing a battered felt hat pulled low on his forehead, darted around a corner of the house and crashed into him!

  The boy whirled and swung his free fist. But the short, heavy-set stranger dodged and gave Joe a shove that sent him sprawling on the ground. At the same instant the man grabbed the leash, snatched the falcon, and sped down the driveway.

  Quickly Joe got to his feet. Yelling to Frank to follow, he dashed off in pursuit of the thief!

  CHAPTER II

  Peregrine’s Prize

  BY the time Joe had reached the foot of the Hardy driveway, the thief was half a block down Elm Street. The man forced the bird into a cloth sack as he ran. Then, seeing Joe in pursuit, he leaped a hedge and sprinted up a driveway between two houses.

  As Joe reached it, a woman, leaning out a side window, gave a startled shriek. The masked man, evidently frightened, looked back to check Joe’s progress. The side of his neck struck a clothes-line, throwing him off balance, and Joe closed some of the gap between them.

  “Drop that bird, you thief!” he shouted furiously.

  The man staggered a few paces, then regained his balance. He jumped a low fence to the adjoining property and sped down its driveway, back to the street, still holding the bagged falcon!

  Joe’s shout and the woman’s scream had attracted the attention of a policeman on Elm Street. As the thief reached the sidewalk, he slammed into the portly figure of Patrolman Smuff and dropped the sack.

  “Grab him!” Joe yelled to the officer.

  But the masked man, recovering himself quickly, side-stepped Smuff. Forgetting the bird, he cut across the street and disappeared into the dense, flower-covered foliage behind a house. Just then Frank swung the convertible alongside the curb. Joe picked up the sack and thrust it in beside his brother.

  Patrolman Smuff had taken up the chase, and now Joe joined him. They searched the area thoroughly for two square blocks but were unable to find the fugitive or anyone who had seen him. As they retraced their steps to the convertible, Smuff asked:

  “What’s this all about, anyway?”

  “That fellow tried to steal our bird.”

  “What kind of bird is it—a parrot?”

  “No,” Joe replied. “A peregrine falcon—a hawk.”

  “One of those hunting birds? I didn’t know they had them around this part of the country.”

  “This one was sent to us. It’s valuable.”

  The patrolman nodded. “Valuable, eh? Did you notice anything special about that thief?”

  “Well,” Joe replied, “his face was masked. But this might help. When he grabbed the falcon, I got a good look at his hands. They were deeply tanned, so I guess he spends a lot of time outdoors. And he was wearing a carved ring with a ruby in it.”

  Patrolman Smuff jotted down this information. When they reached the convertible, he said good-by to the boys and hurried off.

  As Joe climbed into the car, Frank gently lifted the falcon from the sack. Apparently, because the hood had prevented the bird from seeing, she had not become frightened by the experience.

  “Since Miss Peregrine seems to feel okay,” Frank said, “let’s go on to Chet’s as we planned.”

  With the falcon perched on Joe’s wrist, the boys rode out of town. A short time later they arrived at the Morton farm. They saw Chet near a corner of the barn, making repairs on a door. The stout boy was alternately munching on an apple and hammering.

  “Wow!” Joe grinned. “Chet’s work
ing!”

  Although the Hardys needled their easygoing pal a great deal, they were close friends. Chet had been helping them ever since the days of their first mystery, The Tower Treasure. Just recently, in the boys’ latest case, The Yellow Feather Mystery, his skill with machinery and the operation of his motor sled had been instrumental in rescuing the Hardys from death in a sealed-up ice fort.

  As Chet hurried over to see his friends, he called cheerfully, “Hi, fellows! Did you bring the hawk?”

  The Hardys slid out of the car, and the falcon was transferred to Frank’s wrist.

  “Pretty neat!” Chet remarked. “Let’s see her without her hat.” He reached out to remove it.

  “Wait a minute,” said Frank. “She’s been through a rugged experience this afternoon,” and he told Chet what had happened.

  Chet’s eyebrows lifted. “Sounds like the beginning of another mystery for you fellows.”

  “Sure does,” said Joe.

  Chet looked at the hawk. “She seems really tame,” he commented.

  “She is,” Joe replied as Frank removed the hood from the falcon.

  Chet studied the notched beak and the long, tapered wings, which Frank said were characteristic of all falcons. “She’s streamlined, all right,” he declared.

  “Yes, and she’s a powerful flier,” Joe added. “According to one of Dad’s books, she’s very courageous-but gentle, too. Notice her dark eyes and the way she holds her head up. The ancient falconers called the peregrines noble and gentle birds. This breed was the prize of medieval kings.”

  Chet was visibly impressed. “How about a trial flight?”

  At that moment his sister Iola, appeared on the back porch of the farmhouse and called, “Hi, boys! Would you like some lemonade?”

  Frank waved and said that he would have some later. But Joe immediately hurried toward the house. The slender, pretty girl, with dark hair and eyes, was his date on many occasions as well as a capable sleuthing assistant.

  Meanwhile, as they walked toward an open field, Chet asked Frank to let him fly the falcon.