The Stone Idol Read online

  “We understand, sir,” Frank said. “What kind of cover do you have in mind for us?”

  “I thought you could be high-school students with a special project in Incan history. You contacted me and I referred you to Santiago, because our staff there can help you study the artifacts we have. You have a research grant from your school to cover your expenses.”

  “That sounds like a plausible plan,” Joe conceded.

  Kimberley nodded. “Now here’s where you go when you get into town. Our office is on Avenida Bernardo O‘Higgins, or as we would say in English, Bernard O’Higgins Avenue.”

  He handed the boys a card bearing the printed legend of South American Antiquities, with the address and phone number underneath. “And take the strange message and the photograph of the idol with you, too. ”

  Joe took the two items while Frank pocketed the business card.

  Kimberley sighed. “I don’t like to deceive my partner, and I’m sure he has nothing to do with the theft. But someone in our office must—our staff were the only people who were in on the transaction and knew what hotel I was staying in. ”

  Frank nodded.

  “My secretary will give you your expense money on your way out. Call me as soon as you have any news. ”

  “We will, Mr. Kimberley,” Joe promised.

  “Oh, there’s one other thing you should know about. ”

  “Yes?”

  “Depending on how you look at it, you might be in danger from the idol’s aku-aku!”

  3 Aku-Aku

  Frank and Joe stared at Kimberley in surprise.

  “What’s an aku-aku?” Joe asked.

  “An uncanny spirit. The people of Easter Island believe that aku-akus watch over them and all their possessions, especially those objects connected with the old religion. If the people obey their traditions, the spirits protect them. But if they step out of line, the aku-akus haunt them and bring bad luck.”

  “The old whammy,” Frank said with a grin. “When an aku-aku puts a spell on you, you’ve had it. ”

  “Sounds somewhat like voodoo,” Joe commented.

  “Right,” Kimberley said. “Thor Heyerdahl wrote a book called Aku-Aku about his experiences on Easter Island. He found the people convinced of the power of the spirits. They say anyone who disturbs an idol of the gods is in for trouble. Looks like it came true for me. I’ve had nothing but headaches since I bought that piece.”

  “Why are you telling us this?” Frank queried.

  “Because you may run into the idol’s aku-aku before your investigation is over. I don’t want to frighten you off the case, but I feel I should warn you. ”

  “We won’t be frightened off,” Frank promised.

  Kimberley nodded. “Good. I’ve heard you boys aren’t afraid of danger. That’s why I’m depending on you to find the idol and have whoever stole it from me arrested. When can you leave?”

  “On the next available flight,” Frank declared.

  “That’s fine. Solve the mystery as quickly as you can. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

  The boys returned to their hotel and discovered that the next plane from New York to Santiago was scheduled for the following afternoon. They spent the night in the hotel. After breakfast the next day, they went to a bookshop to buy a book on Incan art and did some sightseeing. Then they took a taxi to Kennedy Airport. Soon they were airborne, winging their way south along the eastern shore of the United States.

  The boys took turns studying the book they had bought.

  “We’ll have to beef up on the subject,” Frank said. “Otherwise Bertrand will never believe our cover. ”

  After dinner was served, both Hardys fell sound asleep and did not wake up until breakfast the next morning. Meanwhile, they had reached South America; the massive peaks of the Andes could be seen below.

  After they landed near Santiago, the brothers took a taxi to the Inca Arms Hotel. Large crowds were thronging the streets. Most people wore ordinary dress, but here and there the flash of brightly colored robes showed that Indians from the mountains were visiting the city.

  The taxi turned into a broad thoroughfare with a street sign reading “Avenida Bernardo O‘Higgins.”

  “This street’s wider than Fifth Avenue in New York!” Joe said, surprised.

  A drive of about a mile took them to the Inca Arms Hotel. It was near the building in which South American Antiquities was located. The boys could see the long range of the Andes from the window of their hotel room.

  After they had stowed their things away and freshened up, Frank used his high-school Spanish to phone South American Antiquities. He continued struggling with the language when he got an answer on the other end. The man he was speaking to chuckled.

  “You can speak English,” he said in a jovial voice. “I’m Charles Bertrand from Saint Louis. My receptionist’s on vacation, but perhaps I can help you.”

  “Oh, hello, Mr. Bertrand,” Frank said, and introduced himself. “You’re the person I wanted. My brother Joe and I are students working on a special project on Incan art. Mr. Kimberley said you might let us study the artifacts you have.”

  “Kim called me about it,” Bertrand said. “I’ll be glad to help you. Come on over to my office and we’ll talk.”

  Frank thanked him and hung up. “Bertrand wants to see us, Joe.”

  “I hope we can check out his office while we’re there,” Joe said tensely.

  The Hardys strolled over to South American Antiquities, which was in a building of ornate Spanish design. They mounted a flight of stairs and saw the name on a door at the end of a corridor.

  They walked over and entered the outer office. It was empty. Joe banged the bell on the receptionist’s desk with his palm, and a metallic peal sounded from the inner office.

  A few second later, the door opened and Charles Bertrand appeared. He was a stout man with a twinkle in his eye. He wore a tiepin decorated with an Incan motif, a vicuña delicately chiseled in gold.

  Smiling, he shook hands with the Hardys.

  “I’m always glad to meet someone from the States,” he declared. “Especially people who are as interested in the Incas as I am. I trust Mr. Kimberley explained what we do here at South American Antiquities.”

  “Yes, he did,” Frank replied.

  Bertrand led the Hardys into his office. A number of shelves held pieces of sculpture dating from the Indian cultures that existed in South America before the voyage of Columbus. Behind Bertrand’s desk hung a photograph of Machu Picchu, the city hidden in the Andes to which the Incas retreated after the Spanish conquest.

  Near the desk sat a tall, dark man with black, piercing eyes.

  “Boys,” Bertrand said, “meet Julio Santana. He’s our chauffeur. By the way, you can speak English to him. He learned the language from American missionaries on Easter Island.”

  “Easter Island?” Frank’s eyebrows shot up.

  Santana smiled. “That’s where I was born. But I left quite some time ago to work as an oil driller in Punta Arenas down in Tierra del Fuego. Then I came to Santiago and got the job with South American Antiquities.”

  “We’re very interested in Easter Island artifacts,” Joe spoke up.

  Santana scowled. “Are you selling any?”

  “Oh, no! We’re students working during our vacation studying Incan art.”

  Santana smiled and seemed to relax. “You had me worried for a moment. You see, plenty of artifacts have been stolen from my island lately. Many pieces are being sold illegally on the international market. ”

  “I heard about that,” Frank said.

  Bertrand fingered his vicuña tiepin. “We have no Easter Island pieces here at the moment. But we do have Incan sculptures for you boys to examine.”

  The conversation continued, and it was agreed that the Hardys would come back to the office on the following day to begin their studies.

  Then Bertrand accompanied them through the outer office, which was still empty. This ti
me Frank and Joe were able to survey it more thoroughly than when they entered. They both noticed a photograph on the wall. It showed a section of the Andes covered with mist while a full moon gleamed over the tallest peak.

  Opening the door of the reception area, Bertrand ushered the Hardys into the hall. “My secretary will be back in a few days,” he said. “She can help you when I’m not here. See you tomorrow!”

  With that, he closed the door. The Hardys heard his footsteps as he crossed the waiting room, then the door to the inner office slammed shut.

  “Joe!” Frank exclaimed in an undertone. “Did you notice? That photo on the wall fits the message Kimberley gave us!”

  “It sure does, Frank!” Joe took the paper out of his pocket and read: “ ‘When the mountains are covered with mist, and the full moon is over the peak—”

  He broke off with a puzzled look. “That fits all right, but what about the rest? ‘The idol’s safe in the cave’?”

  “Maybe there’s a secret compartment behind the picture!” Frank guessed. “That could be the cave in the message. Let’s go back in and look. We might not get another chance once the receptionist comes back.”

  Joe nodded. “Let’s hope Bertrand and Santana stay in the inner office long enough for us to check behind the photo!”

  Gingerly, the boys opened the door again and slipped into the reception area. They made their way across the room to the photograph of the Andes hanging on the wall.

  All the while, they could hear the voices of Bertrand and Santana inside. The two men were talking about making a company car available to a wealthy buyer who would soon arrive in Santiago.

  Frank carefully lifted the photograph up far enough to release the wire from its hook. As the wire came clear, the hook snapped upward like a control switch.

  Silently a secret panel slid to one side, revealing a small compartment in the wall. The Hardys peered in curiously.

  A small stone sculpture with round eyes, a flat nose, and open mouth was staring out at them!

  Frank lifted the figure from its hiding place, while Joe pulled the picture Kimberley had given him out of his pocket. The idol and the picture matched perfectly!

  Suddenly the door to the inner office swung open and Bertrand and the chauffeur stood framed in the doorway. They stared at the boys in disbelief.

  “W-what are you doing there?” Bertrand cried out. “And where’d you get that statuette? My partner took it to New York with him a while ago!”

  “He didn‘t,” Frank said. “We found it in this secret compartment!”

  “Found it! It seems to me you were about to steal it!” Bertrand thundered. “You have no business snooping around in my office. Good thing we caught you red-handed!”

  “I’d say you’re the one who was caught,” Frank replied evenly.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “We’re turning this over to the Santiago police. Mr. Kim—”

  He was interrupted by Julio Santana. “Oh, no, you’re not!” the chauffeur snarled and lunged at the boy, snatching the idol from his hand. Reeling from the force of the blow, Frank crashed into Joe and the two fell to the floor.

  In a flash, the Easter Islander ran out into the corridor and disappeared!

  4 A Thief Escapes

  Scrambling to his feet, Frank rushed after Santana with Joe close behind. By the time the Hardys reached the corridor, the chauffeur was already at the stairs. He glared furiously at them over his shoulder, then hurried down to the ground floor. The boys followed, taking the steps three at a time.

  Santana rushed through the revolving door and ran up the street. Just then an elderly woman stepped into the door, turning it slowly. Frank and Joe had to wait until she was through before sprinting after the fugitive. However, once in the street, they closed in on the Easter Islander again. Frank was only a few feet away from him when Santana suddenly leaped off the sidewalk. He maneuvered through the traffic as cars jolted to a halt to avoid hitting him and drivers shouted angrily. Then he wrenched open the door of a taxi and jumped in. The next instant the taxi sped off!

  The Hardys looked for another cab, but none was in sight. “We’ve lost him!” Frank cried disappoint edly, as he watched the car vanish up Bernard O‘Higgins Avenue.

  Joe nodded in disgust. “What do we do now?”

  “Stop blocking traffic, Joe!”

  Frank had become aware that the blaring horns were aimed at them. One driver leaned out of his window and shook his fist.

  Grinning apologetically, the Hardys hastened to the sidewalk and made their way back to South American Antiquities. Bertrand was running up the street, looking wildly for Santana and the boys. When he saw them walking toward him, he stared in surprise.

  “You came back?” he panted.

  “Of course,” Frank replied. “Unfortunately, Santana escaped.”

  “I thought you three were in with each other,” Bertrand declared. “After all, you took the idol out of the wall compartment—”

  “Why don’t we go to your office?” Frank suggested. “We’ll explain everything to you then.”

  The businessman nodded. “We’ll have to call the police,” he said, his voice shaking.

  “Perhaps not,” Frank said. “Maybe you’d like to give us the job of finding Santana.”

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t ask a couple of school kids to catch a thief!”

  “Mr. Bertrand,” Joe said, “we’re detectives. Mr. Kimberley hired us to find the Easter Island idol, which he had packed in his bag to bring to New York. When he arrived, it was missing. He felt someone in your Santiago office must have stolen it and suggested that we investigate while pretending to be students interested in Incan art.”

  Bertrand stared at him, his mouth open. They had arrived at the office, went inside, and the antique dealer sat down heavily behind his desk.

  “Now let me digest this for a moment,” he said. “You’re right. Kim did take the sculpture and signed a release for it. But then, what was it doing in that compartment outside?”

  “That’s what we’ll have to find out,” Joe said.

  “But how did you know it was there?”

  “We didn‘t,” Frank replied. “Mr. Kimberley received a strange message.” He pulled the note out of his pocket and handed it to Bertrand. “When we saw the photo in the reception room,” he continued, “we decided to look underneath. And there was the secret compartment with the idol in it!”

  “I don’t understand why Santana snatched it and ran off,” Bertrand declared. “He constantly delivers things for us—many of them more valuable than the stone figurine—and he never once stole anything!”

  “We’ll have to find the answer to that question,” Joe said. “Mr. Kimberley did not want the police involved in the case because he feared a scandal. If it’s all right with you, we’ll try to catch Santana for you. ”

  “Oh, it’s all right with me,” Bertrand said. “You’re probably correct in saying the less publicity we have, the better. ”

  “A thief on the run has to hide somewhere,” Frank spoke up. “Have you any idea where Santana might go?”

  “Well, he has relatives in an Indian village in the Andes. He could go there.”

  “Where is it?”

  “On a slope of the high peak directly to the east of Santiago.”

  “Then that’s where we’ll start,” Frank said. “But there are a few things we have to know. For instance, what about that secret compartment?”

  “It was there when I rented the office,” Bertrand replied. “However, I’ve never used it as a hiding place.”

  “Who else knew about it?”

  “Kim did, and I suppose some of our employees. There are twelve, including Santana, and of course visitors come and go.”

  “So, many people had access to the stationery on which the note was printed,” Joe suggested.

  Bertrand nodded.

  “When did you last see the idol, except for just now?”
/>   “The day before Kim left for New York. It was right here in this office. Kim put it in his bag when he went to the hotel. I saw him later in his room. The bag was there and locked, and I figured the idol was in it.”

  “He told us you watched the handbag while he went to collect his wristwatch,” Frank stated. “Did you stay in the room all the time?”

  “I went down the hall for ice,” Bertrand replied.

  “Were you gone long enough for someone to sneak into the room and steal the idol?”

  “It’s possible. Most of the ice was gone and I had to wait for the machine to make more.”

  “That’s when the thief must have entered!” Joe declared. “Santana could have overheard you talk about the idol earlier, and he probably knew about the secret compartment. He could also have a duplicate key that would unlock the handbag. ”

  “Santana’s from Easter Island,” Frank observed. “Maybe that’s why he wanted the sculpture. He could have shadowed you and Mr. Kimberley to the hotel, climbed up the fire escape, and watched through the window. When you left the room to get ice, he could have entered, unlocked the bag, taken the idol, and escaped.”

  “Then he hid the idol in the secret compartment in your office until it was safe for him to dispose of it,” Joe continued his brother’s line of thought. “That’s why he hit the ceiling when he saw we had found it. So, he grabbed it and ran off.”

  “It’s just a theory,” Frank pointed out. “We’ll see if it holds up when we interrogate Santana. But we have to find him first.”

  “I think you should get right on to it,” Bertrand advised.

  “We will,” Frank said.

  The Hardys left South American Antiquities, rented a car, and drove through Santiago. Joe was at the wheel and Frank held a map of the Andes spread out across his knees. Gradually the city gave way to the suburbs, and then they were rolling through the country toward the Andes, the great mountain chain of South America.