The Secret Warning Page 11

  “From the American captain who sank her,” Frank said. “I guess you never knew it happened so close to Whalebone, Rollie,” he added. “That was before you joined the Svenson.”

  Perry turned to the Simon salvage master, Fosburg. “Okay, you heard him. What’s the picture?”

  Fosburg explained that the shattered U-boat had been lying on its side. Its stern was sunk deep in the muck and its bow was tilted upward, resting on the ledge of an undersea reef. But an explosive charge which Bock had set off inside the sub earlier that morning had partially dislodged it.

  On his next dive, the wreck had suddenly slipped off the ledge completely. Bock had been pinned under a flap of hull metal.

  “It’s gradually squashing him downward as the ship settles into the silt,” Fosburg ended grimly. “Ryan says it’s only a question of time till he’s crushed or his suit punctures.”

  “Can’t you take a purchase on the bow and hoist it enough to free him?” Perry asked.

  The salvage master shook his head. “Bock’s lying under the after edge of the flap. Raising the bow would just push him down worse. The only way would be to parbuckle the whole U-boat so’s to raise the keel—but there’s not a chance of getting wires under her. Not in time, anyhow.”

  “Then what about cutting away the flap with a torch?”

  “Too dangerous. Bock was carrying another charge of explosive and dropped it when the hulk fell on him. Dynamite and primacord, all set to blow if the flame comes anywhere near it!”

  “Then what’re you going to do—let him die?” Perry flared angrily.

  The salvage master shrugged. “Ryan’s afraid to risk it. Personally, I don’t blame him.”

  “Then break out a cutting torch and another diving rig—I’ll do it myself!” Perry snapped.

  Fosburg called down to Bock to ask if he would agree.

  “You kidding?” the trapped diver called back. “What have I got to lose!”

  Perry dropped the phone and instantly suited up.

  The Hardys and Chet waited, tense and silent, as Perry made his descent. For a time there was no word from him after he reached the bottom.

  Then his voice came over the deck speaker!

  “There may be another way to do this, Fosburg. Ask Frank and Joe Hardy if they’re willing to come down with face masks and air lines.”

  Both boys quickly volunteered to do so, and were informed the air lines also contained a phone connection.

  Perry went on, “Have each of them bring down an iron needle with a hoisting wire attached to it.”

  Removing their clothes, Frank and Joe donned skin-diving suits from the Sleuth and special face masks from the Salvor’s diving locker. Meanwhile, the needles had been laid out on deck—each a huge iron rod with a wire rope shackled to an eye at one end. The rods were lowered over the side, with Frank and Joe clinging to them. Then the wires were payed out slowly.

  The green ocean water grew darker and dimmer as they descended. At last, like a still, ghostly monster, the long, slim hulk of the dead U-boat could be made out on the bottom.

  Perry and Ryan—the Salvor’s apprentice diver —stood waiting for them.

  The Hardys felt an ominous chill of fear as they saw Bock’s helmet and shoulders extending out from under the jagged flap of metal below the keel.

  Fosburg transmitted Perry’s orders over the boys’ phone lines. “He wants those needles jammed way under the flap. Frank, you help Ryan with one rod—and, Joe, help Perry.”

  With grunting effort, the four divers at last got the needles wedged into position. Then Perry’s voice reached the crew on deck:

  “Okay, put a strain on those wires!”

  As winches heaved the wires taut, the rods slowly came upright, levering the metal flap upward. In moments the rescuers had pulled Bock free!

  Then came the long, slow ascent back to the Simon Salvor. Safe on deck with his helmet off, Bock gasped out his thanks.

  “Still want to break my neck, Rollie?”

  Perry, somber-faced, shook his head. “Not yet, anyhow. Too much trouble saving it. Just tell me one thing—did you have anything to do with a gelignite booby trap on the Katawa?

  The rescued diver swore fervently that he knew nothing about it. “Haven’t been near her. I’ll admit I was the frogman who slipped the Petrel’s anchor—but that’s all. And listen, Perry. About that old score you’ve been wanting to settle—be—lieve me, I didn’t try to cut your air line.”

  “Okay, Gus. I’ll take your word.”

  Bock stuck out his huge paw. “I’m willing to call it quits.”

  “Guess I go along with that,” said Perry, shaking hands.

  “Now,” Frank said to Bock, “how about telling us what you fellows are after aboard the U-boat?”

  The diver opened his mouth to reply, but Kraus cut him off sharply. “Tell them nothing, Bockl Nothing—do you hear?”

  “Shut up, Kraus!” Bock retorted. “These guys saved my life. I’m not only gonna tell ‘em—we’re gonna cut ’em in, see?”

  Ignoring Kraus’s protests, he turned back to the boys and Perry. “You know what’s down in that sub? Five hundred grand in American currency—that’s what—a cool half million!”

  Chet’s eyes grew big as saucers, and the Hardys were just as startled as their chum.

  “A half million—how do you know?” Perry asked Bock.

  “Kraus here was a torpedoman on it!”

  Bock went on to explain that in the closing months of World War II a group of top Nazis had fled Germany aboard the U-511 with a fortune in American currency.

  “Heading where—to South America?” Frank broke in.

  “Right—until steering trouble and dogged pursuit by Allied sub-killers took them far off course.”

  The U-boat had then hove to off Whalebone Island for repairs one night and sent a reconnaissance party ashore.

  “Kraus got separated from the party and was stranded when his mates were suddenly called back to the ship.”

  “Because of the Svenson!” Chet spoke up.

  Bock nodded. “The Germans sighted Captain Early’s destroyer. Then the Svenson engaged the U-511 and sank her, but Kraus thought it got away.”

  “So Kraus was the red-bearded apparition who scared the wits out of Tang, the lighthouse keeper!” put in Joe.

  Bock chuckled. “You guessed it, kid. He hid in a cave and finally got to the mainland in a boat swiped from a fisherman.”

  Kraus, the boys learned, had met Bock by chance years later. An exchange of information between the two had led to the present salvage effort.

  “I remembered the sinking,” Bock went on, “and knew that Captain Early’s cane gave the exact location.”

  In response to further questioning by the Hardys, Bock admitted his group was responsible for the various break-ins and the highway incident involving Captain Early’s car. But their search for the sunken submarine had been fruitless until their prowler came upon Early’s carved cane at the Hardy house.

  “That’s the guy right over there,” Bock said, pointing to a muscular member of the salvage crew. “You won’t hold it against him, will you?”

  Frank and Joe shook their heads. “No hard feelings as long as you’re giving us the whole story,” said Frank. “But Kraus will have to square himself with immigration authorities.”

  Bock, however, denied any knowledge of the “ghost” at the Hardys’ house or the island explosion trap.

  “Then why did you threaten Dad?” Joe asked.

  “I was plenty sore that he kept us from getting the salvage contract for the Katawa,” Bock admitted. “It would’ve given us swell cover for this job and kept you guys out of our hair. Right now, I’m sure glad you were around!”

  The Petrel party, eager to resume their own diving operation, soon headed back in the Sleuth to their ship.

  It was nightfall when Perry telephoned electrifying news from the bottom: He had succeeded in forcing an entry to the Katawa’s s
trong room!

  “What about the head?” Frank called down tensely.

  “It’s here, all right. At least there’s a case that looks like the one the insurance company described—and there’s something heavy inside!”

  Some time later, a breathless group gathered in Captain Rankin’s cabin. On the desk lay a metal carrying case. Frank, acting for his father as the representative of Transmarine, was allowed to open it. Inside was an object wrapped in green velvet cloth.

  “J-j-jeepers! Unwrap it quick!” Chet urged.

  Frank stripped away the velvet cloth, revealing a gleaming gold head.

  “Is it the real McCoy?” Perry asked.

  “Sure looks like it,” Frank murmured. He hesitated, then took out his jackknife and made a tiny scratch in the base of the statuette.

  Grayish metal could be seen beneath the gold!

  “It’s gilded lead!” Joe cried out. “A fake!” He stopped short as sudden confused noises and shouts were heard on deck.

  “What’s going on out there?” Captain Rankin exclaimed. He and the others sped from the cabin. As they reached the deck, the five shielded their eyes and staggered. Dense clouds of fuming vapor were billowing over the deck!

  “Tear gas!” Frank gasped. “Look—those men!”

  Near the glowing deckhouse, ghostly figures with gas masks could be seen darting about, swinging clubs and blackjacks! Petrel crewmen rushing topside were promptly clubbed as they came on deck.

  “We’ve—got—to stop them!” Joe yelled, his eyes stinging with pain. He groped forward past a fallen sailor, then felt himself roughly thrown to the deck.

  Frank and Chet battled valiantly. But an instant later they were seized from behind in a grip of iron. Half-blinded and choking, the boys were helpless!

  Soon the entire Petrel crew was subdued. Many, including Roland Perry, were unconscious. Frank, Joe, Chet, Captain Rankin, and one other man stood on deck with their hands tied.

  “But who—?” Frank murmured to himself.

  Dazed, the captive group squinted through the darkness as two of the mystery raiders approached them.

  When they removed their masks, the Hardys gasped.

  “Mehmet Zufar!” Joe cried out. “And Fritz Bogdan!”

  The fat, mustached art dealer rubbed his hands and sneered triumphantly. Then he commanded, “Captain, you will now hand over the head which your diver brought up from the sunken Katawa before—”

  “Before what?” Captain Rankin snapped back.

  Zufar chuckled and glanced over the rail at the dark water.

  “Before,” he whispered, “we—as you say—scuttle this ship and send you all to the bottom!”

  CHAPTER XX

  Rhamaton’s Curse

  “THIS is piracy!” Captain Rankin exploded. “Piracy and murder! You’ll all pay for it with your lives!”

  Zufar twirled his mustache smugly. “Ah, but no, my dear captain—not with all the evidence lying on the bottom of the ocean. Your ship will disappear without a trace.”

  “Don’t count on that!” Rankin stormed. “Chances are my radioman got off a call for help before you thugs took over.”

  “I hate to disillusion you.” Zufar smiled. “But your radioman has been in my pay all along. He has been most useful to us.”

  “Harry Egner? I don’t believe it!”

  “It is true, nevertheless. He, of course, will die with you, now that his usefulness is at an end.”

  The Hardys clenched their fists, forgetting fear in their anger at being trapped. Chet Morton threw them a despairing glance.

  Frank’s jaw tightened. He thought, “We’ll have to play for time.” In a loud voice he asked Zufar, “How did you and your gang get here?”

  “From a coastal hideout,” Zufar replied with a gloating smirk. “As soon as Egner radioed us that the Rhamaton head was on the way up from the Katawa, we lost no time.”

  Bogdan put in boastfully, “Thanks to my idea of using tear gas, our task was made easier.”

  Frank ignored the curio dealer and kept his eyes fixed on Zufar. “You had to keep the fake head from coming into the hands of the insurance company, is that it?”

  “Exactly. Even though you and your brother detected the authentic head in New York, I still look forward to collecting one million dollars insurance from Transmarine Underwriters, you see.”

  “But why were you shipping the fake in the first place?” Chet asked. “You couldn’t have known beforehand the Katawa would sink in a collision.”

  “To palm it off on somebody!” Joe put in.

  “Quite so. I intended to sell the—er—reproduction to a wealthy South American collector—whose agent had examined the original in Beirut.” Zufar laughed. “Clever? At any rate, I felt the chance of doubling my profits was worth the risk.”

  Meanwhile, Zufar explained, the real head had been sent on to Bogdan to sell secretly elsewhere.

  “Then came the sinking.” The art dealer shook his head sadly. “But it enabled me, of course, to claim a million dollars in insurance—if the fake head were never salvaged.”

  “So you sent down your own diver?” Frank interjected.

  “Exactly. But unfortunately our man was unable to get through to the strong room before the Petrel arrived.”

  Captain Rankin, who had been standing grim-faced, now broke out in an angry voice, “Then Frank and Joe were right! You took out the telegraph and tachometer instead—as a cover-up for the hole in the Katawa hull!”

  At this, Bogdan stuck his face close to the Hardys. “Smart kids! We’ll see how smart you are when we sink you forty fathoms under!”

  Chills crawled up the boys’ spines, but Frank, undaunted, pressed further. “Who was your diver?”

  Zufar pointed to a swarthy, thickset man. One of Bogdan’s employees! He chuckled. “And also the ‘ghost’ who gave you such a hard time on Whalebone Island.”

  Joe glared at the diver. “So you blinked the signals, conked our Dad, and set off the explosion.”

  It was further learned that he also had stolen Lawson’s rental boat, left the warning note, ransacked Mr. Hardy’s camp, and stove the hole in his boat.

  Zufar went on, “Our diver’s ‘ghost’ camouflage was quite useful, since he had to stay on the island while working on the Katawa. He returned, you see, after you left the island the first time.”

  “What about the ghost we saw at home?” Joe put in.

  “That was me,” Bogdan spoke up.

  “So there were two of you playing the ghost game,” said Frank.

  “Yes,” Bogdan replied. “It was another of my brilliant ideas. I had heard the legend of Whalebone Island, and thus thought of reviving Red Rogers’ spirit.”

  “No wonder you looked familiar the first time we saw you at your shop!” Frank muttered.

  Joe glared at the grinning art dealer and his cohorts. “You’re a slick actor, Zufar! I suppose the broken-cat business with Mr. Scath was just an act to set the stage for my father’s kidnapping.”

  “Mostly that—but also, partly, to make myself appear innocent of any hint of fraud.”

  Frank spoke up, “That gelignite booby trap on the Katawa this morning—did your man plant it?”

  Zufar nodded. “Thanks to Egner’s timely warning by radio that your diver was close to the strong room. A pity it failed.”

  “How about the warning cablegram from Cairo?” Joe said. “Was Van Hoek in your pay too?”

  “Not only that—he made our counterfeit Pharaoh’s head. We hoped the cablegram might serve as a false lead, perhaps even frighten your father off the case.” Zufar sneered. “Unfortunately, Van Hoek himself is a superstitious fool! The thought of the Pharaoh’s curse began to prey on his mind and he finally fled from Cairo. We have lost track of him.”

  “We’re wasting time, gabbing with these brats, Zufar!” Bogdan snarled. “Let’s open the seacocks and sink this tub!”

  “Quite right, quite right, my friend. But first we must ha
ve these five drag their shipmates below. It will be much better, I think, if no bodies float to the surface.”

  “Oh yeah?” a harsh voice broke in. “Maybe that’s what you bilge rats will be doin’ when we get through with you!”

  Men were suddenly swarming over the rail!

  Joe let out a yelp of joy. “It’s Gus Bock and his buddies!”

  The burly diver leaped aboard, with fists swinging. Kraus, Fosburg, Ryan, and the Salvor’s captain joined the fray. Bock paused long enough to free the Hardys and the others.

  Zufar’s henchmen, stunned by the swift turn of events, fought back, wildly brandishing their weapons.

  “Stop them! Stop them!” the fat ringleader shrilled, his voice rising hysterically. The next instant Bock seized him and drew back a mighty fist. Zufar begged for mercy. “D-don’t hit met I give up.”

  Frank spotted Bogdan about to swing himself over the rail. The young sleuth leaped toward him and pinioned the curio dealer’s arms. Kraus, nearby, sent a rocketing uppercut to the jaw of the “ghost” diver, who crumpled to the deck.

  Joe and Chet had succeeded in disarming and capturing two more of the enemy.

  Finally Zufar’s gang were completely subdued. By this time most of the Petrel’s unconscious crewmen had revived. Roland Perry also had come to.

  With Zufar, Bogdan, and the other prisoners tied and locked in a cabin, warm handshakes were exchanged between the Petrel’s men and their rescuers.

  “Looks as though we’re all square now—eh, Gus?” Perry said with a grin.

  “Who says, bubblehead?” Bock retorted. “I told you we were gonna cut you guys in on the U-boat dough and we are! In fact, we were just bringin’ it over to you when we got wind of what was goin’ on aboard.”

  He emptied a canvas bag onto the captain’s desk. The Hardys and Chet gasped as bundles of water-soaked green currency came tumbling out!

  “There you are, pals! Your share—a hundred grand. Divvy it up any way you like. The stuff got a bit water-logged in the chest, but you can still spend it.”

  Perry and his mates stared in astonishment, unable to find words. Then Frank peeled off a soggy bill and held it up.

  “Careful,” Bock advised. “That dough’s been down in Davy Jones’s locker so long it almost comes apart in your fingers.”