The Disappearing Floor Page 2
The detective greeted Frank and Joe with a warm smile. “Sit down, boys, and I’ll tell you what this case is all about.”
Mr. Hardy explained that he had been asked by a group of insurance underwriters to investigate a series of jewel thefts. The latest had occurred in New York the day before.
“We heard a news flash on that, Dad!” Joe exclaimed.
“Undoubtedly all the thefts have been pulled by the same gang,” the detective went on. “And there’s an odd feature. On every job, the guards or other persons involved seem to have lost their memory for a short period of time while the robbery was taking place.”
“You mean they passed out?” Frank asked.
Fenton Hardy shrugged. “None of them recalls passing out. But they all report a sensation of coming to, or snapping out of a deep sleep, as if they had lapsed into unconsciousness without realizing it.”
Gertrude Hardy, a tall, angular woman, pursed her lips and frowned shrewdly. “If you ask me, they were gassed,” she declared. “Some kind of nerve gas, probably—squirted at the victims through a blowpipe.”
Frank and Joe tried hard not to grin. Their aunt had definite opinions and never hesitated to express them.
“They may have been gassed,” Mr. Hardy agreed. “But if so, it’s strange that police experts were unable to discover any traces in the atmosphere afterward.”
“Maybe the crooks sucked it all back into their blowpipes,” Joe said mischievously.
Aunt Gertrude gave him a withering look. “Making fun of me, are you? Well, maybe you have a better theory, young man!”
Laura Hardy, a slim and pretty woman, exchanged a fleeting smile with her husband. Both knew that Aunt Gertrude loved to talk about detective cases with her brother and the boys, even though she pretended to disapprove of such dangerous work.
“Matter of fact, we got gassed ourselves tonight,” Frank put in quietly. He told about their chase of the black sports car, but glossed over the part about skidding across the road.
“Hmm.” Fenton Hardy knit his brows. “Do you think the driver could have recognized you—maybe from seeing your pictures in the paper?”
Frank shook his head. “I doubt it, although he may have glimpsed us in his rear-view mirror when we passed a street light. I think that when he spotted a car tailing him, he used the smoke screen to shake us.”
“Why, that man’s a menace!” Aunt Gertrude blurted out indignantly. “Why didn’t you radio the police at once? Mark my words, you’ll—”
The ringing of the telephone interrupted Aunt Gertrude’s prediction. Joe jumped up to answer it.
“Let me speak to Fenton Hardy,” said a curt, muffled voice.
“Who’s calling, please?” Joe asked.
“None of your business! Just tell him to get on the phone if he wants to learn something important!”
Fenton Hardy strode quickly to Joe’s side and took the receiver. “All right, I’m listening.”
“Another jewel heist has been planned. It’s going to be pulled aboard a yacht named the Wanda. She’s due in at East Hampton, Long Island, late tonight or early tomorrow morning. Got that?”
“I have it,” the detective replied. “But who is this speaking?”
“A friend. And don’t bother trying to trace the call!”
There was a cutoff click at the other end of the line. Mr. Hardy hung up thoughtfully and told the boys what the informer had said.
“I’d better follow up that tip-off,” he added. “I’ll drive down to East Hampton.”
“Are you sure that’s wise, Dad?” Frank asked worriedly. “The call may be a trick.”
“It’s a chance I’ll have to take, son.”
Mr. Hardy telephoned Suffolk County Police Headquarters on Long Island to report the tip. Before leaving the house, he suggested that the boys restudy the photo of Strang in his file, and also the typewritten data on the reverse side of it.
“Mind you, we have nothing on him,” the detective said. “But I think he’s one of the few jewel thieves in the country capable of master-minding a series of robberies like the ones I’m investigating.”
“Do you want the police to take him in for questioning?” Joe asked.
“No, that would only put him on guard. But I would like to know what he’s doing in Bayport!”
“We’ll keep an eye out for him,” Frank promised.
Mr. Hardy then placed a long-distance call to his top-flight operative, Sam Radley. Sam had flown to Florida with a charter pilot named Jack Wayne to wind up another case. Fenton Hardy instructed Sam to join him at East Hampton the following day.
Next morning, Frank and Joe ate a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, and homemade muffins, then started off in their convertible to pick up Chet Morton. After some grumbling, the stout boy agreed to help them search for the curious tiled square he had seen the night before. Frank pulled up on the dirt lane near the big oak tree.
“I don’t know why I let you two talk me into this,” Chet complained as they started up the slope. “I can’t seem to stay out of danger when you’re around.”
Joe laughed. “Stop griping. You don’t expect to hear any spooks in broad daylight, do you?”
When they reached level ground, Frank remarked, “Say, I see a house over there!”
Joe and Chet looked in the direction he was pointing. A large, weather-beaten mansion was visible through the trees some distance away.
“Didn’t notice any lights over that way last night,” Joe said. “Wonder if anyone lives there.”
“Maybe not,” Frank said. “Looks pretty run down.”
For half an hour the boys searched among the tall weeds and overgrown shrubbery. They failed to sight the tiled surface Chet had described, or to find Frank’s knife.
“Sure you weren’t just seeing things last night?” Frank asked Chet.
Joe chuckled. “Maybe just hearing things, too?”
Before Chet could reply, a voice barked out, “Stand right where you are! Now turn around, all three of you!”
The boys whirled in surprise. A tall, hawk-faced man with a thin, prominent nose was standing among the trees watching them. He had one hand in his suit-coat pocket, as if concealing a gun.
Frank and Joe gasped. The man looked like the one in the photograph of Noel Strang their father had in his files!
CHAPTER III
The Purple Stone
“DON’T stand there gawking!” the man snarled. “What are you kids looking for?”
Chet gulped. “W-well—uh—you see, 1-last night—”
“I lost my pocketknife,” Frank spoke up. “We were trying to find it.”
“Your pocketknife, eh?” The man scowled at the boys suspiciously. “You had no business nosing around here last night or anytime. This is private property. Now clear out!”
Chet, overcome with jitters, hastily started walking back to the car. Frank and Joe did not budge, and continued to stare at the man.
“You heard me!” he said in a loud, belligerent voice. “Beat it! And don’t come back!”
He took a few steps toward the Hardys and crooked his arm as if he were about to jerk his gun hand out of his pocket. Without a word, the brothers turned and followed Chet.
“That is Noel Strang!” Joe whispered. “Think we should call his bluff?’”
Frank shook his head. “Not now. Remember what Dad said.”
“He may not own this property,” Joe argued. “If he does, maybe we can find out what he’s doing here.”
“I intend to,” Frank said. “But let’s try to do it undercover, without making him suspicious.”
Chet had already climbed into the car. He was sitting stiffly in the back seat—still pale and nervous, but whistling off-key and trying to look casual.
Frank slid behind the wheel and Joe got in beside him. As they glanced back up the slope, the boys could see Strang watching them intently.
“Oh—oh,” Joe muttered. “I just thought of something!”
“Like what?” Frank asked.
“If he’s the one who used that smoke screen last night, he may recognize our convertible.”
“Smoke screen!” Chet gasped. In the rear-view mirror, Frank could see that the fat boy’s eyes were bulging with fear. “You mean that guy’s a gangster?”
“Not exactly,” Joe said, as Frank turned the car around. “Just a notorious jewel thief named Noel Strang.”
Chet groaned as the Hardys told him the details. “Oh, this is great! I don’t want to get mixed up in another one of your cases! You’d better take me home.”
The Hardys grinned. “Chet, you know you eat up excitement as well as food,” Frank said.
“It helps to keep your weight trimmed down,” Joe suggested.
“Listen! I’ll probably lose ten pounds just worrying about this thief,” Chet retorted. “Strang may even send his men after us!”
Joe chuckled. “Just threaten to sit on ’em—that’ll be enough of a scare.”
Frank suddenly looked troubled. “Now I just thought of something, Joe.”
“Bad?” Joe glanced at his brother.
“Not good. That knife has my name engraved on it. If Strang finds the knife, he may connect us with Fenton Hardy.”
Joe gave a low whistle. “Let’s hope he doesn’t find it!”
A short time later Frank swung up the graveled driveway leading to the Mortons’ farmhouse. Chet’s pretty, dark-haired sister Iola was seated on the front porch with her blond, brown-eyed friend Callie Shaw.
Iola bounced up from the porch swing as the boys stepped from the car. “Hi!” she exclaimed. “Wait’ll you see the surprise Callie and I have to show you!” The girls’ eyes sparkled with excitement.
Joe grinned at Iola, whom he considered very attractive. “Sounds pretty important.”
“Aw, it’s probably some new doodads for their charm bracelets,” Chet scoffed.
“Like fun!” Iola retorted. “It’ll make you turn green with envy—I mean purple!”
As the boys followed the two girls into the house, Callie explained that she and Iola had been rock hunting the day before. With a giggle, she also whispered to Frank that Chet and Iola were rivals at rock hounding.
In the dining room, Iola went straight to the old-fashioned punch bowl on the buffet and took out a stone about the size of a grape. It was pale violet and roughly crystalline in form.
“Feast your eyes!” she said, waving the stone under Chet’s nose.
“Well, hold it still so I can see it.” The chubby youth stared in grudging admiration.
“It’s beautiful,” Frank said. “Is that an amethyst?”
Iola bobbed her head proudly. “A real one!”
“We took it to Filmer’s Gemstone Shop this morning to make sure,” Callie added. “Mr. Filmer identified it for us.”
Chet’s eyes bugged out in awe. “Wow! A real jewel!” he gasped. “Where’d you find it?”
Iola and Callie blushed with embarrassment. “We don’t remember,” Iola confessed.
“You don’t remember?” Chet echoed. “How goofy can you get! Why, there might be a whole lode of amethysts around the spot!”
“But we picked up oodles of stones in several places,” Callie explained. “The light wasn’t good in the late afternoon and we didn’t realize that this one might be valuable.”
“We’re not even sure which one of us found it,” Iola put in. “We didn’t get excited until we sorted the stones this morning.”
Chet was about to make a wisecrack when Joe happened to glance out the window.
“Hey!” he yelled. “Your barn’s on fire!”
The others stared and gasped. Black smoke was billowing out through the open barn door!
“Good grief!” Chet shouted. “And Dad’s over at the vet’s this morning! Quick! Get some fire extinguishers and buckets of water!”
The five teen-agers dashed outside, followed by Mrs. Morton, who had hurried upstairs from the cellar when she heard their cries.
There was no sign of open flames from the barn, so Frank and Chet plunged inside to get a pair of fire extinguishers hanging on the wall. Joe and the girls, meanwhile, prepared to form a bucket brigade from the pump.
“Oh, my goodness!” Mrs. Morton cried distractedly as she hovered outside the barn. “Shall I call the fire department?”
“Don’t bother, Mom!” Chet shouted back. “This looks like a false alarm!”
Soon the smoke began to clear and the two boys emerged, grimy from the thick fumes. “A bucket of oil was burning,” Frank explained, coughing.
“Sure beats me how it started,” Chet added. “I wouldn’t think heavy tractor oil could ignite by spontaneous combustion.”
Relieved, they all trooped back to the house. Mrs. Morton provided soap and towels so Chet and Frank could wash in the kitchen. Joe and the girls returned to the dining room.
Iola went to pick up the amethyst but could not find it. “Callie, did you take our jewel outside with you?” she asked.
“No, you left it on the table, didn’t you?”
“I thought I did.” Iola hastily checked the punch bowl, then turned an anxious face to the others. “It’s not here!”
A frantic search followed, with Joe scrabbling on the floor and the girls going through every drawer and compartment of the buffet. The amethyst was gone! Frank and Chet heard the news as they came into the dining room.
“Oh, fine!” Chet groaned. “First a fire, and now you girls lose the only valuable stone we’ve ever found!”
Frank and Joe looked at each other with the same thought in mind.
“I’ll bet that fire was a trick to get us out of the house!” Joe exclaimed.
“You mean the stone was stolen?” Iola gasped.
“I’m afraid so,” Frank said. “By the same person who set fire to that bucket of oil.”
Callie’s eyes glowed with a sudden recollection. “I heard a car start up down the road just as we came back to the house!” she said. “I’ll bet that was the thief getting away!”
Chet plumped himself down in a chair. “Boy, this is turning out to be one swell day.” He grunted, then brightened. “Guess we may as well have lunch.”
Frank telephoned a report of the theft to the police and then called home to notify his mother that he and Joe would be lunching at the Mortons’.
Aunt Gertrude took the message. “By the way,” she said, “Tony Prito has called twice, trying to get hold of you and Joe. Wouldn’t tell me what he wanted, but he did say it was urgent.”
“Where can I call him?” Frank asked. “At his dad’s office?”
“Mmm—no, I believe he said he was phoning from the boat dock.”
“Okay, Aunty. Thanks.”
Frank and Joe apologized to Mrs. Morton for hurrying through the hearty lunch she served them. As soon as they had finished, the brothers excused themselves to go and find Tony Prito.
Tony, a dark haired, good-looking boy, was a close pal of the Hardys and they often went out on Barmet Bay with him in his motorboat, the Napoli. Frank and Joe drove quickly to the boat basin but could not see Tony anywhere.
“I’ll bet he’s out in the Napoli,” Joe said, staring out across the harbor.
“Probably so.” Frank glanced up at the sunny sky and then at the gently white-capped blue waters of the bay. “Let’s get the Sleuth, Joe, and try to find him.”
“Suits me.”
The Hardys hurried off to the boathouse where they kept their own motorboat.
At that moment Tony was just driving up to the Mortons’ house in his father’s pickup truck.
“Hi, Chet! Have you seen Frank and Joe today?” he called to the stout youth, who had come out to the porch.
“Sure. They had lunch here. Left about fifteen minutes ago, heading for the boat dock to find you.”
Tony suddenly went pale. “Man, I hope they don’t go out in the Sleuth!”
“Why not?” Chet asked, puzzled.
Chet hardly had time to get into the cab before Tony threw the truck into reverse and backed up. As he swung the vehicle around and sped down the road, he explained, “I saw two tough-looking guys sneak out of Frank and Joe’s boathouse. Somehow I have a hunch those men were up to no good!”
“Did you recognize them?” Chet asked, wide-eyed.
“No, but I’m afraid those men may have sabotaged it!”
“Didn’t you warn Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude?”
“Guess I should have,” Tony said ruefully. “But I didn’t want to alarm them.”
As the truck pulled up on the quay, Chet exclaimed and pointed toward the water. “There they go now!”
The Sleuth, with two figures aboard, was put-putting out across the bay.
“We’re too late,” Tony groaned.
The boys leaped out of the truck and began shouting and waving frantically to their friends. But the Hardys’ boat was too far out for the brothers to hear the cries.
Suddenly a loud explosion shook the Sleuth!
CHAPTER IV
The Jigsaw Face
THE force of the blast jerked the bow of the Sleuth up out of the water! Both its occupants were hurled overboard and the boat itself overturned. Smoke billowed from the scene.
“Come on!” Tony cried to Chet. “We must get out there and pick them up!”
“Where’s the Napoli?” Chet puffed as they ran along the quay.
“I left it tied up at the North Dock.”
People were already gathering excitedly along the waterfront. The two boys reached the North Dock and leaped into the motorboat. Chet cast off and Tony gunned the outboard into life. In a moment they were speeding out on the bay.
Chet, who was seated in the bow, shouted in relief, “Looks as if Frank and Joe are okay!”
The Hardys had been struggling in the water, but could now be seen clinging to their overturned craft. The Napoli came alongside.
“Boy, this is what I call service!” Joe said as he and Frank were hauled aboard.