The Sting of the Scorpion Read online

  “Come aboard, boys, and I’ll show you,” the industrialist replied.

  Once they were seated inside the luxurious cabin, Jarman explained that the helium gas had been compressed and pumped into a storage cylinder. This decreased the lift and enabled the blimp to land.

  “For takeoff, we do just the opposite, valve the gas back into the cigar-shaped envelope and let it expand again.”

  Frank and Joe were excited at the spectacular view as the baby blimp rose into the air, then cruised over Bayport and along the coast. Below, on the blue-green waters of the Atlantic, they saw pleasure boats and commercial ships as well as a warship steaming out to sea.

  The Hardys were even more thrilled when Jarman let them try their hands at the simple controls. At the magnate’s suggestion, Frank steered the craft inland again. When they approached Wild World, he cruised lower, so they could glimpse the spectators and the herds of animals.

  “Hey! What’s that?” Joe exclaimed suddenly.

  “What’s what?” his brother inquired.

  “That sign!” Joe said, pointing downward. “It’s painted on the ground, right outside the fence!”

  Frank gasped as he saw the odd, bright-orange marking. “That’s the astrological symbol for Scorpio!”

  CHAPTER XVI

  The Scorpio Symbol

  “WHAT? Let me see!” blurted Eustace Jarman, craning.

  Frank gestured toward the spot below. The symbol had been splashed so boldly and brightly that it was clearly visible from the air. It looked like a lower-case m with the tail of the letter curved sharply to the right and capped with an arrowhead.

  “You say that’s the symbol of Scorpio?” Jarman demanded, turning back to Frank with a frown.

  “Yes, sir. It’s one of the signs of the zodiac.”

  “And you think this may have something to do with the Scorpio gang of terrorists?” The tycoon’s glance flicked sharply back and forth between the Hardy boys.

  Frank nodded. “There’s no doubt about it.”

  “That’s the Wild World animal park down there, Mr. Jarman,” Joe added. “We’ve already had half a dozen other clues connecting the gang with the park. That symbol’s got to be more than a coincidence!”

  “Then let’s descend and take a closer look!” Jarman said with an air of tense excitement. “Perhaps you’d better let me handle the landing, son.”

  The remark was directed to Frank, who promptly surrendered the controls. Jarman took over and deftly brought the baby blimp to a gentle, well-cushioned landing just outside the park fence.

  He and the Hardys leaped out of the cabin, one by one, and hurried to inspect the strange mark. The symbol was made up of lines almost a foot wide, in brilliant orange phosphorescent paint that looked as if it had been slapped on with a whitewash brush over the grass, stones, and bare earth.

  “Wow! I’ll bet this could be seen from the air even at night!” Joe exclaimed.

  “You’re right,” Frank agreed, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “The question is, what does it mean?”

  “Any ideas?” said Jarman, watching the boys hopefully.

  “Not really.” Frank frowned. “Unless that arrowhead on the tail of the symbol is supposed to be pointing at something.”

  “Hmm, let’s see.” Jarman turned in the direction indicated by the arrowhead, then emitted an excited whoop. “By George, you’re right! Look over there—under that tree!”

  The boys hurried after the tycoon as he strode toward the tree. Screened from aerial view by the overhanging tree branches was another mark on a bare patch of ground. This one, a wiggly, jagged line that was only about the width of a man’s finger, was in white paint and was much smaller than the Scorpio symbol.

  “This one is surely no zodiac symbol,” Eustace Jarman mused as he studied the white line.

  “Definitely not,” Frank agreed. “But don’t ask me what it is.”

  “Beats me, too,” Joe admitted, after copying it on a piece of paper. “It doesn’t look like writing, and it’s not a picture of anything, either, at least not that I can recognize.”

  His brother was equally baffled. Jarman glanced at his watch—once again the hard-driving, tightly scheduled businessman. “Maybe an idea will occur to you later. Meantime, I’m afraid I have to get back to New York, but I’ll drop you at the airport first.”

  The Hardys were silent and thoughtful on the way back to the Bayport airfield, each racking his brain for a solution to the odd mystery of the painted markings. Nevertheless, both enjoyed the brief flight.

  “These baby blimps are really nice!” Joe said effusively. “They’re a lot more fun to ride than a regular airplane.”

  “And safer,” Jarman boasted.

  “What do you call this model, sir?” Frank inquired. “Got a name for it?”

  The industrialist smiled proudly. “I have, indeed, the Jarman Hopscotch. It’s delightful for short hops, and very tight on fuel costs.”

  Both boys nodded politely.

  “Eventually,” Jarman went on, “I plan to develop this into a road car, so that it can be driven as well as flown, and even have an amphibian hull. It’ll then be a true all-purpose vehicle.”

  “And how!” Joe said admiringly.

  “With living facilities like a present-day camper, it would be ideal for family vacations.”

  “Let us know when it hits the market.” Frank grinned. “We’ll order the first one off the production line!”

  After landing, the Hardys thanked their host and watched him take off again. Then they headed for their car in the parking lot.

  They had just paid their fee and were turning onto the airport exit road when a buzzer sounded and the light flashed on their dashboard radio. The caller was Miss Hardy.

  “What’s the good word, Aunt Gertrude?” Frank asked.

  “I don’t know how good it is,” her tart voice crackled over the speaker, “but you and Frank just had a call from someone named Hector Maris.”

  “The dirigible crewman!” Joe exclaimed with an excited glance at his brother.

  “So he told me,” Aunt Gertrude said.

  “What did he want, Aunty?”

  “He wants to drop in this evening at eight thirty for what he calls a confidential talk with you two.”

  “Great!” said Joe. “If he calls back again before we get home, you tell him we’re eager to see him!”

  Sometime after five o’clock, the Hardys picked up Frank’s date for the picnic. She was Callie Shaw, a pretty blond girl with brown eyes. Then they drove to the Morton farm to get Iola.

  “Hi, everyone!” Chet’s sister smiled as she climbed into the car with a large basket over her arm.

  “Did you bring enough to feed Chet?” Joe asked.

  “I brought enough to feed everyone!” Iola giggled.

  “We’ll really have a feast, then,” Callie said gaily. “I have a hamperful of sandwiches and cookies, and the boys brought some of Aunt Gertrude’s fried chicken and a chocolate cake.”

  “Think we’ll be able to stagger home?” said Frank.

  “We may have to,” Joe wisecracked, “if none of us can squeeze in behind the wheel.”

  It was not yet six when they pulled into the parking lot at Wild World. They soon found Chet, Biff, and Leroy in the picnic area of the park. The boys, who were now off duty, had shucked their green jackets and cleaned off one of the tables. They were bringing armloads of soda bottles and a plastic tub full of ice cubes to keep their drinks cold.

  Biff’s date, Karen Hunt, and a pretty brown-skinned girl who proved to be Leroy’s girl friend, Elgine Brooks, were laying out place mats. Then they set the table with items from their own picnic baskets.

  “Hey, look who’s coming!” Joe exclaimed as they sat down and began eating.

  Phil Cohen grinned as he walked up to the table in his park attendant’s uniform. “Got a handout for a hungry man? Tony’ll be along later.”

  “Help yourself, pardner,” said Frank wit
h a wave of his hand. “We’ve got enough here to feed an army!”

  “Just a drumstick will do. And how about one of those pickles?”

  “Anything your little heart desires,” said Biff, passing the pickle bottle.

  Silence fell for the next minute or two. Suddenly they were all startled by a loud whistling beep that seemed to come from Frank.

  “Jumpin’ Jupiter!” Chet exclaimed. “Don’t tell me you’re carrying a portable burglar alarm?”

  “Not that I know of,” Frank replied. He was as puzzled as everyone else. Hastily he groped in his pockets and pulled out the toy elephant Bixby had given him.

  The sound was coming from the small plastic animal!

  “Where did you get that, Frank?” Callie inquired, intrigued.

  “From a guy named Arthur Bixby, who’s trying to buy Wild World. Joe and I saw him this morning. But don’t ask me what this is all about!”

  “He gave me a toy giraffe, but I left it in the car,” said Joe. “I wonder if it’s beeping, too?”

  A look of dawning comprehension passed over Elgine’s face. “Wait a second!” she murmured. “I’ve been to one of Bixby’s parks near Washington, D. C. Those animals are sold as souvenirs. He calls them Bixby’s Beasts.”

  “But why the beep?” put in Leroy.

  “There’s a sound device inside,” Elgine explained. “I guess it responds to a radio signal—you know, like one of those pocket-phone alarms that doctors carry to let them know a patient’s trying to get in touch.”

  “Funny thing to put in a toy animal.”

  “Not when you hear why. It’s an advertising stunt. The people who buy the souvenirs are supposed to keep them handy, where they can hear them, and two or three times a week, the park broadcasts a signal that makes the animals sound off.”

  “Then what?” Iola asked.

  “When you hear it, you’re supposed to call right away, and the first ten people who phone in get free tickets to the park, including all rides.”

  “Hey, that’s quite a gimmick!” Joe said.

  “But Bixby has no park around here,” Frank pointed out thoughtfully, “so what made this elephant sound off?”

  The loud whistling beep, which had attracted the attention of other picnickers also, had now ceased. It was followed by several shorter beeps.

  The Hardys wondered if the signals had anything to do with the Scorpio gang.

  “Maybe we ought to call Bixby and find out!” Joe suggested.

  Frank nodded and they hurried to a public telephone. After trying Bixby’s office number and getting his answering service, they were finally able to reach him at his apartment hotel.

  “Yep, you guessed it, son!” The man chuckled when asked about the beeping. “I got me a portable transmitter and broadcast those signals so you’d see what a live-wire showman I am. Take it from me, I can double the attendance at Wild World. You tell Pop Carter that.”

  Frank made a polite rejoinder and hung up with a glance at Joe, who had listened in.

  “What a gimmick!” Joe chuckled wryly.

  Back at the picnic table, they found Chet eagerly explaining a brand-new idea, which sounded as if it might nudge his Jungle Man act into second place. “Animal balloons!” he exclaimed to the Hardys. “If I could get a concession at Wild World from Pop, I could make a fortune!”

  “Wait a minute!” Frank said slowly. “I think you’ve got something there.”

  “Sure, I could design them myself and get a balloon company to—”

  “No, I mean you’ve given me an idea! Joe. I’ll bet I know how that dirigible saboteur pulled his falling-elephant trick. You know those big animal-balloon floats that are used in some parades?”

  Joe’s eyes lit up. “You’ve got it! He dropped a rolled-up balloon, and it was inflated in the air, by a CO2 cartridge!”

  “Maybe we should ask Sam Radley to check out specialty-balloon manufacturers,” Frank said.

  “Good idea,” Joe said. “I’ll bet it will lead us straight to the crooks.”

  Leroy snapped his fingers. “Hey! Talking of crooks, that reminds me.” He reported that he had seen one of the two suspects at the park again that afternoon. Although unable to trail the man immediately, he had observed him drop a crumpled piece of paper, which Leroy later picked up.

  The Hardys examined it eagerly, then passed it around. It bore the name Sandy P.

  “Who’s Sandy P.?” Iola inquired with a puzzled frown. “One of their pals?”

  “Maybe and maybe not,” said Joe, who seemed quietly excited. “I’ve got an idea about this, Frank. We’ll check it out later.”

  When they finished eating, the Hardy boys went to lock the picnic baskets in their trunk. As they neared the parking lot, Frank’s eyes widened. A man was crawling under their car!

  CHAPTER XVII

  A Saboteur Surfaces

  THE stranger held a wrench in one hand! Frank cried out, startled. Evidently the man heard him. He glanced at the approaching boys with fear in his eyes, then sprang to his feet and darted off through the trees bordering the parking lot!

  The Hardys chased him, but soon lost him in the gathering dusk.

  “That creep!” Joe fumed. “I never even got a good look at his face. Did you?”

  Frank shook his head grimly. “But he saw us, all right. We were just passing under a lamp when I spotted him.”

  “Trying to sabotage our car, no doubt.”

  “Sure, he was probably going to tamper with the steering or the brakes. Maybe we’d better check and make sure he didn’t have time to do anything.”

  Their car doors were still locked, and after carefully examining the undercarriage, the boys were relieved to find no sign of damage.

  “Think our would-be saboteur was one of the Scorpio gang?” Joe asked his brother.

  “Could be, but the time angle’s interesting,” Frank mused.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That elephant beep went off, so we called Bixby. And you remember I mentioned to him that I was calling from the park. How long ago would you say that was?”

  Joe shrugged. “Twenty minutes, half an hour, as long as it took us to go back to the picnic table and finish eating.”

  “Also, just long enough for Bixby to send a man here to Wild World and find our car on the lot.”

  Joe whistled. “You think that’s what happened?”

  Frank frowned and shook his head uncertainly. “Not really. Bixby strikes me as a guy who gets fun out of showing off with publicity stunts and outwitting his competitors in business deals. Resorting to force or out-and-out crookedness doesn’t fit, somehow. But we have to consider all the angles.”

  “Well, I think I’ve got an angle on that Sandy P. note,” Joe declared.

  “You figured out what it means?”

  “I have a hunch it stands for Sandy Point, but that’s not all.” Joe unlocked the car and got a large-scale map of the Bayport area out of the glove compartment.

  “You mean that spot on the coast called Sandy Point?” Frank asked as Joe spread out the map.

  “Right—and look here.” Joe reached in his pocket and produced the paper on which he had copied the odd white markings they had found near the orange Scorpio symbol outside the park fence.

  The wiggly, jagged line exactly matched the coastline around Sandy Point!

  Frank was excited. He clapped his brother on the back. “Joe, that’s terrific! You solved it!”

  “But we still don’t know how Sandy Point figures in the gang’s plans.”

  “No, but we’re going to find out. Let’s take the Sleuth and investigate after we call Sam and talk to Maris.”

  “Suits me,” Joe agreed, “but that’s quite a run. Maris isn’t due at our place til 8:30. Considering the time back and forth, we wouldn’t get home before midnight.”

  “All the better! The darkness will give us good cover while we look around.”

  Frank and Joe locked the baskets in the trunk and
helped the others clean up their picnic table. Then they called Sam Radley from a public telephone, asking him to check out balloon and novelty manufacturers.

  Later the boys and their dates enjoyed the rides. The free passes Pop Carter had given them would be good throughout the summer. The group had so much fun that Frank and Joe were sorry to leave the park before closing time.

  After dropping off Iola, Chet, and Callie, the Hardys returned home to await their visitor. Shortly before eight thirty the doorbell rang. Joe answered and admitted Hector Maris.

  The young dirigible crewman, clad in chinos and a zippered jacket, was clearly nervous. He ran his fingers through his dark hair and sat down awkwardly in the chair Frank offered.

  “I suppose you know why I’m here,” he began.

  “Why not tell us?” Frank replied. “Including why you’re going under the name of ‘Hector Maris.’”

  Their caller gave a guilty start. “I figured you were on to me. Well, you’re right. I got my job under a false name. The real Hector Maris is a good friend of mine, who’s attending medical school in Europe.”

  Frank nodded. “And your real name is—Embrow?”

  The young man gulped, his eyes opening even wider. “Yes, I’m Terry Embrow—though I can’t imagine how you found out. My father, as you probably know, used to be Lloyd Quinn’s partner, but they had a fight and broke up.”

  “So why do you work for Quinn?” Joe asked.

  “Believe it or not, I’m an ardent lighter-than-air buff. I got that from my father, I suppose. He used to fly blimps for the Navy and always wished he could have flown in the Hindenburg. When Mr. Quinn started hiring a crew for the Safari Queen, it seemed like the chance of a lifetime. But I knew perfectly well he’d never take me on if he recognized me as Basil Embrow’s son. So Hec Maris agreed to let me use his name while he was out of the country.”

  Frank said, “Did anyone else know about this arrangement?”

  “Nobody,” Terry replied. “Not even my Dad. He thinks I’m working for a trucking company. That’s what made the call so mysterious.”

  “What call?”

  “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of my story,” the young crewman apologized. “Just before we took off for Africa on our last trip, I got an anonymous phone call. Whoever it was, somehow he’d found out my real identity!”