The Secret of the Soldier's Gold Read online

  “By the time my father got back to our house, he was so scared that he could hardly talk. He knew the same thing that happened to Heinz could easily happen to us. So he immediately obtained passage for us on the next ship to the United States. He decided that it was too dangerous to take the gold.

  “Since the Gestapo had ways of getting information out of people, my father believed that in the end Heinz would reveal not only our whereabouts but also the location of the suitcase full of gold bars. My father’s hope, though, was that Heinz would say the gold was buried in the park.” Frau Rilke picked up her purse, opened it, and took out a piece of paper. She handed it to Frank. “I’ve drawn a map of the backyard of what used to be our house in Lisbon,” she said. “The X marks the spot where my father buried the suitcase of gold bars.”

  Frank and Joe studied the map together.

  “Well, this will certainly be helpful,” Joe said.

  “So you’ll help me?” Frau Rilke asked expectantly.

  “We’ll need to talk to our father first,” Frank said, “but Joe and I will do all we can to help you.”

  “Does anyone else besides your immediate family and the people in your old circle of friends know about the gold?” Joe asked.

  Frau Rilke started to shake her head but stopped suddenly. “Well, yes—but it would not be important after all of these years.”

  “What do you mean?” Catarina asked.

  “I had a very dear friend in Lisbon. She was a Portuguese girl who lived across the street from us. Rosa Santos was her name. I told her about the gold. You know how children are,” Frau Rilke said. “My parents said never to mention anything about the treasure to anyone, but Rosa and I were always making up stories for each other. So I told her my father had buried a suitcase full of gold bars in the park. I’m not sure if she believed me or not.”

  Frank and Joe looked at each other.

  “Are you sure you said ‘in the park’ and not ‘in our garden’?” Joe asked.

  Frau Rilke thought for a moment. “No—I’m not really sure,” she said. “It was just a game and I suppose I wanted to brag a bit to Rosa. She was always bragging to me about things her father did.”

  This could certainly complicate matters, Frank thought. If Frau Rilke had indeed told Rosa that the suitcase of gold bars was buried in her backyard, then after Frau Rilke and her family left, Rosa could have convinced somebody to dig for the gold.

  Joe looked at his watch. “We should be going,” he said. “Dad has some chores he wants us to do.”

  “Then you will help me?” Frau Rilke asked.

  “Yes, we’ll do all we can,” Frank told her again.

  “You are such wonderful young men,” Grandmother Otero said. “I am so glad you are friends with Catarina.”

  Frank and Joe said their good-byes, thanked Catarina’s parents for their hospitality, and followed Catarina to the door.

  “Well, you didn’t learn as much Portuguese as I’d hoped today,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “But we heard a very interesting story,” Joe said.

  “Do you think that’s all it is?” Catarina asked. “A story?”

  “No, I believe it happened. In fact, I’ve heard similar stories about families who lived through World War II,” Frank said. “The problem is that this all happened such a long time ago, and somebody could have already found the gold.”

  “We’ll talk to our dad about it,” Joe said. “I’ll call you tonight.”

  “Okay,” Catarina said. “And I’ll make a list of some of the most important Portuguese phrases to remember.”

  “Great!” Joe said.

  “You’d better add to that list something like, ‘We’re looking for a suitcase full of gold bars,’” Frank said, smirking.

  3 Friends Never Forget

  * * *

  When Frank and Joe arrived back at their house, their father was just coming out of his study.

  “How was the birthday party, boys?” Mr. Hardy asked. “Did you learn a lot of Portuguese?”

  “No, but we heard a really strange story, Dad,” Frank said. “We need to talk to you about it.”

  Fenton Hardy raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  Joe nodded. “A friend of Catarina’s grandmother’s, Frau Rilke, asked us to bring back a suitcase of gold bars from Lisbon. Her father buried the suitcase in the garden of their house during World War II.”

  Mr. Hardy gave them an astonished look and glanced down at his watch. “Well, I’m supposed to meet Chief Collig at police headquarters in twenty minutes, but it won’t hurt if I’m a few minutes late,” he said. “Come on into my study—I want to hear Frau Rilke’s story.”

  After hearing all about the gold and the relocation of Frau Rilke’s family, Fenton Hardy spoke. “Fascinating. I knew things like that happened, but I’ve never known anyone who actually experienced it.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought too,” Frank said.

  “Can we help her, Dad?” Joe said. “I think she’s really counting on us.”

  “Well, I’m not sure. We’ll just have to test the waters once we get to Lisbon. I’ll talk to my friends in the Lisbon Police Department about the best way to proceed. I believe that the German people still have a right to claim anything that was taken from them during that time,” Mr. Hardy said, looking at Frank and Joe. “Right now I wouldn’t say a word about this to anyone, though. In fact, I think it would be a good idea if one of you called Catarina and told her to relay that to her grandmother and Frau Rilke.”

  • • •

  Two days later the Hardy family—including Aunt Gertrude—boarded a flight from New York to Portugal. After six hours and forty minutes in the air, they landed at Lisbon’s Portela Airport.

  Inspector Oliveira met them just outside customs. “You may have to shed your coats,” he said. “It’s eighteen degrees outside.”

  “Oh, it’s freezing!” Aunt Gertrude said. “Why would I want to take off my coat?”

  “Oh no, I’m sorry. That’s eighteen degrees Celsius,” Inspector Oliveira said, smiling. “That’s about . . . hmm . . . sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit.”

  “Oh my, that sounds nice,” Mrs. Hardy said. “Much warmer than Bayport.”

  “If this weather keeps up, and maybe gets a little warmer, I’m going to be spending a lot of time on the beach,” Joe said to Frank. “I need to work on my tan.”

  “Great idea, Joe,” Frank agreed. “Right after we take care of business, though.”

  On the ride to the Hotel Lisboa Plaza in Lisbon, Inspector Oliveira pointed out some of the landmarks. From time to time Frank and Joe would listen, but they were really thinking about looking for Frau Rilke’s gold. On the flight from New York they had continued to discuss the matter with their father. Together they had decided that before they talked to the Portuguese authorities Frank and Joe would check out where Frau Rilke’s family had lived. They first had to see if the house and the garden were still there.

  “For all we know, the whole place could be a parking lot now,” Frank had suggested on the plane.

  Mr. Hardy had agreed.

  Joe now had a map of metropolitan Lisbon spread out on his lap and he and Frank were studying it. The address of Frau Rilke’s old house was 22 Rua de Francisco de Almeida. Joe could see that it was actually in Belém, a suburb of Lisbon.

  “That’s a famous place, Belém,” Frank said. “Vasco da Gama set sail for India from there in 1497.”

  “These red lines represent tram tracks,” Joe said. He traced one of the lines from their hotel to Belém. “Getting there should be easy.”

  The closer they got to the central part of Lisbon, the heavier and slower the traffic became. Joe folded up the map and looked out the window just as Inspector Oliveira said, “See those young men over there in front of that store? If the government doesn’t put a stop to their activities, Portugal is going to have some serious problems.”

  “What do you mean?” Frank asked.

&n
bsp; “They’re members of a local fascist group,” Inspector Oliveira replied. “We have several groups like this in Portugal, but so do almost all of the other countries in Europe. Unfortunately they’re cropping up all over the world these days. I just wish any of the fascists in Lisbon would do something illegal so we could lock them up in prison.”

  Joe leaned over to Frank. “Does he mean Nazis?” he whispered.

  “They probably don’t call themselves that,” Frank whispered back, “but yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what he means.”

  “I understand how you feel, Manuel,” Fenton Hardy said, “but in a democracy, such things just have to be tolerated.”

  Inspector Oliveira shrugged. It was obvious to Frank that he didn’t want to get into an argument over the matter with their father.

  “I guess none of us should really be surprised, since fascism probably never died out entirely after World War II,” Inspector Oliveira said. “Dr. Salazar ruled Portugal from 1932 until 1968, and he was a supporter of Hitler’s Germany and Franco’s Spain.”

  “That must have been a very difficult time for everyone,” Frank said.

  “It was. Well, here’s your hotel,” Inspector Oliveira said. “I think you’ll find it quite comfortable.”

  “It looks lovely,” Mrs. Hardy said.

  “That’s a nice little park across the street too,” Aunt Gertrude added, pointing out the window. “It’ll be a good place to get some fresh air.”

  “I plan to get my fresh air on the beach, as soon as possible!” Joe said.

  • • •

  As it turned out, getting to where Frau Rilke had once lived wasn’t very easy. After the Hardys checked in to their hotel and unpacked, Frank and Joe stopped by a newsstand just off the lobby and picked up a more detailed tramline map. Joe discovered that they would have to change trams a couple of times. With Frank navigating, though, the trip went without a hitch.

  “This thing is proving to be much simpler than I’d thought it would be,” Joe said.

  “Well, so far it is,” Frank said. “Remember, though, our mission’s just begun.”

  When they finally arrived at 22 Rua de Francisco de Almeida, Joe said, “I think I might have spoken too soon.”

  The house was more a mansion than a house. A high, wrought-iron fence topped with dangerous-looking spikes surrounded the huge backyard. Guard dogs patrolled the perimeter of the property inside the fence.

  “I wonder who lives here now?” Joe whispered.

  Frank shrugged. “It must be somebody important,” he said. He shook his head in dismay. “I certainly never expected this.”

  “Me neither,” Joe said. “How do we talk to the person who lives inside?”

  “Well, I guess we just walk up to the front door and ring the bell,” Frank suggested, starting toward the house.

  Frank had taken only a couple of steps when a guard with a machine gun jumped out from behind a shrub.

  “O que quer?” he demanded in Portuguese.

  “I don’t remember learning that from Catarina,” Joe said.

  “What do you want?” the guard repeated in English.

  “We’re from the United States,” Frank said. “A friend of ours lived here in 1943.”

  “We need to talk to the person who lives here now,” Joe added. “It’s kind of complicated, but it’s very important to our friend.”

  The guard looked, Frank thought, as if he were trying to translate what they had just said and make some sense of it. After a minute he said, “Do you have any identification?” He positioned his machine gun so that it was pointing directly at them.

  “Here,” Frank said. He offered his passport to the guard.

  The guard took it, studied it carefully for a moment, and then returned it.

  “You?” the guard said to Joe. “Let me see your passport.”

  Joe handed over his passport, and the guard studied it just as carefully as he had studied Frank’s.

  Finally satisfied that neither Frank nor Joe meant harm to whoever lived in this house, the guard said, “Senhora Bragança is here now. You may ring the bell.”

  Frank and Joe walked up the steps to the porch. Behind them they heard a clicking sound, and they knew that the guard still had his machine gun aimed at them.

  Frank pushed a button and they heard a chiming inside the house. Within a few seconds the front door opened, revealing an elderly woman.

  “We’re Frank and Joe Hardy, and we’re from the United States,” Frank said. “Would you please tell Senhora Bragança that we’d like to speak to her?”

  “I’m Maria Bragança,” the woman said. “What is it that you wish?”

  For just a few seconds both Frank and Joe were taken aback. After their encounter with the guard, it hadn’t occurred to them that Senhora Bragança would actually open the door herself. She must have been watching through the window, Joe thought. Probably she had already been informed by another guard that two Americans wanted to talk to her.

  “We’re here on behalf of the woman who used to live in this house back in 1943. Her name is Brigette Rilke, but her last name was Fleissner back then,” he said. “She sent us on a very important mission to bring back something that belongs to her family.”

  Maria Bragança’s face turned pale. “Leave at once!” she shouted at them. “Never come back to this house!” With that, Senhora Bragança slammed the door in their faces.

  Frank and Joe looked at each other.

  “I think we struck a nerve,” Joe said. “She knew exactly what we’re looking for, didn’t she? And we didn’t even mention the gold.”

  “I think so,” Frank agreed.

  Joe turned around and looked at the guard who was now staring coldly at them. “Now what?” he whispered to Frank.

  “Well, we can’t just stand here—that’s for sure,” Frank said.

  The Hardy boys started back down the steps.

  The guard followed them with the barrel of his gun.

  Just as Frank and Joe reached the street the guard was distracted by an approaching automobile. A large metal gate at the side of the house swung open and the automobile drove through it. The guard stood at the gate to make sure that it closed again, and then he resumed his duties near the shrubs at the front of the house.

  Out of the corner of one eye Frank watched as people climbed out of the automobile. He saw two women dressed in uniforms—they looked like they might have been maids. Frank noted the time on his watch.

  “Senhora Bragança must be really wealthy to have so many people working for her,” Joe said.

  Frank stopped. “Maybe that’s it, Joe—maybe that’s the reason she looked so frightened when we mentioned Frau Rilke,” he said. “What if she found the suitcase with the gold bars? That could be the source of her fortune.”

  “You’re right, Frank,” Joe said. “And if that’s the case, there’s probably nothing we can do about getting the gold back.”

  Frank started walking down the sidewalk, away from Senhora Bragança’s house. “This whole neighborhood is suspicious,” he whispered. “There’s a woman watching us from that house across the street. I think we should get out of here.”

  Joe stopped. “Wait a minute, Frank. Frau Rilke said the only other person she had told about the suitcase was a little girl who lived across the street,” he said. “Maybe that woman who’s looking at us knows something about Frau Rilke’s friend. Let’s go and talk to her.”

  4 Trapped!

  * * *

  Just as Frank and Joe started toward the front door of the house across the street, the woman who had been watching them moved away from the window.

  Frank stopped, but Joe continued walking.

  “We’ve come this far, Frank—I think this is worth a try,” Joe said. “Maybe she thinks we’re door-to-door salesmen, and that’s why she left the window?”

  “Maybe—okay,” Frank said. He hurried to catch up with Joe.

  When they reached the front door, J
oe rang the bell. Both boys were surprised when the woman who had been watching them immediately opened the door and looked right at them.

  “Sim?” she said.

  “Fala inglês?” Joe asked.

  “Sim,” the woman said. “Yes, I speak English.”

  “We’re Frank and Joe Hardy,” Joe said. He nodded across the street to Senhora Bragança’s house. “A friend of ours in the United States used to live over there when she was a little girl, and we . . .”

  Frank noticed the woman giving them a puzzled look.

  “Well, Frau Rilke is really a friend of a friend,” he explained.

  The woman nodded.

  “When she lived here back in 1943, her name was Brigette Fleissner,” Joe said. “She . . .”

  The woman gasped. “Brigette! My dear friend, Brigette!”

  Frank and Joe looked at each other, surprised.

  “Are you Rosa Santos?” Frank asked.

  “Yes, yes I am. My married name, however, is de Feira,” Senhora de Feira said. “This was my childhood home. I inherited it from my parents after they died.” She stood aside. “Oh, please come in and tell me all about Brigette! This is such a wonderful surprise.”

  Joe couldn’t believe their luck. Maybe his initial feeling on their way to Senhora Bragança’s house—that this mission would be easier than they had thought—had been on target after all.

  Frank, on the other hand, was having second thoughts. As Senhora de Feira led them into the interior of her house he felt a chill—not just from the unusually cold air around him, but from the house itself. Very little light entered the house, and the dark, heavy furniture created a very somber setting. This was not the house of very happy people, Frank observed to himself.

  Finally in the back of the house they reached a room with a huge fireplace, which, though full of burning logs, gave off very little warmth until Frank and Joe were standing right in front of it. The teens both wondered why the woman had a fire burning with such nice weather outside, but they let it go.