The Mystery of the Spiral Bridge Read online

  “Cut the chatter,” Frank warned. “Those crooks might be listening to us right now.” In low tones he urged that they scour every inch of ground around the natural bridge. “Mike and the other man didn’t just vanish by magic!”

  It took until late afternoon before Joe stumbled upon a clue. He noted that a number of branches had been freshly cut from a willow tree.

  “You think they were used for camouflage, Frank?” Joe asked.

  “That’s my guess,” Frank said. “They’re hiding something.”

  “Come on. We’ve got to find it,” Joe said excitedly.

  The rays of the sinking sun were filtering through the treetops, casting an oblique light on the forest floor. It was then that a glint caught the searcher’s eyes. It showed through what appeared to be a thicket, but on closer examination the Hardys found a cleverly rigged bower of willow boughs.

  Tensely the boys parted the greenery and peered into the depths. The glint shone from the steering wheel of a jeep! “The same jeep we saw coming from Boonton!” Joe exclaimed.

  The boys found that the vehicle bore a license number, but otherwise no identification. The Hardys, however, noted that the hiding place was close to the right-hand base of the natural bridge, with the car facing the rock pile.

  The trio posted themselves near the camouflage for an hour, but nobody appeared. Soon it grew dusky and the boys retreated downstream to observe the bridge. As darkness fell, Chet suddenly pointed to the underside of the span. “Frank! Joe!” he said excitedly. “There’s a light coming from that hole!”

  “Somebody’s inside!” Frank turned to his brother. “Joe, your guess about erosion really zeroed in! The bridge itself is the gang’s hideout!”

  But how to get inside? Frank finally came up with a plan. “There must be an opening among those boulders. Joe, you and Chet look again. I’ll stand guard here.”

  Joe left the binoculars, a flashlight, and the radio with Frank. Also the nylon rope, which he had carried looped from his belt.

  The light from the rising full moon helped guide Chet and Joe to the other side of the brook and the rocky base of the arch.

  This time even the surface of each boulder was examined carefully. One after another proved to be hard and firm, with no hint of a possible crevice entranceway.

  Suddenly Chet beckoned excitedly to Joe, who scrambled over.

  “Look!” Chet whispered. He pointed to a yawning hole near the bottom of a huge boulder. “I can just squeeze through it!”

  Joe put his ear to the opening. The sound of men’s voices echoed dimly from inside.

  “Let’s get Frank!” Chet said.

  “Wait,” Joe whispered. “If we can case this layout, it’ll be a big help to the police.”

  Reluctantly Chet agreed. “Lead on,” he said with a resigned sigh.

  The narrow opening quickly gave way to a tunnel which was head-high. Joe and Chet stood up and listened. When their eyes became accustomed to the dimness, the boys felt their way upward along what proved to be a series of looping curves.

  A thought struck Joe. “Sure!” he said aloud. “This passage is like a spiral! That explains the helix password. Dad must have discovered this natural spiral bridge just before he was captured!”

  Chet opened his mouth to reply, but never did. Suddenly two men sprang toward them from tall niches on either side of the rock wall.

  Joe and Chet, caught off balance, struggled violently but in vain. Ropes bound their arms to their sides and they were pushed roughly along through the spiral interior. Here and there, kerosene lanterns, fastened to the wall, lighted the sinister faces of their captors. Neither was familiar to the boys. “We got you pests for good this time!” snarled one. “Your luck’s run out.”

  “It sure has, Pete,” the other chortled.

  By now they were at the top of the arch where the tunnel leveled off. The captive sleuths were shunted into a small side chamber, carved out of solid rock. The light from several lanterns showed the place to be a veritable arsenal with weapons of all types hanging on the walls, and around a rough-hewn table in the center sat four men—the same men who had been riding in the jeep the other day.

  Another man, tall and gaunt-faced, stood lounging in the shadows against the far wall. When he came forward into the light, Joe’s jaw dropped and he stared at the man in utter disbelief.

  “Mortimer Prince!” The vagrant Frank and Joe had met in New York!

  As Joe watched, half-dazed, Mortimer Prince moved to the head of the table and sat down. The thug called Pete stepped up and addressed him with an air of great self-satisfaction.

  “We got the Hardy boys. What’ll we do with them, Baron?”

  CHAPTER XX

  Swinging Tactics

  JOE blinked in astonishment. Mortimer Prince was the baron! The gangleader rose from the table, his face contorted in fury.

  “Fools!” Prince stormed at the two henchmen. “You only got Joe Hardy. This fat boy is not Frank!”

  Pete looked frightened. “Ferd and I thought we had ’em both.” He pointed to Chet. “You sure he ain’t Frank Hardy?”

  “I know the Hardys!” the baron shouted. “Get going and nab Frank!”

  Ferd and Pete scurried out of the rock-hewn chamber. In an undertone Joe rapidly told Chet that the baron was the bum that he and Frank had encountered in Manhattan. “Shut up, you two!” the baron ordered.

  “Who are you, anyway?” Joe asked boldly. “And what kind of racket are you up to?”

  “Never mind. It’s enough for you to know that I’ve outsmarted Fenton Hardy and his sons!”

  “You’re the one who nearly killed my father!” Joe said angrily. “Why?”

  The baron’s eyes held a cruel glint. “That old man of yours sent me up the river twice!”

  One of Prince’s henchmen said menacingly, “Nobody can do that to the baron. It means curtains!”

  Chet went white as a sheet, and Joe felt a tingle of fear up his spine. If Frank could only get away! Meanwhile, Joe decided to try stalling for time.

  “Those ex-cons working for you now,” he said, “aren’t following your orders to sabotage the road construction just for laughs.”

  “That’s right.” The baron was obviously pleased with himself. “Once you and your nosy pals are out of the way, I’ll put the kibosh on Prito’s job permanently.”

  Chet found his voice. “You’ll never get away with it.”

  “Ha-ha! Listen to fatso!” came Mike Shannon’s sneering voice as he entered. “This time you punks are all washed up.”

  Joe ignored him and shot another question at the baron. “Are you trying to prevent the road from being built because of those natural gas wells?”

  A mocking expression crossed the baron’s face. He bragged that one of his men had found the gas deposit by accident. Now the baron was scheming to buy the land at a ridiculously low price.

  “Meantime,” he added gloatingly, “I have a pipe down there with a valve on it. When we light the gas at night, it scares the devil out of people around here—keeps ’em from snooping.”

  Joe queried him about the explosion the boys had heard after seeing Rosy. The baron smirked. “That was because of faulty ignition.” He went on to say that the new county road would bring too much traffic near the gang’s unique hiding place in the spiral bridge. He was determined that the road construction would not be completed until he had secured the land with the gas deposit.

  The boys learned from the baron how Willy Teeple had been forced to work for the gang. “I just remind Willy that if he squeals on us, his father will get the same treatment as Fenton Hardy.”

  The baron went on to describe the detective’s capture. He had been waylaid by several of the gang near the gas well, where his scorched brief case had been found later by the baron.

  “After that everything was simple,” Prince said smugly. “We put Hardy in our special dungeon here. Foolishly he tried to break loose but we—er—discouraged him.” />
  Joe clenched his fists. “He still managed to escape from you rats!”

  “He must have pulled a Houdini act.” The baron shrugged. “But he’s through as a gum-shoe.”

  “Baron,” Joe said, “you should give up. You’re a two-time loser. Next time you’ll go to prison for life.”

  “There won’t be any next time,” said the baron. “By the way, I intend to spring Monk Smith after we take care of you kids!”

  The other men guffawed. “We’ll bury the evidence, won’t we, Baron?” one said with a meaningful look at the captives.

  At that moment Frank Hardy was busy eluding the two henchmen, Pete and Ferd. He had seen them emerge from the boulder entrance, and surmised that Joe and Chet were in the hands of the criminals. Frank had quickly hit upon a plan.

  As the two men ranged farther from the bridge, Frank crept up to the camouflaged jeep. On the floor he found a toolbox and took out a stout screw driver and a small sledge hammer. Next he opened the hood, and, groping in the darkness, finally managed to jump the wires to the ignition. The engine turned over and chugged to life.

  Carrying the tools, Frank scrambled with desperate speed onto the top of the stone bridge directly over the hole underneath. He found a small fissure into which he inserted the screw driver, and tamped it as quietly as he could into the soft limestone rock.

  Then the young sleuth tied one end of the nylon rope around the makeshift piton. The other end he secured tightly to his belt.

  “This is my only chance,” Frank thought, his heart pounding.

  He grasped the rope tightly and let himself down toward the underside of the arch. Now came the crucial moment. He pushed hard against the rock with his feet, at the same time paying out ten feet of rope. The result produced a pendulum motion.

  Swinging back and forth, Frank aimed for the hole. Could he make it? Twice his feet missed the opening by inches. On the third try Frank succeeded, and with a jackknife movement, pulled himself up into the bridge.

  Exhausted, Frank flopped onto the stony floor. But a moment later he untied the rope from his belt and weighted the end with a heavy stone. Frank set forth through the passageway, dimly lighted by kerosene lanterns on the wall.

  Although his main concern was whether or not his decoy trick with the jeep would work, Frank noted the spiral shape of the corridor. The helix sign flashed through his mind just as a voice echoed hoarsely down the passage. “Hey, the jeep’s runnin’!” someone yelled.

  Frank crouched in a deep rocky niche and heard heavy footsteps pounding on the stone floor. When he was certain the men had gone outside, Frank proceeded until he came to a side chamber hollowed from the rock. Inside he saw Chet and Joe.

  “Frank!” Joe exclaimed. “How’d you get here—what—”

  “Tell you later. Hurry!”

  Their arms still bound to their sides, Chet and Joe followed Frank to the hole in the bridge. Frank whipped out his knife, cut their bonds, and whispered. “The fireworks should start any minute. When they do, we’ll slide down the rope and drop into the stream.”

  No sooner had he spoken than a volley of shots filled the air. “They’re firing at the jeep. They think someone’s trying to steal it. Come on!”

  Chet was first down the rope, Joe next, then Frank. They slipped into the stream and swam quickly to cover on the far bank. They could see flashlights winking on and off in the woods like fireflies, and then, abruptly, the gunfire ceased.

  The silence that ensued was almost uncanny. Cautiously the Hardys and Chet crept from concealment toward the flickering lights. The scene that met their eyes made them gasp in amazed relief and joy.

  Held at bay by a force of law officers, mostly State Police, were the baron’s men! Accompanying the police were Tony, Willy Teeple, and Robert Angan, the foreman.

  “The baron got away—disappeared!” Tony shouted upon seeing his three pals.

  Frank pointed to the stone bridge. “He’s probably inside.”

  A tear-gas bomb was lobbed through the hole. Soon the baron, choking and begging for mercy, staggered into view.

  The Hardys and their pals clapped one another on the back and exchanged stories. “Tony, how did you and the posse find this hideout?” asked Frank.

  “I just couldn’t stay put when I suspected you fellows were in danger. Besides, I feel okay now.” Tony explained that he had spotted Willy Teeple in town and pleaded with him, for the Hardys’ sakes, to reveal what he knew about the gang. The two boys then had persuaded the Boonton police to round up a search force.

  First, the lawmen had gone to the road construction site, where members of the gang, including Bond Deemer, were placed under arrest.

  “We got here just in time to hear the shooting,” Tony said.

  Standing among the captured gangsters was the bellman from the Eagle Hotel. He readily admitted eavesdropping on the boys and conking Tony. The Hardys and Chet related to the police what the baron had told them of his activities. Lieutenant Murphy stepped forward and praised the boys for their clever sleuthing.

  “You’ve made a big catch,” he added, indicating the baron. “That’s really Gerald Thurston, master of disguises! He was the ‘cousin’ who had visited Yancy in the hospital.”

  Joe whistled. “I’ll say! Intern, housebreaker, and bum!”

  Thurston glared balefully at the Hardys but said nothing. Frank, Joe, Chet, and Tony were also congratulated by Angan. “The road crew owes you a lot,” he said gratefully, and Willy agreed vigorously.

  The next day the boys flew back to Bayport. When Frank and Joe reached home they found their father resting in his room.

  “Dad!” said Joe. “It’s great to see you looking better!”

  “Terrific job, fellows!” Mr. Hardy said.

  Frank beamed. “Thanks. I’m glad we could pinch-hit for you. But we’re still puzzled about a few things.”

  The boys took seats near Mr. Hardy’s bed and the detective told his story. Before setting out for Kentucky, he had pulled two cards and dossiers from his files, Matlack’s and Thurston’s. When the baron had found Mr. Hardy’s brief case, he discovered the records inside. He had promptly flown to Bayport, gone to Radley’s home and stolen Matlack’s card, knowing that Frank and Joe would check their father’s duplicate file. Mr. Hardy smiled at his sons.

  “When your pursuit of Matlack ended in the Queens graveyard,” he said, “Thurston figured you’d be discouraged and give up the case.”

  “Hey!” exclaimed Frank. “Now I get it!” He hurried into his father’s study and opened the files to the T’s. Thurston’s card was gone, and there was a memorandum in its place saying, “I suspect Matlack or Thurston, but because of his M.O. I think Thurston is our man.”

  Frank burst into his father’s room, waving the card. “Dad, what a terrific deduction!”

  Mr. Hardy explained that Thurston had written him threatening letters while in prison. “When he was released, I suspected he’d make trouble for me if he ever had a chance.”

  “He sure did!” Joe said grimly.

  Frank asked his father how he had escaped from the dungeon in the spiral bridge.

  “Willy Teeple helped me at great risk to himself,” said the detective. “One day the gang left Willy as lookout at the bridge. He unlocked my handcuffs and assisted me to the road, where Mr. Teeple gave me a ride to Boonton. Willy put the handcuffs on me again so the baron would not suspect him of defecting.”

  Frank and Joe, pleased that the mystery was solved, wondered if another as exciting would come their way. They were soon to find out when challenged by The Secret Agent on Flight 101.

  At this point, footsteps were heard on the stairs and into the room trooped Mr. Prito with Tony, Chet, Biff, and Phil.

  Everyone cheered when Mr. Prito announced that since the Kentucky wilderness would be opened up by the completion of his road project, plans had been made to develop the natural bridge as a main tourist attraction of the proposed park.

  Joe grin
ned. “You still going to open up a hot-dog stand down there, Chet?”

  The chunky boy groaned. “No more spiral bridges for me. I’m going to stick to something safe, like shot-putting!”