The Mystery of the Spiral Bridge Read online

  Quickly they began looking through the cross index and the individual run-down cards.

  “Nothing’s been touched so far,” Joe observed as Frank deftly separated the cards.

  “Yes, everything’s okay through L,” Frank said, then started on the M’s.

  A moment later Joe exclaimed, “Hey! There’s no card for Milo Matlack.”

  Frank grinned. “Don’t get excited. Dad took the card himself and left this memo.”

  A slip of paper with Mr. Hardy’s handwriting bore the notation that the detective had taken not only the card, but also the complete dossier on the ex-convict with him to Kentucky.

  “I knew it!” Joe burst out. “Matlack’s our man beyond a shadow of doubt.”

  “Guess you’re right,” Frank conceded. “So, if we can find Milo Matlack, we may crack this case. Something tells me it’ll be no cinch.”

  The brother sleuths had already solved a number of baffling mysteries, from locating The Tower Treasure to recently uncovering the secret of The Haunted Fort.

  As Frank locked the files, Joe grabbed the telephone and dialed Radley’s number. Sam answered. Joe first inquired about Mrs. Radley.

  “She’s feeling better. But no leads yet to the intruder.”

  “Sam, we’re hot on a trail!” Joe told the operative of Mr. Hardy’s memo, then asked if Sam could describe Matlack and give some of the criminal’s history.

  “I can’t recall much detail,” Radley replied. “But I do remember that Milo has gray hair.”

  “Where are we likely to find him?”

  “Possibly in New York City, his old home.”

  “Then that’s where we’ll go!” Joe declared. Sam promised to round up all the information he could on the former jailbird. Joe thanked him and hung up.

  “Boys! Supper!” Miss Hardy called up.

  The boys quickly washed, then hurried to the dining room. Joe held a chair for his mother, and Frank helped Aunt Gertrude place a steaming tureen of stew on the table. As Mrs. Hardy served, her sons told the women about the latest exciting developments in their father’s mystery.

  “There are two things Joe and I have to do!” said Frank. “Capture Milo Matlack and make him pay for what he did to Dad, and second, unearth the real story behind the bridge collapse.”

  “The police should handle such a—a fiend,” Aunt Gertrude stated.

  “The police can help us,” Joe said, “but we want to collar Matlack ourselves.”

  Although fearful for her sons’ safety, Mrs. Hardy was proud of their courage and ability. Quietly she advised them to exercise the utmost caution.

  “Don’t worry, Mother,” said Frank. “We will.”

  After supper the boys went to their father’s study and discussed the mystery until bedtime. Before retiring, Frank telephoned the hospital and learned that Mr. Hardy’s condition was about the same.

  Late that night the boys were jolted from a deep sleep by the shrill jangling of the telephone. Frank switched on the bedside lamp and dashed to pick up the hall extension. Joe followed.

  The caller was Miss Tice, the night nurse. “You’re to come right over to the hospital,” she told Frank in a tense voice.

  Frank’s heart sank. “You mean the whole family?”

  “Certainly not,” replied the nurse. “Just you and your brother.”

  “We’ll be there,” said Frank and hung up. “Hurry, Joe! Something must have happened!”

  Hastily the boys changed from pajamas to street clothes.

  They were grimly silent as they whizzed through the streets to the hospital. There they took the elevator to the third floor. It seemed forever until they reached it and the door slid open. The boys rushed to the nurses’ station.

  “Is Dad—Fenton Hardy’s condition worse?” Frank asked the nurse in charge. “Is that why Nurse Tice called?”

  “Mercy, no!” she whispered. “If anything, your father is slightly improved.”

  Although vastly relieved, Joe said wryly, “We sure had the daylights scared out of us!”

  “I’m afraid we’ve had the daylights scared out of us, too,” the nurse replied. “Miss Tice will explain.”

  On tiptoe, Frank and Joe ran down the corridor. Nurse Tice, red-faced and distraught, met them outside Mr. Hardy’s room.

  “Why didn’t you post a guard here if you expected trouble?” she asked indignantly.

  Frank gulped. “Trouble? Did somebody try to hurt Dad?”

  “No, not that.”

  “Tell us what did happen!” Joe said impatiently.

  “A man, dressed as an intern, sneaked into your father’s room, that’s what!” said the nurse.

  Frank drew a deep breath. “And then?”

  “I was coming back after my coffee break,” Miss Tice continued, “and I saw this man in white removing the tape from the recorder. I was so surprised I cried out and he came rushing at me. I tried to stop him, but he got away.” The nurse looked puzzled. “Why anybody would steal a tape with just mumbling on it is a mystery to me!”

  CHAPTER III

  Who Is Felix?

  FRANK and Joe stared at each other in dismay. “We should have had someone guarding Dad,” Frank said glumly.

  “Well, there are two police officers here now,” Nurse Tice replied.

  “Policemen?” queried Joe. “Where?”

  “They’re searching the building. The night supervisor phoned headquarters as soon as I reported seeing that thief.”

  The Hardy boys had hoped to handle this case mostly by themselves. Now the police already had been called in. Sensing their concern, Miss Tice became apologetic. “I don’t usually flare up like that,” she said. “But it was an unnerving experience.”

  “We’re sorry you had such a scare,” said Joe. “I’d sure like to get my hands on that phony.”

  “At least,” Miss Tice remarked, “you still have the tape.”

  “What?” Frank exclaimed. “I thought the thief got away with it.”

  “I forgot to mention I’d changed the tape.” The nurse opened the night-table drawer and pulled out the first tape.

  “Thanks a million,” Joe said. “We’ll take the recorder and play the tape when we get home.”

  When the nurse had checked Mr. Hardy’s pulse and respiration, Frank asked if she could describe the thief.

  “The man was tall,” she said, “with jet-black hair and a mustache.” The impostor, she added, had worn a mask which she had almost torn off during her tussle with him. “If I’d known Judo,” added Miss Tice, “I might have caught him!”

  The boys exchanged glances. Except for the mustache, this description resembled that of the intruder at Radley’s apartment!

  At the sound of brisk footsteps in the corridor, the nurse and the Hardys left the room. Outside, they met Chief Ezra Collig of the Bayport Police Department, followed by a patrolman, who held a rumpled white jacket in his hands.

  “Hello, Frank, Joe,” the husky, keen-eyed chief said. Collig was an old friend of the Hardy detectives. “When I learned your father was here, I wanted to investigate this matter myself.”

  Joe looked at the jacket. “Is that the one the thief wore?”

  “Yes,” replied the chief. “We found it near the first-floor fire exit.” Collig’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure, Miss Tice, there was nothing else stolen from this room? Like hypodermic syringes or sedatives?”

  “Positive,” the nurse assured him.

  Frank spoke up. “Joe and I hope to solve this mystery on our own, Chief, but we’d like to brief you on it.”

  The boys gave the officer a concise account, ending with their plan for possibly picking up a clue on tape.

  “Good idea,” the chief said. “I’ll do my best to help you. At least we can have an alert sent out for anyone resembling the intruder. I’m posting a guard on this floor, and also will have this jacket analyzed in our lab.”

  “Thanks, Chief. That’s swell,” said Frank.

  When the po
lice had gone, Frank asked the nurse, “Did you have much of a tussle with the thief?”

  “No. When I grabbed his mask, he pushed me aside and ran.”

  “Would you mind showing me your fingernails?” Frank requested.

  The woman held out her hands. Using a pocket flashlight, Frank carefully scrutinized both hands. Suddenly he said, “Here’s something—a wisp of black hair!” He pointed to the nurse’s right forefinger.

  “Why, I never noticed it!” she exclaimed.

  Miss Tice removed the tiny hair, which Frank folded in a sheet of white paper and put in his slacks pocket.

  The young sleuths took the recorder, thanked the nurse for her cooperation, and left the room. Outside Mr. Hardy’s door was a patrolman whom the boys knew. He assured them, “No sneak thief will get by Tim Callahan.”

  The Hardys grinned. “I believe it, Mike,” said Joe.

  As soon as they arrived home, Frank and Joe went directly to their lab. Frank was first to study the strand of hair under a powerful microscope. “Joe! Take a look!”

  His brother did so. “Say! That hair’s gray near the roots. It’s dyed black!” Joe was exuberant. “Matlack’s for sure. I bet the mustache is phony too.”

  Both boys were exhilarated by the thrill of their discovery. Now for the tape. Did it, too, hold a valuable clue?

  Soon the tape was revolving on the machine, and although Frank had turned the volume up full, there were great stretches of silence. These were interspersed by Mr. Hardy’s mumbling, which was indecipherable—except one word that came through with relative clarity.

  “What’s that, Joe? Something like ‘licks’? I’ll play it back.” The strange word, or part of a word, came over three times.

  Joe listened intently. “Sounds to me like Felix,” he said.

  “Could be. Perhaps Felix is a henchman of Matlack’s.” Frank shut off the machine and Joe telephoned police headquarters. Chief Collig was still there.

  “Chief,” said Joe, “do you know of any underworld character named Felix? We think that’s a word which came over on the tape.”

  Collig said this did not ring a bell, but he would check his files thoroughly. “I’ll let you know.”

  When Frank and Joe returned to the house, they quietly went into the kitchen and made cocoa. As they drank, the brothers discussed the night’s events. Suddenly Joe put down his cup. “Frank! In all the excitement we forgot to check the airport for the plane that tailed Jack!”

  Frank immediately telephoned Bayport Airport, and learned that one other plane from Kentucky, an air taxi out of Louisville, had asked for landing permission the previous afternoon. It had taken off a short while ago.

  “Joe, that Kentucky pilot must have been the one who tailed Dad’s plane!” Frank exclaimed. “Wish we could’ve nabbed him.”

  “Where is he headed?” Joe asked.

  “La Guardia Airport in New York.” Because it was too late for the Hardy boys to do anything further, they tumbled into bed. Early the next morning Aunt Gertrude summoned them to breakfast. Although the bacon and scrambled eggs were delicious, Frank and Joe hardly tasted the food. Directly after the meal, the boys rushed to the telephone in their father’s study.

  It seemed an interminable wait, but Frank finally contacted an official at La Guardia. The man said that an air taxi from Louisville had landed early that morning and discharged its only passenger.

  “Is the plane still there?” asked Frank.

  “Yes,” was the reply. “The pilot is checking weather reports. Would you like to speak with him?”

  Frank’s eyes brightened. “Certainly would!”

  The pilot, who proved to be an accredited flier, reported that his passenger, a dark-haired, tall man with a mustache, had carried a large roll of hundred-dollar bills, from which he had peeled the fee for the chartered flight.

  Upon hearing that he had flown a suspected criminal, the pilot whistled. “I wondered why he seemed so nervous about the plane ahead. Kept telling me not to get too close—just an act, I guess.”

  Frank then asked, “Do you happen to know where he was heading?”

  “Afraid not. Just that he was going to take a taxi into the city.”

  Frank thanked the flier and hung up. When he told Joe what had happened, his brother said, “Well, at least, if the rat’s in New York City, maybe he won’t be pestering Dad.”

  The boys went downstairs. Suddenly they heard a series of loud bangs from outside. Aunt Gertrude ran out of the kitchen and gave a startled squeak. But her nephews grinned, quickly recognizing the source of the noise.

  “That’s only Chet’s jalopy, backfiring,” Joe said.

  This conclusion was verified by a cheerful whistle as Chet Morton came through the back door. Frank and Joe entered the kitchen just as Chet, their best pal, plopped his ample frame into a chair. A longing look came over his round, freckled face.

  “Oh—oh,” Joe said knowingly. “Guess who’s ready for a second breakfast?”

  Chet was known far and wide for his never-failing and huge appetite. “We-ll, I could use a snack.”

  “Humph!” Aunt Gertrude sniffed. “After you scared us half to death with that noisy jalopy?”

  “That backfire is getting better, isn’t it?” Chet said good-naturedly.

  Soon he was enjoying a thick bacon-and-egg sandwich on toast and a glass of milk, served by Miss Hardy.

  “Sure is a beautiful day, fellows,” he said, between bites. “What say we take a ride on Barmet Bay in your motorboat?”

  “Not a chance,” said Frank.

  “Why not? By the way, have you heard from your father?”

  The brothers related everything that had happened. Chet was shocked to hear of Mr. Hardy’s illness. “Boy! He must have run into a gang of dangerous criminals.”

  Joe could not resist saying, “In fact, that hospital prowler might turn up around our neighborhood.”

  Chet swallowed hard. “W-what? Are—are you going after him?”

  “Sure thing,” Frank said. “You want to help us?”

  Chet groaned. “Count me out! This is vacation, remember?”

  Fond of fun, opposed to hard work, and inclined to back away from danger, Chet nonetheless was staunchly loyal to his pals. When necessary, he pitched in with two-fisted determination to assist Frank and Joe in threatening situations.

  Now the chubby boy looked up sheepishly from his second glass of milk. “You know, if you really need me, I’ll—”

  “That’s the spirit!” Joe grinned. “We’ll expect you to come on the run if we call for help.”

  “I’ll be available.”

  Excusing themselves, Frank and Joe once more hastened to the study. First they checked with Chief Collig. There were no clues on the intern’s jacket, and no Felix in the police files. Then Joe phoned Sam Radley and listened with raised eyebrows as the operative talked.

  “Sam, you’ve really been busy! I’ll take that down.” Joe wrote quickly on a note pad. When he hung up the phone, he told his brother, “Sam contacted a New York prison where Matlack served time. He was released a year ago, and went to live in New York with a widowed sister. I have her address.”

  “What a break!” Frank exclaimed. “All clues point to Manhattan—so that’s our next stop.”

  He called Jack Wayne, who agreed to fly the boys to La Guardia early that afternoon. When the brothers announced their plan, Aunt Gertrude objected. “You can’t just leave us,” she said. “I know the police are protecting your father, but what about your mother and me?”

  “I can help,” Chet offered.

  “Great!” said Frank. “Maybe Biff, Tony, and Phil can, too. We’ll call them for a meeting.”

  Within an hour the three boys had joined Frank, Joe, and Chet in Mr. Hardy’s study. Biff Hooper was a well-built, six-footer whose favorite pastime was boxing. Tony Prito, slightly shorter, was handsome with an olive complexion and dark eyes. Phil Cohen, slender and agile, had an easy-going manner. His fri
ends admired his great talent for drawing and painting.

  “I sure feel terrible about what happened to your dad,” said Tony. “Especially since he was working on this case for my father. Tell us what to do.”

  Frank and Joe outlined their plans. All four of the Hardys’ chums would take turns helping Radley guard their home, and if necessary, relieve Collig’s guards at the hospital.

  “I hope you nail this guy Matlack,” said Biff. “Good luck!”

  After lunch and a visit to see their father, Frank and Joe drove to the airport. They left their car in the parking lot and hurried to meet Jack at the plane. Twenty minutes later the boys were looking down on the green countryside five thousand feet below, as Jack headed for New York.

  The brothers were licensed pilots, and took turns at the wheel. But as they neared the metropolis, Wayne resumed control, contacted La Guardia tower for instructions, and soon brought the plane in.

  Grabbing their suitcases, the Hardys thanked Jack for the lift and hopped out.

  “So long,” called the lean young pilot. “Call me if you need me.”

  “Will do!” The brothers hurried through the terminal, hailed a taxi, and headed directly for the address which Radley had given them. Presently they reached a dingy section of downtown Manhattan, and soon pulled up in front of a dilapidated, multiple-family dwelling.

  “This is it, Number 47,” said Frank. He paid the taximan and the boys got out.

  The Hardys stood for a few minutes, noting the various details of the structure—windows, doorway, and fire escape. “Shall we make inquiries now?” asked Joe.

  “Not yet. We better find a place to stay. There’s a hotel down the street. Doesn’t look like much, but at least it’s close.”

  The young sleuths sauntered to the shabby hotel and mounted a short flight of steps which led into the dimly lighted lobby.

  The brothers grimaced at the stale musty odor which greeted them. They registered at the desk and were given a key to Room 306.

  “Cash and carry,” said the clerk, a prune-faced individual with thinning hair. “Pay now and carry your own bags.”