The Clue of the Hissing Serpent Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER I - A Runaway Balloon

  CHAPTER II - A Custom-made Rocket

  CHAPTER III - Tricky Surveillance

  CHAPTER IV - A Hissing Blast

  CHAPTER V - Cat Trap

  CHAPTER VI - A Risky Chance

  CHAPTER VII - Aerial Surprise

  CHAPTER VIII - A Tough Break

  CHAPTER IX - A Gathering Storm

  CHAPTER X - A Strange Hope

  CHAPTER XI - Over the Cliff

  CHAPTER XII - The King’s Curse

  CHAPTER XIII - The Third Man

  CHAPTER XIV - The Oriental Connection

  CHAPTER XV - Faked Out!

  CHAPTER XVI - A Bold Caper

  CHAPTER XVII - The Chinese Note

  CHAPTER XVIII - Kim-Kim

  CHAPTER XIX - The Payoff

  CHAPTER XX - The Beggars of Tai Pak

  THE CLUE OF THE HISSING SERPENT

  Why is a wealthy sportsman so frightened by the serpent design on a mysterious balloon that he begs Frank and Joe Hardy to protect him? And who stole the ancient, life-size chess king which is to be presented to the winner of the world chess championship?

  These questions and others equally as baffling in this exciting mystery seem to defy explanations.

  On the ground and in the air Frank and Joe find themselves the targets of diabolical enemies. An odd clue that they discover leads them across the Pacific to Hong Kong. There the young detectives match wits with their adversaries. How they help the police smash an international criminal organization provides an electrifying climax to one of the most challenging cases the Hardy boys have ever tackled.

  To Frank’s horror, both fell over!

  Copyright © 1974 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. library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 73-13373

  eISBN : 978-1-101-07664-4

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  CHAPTER I

  A Runaway Balloon

  “YOUR father sounded desperate,” Aunt Gertrude said, looking worried. “He wants you to meet him at four o’clock in the lobby of the Treat Hotel at Oak Knolls. Better hurry!”

  Frank and Joe Hardy had just arrived home from a swim at the Bayport pool when their agitated aunt met them at the kitchen door. The telephone message seemed innocent enough, but Aunt Gertrude always feared the worst for her famous detective brother Fenton.

  “Oh, yes,” she continued, “he mentioned the word Falcon. What does that mean?”

  “Falcon! Holy crow, Frank, let’s go!” Joe urged excitedly.

  The boys bolted out the door and into their car. Joe took the wheel and they sped off.

  Falcon was a secret word used by the two young detectives and their father. It meant danger ahead. But what was the danger Fenton Hardy had foreseen in their meeting?

  They mulled it over as they hit the speed limit and arrowed along the highway due west from Bayport. Mr. Hardy had not mentioned any new case. Hence, if there was danger, it had sprung up suddenly. Frank and Joe were worried.

  Dark-haired Frank, who was eighteen, glanced at his watch. “Three o’clock. We should make it in time.”

  Joe, a blond seventeen-year-old, nodded. “I just hope it doesn’t rain. Might slow traffic.”

  The sky, which had been bright and sunny during the morning, had turned ominously gray in the west and a chilly wind began to dissipate the late June heat.

  “Looks like a storm is heading our way,” Frank said. “And traffic’s slowing already. But it can’t be because of the weather. I wonder what happened.”

  “I guess there’s been an accident.” Joe craned his neck out the window for a better look. But all he could see was a line of cars moving at a snail’s pace. Horns were honking impatiently. Then traffic stopped completely.

  People began stepping out of their cars, and Joe did the same. Suddenly his eyes grew wide in amazement.

  “Frank! I see the trouble!”

  “What is it?”

  “A balloon! Flying pretty low and coming closer to the road. Everybody’s stopped to look at it.”

  Frank reached into the glove compartment and grabbed binoculars which the boys kept handy. He jumped out to scan the green-and-white striped balloon. Like a giant pendulum, it whipped dangerously back and forth.

  “It must be caught in some kind of crazy wind current,” Frank said. “Here, take a look, Joe.”

  Now the balloon was no more than a hundred yards away. Joe focused on the two passengers hanging desperately to the sides of the basket.

  “What are they going to do?” he cried out. “Land on the highway?”

  Suddenly the balloon veered to the right, coming to rest in a field beside the road not far from the Hardys.

  Frank pulled the car over to the side. “Come on, Joe. Maybe we can be of some help.”

  A lot of other motorists had the same idea, and soon a huge crowd raced across the pasture to where the balloon was gradually deflating.

  The boys were in the forefront and reached it first. The two balloonists were just climbing out. Frank’s jaw dropped open in amazement as the younger one turned around to face them. It was none other than their staunch buddy Chet Morton!

  “Hello, Frank. Hi, Joe,” Chet said.

  “What in the world are you doing here?” Joe demanded.

  The chunky, freckle-faced youth squinted up at the collapsing balloon and remarked casually, “I’m taking lessons. Didn’t want to tell you until I became a full-fledged balloonist.”

  His companion walked up to the group. “Oh, fellows,” Chet said, “this is Mr. Albert Krassner. And these are my friends, Frank and Joe Hardy.”

  The man seemed to be about forty, with thinning black hair and a paunch. He had a broad, fleshy face, full lips, a wide nose and slightly droopy eyelids, which made him look half asleep. Yet there was a brisk alertness in his voice as he spoke.

  “Glad to meet you.” He extended a pudgy hand to the young detectives. “We really got into trouble. A sudden wind came up and we tried to land, but a faulty vent prevented us from getting down fast enough. We almost drifted onto the highway!”

  “A faulty vent?” Joe asked.

  Chet nodded. “You pull a cord to vent when you want to descend more rapidly than simply letting the balloon’s air cool. The vent lets the air out—the longer you hold it open, the quicker. Ten feet above the ground you rip the top if the wind is high. It pulls off the circular panel and lets the hot air out in a rush.”

  “Chet, what are you doing here?” Joe demanded.

  “I see,” Joe said. “But you have to be just above the spot where you want to land to do that.”

  “Right,” Chet said.

  Krassner went back and continued to deflate the balloon, answering questions of other onlookers. The Hardys took Chet aside and asked him about his new friend.

  “He’s a rich guy,” Chet said. “An investment banker. Belongs to the Lone Tree Balloon Club near Oak Knolls.”

  “How’d you meet him?” Frank inquired.

  “I used to hang around the club,” Chet said. “Krassner took a liking to me and offered these lessons free.”

  “This could have been your last lesson, Chet!” Frank said. “You almost got killed!”

  “And if you’re such a buddy of ours, how come you didn’t let us in on your new
hobby?”

  “Now don’t get sore,” said Chet. “I told you, I wanted to make it a surprise.”

  “It sure was,” Frank said. Then he glanced at his watch. They had twenty minutes to reach their destination. “We’ve got to meet our dad at the Treat Hotel in Oak Knolls,” he said. “See you later.”

  Traffic had started to unsnarl with the aid of two State Police men. As the boys hastened to their car, they saw a pickup truck drive across the field to retrieve the balloon. A small black sports car followed it.

  “Probably Krassner’s,” Joe commented. “Looks like an Italian job.”

  The Hardys crept along for a while until they could pick up speed. Joe passed dozens of cars, but eased off on the gas when the needle exceeded the speed limit. “If we get a ticket, we’ll never get there on time,” he said.

  Finally they reached the exit for the small town of Oak Knolls. By now it was ten minutes past four. When they drove into the parking lot, the clock on the tower in the town square stood at four-twenty.

  The boys rushed into the hotel. “Any message for Frank and Joe Hardy?” Frank asked the desk clerk.

  “No, nothing. Were you expecting to meet someone?”

  “Yes.” Frank looked worriedly about the lobby.

  “Would you like accommodations?”

  “No, thank you,” Joe replied. He noticed a meeting room off to one side with the door open. The boys walked in. The place smelled smoky and cigarette butts lay in numerous ashtrays. Printed agendas were scattered on folding chairs and long tables.

  On a dais at the far end of the room stood a blackboard. Chalked on it were numbers indicating that a business meeting had taken place.

  “Maybe Dad attended,” Frank mused. “It couldn’t have ended long ago.” He took a closer look at the blackboard. In one corner something was printed in small letters. “Joe,” he exclaimed, “it says Mayday Room 211 Falcon!”

  “Dad’s in trouble!” Joe said. “In Room 211!”

  Suddenly both were startled by a voice behind them.

  “The world’s full of trouble!”

  Frank and Joe whirled to confront Albert Krassner.

  “W-what are you doing here?” Joe asked.

  Krassner smiled blandly. “Chet told me where I could find you. He also told me you’re the famous Hardy detectives.”

  “We’re not famous,” Frank said. “But our father is.”

  Actually, Frank and Joe had become as famous as Fenton Hardy, who had retired from the New York Police Department to set up his own private practice. Starting with a mystery called The Tower Treasure, the Hardy boys had solved many baffling cases themselves. Their previous one was known as The Shattered Helmet.

  Joe said, “Mr. Krassner, if you want us to join your balloon club, we can’t talk about it now.”

  “No, no. It’s not that. I want you to help me!”

  “How?” Frank asked.

  Suddenly Krassner’s face contorted with pain. He grabbed Joe by the shoulders. Before the boy could move, both landed on the floor with a thud.

  CHAPTER II

  A Custom-made Rocket

  JOE pushed the man away and sprang to his feet, but Krassner did not move.

  “He’s out cold,” Frank said. “Must have had some kind of attack!”

  The Hardys knew that ill people sometimes carry instructions on them in cases of emergency. Joe went through the man’s pockets. “Here’s a bottle,” he said. “And a note wrapped around it!”

  They read it quickly. If Krassner suffered a heart seizure he was to be given one tablet under his tongue.

  Frank administered the medicine. Seconds later Krassner opened his eyes. The Hardys helped him up and to a comfortable position on a sofa.

  Joe ran out to get a glass of water. When he returned, some color had come back into Krassner’s pale, puffy face.

  He spoke in a shaky voice. “Sorry to be such a nuisance, boys. Guess I had too much excitement for one day. And I’m sure glad you found my pills.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Frank said. “Why don’t you just rest here a while? We’ll be right back.”

  Krassner nodded and the two walked out of the conference room. “This is all very strange,” Frank whispered. “We’d better find Dad fast.” They hurried through the lobby and up to the second floor.

  In front of Room 211 they stopped and listened quietly. At first they heard nothing. Then there was a thump and a low moan.

  “Let’s break down the door,” Joe said.

  “Wait,” Frank replied.

  He tried the knob. It turned and he pushed the door wide open. Inside, midway between a bed and a dresser, lay Fenton Hardy. He was bound hand and foot and gagged. The boys rushed over and freed their father. Stiffly the detective sat up and rubbed the back of his head.

  “I thought you’d never get here,” he murmured.

  “Sorry,” Frank said. “We were delayed by a balloon.”

  “What?”

  “We’ll tell you later, Dad. Get up now. Easy.”

  As they helped Mr. Hardy to a nearby chair, Joe noticed a piece of paper stuffed into his shirt pocket.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mr. Hardy replied.

  Joe took it and read the message. “Dad, it says, ‘Keep your mouth shut.’ ”

  “Fat chance!” Frank exclaimed. “Dad’s a pretty hard man to intimidate.”

  The detective smiled wryly and told his sons what had happened.

  “It all started with a telephone call to Sam Radley,” he began, referring to an operative who had often helped him in his investigations. “The caller wanted Sam to bug the home of Conrad Greene in Ocean Bluffs.”

  “The United States chess champion?” Frank asked.

  “That’s the one.”

  “But why?” Joe queried.

  “The world championship is coming up soon,” Mr. Hardy said. “It might have something to do with that. Anyway, when Sam told me about it, I went in his place to see his so-called client.”

  “And met with him downstairs,” Frank concluded.

  “Correct. When I arrived, there were two men in the room. Obviously there must have been a group of people who had just left. I don’t know whether the two men had any connection with them or not. They told me their names were Smith and Jones.”

  “Sounds as phony as a three-dollar bill,” Joe said. “What did they look like?”

  “Smith was short, slender, with long pointed fingers. He had a slightly Mongolian look. The other fellow, Jones, was strictly Anglo-Saxon. Long face, typically English, I’d say. Narrow thrusting chin. Both were in their late thirties.

  “What I wanted you boys for,” Mr. Hardy went on, “was to tail these men.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find them if they’re anywhere in this area,” Frank assured him.

  “Anyhow,” Joe said, “you told them it was no go on the bugging deal.”

  “Right. Then they invited me to Room 211 to talk it over some more. I excused myself on the way out because I forgot my briefcase. That’s when I put the message on the blackboard.”

  “Good thing you did,” Frank said.

  Mr. Hardy nodded. “When I entered Room 211, a third person conked me from behind.”

  “Do they still think you’re Radley?” Joe asked.

  “I don’t know. In any case, this illegal wire-tapping must be stopped. If Smith and Jones find some dishonest detective to put a tap on Greene’s phone, it could lead to real trouble.”

  Mr. Hardy felt better now and they went downstairs. Krassner was not in the meeting room, so they questioned the clerk at the desk.

  He said that 211 had been rented as a hospitality room for a sales meeting of Eco Incorporated. “I’ve never heard of that company,” he told them. “But one of the salesmen mentioned Associated Jewelers. They’re a house-to-house operation with headquarters in Bayport.”

  “Did you see the gentleman who came in after us?” Frank asked.


  “Oh yes. He left a little while ago.”

  The Hardys thanked the man and went outside. Frank and Joe explained about the delay on the highway and how Krassner had suffered a heart seizure.

  “He sounds like an odd character,” Mr. Hardy said. “Wanted help and didn’t tell you why.”

  “Maybe he changed his mind,” Frank said. “What now, Dad?”

  It was decided that Frank and Joe would investigate the assault, because Mr. Hardy was occupied with a case involving Hong Kong custom tailors.

  “The Association of Menswear Retailers wants me to track down this gyp operation,” the detective said. “About half a dozen men are involved. They take orders for custom-made suits from Hong Kong, request a fat down payment, and disappear. It shouldn’t take too long to crack it. Crooks like this usually aren’t too bright.”

  Mr. Hardy drove out of the parking lot and the boys followed in their car. At home, Mrs. Hardy met her three men, as she called them, and asked, “What’s this big mystery Gertrude was telling me about?”

  Frank gave her the gist of what had happened and added, “Don’t worry, Mother. Things are under control.”

  Mr. Hardy made a few phone calls, then said to his sons, “Eco Incorporated and Associated Jewelers are not listed in any trade register I can get hold of, but Associated Jewelers are in the phone book. I think Eco was just a phony cover for that company. I suggest you check it out.”

  “Will do,” Frank said.

  “I also called Conrad Greene’s home to warn him about the wiretap, but no one answered.”

  “We’ll have to try again,” Frank said. “Let me see if I can get in touch with Chet to quiz him about Krassner.”

  Chet was home and took Frank’s call. “Boy, Krassner was full of praise for you,” he reported. “I just saw him a little while ago. Said you helped him when he had an attack.”

  “Do you have any idea what he wanted to talk to us about?” Frank asked.

  “No. But why don’t you drop by the balloon club tomorrow and ask him? He usually comes over early. Besides, I want to show you the setup.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  Right after breakfast the next morning the Hardys started out for the club. Near Oak Knolls they turned off the highway at a sign announcing Lone Tree Balloon Club. A narrow lane led through the woods and to an open meadow. Off to one side was a frame structure no larger than a two-car garage. A single, large oak tree stood next to it.