Mystery of the Whale Tattoo Page 2

  Finally Boko said, “Look, you guys. We never heard of nobody named Blackright. We don’t know nothin’ about it. Now, why don’t you leave us alone so we can take it easy a while? We got to go back on stage in a few minutes.”

  On the midway again, Joe shook his head. “It’s possible,” he said, “that they’re telling the truth.”

  Frank looked dubious. “Carnival performers work hard and they need their coffee breaks,” he said. “But their change of attitude was a bit too sudden for my taste.”

  Chet agreed with Frank, and the boys decided that Boko and Rembrandt definitely warranted further attention. Earlier, Chet had promised to meet his sister Iola and her friend Callie at the Venus Rocket Express. That was fine with the Hardys. Joe regarded vivacious, dark-haired Iola Morton as his regular date. Slender, blond, lithe-some Callie Shaw was Frank’s favorite partner.

  “Hi, Joe!” Iola cried gaily when the boys reached the roller coaster. “Are you and Frank going to take us up?” She cast a sidelong glance at her brother. “Chet wasn’t at all happy with the idea.”

  “Aw, lay off!” Chet replied. “You know what that does to my stomach.”

  It was agreed that Frank and Joe would take the girls on the ride and that Chet would maintain the lookout for pickpockets while they were gone. The two couples hurried to the ticket booth, climbed into a red-and-green car, and started up a long incline. There was a breathless moment’s hesitation at the peak; then a dizzying plunge down the steep drop that made the girls scream as the wind whipped their hair about. Iola and Callie clutched Frank and Joe for protection and hung on tightly until the coaster came to a stop.

  The four young people emerged with bright eyes and happy expressions.

  “Oh, oh,” Frank said. “Look over by the shooting gallery, just behind Chet.”

  Their buddy was shadowing a seedy-looking man, watching his every move. Behind the stout sleuth was a clean-cut fellow in slacks and a sports jacket, whose appearance would have aroused no one’s suspicion. As they watched, however, this man’s hand removed a wallet from the back pocket of a short, balding onlooker beside him. The victim felt the touch and whirled around. Panicky, the thief slipped the stolen wallet into Chet’s pocket!

  “Let’s go!” Frank said. He and Joe rushed to the scene. The irate patron had seized the pickpocket, who in turn had denied his guilt and accused Chet. Poor Chet was bewildered and confused, especially when a quick search revealed the missing wallet in his possession.

  “But listen,” he said, befuddled, “I—I—” A crowd formed and the pickpocket tried to slip away. Frank and Joe grabbed him.

  “All right, folks,” Frank said. “Please go about your business. We’re security detectives for Mr. Solo.”

  The pickpocket protested his innocence and said that “the fat kid” had stolen the wallet.

  “For your information,” Frank told him, “not only is Chet Morton a good friend of ours, but he’s our assistant!”

  Frank and Joe each took one of the pickpocket’s arms and they escorted him with firmness to Sid Solo’s private office. The victim came along to make the identification. Police Chief Collig was called, and after he had heard the story, one of his patrolmen ran the pickpocket out of town with a warning that if he showed up again he would be put behind bars.

  Solo walked Frank and Joe back to the spot where they had left Chet with Callie and Iola. The carnival man was in high spirits and heaped praise and congratulations upon the Hardys.

  “I knew I’d get results with you two on the job,” he said, clapping them on the shoulders.

  Knocker Felsen was standing nearby. Upon hearing the praise he sneered, turned his back, and walked away to show his contempt.

  The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. When the crowds thinned out and the carnival began to shut down, the Hardys said good night to Chet.

  “So long, fellows,” he replied. “I’m going to stash away a couple of pizzas Mr. Solo promised me.”

  Frank and Joe drove Callie and Iola home, then returned to their own house. Their mother was waiting for them with a twinkle in her eyes and a clipping from the evening newspaper in her hand.

  “What have you got there, Mom?” Joe asked the slender, pretty woman.

  “I think you might call it a whale of a story,” Mrs. Hardy replied brightly. “Look!”

  Her sons studied the clipping together. It read:Earth-moving machines working at the site of the new Bayport shopping center this morning dug up a stuffed Blue Whale. The Blue Whale, largest of all sea-dwelling mammals, grows to nearly one hundred feet long. The Bayport whale is not that big, however. It had evidently been buried a long time.

  “I’m all for digging up buried treasure,” Joe said. “Matter of fact, we have several times. But old whales, no sir!”

  “How do you suppose a whale ever got to Bayport?” Mrs. Hardy asked.

  “Maybe during the ice age,” replied Frank.

  “But it was stuffed,” his mother said.

  “From overeating,” Joe jested. Suddenly he exclaimed, “Hey! Mr. Prito has the contract for the shopping-center project, doesn’t he?”

  “He sure does,” Frank said with a yawn. “Let’s give Tony a call in the morning and ask him how it feels to be captain of the good whaling ship Bulldozer.”

  The next day after breakfast Frank was dialing Tony’s number when the doorbell rang. Joe hastened through the living room to answer it.

  “Frank,” he called from the hall, “hang up. Tony and Biff are here.”

  The Hardys’ school friends walked in, grinning. Tony Prito, a good-looking youth with black wavy hair and olive skin, was followed by Biff Hooper. Biff was tall, broad-shouldered, and the most rugged lineman on the Bayport High football team, of which Frank and Joe were star performers.

  Tony raised his hands, signifying silence, before either Joe or Frank could get a word out. He took the pose of an orator.

  “My friends,” he said somberly, “you are looking at two very high-class entrepreneurs.” He pointed to Biff, then to himself. “We have just purchased one legitimate whale—for a very fair sum, I might add—and we are going to show it to the good citizens of Bayport for fifty cents a look.”

  Tony jumped into the air and clicked his heels. “Yahoo! We’re in business!” he exulted.

  CHAPTER III

  A Staunch Refusal

  TONY stopped cavorting and talked seriously. “We bought the whale from the man who owns the property. He said there was nothing in the world he could do with a whale, and so he gave us a good price.”

  Biff chimed in, “The old blimp’s in swell condition. It was protected with oilskins. We put in a good day’s work scrubbing it down. Looks as good as new now.”

  “My father’s letting us use that vacant lot he owns with a work shack on it,” Tony said. “We spent all last evening putting up a big tarpaulin around our pet. Built a ticket booth, too.”

  He looked ruefully at the blisters on his hand. “We thought you Hardys might give us a hand and that all four of us could go into this thing together—be partners and share the profits.”

  “We’d like to, Tony,” Frank said with a tinge of regret. “It sounds like a lot of fun. But we have a couple of jobs to do. We’re trying to find someone who’s connected with a case Dad’s working on, and at the same time we’ve been hired by Sid Solo to spot pickpockets at the carnival.”

  Tony was disappointed. “Well, maybe later. We’d sure like to have you with us.”

  Biff glanced at his watch. “Come on, Tony. We have a long day ahead of us.”

  As they moved toward the door, Aunt Gertrude entered the room. “Wouldn’t you know it?” she said. “Every time I take a tray of fresh-baked cookies from the oven, our boys’ friends show up!”

  Biff grinned. “I see your aunt was up before breakfast.” He turned to Tony. “On second thought, partner, it’s not that late.”

  The boys followed Aunt Gertrude into the kitchen. “Where’s Che
t Morton?” she inquired. “He usually leads the charge when there’s something edible around.”

  “The last time we saw him,” Joe said, “he was polishing off pizzas at the carnival.”

  Aunt Gertrude stood proudly by while the boys finished their snack. Then Biff and Tony left, amid best wishes from their pals.

  That afternoon Frank and Joe arrived at the carnival to find Sid Solo pacing around, very much upset. “Just look around you,” he said with a wave of his hand.

  The Hardys had been walking through the grounds of Solo’s Super Carnival for nearly an hour, and were well aware of the problem. The midways had been overflowing with patrons the night before. Wave after wave of them had surged from tent to tent—from side show to side show. But today there was only a trickle of customers. The few who had come were wandering aimlessly about, looking bored and spending little money.

  “I don’t understand it,” Frank said. “Last night you’d have had a hard time keeping ‘em away with artillery.”

  “It’s those two fellows—Tony Prito and Biff Hooper!” Solo fumed.

  “What have they to do with it?” Joe asked.

  “It’s that stupid whale of theirs. People figure they can always see a carnival, but a whale’s a once in a lifetime thing. Prito and Hooper are stealing all my customers!”

  Solo smacked a fist into his hand. “Well, I’m not going to sit around and watch my show go bankrupt. Come on! We’re going to pay a call on those guys. I’ll buy their silly whale, and that’ll be the end of that!”

  As they walked to Solo’s station wagon, Frank and Joe explained that Biff and Tony were their friends, and really had not intended to take any business away from the carnival.

  Grim-faced, Solo did not reply. He beckoned to Knocker Felsen, who was lounging in the shade of a tent, chewing on a long stalk of grass.

  “Come along, Knocker!” Solo ordered. Felsen, looking pleased at the prospect of trouble, jumped into the front seat with Solo. The ride was short, and when they approached the lot on which the whale was located, a long queue was waiting to buy tickets.

  Biff and Tony were in the shack which they were using as an office. They stepped out to greet the Hardys and the carnival duo.

  Solo made his offer. Biff and Tony talked quietly for a moment, then Tony said:

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Solo, but we can make more money by showing the whale ourselves.”

  “You’re ruining me!” Solo cried.

  “Mr. Solo,” Biff said, “in a day or two, most of the people in Bayport will have seen our whale and they’ll go swarming right back to your show.”

  “Maybe,” the carnival owner replied. “But I can’t afford three days like this.”

  Frank took Joe off to the side and whispered, “We’re in a bad position. If we side with Mr. Solo, Biff and Tony will be angry. If we side against the carnival, then Mr. Solo will blow up. I have a plan that might make everybody happy. Back me up, okay?”

  Joe nodded.

  “Excuse me,” Frank said. The argument between Solo, Biff, and Tony quieted. “Mr. Solo, why don’t you pay Biff and Tony half of your original offer, take the whale and show it in your carnival, but pay a percentage to Biff and Tony on each ticket sold? That way people will come to the carnival, but the boys will still be making money.”

  “That sounds great,” Joe said.

  Solo scratched his head. “I don’t know...”

  “Don’t do it, boss,” Felsen urged. “Don’t let these jerks hold you up.”

  Biff’s temper flared. “Nuts to you. We’ll keep the whale!”

  Felsen bunched his big knuckles and lumbered forward. “You punk!” He flailed at Biff, landing a couple of clumsy but hard-hitting punches.

  Biff quickly dropped into a boxer’s defense position. Spotting an opening, he shot out his right fist. It hit Felsen squarely on the jaw. Glassy-eyed, he stumbled back and fell to the ground. Frank and Joe pinned him down before he could rise and attack again.

  “Knocker!” Solo roared. “How many times have I told you not to go off half-cocked like that? You’ve ruined any chance we had of making a deal.” He reached down, grabbed the big youth by the arm, and yanked him to his feet.

  The telephone rang in the shack. Tony answered it while Biff kept a wary eye on Felsen. “Frank, Joe,” Tony said. “It’s for either one of you.”

  Joe took the call and spoke low, so as not to be overheard. Outside, Frank tried to smooth things over. Tony went so far as to tell Solo that he and Biff would think about his offer and that maybe they could discuss it again in a couple of days.

  Solo and Felsen left, Knocker glowering over his shoulder at the boys. Solo said he would wait in the station wagon until Frank and Joe were ready to return to the carnival.

  Joe finished his conversation and hung up. “It was Dad,” he told Frank. Their father had first phoned home. Mrs. Hardy had directed him to call the carnival, where an aide to Solo had told him where his boss and the Hardys had gone.

  “The informer called again last night,” Joe went on, “and from the same booth! The police still won’t pay the price he’s asking for the information, but Mr. Dudley-Harris will, through Dad. We have to find out who made those calls, and soon!”

  The young sleuths told Biff and Tony they were sorry for the trouble that had erupted. Their friends agreed it certainly was not the Hardys’ fault. Sid Solo drove back to the carnival in silence, with Knocker Felsen brooding in the front seat and gingerly massaging his bruised jaw.

  Back at the fairgrounds, there was not much for the Hardys to do, since pickpockets work only in crowds. The informer had never called during the day, and Frank decided that there was no reason for him to change his pattern. They worked out a plan whereby, as soon as darkness fell, one of them would maintain a vigil over the phone booth from a position of concealment within a carnival truck parked nearby.

  They spelled each other, Frank taking a one-hour shift while Joe wandered through the carnival, and then reversing their roles for the next hour. It was nearly closing time and they had spotted nothing.

  Frank was dejected. Maybe the informer had been frightened away! His spirits brightened considerably, however, when Joe came rushing up.

  His brother had two facts to report. First, a slightly built youth with sandy hair had lurked in the shadows for more than half an hour near the telephone booth. He finally left. Five minutes later Boko the Clown appeared, entered the booth, and made a call. Joe had not been able to hear much of the conversation, but he did know that Boko had been arguing with someone about money!

  “Let’s go,” Frank said. “It’s time to ask Boko a few pointed questions.”

  They found the clown in his dressing room, still wearing his costume and makeup. At first he was angry and told the boys it was none of their business. But when Frank sternly reminded him of the seriousness of the case and of the severe punishment that would be meted out to the guilty parties, Boko changed his attitude.

  “Look, fellows,” he said plaintively. “I don’t know anything about any ivory statue or some joker named Blackright. I got angry, ‘cause—well, it’s a personal matter. I was arguin’ with my wife about some bills.” The clown looked down at his feet. “That’s not the kind of thing you like to tell other people.”

  Frank and Joe told Boko they were sorry to have bothered him, and left. No further leads developed the remainder of the night. When the carnival closed, the Hardys went to Sid Solo’s office. The owner was gloomily going over the figures of the day’s gate receipts. Frank and Joe sat in chairs, relaxing.

  “I was so sure he was our man,” Joe said unhappily.

  “Mr. Solo,” said Frank, “does Boko argue with his wife about money very often?”

  Without looking up, Solo said, “Boko? Ha, how could he? He’s never been married.”

  “What!” the boys exclaimed in unison. They sprang to their feet and were out of the door in an instant, leaving Solo looking perplexed.

  “S
omething fishy going on here,” Frank stated, pausing to look around.

  “I’ll say!” Joe agreed. “This could be a big break in the case, Frank.”

  The Hardys separated, deciding they would have a better chance of finding Boko that way, and agreed to meet back at Solo’s office in half an hour.

  Frank questioned several carnival employees, but with no success. When the half hour was up he returned to Solo’s office, hoping that Joe had had better luck.

  Joe was not there. Fifteen minutes passed, then another fifteen. Frank grew nervous.

  An hour after the appointed time Frank was forced to admit a disturbing fact—Joe had disappeared!

  CHAPTER IV

  Wheel of Danger

  FRANK searched through the carnival frantically, his emotions in turmoil. If anything had happened to Joe ... He set his jaw grimly and went on.

  Sid Solo had enlisted half a dozen of his men to help Frank. They spread out through all parts of the darkened carnival, calling Joe’s name, probing into pitch-dark tents and under trucks and wagons with flashlights.

  None of the people Frank questioned had seen Joe. Nor, for that matter, had anyone seen Boko the Clown.

  Frank stopped to catch his breath and leaned against the side of a booth. His anger and frustration had knotted the muscles in his shoulders. He forced himself to relax, knowing that a man who loses control of his emotions weakens his own cause.

  There was a long, low-pitched creaking sound above him. Frank looked up and saw that the carnival’s giant Ferris wheel was moving—ever so slightly. Then his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open with shock.

  In the pale light of the full moon he could see a figure standing high above the ground in the uppermost car. It was Joe! He was blindfolded and his hands were tied behind his back. He was trying to feel his way out of the car.

  “Joe! Sit down!” Frank screamed. “You’re on top of the Ferris wheel. Don’t try to get out or you’ll be killed!”