Mystery of the Whale Tattoo Read online

  Joe bent down and inspected the left wheel. “In a way you did lose one,” he announced. “This wheel is locked solid.”

  Frank examined it, too. Joe was right. With the help of the mechanics, the boys tried to push the plane ahead. Its left wheel would not turn.

  “That’s impossible,” one of the mechanics named Hank said. “We checked the wheel bearings just yesterday. There was enough grease on them to keep it turning for a year.”

  Frank leaned closer and sniffed. “Joe, can you identify that odor?”

  Joe shook his head.

  “We haven’t any proof yet,” Frank said, “but I’ll give odds that this is sabotage. There are half a dozen acids which lay dormant until activated by heat.” Frank reasoned that such an acid could have eaten into the bearings, causing them to freeze.

  “We’ll check it out for you,” Hank said.

  The mechanics lifted the left landing gear and wheel onto a dolly. Then they climbed into the jeep with the boys and towed the plane back to the hangar area.

  While Frank and Joe waited for Chet to return from the doctor’s office, they checked to see if they could rent a plane for the afternoon. They were disappointed that nothing was available except a helicopter—and neither of them was qualified to fly such a craft.

  “That’s just great,” Joe said. “While we’re stranded, those crooks will find the whale and then the Ivory Idol will be gone for good.”

  “Wait a minute,” Frank said. “Jack Wayne has his helicopter rating!”

  “You’re right. Let’s phone him.”

  Jack informed the Hardys he would be at the airport within an hour. Heartened by this, the boys returned to the doctor’s office. They found Chet smiling.

  “Nothing broken,” he said. “But I’m supposed to take it easy for the next few days.”

  Chet was told of the proposed helicopter trip. He volunteered to stay at the airport and keep an eye on the Hardys’ plane. “I’ll keep a lookout for any suspicious characters,” he added.

  “We’d appreciate it,” Frank said. “But are you sure you’re up to it?”

  Chet nodded. “You could do me one favor, though.”

  “What’s that?” Joe asked.

  “Bring me that black case I had with me in the plane.”

  “Sure. But what’s in it? You’ve been lugging that thing around with you ever since this investigation began.”

  “In it, my good man,” Chet said, “are the tools of an artist. All my scrimshaw equipment. You don’t think I’d let little things like a stolen whale and an ivory statue interfere with my hobby, do you?”

  They brought Chet his case and got him positioned just outside the hangar in which their damaged plane was being examined.

  Jack Wayne had arrived and checked out the helicopter. When Frank and Joe were securely strapped into their seats, Jack started the engine, let it idle a while, then engaged the rotors.

  The copter lifted slowly from the ground, skimmed a few feet down the runway, then shot straight up into the air. They were on their way. Jack freed one hand and passed an air chart to Frank and Joe.

  “That line in black grease pencil,” he shouted over the roar of the engine, “represents a direct route from where the whale was stolen to the point at which you found the balloons.”

  “That’s one of the problems,” Frank answered. “Joe and I flew over every inch of that route and we didn’t find a trace of the whale.”

  “What are the red elliptical lines you’ve drawn in, Jack?” Joe asked.

  “Now there’s where we might have some luck,” the pilot answered. “Taking into consideration the meteorological data about the storm on the night of the theft, those red lines indicate ways in which the weather balloons carrying the whale might have drifted off course.”

  “I see,” Joe said. “So if we search along these routes we might find the spot where the whale tore loose.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  The first two areas they covered turned up nothing and consumed valuable time. Joe was discouraged. “Cheer up,” Jack told him, “we still have two more to go.”

  “What happens if we draw blanks there too?” Joe asked.

  “We’ll just have to think of something else,” Frank said.

  Fifteen minutes later Jack pointed down to a field bordered by a small stand of trees, beyond which lay a sparkling lake. “Somebody else seems to have lost something, too,” he said.

  Three men were covering the ground bird-dog fashion. “Let’s go down and take a look,” Frank said. He pressed the binoculars to his eyes.

  Jack brought the helicopter lower. As it neared the ground, the three men looked up, pointed, then ran for the woods. “It’s Tim Varney and Mug Stine!” Frank exclaimed. “And Rembrandt is with them!”

  “Rembrandt!” said Joe. “Well, I’ll be a cross-eyed monkey. He certainly had us fooled.”

  The three men disappeared into the woods. Moments later, several white puffs of smoke appeared from the shadows of the forest. Bullets pierced the helicopter’s Plexiglas canopy near Frank’s head. Jack Wayne sent the aircraft leaping skyward.

  “That was a close one.” Frank took a deep breath.

  “We’re out of range now,” Jack said. He radioed the airport, giving their position and reporting the fact they had just been fired upon. Wayne gave the criminal’s names to the tower operator and requested that Police Chief Collig of Bayport be notified immediately.

  Bullets pierced the helicopter’s canopy

  “Man, would I like to get my hands on Rembrandt!” Joe said as the helicopter hovered. “I’ll bet if we examined his right fist we’d find a three-part whale tattoo. Who would have thought of looking for a thing like that on a man whose entire body is covered with tattoos?”

  “I guess we all goofed,” Frank said, and added, “Suppose we keep an eye on those birds until the police get here.”

  Wayne circled over the woodland, but there was no sign of the trio. Finally the Hardys decided it was futile to keep up the surveillance. Also, seeking out the lost whale was more important.

  Frank turned to the pilot. “Jack, there’s nothing we can accomplish here. The police will have to find those men by themselves. Let’s continue on the search route.”

  “Okay by me,” Wayne replied.

  He manipulated the controls and the helicopter moved forward. Past the trees, they flew over a cabin at the side of the lake. A speedboat was moored at the cabin’s pier. Wayne came down for a closer look. The place appeared to be deserted.

  “I think we can skirt around the lake,” Joe said. “The whale wouldn’t—Hey! Wait a minute!”

  The thought that stopped Joe occurred to Frank at the same time. “Do you think it might have fallen into the water?”

  “Why not?” Joe said with excitement. “If the whale went down in the lake, that would certainly account for the fact that no one has spotted it.”

  “Jack,” Frank said, “take her up and move directly across the lake.”

  The pilot complied. From their vantage point, they could see far down into the clear water. The bottom was covered partly by weeds, partly by sand and jagged rocks.

  Near the opposite end of the lake, Joe shot out his arm and shouted, “Look!”

  Below them on the bottom of the lake they spied the dark silhouette of the whale!

  CHAPTER XIX

  A Bitter Loss

  “WE’VE found it!” Frank shouted. The boys pounded each other on the back and shook hands with Jack Wayne.

  The pilot grinned. “Okay, super-sleuths, you’ve located the whale. But what do we do with it now?”

  Frank scratched his head. “This chopper’s not powerful enough to carry the whale back to Bayport, is it, Jack?”

  “Not by a long shot.”

  “We can’t take a chance on leaving the whale here, though,” Joe said.

  “I know what,” Frank said. “There’s a coil of strong rope behind Joe’s seat. If we could rig it t
o the whale, we might have enough power to raise the thing to the surface and tow it to the shore.”

  Jack thought for a moment. “Yes, I think we can do it,” he said finally. “But how do we get the rope on the whale?”

  Frank began unbuttoning his shirt. “I’ll attach it. The whale can’t be much more than ten or twelve feet down. That’s not too bad a dive, eh?”

  “I don’t know, Frank,” Joe said doubtfully. “That water’s pretty clear. The whale might be deeper than it looks.”

  Frank stripped off his shirt and T-shirt, then removed his shoes and socks. “Well, if it’s too deep, then it’s too deep and we’ll have to think of something else. But the Ivory Idol is almost within our hands and I don’t want to take any chances—not with those crooks in the woods. Take her down, Jack.”

  The pilot eased the helicopter to an altitude of no more than a dozen feet above the water. The down blast of its whirling rotors chopped up the surface.

  Frank shucked his pants as Joe unlimbered the coil of hemp and secured one end to the framework of the helicopter seat.

  Then he poised himself in the doorway, the free end of the rope in one hand, his pocketknife in the other. Jack brought the helicopter another six feet nearer the water.

  “Wish me luck!” Frank called.

  “Go get ’im!” Joe cried.

  Frank dived cleanly into the water. The surface turbulence created by the rotor breeze prevented Jack and Joe from seeing more than a blurred light-colored patch as Frank swam down to the whale. Joe leaned forward tensely.

  Frank forced his way down with powerful scissor kicks and sweeping strokes of his arms. The whale’s back seemed elusive, remaining just beyond his reach. The water was deeper than he had guessed, but he did not turn back.

  At last Frank touched the rough skin of the whale. He probed quickly and felt one of the hooplike metal strips that supported the creature’s basic form. Frank plunged his knife through the skin first on one side of the hoop, then on the other.

  By now his chest felt as if it were on fire. His body was screaming for air. But he inserted the rope into the first gash and pulled it out through the second. Then he let go of the rope and swam furiously upward.

  Frank’s head and shoulders crashed through the surface like the prow of a submarine, and he sucked in a huge mouthful of air. Water, chopped up by the helicopter, splashed hard against his face and into his mouth. He motioned for Jack to draw the helicopter off a distance.

  Refreshed, Frank bent sharply at the waist and dived down again. This time he located the rope, tied two hitches in it, and surfaced.

  He signaled Jack to raise the whale. The helicopter ascended carefully, moved directly above the whale, then went up again. Frank let the taut rope slide through his hands. He could feel displaced water rolling against his feet as the whale rose.

  Slowly the leviathan broke the surface with a great whooshing sound, water rolling from its sides. Frank rode high on its back.

  The youth sleuth whooped with joy. He looked up to see Joe leaning out the copter door and gesturing shoreward. The craft moved forward, its rotors protesting mightily as the whale was towed sluggishly toward land.

  The great behemoth created a large wake. Frank waved one arm around his head like a broncobuster in a rodeo and kicked the whale with his heels.

  After the whale was beached, Jack set the copter down nearby. The trio congratulated one another exuberantly. Frank dried himself and slipped back into his clothes.

  “Where do we start?” Joe asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Frank said. “The statue will probably be toward the center. Let’s make a slit down the length, from the head to the tail.”

  It took the Hardys and Jack a while to cut through the tough hide. Then they rolled it up a few feet, giving themselves easy access to the sodden mass of straw and excelsior inside. Digging it out was no easy task.

  “It’s a pretty big whale,” Joe said, panting. “But if I hadn’t seen it, I never would have believed how much stuffing it could hold.”

  “I know what you mean,” Jack said, stretching to loosen his tired muscles.

  “We’re looking for an ivory needle in a haystack,” Frank observed.

  “A six-foot needle!” His brother shook his head. “And we still can’t find it.”

  As they worked, the distant put-put of an outboard motor came to them from across the lake. They looked up and saw the fishing boat that had been moored at the other end of the lake.

  “Oh, oh! That just might be our three friends,” Joe said. He sprinted to the helicopter and returned with the binoculars, which he pressed to his eyes.

  “What’s it look like?” Frank asked.

  “There’s only one man in the boat, sitting in the stern by the motor. I can’t make out his face, but he’s wearing an old fishing hat and jacket.”

  “Can’t blame him for being curious,” Jack said. “I’ll bet it’s not very often that he sees a helicopter hang over the lake, then dredge up a whale and tow it to shore!”

  The boys laughed. “Well, back to work,” Joe said.

  The three thrust their arms deep into the stuffing and threw great bunches of the wadding onto an ever-growing pile. They had cleaned out nearly a fourth of the whale’s stuffing before they had any luck.

  Rummaging with a stick, Joe struck something hard. “Hey!” he called. “Over here. I might have hit pay dirt!”

  Frank and Jack rushed to his side. The three of them tore away stuffing in large handfuls. Suddenly they exposed something about the size of a man—only thinner—wrapped tightly in old canvas that was secured with rope. They removed the item gingerly from the whale and set it upright upon the ground.

  “Easy does it!” Frank cautioned. Their faces were tight with expectancy as he cut the ropes and pulled away the canvas.

  Jack shook his head in disbelief. The Ivory Idol, glossed with a slight patina of age and carved with a delicacy that could only have been born of genius, stood before them.

  “It’s beautiful!” Joe said with awe.

  Frank whistled. “No wonder everyone wants it.”

  Their mood was broken by the sound of the motorboat. It was drawing near the shore very quickly.

  Frank looked up and said, “I’ll bet the fisherman has never seen anything like this before.”

  The trio took a few steps forward to greet the visitor. Ten feet from land the fisherman pulled his throttle wide open and the boat rushed onto the sand with a grating sound.

  The next moment two figures leaped up from the bottom of the boat. Rembrandt and Mug Stine!

  The man at the motor threw off his hat, revealing himself as Tim Varney.

  “To the copter—hurry!” Frank yelled.

  Frank and Joe picked up the heavy statue and moved toward the helicopter as quickly as they could. Jack Wayne dashed ahead of them and tried to start the motor. The blades spun weakly a few times, but the engine coughed and would not catch.

  “Frank!” Joe gasped. “We’ll never make it with the statue. They’re gaining on us!”

  “Set it down!” Frank yelled. “We’ll have to fight ’em!”

  The boys laid the statue on the beach and braced for the attack. A moment later Joe went down beneath Rembrandt and Varney. Frank dodged Mug Stine and rushed to his brother’s aid. The dark-haired boy tripped over a root and fell, landing on his back. The last thing he saw was Mug Stine swinging a hamlike fist down at him.

  Mug joined Rembrandt and Varney. Outnumbered, Joe struggled fiercely, but it was a losing battle. In the background he heard Jack Wayne’s frantic radio message to the police. The pilot signed off, leaped out of the helicopter, and ran to Joe’s aid. By the time he flung himself onto the criminals, Joe, too, had been kayoed. Jack, fighting bravely but alone, was no match for the attackers.

  The victors were grimly silent as they tied the Hardys and the pilot back to back. Jack grimaced with pain as Tim Varney savagely tightened the bonds.


  “That ought to hold you,” Varney snarled.

  The assailants picked up the Ivory Idol and carried it to their boat. Then they shoved off, started the motor, and headed across the lake.

  CHAPTER XX

  Settling a Score

  FRANK regained consciousness a little after his brother did. “You all right?” Joe asked.

  “Yes. But my head feels like a balloon.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Jack filled them in on what had happened after they had been knocked out. “So,” he said ruefully, “I’m afraid all our efforts were in vain.”

  “We were so close,” Frank said angrily. “So close! I just can’t believe it.”

  “Well,” Jack said, “we did manage to get off two radio messages to the police. Maybe they’ll intercept these rats and recover the statue.”

  Joe’s voice was morose. “Maybe, but it’s only a slim chance.”

  Frank snapped himself out of his depression. “There’s no sense in sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves. Let’s go to work and see what we can do about getting loose.”

  “That’s going to be tougher than it sounds,” Jack said. “I’ve been trying and I’ll say one thing for that guy Varney, he sure knows how to tie knots!”

  Jack and the Hardys bent all their energies to freeing themselves. They drew in great lungfuls of air and flexed their muscles, then exhaled and relaxed, trying to work some slack into the rope. They pulled and pushed against one another, but could not loosen the bonds.

  The afternoon lengthened into dusk, and soon their only light was provided by the half moon that shone above them. Swarms of mosquitoes added to their misery.

  “Ouch!” Joe exclaimed. “I’m being sucked dry by these miniature vampires. What’s keeping the police? Do you think they might not be able to find us?”

  “Now there’s a cheery thought,” Frank said. “No, they’ll find us, but we’ll just have to sweat it out until they come.”

  Exhausted by their efforts to escape, the three huddled as close together as possible in an effort to offer only minimal exposure to the insatiable mosquitoes. Some time later Joe saw flashlights stabbing through the darkness.