The Viking Symbol Mystery
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER I - Radio Threat
CHAPTER II - A Mysterious Label
CHAPTER III - Rune Stone Curse
CHAPTER IV - Dangerous Solo
CHAPTER V - Detective’s Double
CHAPTER VI - Canadian Giant
CHAPTER VII - White Water
CHAPTER VIII - Missing Campers
CHAPTER IX - Grizzly Charge!
CHAPTER X - An Amazing Suspect
CHAPTER XI - Surprise Tactics
CHAPTER XII - Offbeat Assignment
CHAPTER XIII - Explosion!
CHAPTER XIV - Buffalo Park Clue
CHAPTER XV - The Gray Terror
CHAPTER XVI - Secret Ingredient
CHAPTER XVII - Viking Message
CHAPTER XVIII - Whistler’s Signal
CHAPTER XIX - Stampede!
CHAPTER XX - Norsemen’s Treasure
THE VIKING SYMBOL MYSTERY
The Canadian Northwest beckons Frank and Joe Hardy to mystery and adventure. It all starts when a French-Canadian trapper, Caribou Caron, makes a historical and valuable find—a carved rune stone left by Vikings centuries ago near Great Slave Lake. When Cari. bou Caron attempts to sell the artifact to a representative of a museum, it is snatched by thieves.
Like the intrepid Vikings of old, Frank and Joe, with their close pal, Chet Morton, set off on a perilous quest in the Northwest Territories to recover the valuable artifact before the robbers can decipher the runic symbols telling the location of a buried treasure. A series of dangerous obstacles confront the boys as they scour the lake-dotted northland by plane and trek through the vast wilderness searching for the elusive criminals. By clever deduction and dogged determination the young sleuths pinpoint the robbers’ hideout and close in for the show-down, only to be imperiled by an onrushing herd of stampeding buffalo.
Again, Franklin W. Dixon has woven a suspense-filled story that will thrill his worldwide legion of fans.
“Hurry!” Frank said. “We must find the rune stone!”
Copyright © 1991, 1963 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 : 978-1-101-07655-2
2007 Printing
http://us.penguingroup.com
CHAPTER I
Radio Threat
“DAD, why did you want us fellows here for a meeting tonight?” asked blond, seventeen-year-old Joe Hardy.
“Is it about one of your new cases?” The speaker was Joe’s tall, dark-haired, eighteen-year-old brother, Frank.
“Yes. I want you five boys to hear a radio report from Sam Radley,” Fenton Hardy replied. “Frank, warm up the two-way short-wave radio.” The tall, well-built, private investigator glanced at his watch. “It’s almost nine. Sam will be broadcasting any second.”
The other boys in the room were the Hardys’ pals—stout, easygoing Chet Morton, lanky Biff Hooper, and bright-eyed Tony Prito. The boys exchanged excited glances. A message from Radley, Mr. Hardy’s operative, meant mystery!
Just then a crackling sound came from the radio receiver and a voice spoke over the air waves: “Radley reporting. Investigation proceeding as planned. Latest episode is stolen float plane. Owned by guest...” Suddenly the voice faded.
“The signal’s being jammed!” Mr. Hardy ex claimed, grasping the tuning knob and trying to clear the jumble of static. “Someone else must be using our wave length.”
As suddenly as it had started, the crackling disappeared. Then a strange, deep voice said:
“Stay away, Hardy!”
“That’s not Sam!” Joe exclaimed, and the others stared in astonishment.
“S-s-sh!” Frank leaped up and bent over the set.
The new voice continued: “Hardy, stay away! You’ll never get out of the Northwest Territories alive!”
The intruder became silent. There was only shrill static.
“For Pete’s sakel I wonder who that was?” muttered Chet.
Mr. Hardy again adjusted the controls. The static cleared, and the familiar voice came on: “Radley signing off—!”
“Wait!” Mr. Hardy commanded. “Couldn’t catch the last part of your message. Repeat.”
“Can you hear me now?”
“Yes.”
Radley went on, “Yesterday a float plane was stolen from in front of a lodge near Yellowknife. Single engine, color brown. I will advise progress. Over and out.”
“Another theft and a threat,” Mr. Hardy said in a grim tone, as he leaned forward and snapped off the powerful short-wave set.
“What will you do?” Frank asked his father.
As he waited for an answer, the group was startled by a sudden loud crash outside.
“Something’s hit the garage!” Joe cried out.
He and Frank dashed from the study and down the stairs. Mr. Hardy and the other boys followed the brothers through the kitchen and onto the rear lawn.
“It’s our short-wave radio antenna!” Frank shouted, pointing to a high pole near the garage. From it dangled part of the Hardys’ three-element-beam antenna over which the detective sent long-distance messages. The rest lay in a jumbled mass of wreckage on the ground.
“What made it fall?” Biff asked in amazement.
“Look!” Joe cried, bending down. “This was no accident!” He held up a twisted strand of rope, one end of which was tied around a metal support.
“Why would anyone want to pull an aerial off the pole?” Tony said, frowning.
“That’s what I want to know,” declared Mr. Hardy. “Get flashlights and start a search for the vandals. I’ll call Chief Collig!”
Joe went into the house with his father, found three flashlights in the hall closet, and rushed outside. The boys beamed their lights on the pole, and Joe held a magnifying glass, trying to detect fingerprints, but found none.
“The vandal must have climbed the pole’s spikes to rig the rope,” Frank commented.
“And he wore gloves,” Joe guessed.
The other boys fanned out over the grounds, hunting for signs of the trespasser, but found nothing. There were not even footprints because the ground was hard and dry.
Just as they turned back toward the house, a police car roared up the driveway, its red roof light flashing. The car stopped and Police Chief Ezra Collig stepped out. The Hardys rushed to meet him.
“Have you found out who did this, Fenton?” the officer asked.
“Not a clue.”
“I’m not surprised,” said the tall, husky chief, who had worked closely with Mr. Hardy and the boys on several cases. “There has been some vandalism around Bayport lately. This probably is another example of it. Some prankster’s idea of fun!”
Frank and Joe glanced at each other.
“I’m afraid it has something to do with Dad’s new case,” the older boy said.
“Look!” cried Joe. “This was no accident.”
“Well, maybe,” the chief replied. “You would know better about that than I. Just the same, I’ll be on the lookout for vandals.”
Excitedly speculating on the incident, the brothers and their pals were circling the house again, searching for clues, when they encountered a tall, angular woman coming briskly up the walk.
“Hello, Aunt Gertrude,” Frank and Joe greeted their father’s sister, who made her home with them. “Have a good time?”
“Yes,” she
replied. “Our Ladies Guild had an excellent rummage sale.”
She dug into her large handbag and brought out two belts with huge silver buckles. “I got these for you boys,” Aunt Gertrude told her nephews.
“Wow!” said Joe. “Some present!”
“Thanks, Auntie!” the brothers said together, and Frank added, “Look at those silver buckles! They must be worth a fortune!” He grinned appreciatively. Both Frank and Joe loved their aunt, despite the fact that at times her manner was somewhat peppery and her comments tart.
As Chet, Biff, and Tony crowded around to admire the belts, Aunt Gertrude noticed Chief Collig coming across the lawn with Fenton Hardy. The smile on her face changed to a worried frown.
“Another mystery?” she asked.
The boys explained about the antenna. To allay their aunt’s fear, they emphasized the fact that Chief Collig thought it probably was just a prank.
Aunt Gertrude was not to be easily reassured.
“Prank, humph! It’s a bad omen, more likely! I hope you’ll be careful!”
“We’ll watch our step!” said Frank, patting her shoulder.
All the boys returned to Mr. Hardy’s second-floor study and continued talking of the evening’s events. When the detective joined them a few minutes later, he looked serious.
“Time for me to give you the full story,” he said. “It will concern each of you.”
The boys’ excitement mounted at Mr. Hardy’s words.
“Sam Radley was broadcasting from Yellowknife, in the Canadian Northwest Territories,” Fenton Hardy explained, “but we can’t communicate now until we get that aerial installed. Radley’s investigating a series of thefts which have been taking place at hunting and fishing lodges in the Great Slave Lake area. Rifles, canoes, outboard motors—and now even an airplane—have been stolen. The owner of the lodges has retained me to find the thieves. Since I was tied up on something else, he agreed to let my assistant work on it.” The detective paused, then continued, “Radley has been up there for some time and—now I think he needs help!”
“I’ll go!” each boy volunteered.
Mr. Hardy smiled at the response. “I’ll need only two of you for the job. Biff and Tony, you can be on your way tomorrow. All expenses paid. If you solve the mystery,” he added, “there’ll be a bonus!”
Frank, Joe, and Chet looked puzzled. Why weren’t they going along? Mr. Hardy smiled, and continued, “Don’t worry, you three, you’re going to Canada too! I need your help on another important case!”
“What’s that, Dad?” Frank asked eagerly, his face brightening.
“A few days ago,” Mr. Hardy explained, “I had a cablegram from a Mr. Black, curator of the City of London Museum in England. Because I’d been successful in solving a case in Canada a few years ago, I had been recommended to Mr. Black.”
“Yes?” Joe prompted.
“This mystery,” his father went on, “concerns an invaluable Viking rune stone that was stolen recently in Edmonton, Alberta.”
“Wow!” exclaimed Joe. “That’s near the edge of the Northwest Territories.”
“Those old Scandinavian mariners really covered a lot of water in their far-flung travels,” said his father, “often ranging inland for great distances. The runic alphabet was copied from Latin and Greek letters by the Teutonic peoples about the third century. They left permanent messages on stones, and for many centuries afterward, this stolen one had special significance.”
Mr. Hardy went on, “It seems a French-Canadian trapper named Pierre Caron found a stone bearing Viking symbols near the shore of Great Slave Lake. After revealing his find to the press, he contacted the London Museum and the officials there sent an expert on runic symbols, Peter Baker-Jones, to Edmonton to buy the stone for the museum collection. The thieves probably read all about it in the newspapers. A few minutes after Mr. Baker-Jones had paid Caron, both men were attacked and robbed. Baker-Jones lost the rune stone, and Caron, his money.”
“What about the Edmonton police?” Chet asked. “Are they working on the case?”
“Yes. But despite their efforts and all the help they have had from Caron, they haven’t been able to come up with a clue. Baker-Jones is still in a coma.”
“Did the cablegram say anything else?” Frank asked.
“That’s all, Frank. I put through a transatlantic call to Mr. Black in London and suggested that the stone probably was already in a museum in Cairo—or some other faraway world capital. But the curator didn’t think so because, just before Baker-Jones lost consciousness, he told a doctor that the rune stone symbols contained directions to a Viking treasure hidden in the area.”
“And Mr. Black thought the thieves would stay around there to look for it?” Frank asked.
“Right!” his father said, smiling.
“Great!” exclaimed Joe, leaping to his feet. “Then we’re on the Viking rune stone case?”
“Right again,” replied the detective.
The five boys began talking excitedly about the two mysteries. Finally Biff said, “Tony and I had better take off—we have a lot to do getting ready.”
“Good idea,” Mr. Hardy agreed.
Frank, Joe, and Chet hurried downstairs with the two boys.
“Let’s cut through the backyard and over the hedge,” Tony suggested to Biff as they went outside.
“Sure thing. It’s the fastest way home.”
The Hardys and Chet waved good-by to their friends, who hurried off across the yard. The three boys had just turned to go into the house when suddenly they heard a shout.
“Help! Help!”
“It’s Biff!” Frank cried out. “Come on, fellows!”
CHAPTER II
A Mysterious Label
FRANK, Joe, and Chet leaped down the back-porch steps and dashed to the rear hedge. Both Hardys vaulted it in one fluid motion, while their stout friend pushed his way through.
“Wow!” said Frank. Biff and Tony were kneeling over the motionless form of a man.
Joe pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and beamed it on the victim. He was a brown-haired man of medium height. “Never saw him before,” he said, studying the man’s pale face with its pinched features. “And say! He’s wearing gloves!”
“Guess he’s the pole climber, all right,” Frank said.
Noting that the unconscious stranger had a deep gash in his head, Frank whipped out his handkerchief and placed it on the bleeding wound.
“Do you suppose the antenna fell on his head?” Joe asked. “He might be the guy who pulled it down. Started escaping but couldn’t make it.”
“Anyway, he’s hurt,” Frank declared. “Let’s get him to the hospital right away.”
Joe and Chet went to phone for an ambulance, then call Chief Collig and give him a report.
A few minutes later Mr. Hardy hurried outside with the two boys to look at the victim. He said that the injured man was unknown to him also.
Chet told Frank that an ambulance was on its way. “Chief Collig will meet you at Bayport Hospital,” he said.
Mr. Hardy said he had to go out on a case, so he could not accompany the boys.
When the ambulance arrived, an intern hopped out and ran to the scene. He quickly examined the unconscious man, then the patient was placed on a stretcher and carried to the ambulance. Frank and Joe received permission to ride with the stranger. Tony, Biff, and Chet said good-by.
With siren wailing, the ambulance roared through downtown Bayport. In the back, Frank, Joe, and the serious young intern sat with the patient. A search of the man’s pockets produced nothing that would identify him. No wallet, no cards!
As the driver turned the ambulance into the hospital driveway leading to the emergency ramp, the injured man stirred. Frank leaned over. “Can you tell us your name?” he asked.
“J-J-John Kelly,” the pale, thin stranger said in a weak voice.
“How were you hurt, Mr. Kelly?” Frank queried, as the ambulance came to a halt.
/> The man grimaced and shook his head. There was no time for further questioning. Two hospital attendants pulled open the rear doors and lifted out the stretcher. They carried it into the emergency treatment room, where nurses were waiting for the patient.
Frank and Joe hurried to the reception lobby, where they found Chief Collig pacing the floor impatiently. He and a police lieutenant rushed up to the Hardys.
“So you found a man you think might have been the trespasser,” the chief said. “Who is he?”
Frank reported the man’s name, and the fact that he would say no more. The officer scowled. “Let’s go.”
He started down the corridor toward the nurses’ station. Here he showed his identification and introduced the Hardys. After a twenty-minute wait the pleasant, efficient head nurse led the callers to a first-floor, four-bed room, where the injured stranger, the only occupant, lay in bed.
“The doctor says it will be all right for you to see him,” the nurse reported and left the room.
Chief Collig looked thoughtful. “John Kelly could very well be an alias,” he told the boys. “Since there is no other means of identification, we must lift his fingerprints. Want to help me?”
Frank and Joe were efficient at this task and the chief knew it. Frank pressed the sleeping man’s thumb and first finger against the edge of a clean water glass. Then the young lieutenant hurried off with the tumbler to check the fingerprint files at headquarters.
Chief Collig and the Hardys returned to the nurses’ station to examine Kelly’s clothing. The laundry marks and labels in the nondescript tweed jacket and well-worn gray slacks indicated they had been purchased in Bayport.
“Nothing unusual about his clothes,” said Frank, disappointed. “It doesn’t tell us anything more about him... except that he appears to be poor.”
“The outfit certainly didn’t fit him very well,” Joe added. “He probably hasn’t eaten much lately.”
The chief and the boys thanked the nurse for her help, then left the hospital and walked to the waiting police car outside.
“Maybe the fingerprints will be on record,” Joe said hopefully, as they drove downtown to headquarters.