The Pentagon Spy Page 10

  “Nice home for rats!” Joe muttered as a rodent scurried out from underfoot.

  The boys scouted through the cellar, poking around piles of torn fishnet, broken oars, and clamshells. “Look at this!” Frank said with a low chuckle. He held up a bow and arrow. “Chet should be here.”

  Joe grinned. “He’d try crabbing with it!”

  Frank tossed the bow and arrow aside, and they went deeper into the cellar until they came to a second room in the back, where a flight of stairs led to the first floor. They could make out a number of barrels in the semidarkness.

  Joe squatted on his heels. “Flour, sugar, salt,” he read in large letters on the barrels. “This must have been the storage room. The other—”

  A loud noise at the cellar door brought him to his feet. “Somebody’s at the rear door!” he cried.

  In a flash, both boys raced back through the basement toward the steps leading outside. The wooden doors were back in place over their heads!

  “We’re locked in!” Joe gasped.

  Frank pressed his hand against one door and breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s open,” he said. “The wind must have closed it.”

  “Thank goodness!” Joe blurted out. “I really got scared for a minute.”

  “Me too!”

  They returned to the cellar and Joe stopped at the stack of fishing rods. “Hey, Frank! I don’t see the bow and arrow anymore. You think someone took them?”

  Frank shook his head. “I tossed them aside and they probably got stuck in those nets. It’s too dark to look for them. We’ve got to go through the rest of the house, so let’s not waste time.”

  Passing through the cellar, they reached the stairs and went up to the first floor. The kitchen was large with an old-fashioned wood-burning stove. Kindling protruded from the top of a barrel next to it, and there were fragments of broken dishes on the counter.

  “Do you figure anyone’s been cooking on the stove lately?” Frank asked.

  Joe drew a line through the dust between two burners. “Not since the year one.” He lifted a heavy lid and looked inside. “Nothing but old ashes,” he announced.

  The dining room was empty except for a chair with a broken leg. They went into a hall flanking the living room, which was equally bare. A board had fallen from the picture window in front, admitting a broad shaft of sunlight. The fireplace was boarded up, and dust covered everything.

  “Nothing in there,” Joe said, after peering in from the hall. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  The bedrooms on the second floor contained no furniture, either, and the boys drew a blank on possible clues. They proceeded to the attic, a low ceilinged room up against the roof. Eight-by-fours formed two catwalks across the beams on opposite ends, which slanted down so sharply from the peak of the roof that the boys had to move part of the way on their hands and knees.

  Frank took one catwalk and Joe the other. The ceiling was stained in many places by rain leaking through holes in the roof. A bird fled from its nest on one windowsill as Joe approached. They saw nothing except pieces of tar paper strewn about.

  “Nothing here but the pigeons,” Frank said, coughing from the dust. “They can have it. I’m getting out!”

  “I’ll race you to the door,” Joe said with a grin.

  They crawled along the catwalks to the attic door, emerged, and stretched their cramped muscles. Then they descended the stairs to the ground floor.

  In the hallway, Joe expressed his disappointment. “We bombed again! Took that long trip over here for nothing!”

  Frank had been staring at the floor. “Wait a minute!” he exclaimed suddenly. “Look here!”

  He pointed to marks in the dust at the front door. “Here’s a footprint. A lot of footprints!”

  Joe was galvanized by the sight. “You’re right! Let’s see where they go.”

  The Hardys followed the trail through the hall into the living room and up to the fireplace. The prints became indistinct there in front of the boards covering the opening, as if someone had moved about in that particular area of the room.

  “Somebody’s been here!” Frank declared. “And there’s a trail leading back to the front door!”

  Joe dropped onto one knee and inspected the marks more closely. “There are f our sets of prints coming in, but only three going out!” he declared.

  Frank nodded grimly. “Something peculiar’s been going on here. We’ll have to—”

  Wham! Something zipped across the room and slammed into one of the boards covering the fireplace. Looking up, the boys saw an arrow quivering in the wood just above their heads!

  17

  The Captive

  Whirling around, the Hardys spotted a shadow flitting past outside the picture window.

  “Let’s get him!” Joe shouted.

  They ran to the window and peered through the opening where the board had fallen down. On the ground outside lay the bow Frank had discovered in the cellar. They saw a tall man wearing a black beard and dark glasses running toward the beach!

  “That’s our suspect!” Joe cried. “The guy who rented the chopper from Juniper Field!”

  Without another word, the Hardys hurled themselves against the remaining boards in the window, which gave way and clattered to the ground. Frank and Joe vaulted through the opening, landed in the sand, and ran after him.

  They rapidly closed the gap between themselves and the fugitive, who was running toward an outboard motorboat pulled up on the beach. Frank leaped through the air and hit the man with a flying tackle just before he reached the water’s edge. They went down in a heap and rolled over and over in the sand, struggling furiously.

  Frank was about to pin his antagonist as in a wrestling match, when suddenly the man reached into his pocket, pulled out a blackjack, and struck the boy on the side of his head. Dizzily, Frank fell into the sand.

  Joe had rushed up and grappled with the fugitive, but he too suffered a blow from the blackjack that broke his grip. In a flash, the man dashed away.

  Momentarily stunned, the Hardys pulled themselves up on their hands and knees, shaking their heads to clear the cobwebs. They heard the putt-putt of the motorboat racing away from the island. Quickly they rose and dashed to the beach, but now the boat was safely out of their reach.

  “No use trying to catch him,” Joe said in disgust. “He could be in Baltimore by the time we get our boat. Say, are you okay, Frank?”

  “Just a bruise,” his brother replied, feeling a tender spot where the blackjack had struck. “I’ll live. How about you?”

  “Same. He only hit me a glancing blow. Anyhow, we know he followed us into the cellar and took the bow and arrow. When he fired the arrow from the window, he was trying to frighten us away from the house—”

  “Which means something’s in there he doesn’t want us to see!” Frank inferred excitedly. “Maybe Hammerley’s weather vane’s hidden in the place. We’ll have to find out. Come on!”

  The boys climbed back into the house through the picture window and retraced their steps to the fireplace. Just then they heard a low groan from behind the boards covering the opening!

  “Someone’s in there!” Frank cried out. He attacked one of the boards, wrenching it loose. Joe took another. Within seconds they had the fireplace cleared.

  A man lay in a crumpled heap inside!

  The Hardys lifted him into the living room and peered curiously at his face.

  “He looks familiar,” Frank muttered, trying to recognize the man through the stubble of his beard. He pulled the photograph of Clifford Hunter out of his pocket and studied it, comparing it with the man in front of them.

  “That’s him!” he gasped. “Joe, we’ve found the Pentagon spy!”

  “He’s been drugged,” Joe said. “I’ll see if I can bring him around.” He took a small vial of smelling salts from his pocket detective kit and held it under Hunter’s nose. The stricken man began to move convulsively. Gradually, however, his heavy breathing subsided to its
normal rate. He opened his eyes and focused them on the Hardys. “Who are you?” he asked weakly.

  “We’ll tell you later,” Frank promised. “First you need some fresh air.”

  He and Joe carried the man through the front door and set him down in the sand, leaning him against a rock. A breeze blowing off Chesapeake Bay cleared the captive’s head. Then the boys introduced themselves.

  “We’ve been looking for you,” Frank informed him.

  Hunter was puzzled. “Why? I don’t even know you.”

  “The Pentagon wants us to get back the navy plan you stole,” Joe explained.

  “I didn’t steal it,” Hunter protested. “I took the document, but I didn’t steal it.”

  “What do you mean?” Joe queried.

  “Joe Wickerson told me to take it. Later I realized that he had slipped me a mind-altering drug—”

  “Wickerson!” Frank exploded. “You mean to say your boss in the navy is the real Pentagon spy?”

  Hunter nodded. “I’ll explain. But first tell me what you know. It’ll make it easier.” He was very weak, and speaking was an effort for him.

  Quickly the Hardys told about their visit to the Pentagon and their interview with Joseph Wickerson. They added their suspicion of Archie Olson, who had almost run them over in the parking lot.

  “Olson had nothing to do with the theft,” Hunter said. “But he’s a terrible driver.”

  The boys grinned. “He sure is,” Frank said.

  Hunter took a deep breath. “Wickerson didn’t catch me in the files of the Cosmo Rocket. I caught him. I had clearance, and he didn’t. That made me suspicious of him, and he knew it.

  “Shortly afterward, I saw him pouring a white powder into my coffee. He said it was sugar, but since then I’ve learned that it wasn’t. I’m not a spy, but I took the MASUB plan because Wickerson had me in his power!”

  “He told you to remove the plan from the files?” Frank asked.

  “Yes. He gave me instructions to take it to Chesapeake Crossing, where I kept my sailboat. He knew about that because he’s been aboard on some of my cruises.”

  Hunter paused a few moments to rest, then went on: “Joe laid a trap for me. I got only a few miles out into the bay when a powerboat cut across my bow and made me heave to. Three men with guns came aboard the Bay Queen. Apparently Wickerson had told them where I would be.”

  “Did you recognize the men?” Joe inquired.

  “No, I never saw them before. One was a short, wizened fellow who dressed like a farmhand.”

  “Ed Bryle!” Joe exclaimed. “The guy Hammerley fired!”

  “Who’s Hammerley?” Hunter asked, puzzled.

  “A farmer from Pennsylvania. Ed Bryle went to work at Chelski’s Marina afterward and blew our boat up with a time bomb. Can you tell us more about the other two men who held you up?”

  Hunter tapped his thumb against his chin. “Well, one of them was called Crow by the other two.”

  Frank gasped. “That must be Crow Morven, the foreman at Hammerley’s farm who also tried to get us out of the way!”

  “Your life must have been in great danger,” Hunter said worriedly.

  “That’s part of detective work,” Frank said. “Can you tell us anything about the third man?”

  “He was tall, had a black beard, and wore dark glasses.”

  “That’s the guy who just tried to hit us with an arrow!” Joe declared. “I wish you could identify him by name.”

  Hunter shook his head. “Sorry, but I can’t help you with that. I’d recognize his voice; and the only other thing I noticed was that his beard looked, well, sort of plastic.”

  “It must be phony,” Joe commented. “Part of his disguise. The dark glasses are, too.”

  “What did the men do after they boarded your sailboat?” Frank asked.

  “Blackbeard took the MASUB blueprint from me. Then he ordered the others to lock me in the cabin. I could hear them talk about their plans up on deck.”

  “Good! What did they say?” Frank urged.

  “I discovered Wickerson is a spy scheming to sell the MASUB document to a foreign power. They laughed about the way he had used his mind-altering drug on me and made me steal the plan. I was scheduled to be the fall guy,” Hunter added bitterly.

  “Did you scratch the words ‘Barren Island’ into the bench of your sailboat?” Frank asked.

  Hunter nodded. “My captors mentioned that they were bringing me here, where they intended to hold me and make me tell them everything I knew about the navy’s nuclear submarine program. If I wouldn’t cooperate they said they would sink me into the bay.”

  The exhausted scientist fell silent for a moment, and the Hardys mulled over his story. Finally Joe asked whether Hunter had heard the men say anything else.

  “Yes, strangely enough they mentioned weather vanes!”

  18

  The Horse Thieves

  Frank jumped up excitedly. “So there’s a connection between our two cases after all!” he exclaimed.

  “What do you mean?” Hunter asked, baffled.

  Frank told him about their investigation of the stolen antiques. “What exactly did your captors say about weather vanes?” he inquired.

  “That they had a lucrative business going with them. They had a code system based on hex signs,” Hunter explained. “The weather vanes they picked out were identified by the hex sign on the building from which each one was to be lifted. I also heard the men mentioning a weather vane called the Galloping Rider and that it was going to the Korbo auction.”

  Frank nodded. “We saw it there. But we thought the fence was in Chesapeake Crossing.”

  “It is,” Hunter replied. “But they routed the antiques through different channels. For instance, they said that the Flashing Arrow was not sent directly to the fence, either, because those boys from Bayport had poked their noses into the business.”

  Hunter shifted weakly in the sand. “That’s all I can tell you. I heard nothing more. Do you have any idea where my sailboat is?”

  Frank told him that the boys had found it and returned it to Chelski’s Marina.

  “Oh, I’m glad,” Hunter said. “She’s a fine boat. I’d hate to lose her.”

  “What happened when your captors brought you to Barren Island?” Joe queried.

  “They gave me another dose of the drug, but this time it was weaker, and when they tried to pump me about navy secrets I was able to remain quiet. So they boarded me up in the fireplace. Told me I’d have plenty of time to think things over in solitary. Who knows, they might have let me die if you boys hadn’t come along!”

  Joe stood up. “You know, the man in the black glasses who shot an arrow at us before he took off in his motorboat—maybe he went to round up his buddies. We’d better get out of here. Will you be able to walk down to the beach, Mr. Hunter?”

  “I think so.” Hunter stood up but teetered dizzily. He leaned on the boys and they hurried to their powerboat as fast as they could. Minutes later they skimmed across Chesapeake Bay.

  Night was falling when they returned to the marina. Herb Chelski had gone home, and the watch-man who took the boat did not know Clifford Hunter. The boys were relieved, because they felt it would be best if Hunter had a chance to rest in their cabin before the FBI was notified.

  When they arrived at the motel and walked into their room, Mr. Hardy was sitting in an easy chair. He stared at the trio in utter surprise.

  “You found Clifford Hunter!” he called out and jumped up in excitement.

  “Yes, Dad,” Frank replied. “Mr. Hunter, this is our father. He was asked by the government to head the search for you.”

  Hunter smiled wearily and sank into a chair. He could hardly speak. While Joe went out to get some food for him, Frank quickly told his father what had happened.

  “This matches with what I found out,” Mr. Hardy said. “I had become suspicious of Wickerson because he seemed to hamper my investigation with false clues. But I needed
to find Mr. Hunter to prove that Wickerson was the real Pentagon spy!”

  He turned to the scientist. “I’m sorry you had to go through all this. I’ll phone Washington right away and have your boss arrested.”

  Mr. Hardy made the call, and after he hung up, he smiled. “Joseph Wickerson was taken into custody an hour ago,” he reported. “He was caught stealing a document from the Cosmo Rocket file.”

  Joe returned with a plate of food and hot coffee, and the scientist ate hungrily while the boys told their father about the weather vane connection.

  “I’d like to call Mr. Hammerley and tell him what we learned,” Frank said and went to the telephone. When he reached Hammerley, their friend was greatly alarmed.

  “I saw Ed Bryle here today, and shortly afterward he and Morven rode off on two of my horses!” he sputtered. “Can you come back here and find them?”

  “We’ll be there in the morning, Mr. Hammerley,” Frank promised. “We have an idea who the weather vane thieves are. They’re tied in with a spy case our father’s been investigating.”

  “Have you caught the gang?” the farmer asked hopefully.

  “Not yet. But we will!”

  The following morning, the boys drove to Pennsylvania, while Mr. Hardy and Clifford Hunter took an early flight to Washington. When the boys arrived at the Hammerley farm, their host told them what had happened.

  “I found out that Morven had hidden Ed Bryle on the farm overnight,” he told the boys. “So I fired him on the spot. About an hour later they both rode off on my horses!”

  “Bryle must have come here after he tried to blow us to smithereens with a time bomb on Chesapeake Bay,” Frank said and reported their adventures to the farmer. When he repeated the conversation he had overheard taking place between Bryle, Morven, and the black-bearded man, Hammerley was stupefied.

  “You mean Morven was plotting to steal my weather vane while I thought he was guarding it from the thieves?”