The Mark on the Door Read online

  “They look like some of Vincenzo’s men!” Frank thought. The man he had been chasing was obviously known to the riders. He whispered something to a lanky horseman, who then approached Frank.

  “You are one of zee Hardeez,” he said. “Pavura weel want to see you! You come!”

  He grabbed the reins of Frank’s horse and started off. The other riders trailed behind.

  “We are going to Vincenzo’s headquarters,” Frank mused. “That’s the first place Joe will look for me. He can lead Arandas and his men right to it.”

  But Frank’s hope was suddenly shattered when he noticed that they were going in a direction away from the hideout that he and his brother had discovered.

  “Vincenzo has relocated his headquarters!” he thought, trying not to panic.

  Several of the riders behind him were dragging clumps of brush along the ground to erase the hoofprints. Not even Tico’s tracking abilities could help him now!

  CHAPTER XX

  Helicopter Capture

  FRANK ruled out making a break for it. The odds were too risky, since many of the men were armed. Others carried walkie-talkies.

  “These men must have made up the communication chain to Vincenzo’s old headquarters,” Frank thought.

  With only a short rest in between, they rode all night. By morning their journey had taken them into a flat, dusty desert area. The sun was already intensely hot. Many of the men drank from canteens, but not one of them offered Frank a drop of water. By now he felt faint from thirst and hunger.

  Presently the leader of the horsemen held up his hand. “Stop!” he shouted. “Oigal—Listen!”

  They heard a faint, fluttering sound. Gradually it became louder. The men turned and looked back apprehensively. A helicopter shot into view from over the crest of a hill.

  “Caramba!” one of them screamed.

  The craft circled the group several times, then made a low pass overhead. Many of the horses reared up and began to mill around, stirring up thick clouds of dust. The startled riders completely forgot about Frank and galloped off frantically in all directions.

  “Nice going!” the young detective yelled.

  Shortly a second helicopter appeared. It hovered over the scene for a moment, then gently settled to the ground. Frank rode toward it as two of the occupants scrambled out of the cabin. His eyes widened in surprise when he recognized them.

  “Dad! Joe!”

  “Are you okay?” his brother asked anxiously.

  “I’m fine.” Frank nodded wearily. “But, Dad! How did you—?”

  “I received the message you boys relayed to me in Mazatlan,” Mr. Hardy interrupted, “and Jack flew me to Baja right away. There the Mexican Army had a helicopter waiting to take me to Arandas’s camp.”

  “Dad arrived just in time to take part in our search for you,” Joe said. “When the other helicopter pilot spotted the horsemen he radioed us and we flew here to see what it was all about.”

  The pilot of their craft, a young Mexican officer, called out to Mr. Hardy and the boys.

  “I am in contact with the other helicopter,” he announced. “The pilot says that some of the horsemen are heading toward what appears to be a large encampment in the hills east of here.”

  “Vincenzo’s new hideout!” Frank exclaimed.

  “He is flying back to report to Lieutenant Arandas,” the pilot continued. “He says we should return also.”

  Frank left his horse and the Hardys climbed aboard the craft. In less than fifteen minutes they arrived at Arandas’s camp, which was now crowded with soldiers.

  Chet and Tico ran to meet the helicopter as it landed. They were elated to see that Frank was all right. Then the boys and Arandas discussed plans for the capture of Vincenzo and his gang.

  “I shall have the helicopters fly my men to the encampment,” the lieutenant declared. “Several trips will be required, but we will save much time.” He ordered the airlift operation to begin at once.

  “How about letting us go with the first group?” Joe asked excitedly.

  Arandas grinned. “I know you are very eager to capture this Vincenzo,” he said. “But I am now responsible for your safety. First let me transport my men, then you shall follow.”

  While the boys waited their turn, Mr. Hardy opened a large carton of fried chicken. “I had this prepared in Mazatlan,” he told them. “It’s the nearest thing to home cooking I could think of.”

  “Let me at it!” Chet shouted jubilantly. The appetites of Frank and Joe, as well as Tico, equaled that of their hefty comrade. As they ate, Frank asked his father about Senor Marcheta.

  “He’s still in Mexico City,” Mr. Hardy replied. “And while I was with him, he told me what he knew about Vincenzo.”

  The detective stated that Senor Marcheta had met Vincenzo in Spain several years before. The gangleader at that time was posing as a buyer for a Mexican textile firm.

  “It wasn’t until the stock-fraud case came up,” Mr. Hardy explained, “that Senor Marcheta discovered Vincenzo was actually a very clever confidence man. He has been involved in everything, from selling stolen goods on an international scale to peddling worthless stock in a diamond mine.”

  Then the boys related their own adventures. Mr. Hardy was surprised to hear about the oil-smuggling operation.

  “That’s a new one even for Vincenzo,” he remarked. “He’ll have a lot to answer for.”

  Finally Arandas announced that the Hardys and their companions could fly to the encampment. When they arrived, they saw that the soldiers had moved in on the gang. Indians were being lined up and questioned.

  “Where’s Vincenzo?” Frank asked quickly.

  “He fled before we could surround the encampment,” one of the soldiers replied. “We have men searching the area for him now.”

  Another soldier whispered something to Arandas. The lieutenant turned to the Hardys. “One of your countrymen is among the captives,” he said.

  “It must be Elmer Tremmer!” Joe declared.

  The boys and Mr. Hardy were led to a tent. Inside they found Tremmer in a state of panic.

  “You’ve got to help me!” he pleaded. “I don’t want to go to jail!”

  “Then why did you run away?” Mr. Hardy asked.

  Tremmer nervously mopped his brow. “I was frightened! Vincenzo said I would go to prison if I testified. Please, Mr. Hardy. I’m not a member of Vincenzo’s gang! After all, it was I who sent you that note to beware of the mark on the door!”

  “How did you know what it meant?” the detective queried.

  “To be truthful, I wasn’t sure,” Tremmer replied. He explained that before leaving Bayport, he had overhead one of Vincenzo’s men say an enemy had been dealt with—that he had received the mark on the door!

  “I feared for you and your sons,” Tremmer went on. “And again I sent a warning note to you at your hotel in Mazatlan.”

  Interrogated about the oil deal, Tremmer said the gangleader had learned of an old Indian legend which described thick “black water” of the mountain. Vincenzo guessed correctly that it was crude oil. While searching for the deposit, he had stumbled upon an isolated band of Indians. Being part Indian himself, Vincenzo quickly gained their confidence.

  “Eventually they showed him the source of the black water,” Tremmer continued. “It was a rich pool of oil which oozed to the surface and did not have to be drilled.”

  When Frank asked who was buying the oil, he was told that several Latin-American groups were bidding for it.

  “The price was low,” the prisoner said, “but still Vincenzo was making a big profit.”

  “Quite an operation,” Mr. Hardy remarked. “It must have cost a lot of money to set up.”

  “Most of it came from the Costa Quimico stock fraud,” the bookkeeper admitted.

  Leaving Mr. Hardy to continue his detailed questioning, the four boys left the tent and were greeted by the villagers who had been kidnapped from Montaraz. With them was young Juan M
archeta. Amid voluble expressions of their gratitude, a rifle shot sounded, and soldiers ran toward the place where the helicopters had parked.

  Suddenly rotor blades of one helicopter began to whirl. Seconds later it was airborne.

  “Caramba!” screamed Arandas. “Vincenzo is a clever scoundrel!”

  “What happened?” Frank asked quickly.

  “Vincenzo was hiding nearby,” the lieutenant answered. “He has just forced one of our pilots to fly him away!”

  “We can follow them in the other helicopter!” Joe suggested.

  Arandas pointed at the fuel tank of the craft. “Vincenzo thought of everything. He shot a hole in the tank. The fuel has already spilled away.”

  “Where could Vincenzo be headed?” Joe said.

  “That helicopter doesn’t have enough range to take him very far,” Frank replied. “I’ve a hunch he’s going to the cove to rendezvous with the submarine.”

  “Let’s plug up the tank and go after him,” Joe urged.

  Arandas creased his brow. “It would not help to make such a repair. We do not have any more fuel available here.”

  “Then we must do it the hard way,” Frank declared. “We’ll use horses.”

  “But it’ll take us hours to reach the cove,” Joe argued.

  “Maybe the sub crew hasn’t finished repairing the damaged batteries,” Frank spoke up. “The delay might be long enough for us to catch up with Vincenzo.”

  The Hardys, Arandas, and twelve of his soldiers galloped off. It was already dark when they arrived on the coast a short distance south of the cove.

  “Hadn’t we better go the rest of the way on foot?” Frank said in a hushed voice.

  “Yes,” Arandas replied.

  They crept toward a low, rocky ridge, then scrambled up the slope to the top, with an excellent view of the cove.

  “The sub is still there,” Joe whispered.

  “But it looks as if the crew is busy getting ready to leave,” Frank observed as he watched men, carrying flashlights, scurry around the deck. Their voices could be heard plainly in the still, night air.

  “We must leave at once!” came Vincenzo’s voice.

  “But we haven’t finished replacing the batteries,” shouted a crewman.

  “You can complete the work at sea,” the leader insisted. “If we wait here until morning, the whole army will be on us!”

  “There’s not a moment to lose,” Frank urged. “We must stop them.”

  “I shall have my men spread out and converge on the submarine from all directions,” Arandas declared.

  Cautiously they stalked toward the shore of the cove. Then, at Arandas’s signal, the soldiers charged ahead. The crewmen were caught completely off guard. Chaos followed.

  “There’s Vincenzo!” Frank yelled. “He’s climbing out of the rear deck hatch! Don’t let him get away!”

  He and Joe rushed after the thief. Two crewmen who attempted to intercept the boys were bowled over by Joe, and all three splashed into the water.

  Frank kept after Vincenzo, who leaped off the deck onto the shore. As the youth closed the gap between them, the man picked up a small boulder and hurled it at his pursuer.

  Frank ducked, then lunged ahead and struck Vincenzo on the chin with a straight right. The man crumpled to the ground in a daze.

  “This is the end of the line for you!” Frank cried, yanking Vincenzo to his feet.

  The action stopped as quickly as it had started. Arandas and his soldiers were lining up the crewmen on the shore of the c ove.

  “We found Arturo, the pilot of the helicopter, locked in a cabin aboard the submarine,” the lieutenant told the boys. “He said he landed with Vincenzo just north of the ridge. I suggest you fly with your captive back to my camp near Montaraz when it’s light enough.”

  The boys rested the remainder of the night. At dawn they took the handcuffed Vincenzo to the helicopter. The pilot started up the engine, engaged the rotor blades, and made a quick take-off. When they arrived at their destination, Arturo was dispatched to pick up Mr. Hardy and the others.

  “Hello, Dad!” the young detectives chorused as their father, Chet, and Tico were delivered back to the camp.

  “I hear you boys did a great job,” Mr. Hardy said.

  “We were lucky,” Joe replied.

  “Did you get any more information from Tremmer?” Frank inquired.

  “Yes,” Mr. Hardy said. “And he’s eager to return to Washington to testify. We’ll have to wait our turn with Vincenzo, though. The Mexican government gets first crack at him.”

  “There’s still one thing I can’t figure out,” Joe said. “How did Vincenzo get his hands on a couple of submarines?”

  “Tremmer told me about that too,” his father answered. “He bought two obsolete subs in the States for scrap metal. Then he smuggled them out of the country for reconditioning. It wasn’t difficult for him to dig up a few ex-submariners who weren’t particular how they earned their money.”

  “By the way,” Chet said, “I wonder what happened to the other sub you spotted in Barmet Bay.”

  “My guess is that it’s headed here by way of Cape Horn,” Frank said. “The trip will take several weeks.”

  “We’ll notify the Mexican government to be on the lookout for it,” Mr. Hardy announced.

  Leaving their prisoners with the soldiers, the Hardys, Chet, Tico, and Juan Marcheta were taken by helicopter to the small airport, where Jack Wayne was waiting.

  “I just heard a flash you’ll be interested in,” the pilot told them. “The Argentine Navy boarded an unidentified submarine they spotted off their coast. The only markings it had was a strange symbol painted on the conning tower with the letter P on it. They seized the sub and its crew.”

  “That winds up the case,” Joe said with a wide grin. But he was looking forward to another challenging mystery to solve. In the near future, the young detectives would tackle The Hidden Harbor Mystery.

  Soon the Hardy plane was winging back to Mazatlan with happy news for Señor Marcheta.

  “I’m sure Father will want to celebrate with a feast,” Juan said.

  “We’re all for it,” Joe said, laughing. “But don’t have any bulls around. We don’t want Chet getting more ideas about becoming a matador.”