The Masked Monkey Read online

  The older man said, “If you’re willing to overlook the dent, why don’t you forget the small damage to my car? You know these insurance companies—miles of red tape.”

  “Fair enough,” said Frank.

  The man looked at the lie detector equipment in the back of the convertible and smiled. “Somebody’s been put through a grilling, I see. You boys on the police force?”

  “No, but we do detective work,” Joe said.

  “Are you on a case?”

  “Yes, we’re trying to pick up the trail of Graham Retson of Whisperwood.”

  “Ah, yes,” the blond man said. “He disappeared some time ago. Think you can find him?”

  “We hope to,” Joe said.

  “Come on,” Frank urged. “We’d better be going. Thanks for your cooperation,” he said, turning to the men. “Next time we’ll be more careful about golf course sprinklers.”

  After the two cars had started off, Frank said, “Joe, you really yacked about our investigation. What’s the idea?”

  Joe looked embarrassed. “You’re right, Frank. Sometimes I talk too much. I doubt, though, that those fellows had anything to do with the Retson mystery.”

  “Likely not, but there’s no sense taking chances.”

  The boys returned the polygraph to the police. They thanked Chief Carton, who offered to cooperate with them in any way he could.

  Then they drove back to Whisperwood. Frank parked the car near where the gardener was planting a small bush.

  “This might be a good time to ask him a few questions,” he said.

  “Right,” Joe agreed.

  The boys walked up to the man. He was on his knees, firming the earth around the bush. When he saw the boys approaching, he looked up questioningly.

  Frank came directly to the point. “Mr. Jackson,” he said, “how do you feel about young Graham’s disappearance?”

  The gardener troweled some more earth onto the roots of the plant. “I just work here,” he said calmly. “It’s not my place to have any feelings about it.”

  “You must see a lot that goes on around here,” Frank persisted. “Did Graham actually leave without you spotting him?”

  “He did.” Jackson was becoming surly. “I’m not his baby-sitter. And I don’t keep a watch on the front door, either.”

  Just then the screen door of the kitchen opened. The gardener’s wife stepped out. “I heard those questions about Graham Retson,” she stated bluntly. “And let me tell you something. I’m glad that he’s not cooped up here any more!”

  “Can you help us find him, Mrs. Jackson?” Joe asked.

  “I wouldn’t if I could,” snapped the woman. “Why don’t you mind your own business and leave the boy alone? He had good reason to run away!”

  Mrs. Jackson’s tirade was interrupted by the sound of feet pounding along the brick walk. As Frank and Joe turned around, Chet Morton raced up to them.

  His face was red from exertion. His breath came in big gulps. Wiping streams of perspiration from his forehead, he said, “Hey, fellows, I found out plenty!”

  CHAPTER IV

  A Ghostly Figure

  FRANK and Joe pulled Chet aside, and Frank asked, “What’s up?”

  “The Condor!” Chet puffed. “I’ve got the dope on it!”

  “You mean the one that came through the window last night?”

  “Not exactly,” Chet answered. “But I’ve discovered who sells the Condor golf balls around here.”

  “Who’s that?” Frank demanded.

  “The golf pro at the Olympic Health Club. He’s got a special concession. When you buy a Condor, you buy it from Gus McCormick.”

  “So Gus sold our ball to one of his customers?” Joe asked.

  “That’s my theory,” Chet replied.

  “That gives us something to go on,” Joe said. “We’d better case the Olympic Health Club and see what gives over there.”

  Frank nodded. “That would be easy if Chet got a contract to retrieve golf balls from the Olympic water hazard.”

  Chet looked crestfallen. “Sorry, Frank. I’ve tried. I wangled two contracts from courses in town, but it was no dice at the Olympic. Say, I’d better get cracking with my suction pump. Business won’t wait.”

  He left, and Frank and Joe resumed questioning the cook.

  “Mrs. Jackson,” Frank said, “what did you mean when you said Graham had good reason to run away?”

  “He wasn’t happy here,” she replied. “There were things he wanted to do that he wasn’t allowed to.”

  “For instance?”

  “Take those hamsters. They didn’t do anyone any harm. And Graham got a lot of pleasure from them. Getting rid of them was a shame.”

  Her husband rose to his feet. “Be quiet, Martha!” he commanded. “You’re talking too much.”

  “Mrs. Jackson isn’t revealing any secrets,” Joe said.

  “If Mr. Retson wants to tell you about Graham, that’s up to him,” the gardener retorted. Turning to his wife, he asked crossly, “Do you want to get us fired?” He pulled her into the kitchen and the screen door slammed behind them.

  Frank and Joe strolled over to the guesthouse.

  “We’ve quizzed everybody except Mrs. Retson,” Frank pointed out. “She may have vital information about Graham. We’ll have to talk to her.”

  “Retson might not go for the idea,” Joe said. “Let’s slip into the house when no one’s looking.”

  As soon as darkness fell, the boys made their way through the grounds to the mansion. Circling around through the bushes, they reached the east wing of the building, pried open a window, and climbed over the sill into an unused room.

  They went into the hallway and upstairs to the second floor where Mrs. Retson had her apartment.

  Joe knocked softly on the door. It opened. “What do you want?” asked Miss Hopkins.

  “We’d like to speak to Mrs. Retson,” Frank said politely.

  “Impossible! Mrs. Retson doesn’t receive visitors.” The nurse started to shut the door, but Frank and Joe slipped past her before she realized what they were up to.

  “Mrs. Retson!” Frank called out, advancing toward the bedroom. “We must speak to you!”

  “It’s about Graham,” Joe added. “And it’s urgent.”

  The nurse followed, protesting all the while. No reply came from Mrs. Retson. The three reached the bedroom doorway and peered in. They stood speechless.

  The bed was empty!

  Frank and Joe hastily searched the apartment. There was no sign of the woman anywhere. Joe pointed to an open window in the bedroom. A rope ladder was attached to the frame. “That’s the explanation. She climbed out!”

  “Your patient must be pretty agile,” Frank said to the nurse as he looked out the window. Nobody was in sight.

  “It’s all your fault!” Miss Hopkins cried angrily. “When you barged in you must have frightened Mrs. Retson. If anything happens to my patient I’ll hold you responsible!” She pointed to the door. “Please leave immediately!”

  “We’re leaving,” Frank assured her. “But we’ll be back!”

  As the boys went down the stairs, Frank said, “We’d better alert Retson that his wife is missing.”

  “Why don’t we look for her first?” Joe suggested. “If we tell him now, Hopkins might convince him it was our fault.”

  “Okay. Let’s make a quick search around the premises,” Frank agreed.

  The boys left the house by the same route they had come in. They were about to split up when a loud cry echoed through the night air. A single word rang in their ears—a woman’s voice screaming:

  “Graham!”

  Startled, Joe asked, “Where did that come from?”

  “The waterfall. Come on!”

  Frank pushed through the bushes and raced among the trees with Joe at his heels. The roar of the falls became louder with every step.

  They turned up a narrow ravine. In the moonlight they saw the water spilling over the e
dge of a rocky cliff. It plunged into a churning whirlpool, from which a stream with a strong current coursed along the side of Granite Rock.

  The Hardys moved toward the falls by stepping gingerly from rock to rock, struggling to keep their balance. “Once in that whirlpool,” Frank warned, “and it could be the last swim we ever take. Watch your footing, Joe!”

  The younger boy halted suddenly and pointed to the top of the waterfall. “Look!” he yelled.

  High above them on a boulder near the edge of the drop stood the ghostly figure of a woman. Her head was held high. Her body was tense. She stared into the distance.

  The boys wiped the spray from their eyes for a better look, but a rising wind whipped a scarf across the woman’s face, concealing her features.

  Frank was galvanized by the sight. “Joe, that woman may look like a wraith, but I’ll bet she’s Mrs. Retson. I’m going to introduce myself.”

  The boys leaped over the rocky terrain. Suddenly Frank, who was slightly behind Joe, lost his balance, clutched at the air, and fell into the water with a heavy splash.

  The whirlpool took hold of Frank, bouncing him around like a cork. Desperately he struggled to escape from the swirling mass of water. A moment later he was thrown to one side. His head struck a rock with a thud and he blacked out.

  Joe saw his brother go under, bob up, and float downstream. Frantically he dashed along the bank. Scrambling at breakneck speed across the boulders, he reached the spot where Frank was hurtling along helplessly toward certain death. Ahead was another drop full of razor-sharp rocks!

  In the nick of time Joe reached down, grabbed Frank by the shirt collar, and dragged him to safety.

  Frank lay quiet and Joe quickly applied mouth-to-mouth resuscitation until his brother regained consciousness. He gasped as he came around, “Thanks for fishing me out!”

  Joe grinned. “As you said, this is no place for a swim.”

  Frank struggled to his feet. “The wraith—is she still up there?”

  Both boys glanced toward the rock where the woman had been standing. A dense cloud covering the moon left the entire falls in darkness.

  “She’s probably gone by now,” said Joe. “No use looking for her in this murk. We both might slip into the whirlpool next time.”

  “Joe, I didn’t slip,” Frank replied somberly.

  “What?”

  “Somebody pushed me!”

  “Did you see who it was?” Joe’s voice was tense.

  “No. But I think it was a man, judging by the force of the shove. He must have been lurking on the bank when I came along.”

  “Well, I didn’t see anybody. I thought we were all alone at the bottom of the falls. Anyway, it proves something.”

  “Like what?” Frank asked.

  “Somebody wants us off the Retson case. And he’ll stop at nothing!”

  “Which means we must be getting warm,” Frank said. “Let’s go back to the mansion. Perhaps Mrs. Retson has returned by now.”

  They retraced their steps. As they approached the east wing, a figure way ahead of them ran across the lawn.

  “A woman!” Frank exclaimed.

  “Must be Mrs. Retson!” Joe dashed off at top speed. Frank followed at a slower pace. But they were too late! The woman reached the building and began climbing up the side.

  “She’s going up the rope ladder!” Joe moaned.

  “No doubt she’s used to that contraption, the way she handles it,” Frank said.

  “Hey, what’s this?” Joe said, picking up a piece of flimsy material torn from a scarf. He examined it for a moment, then put it in his pocket.

  Since Frank was feeling exhausted from his ordeal in the whirlpool, they decided to call it a night. At the guesthouse Frank promptly fell into a deep sleep.

  Joe lay in bed with his hands clasped behind his head, trying to make sense of the Retson riddle. “I wonder if Nurse Hopkins is in cahoots with Mrs. Retson and knew where she went,” he said to himself. Gradually he dozed off.

  A hard pounding on the door snapped Joe wide awake. He looked at his watch. It was eight o’clock in the morning. Frank sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What’s all that noise about?” he asked groggily.

  Joe got out of bed, opened the door, and confronted Harris the butler. He waved a cablegram wildly in Joe’s face.

  “It came this morning,” he blurted out. “Now we know where Graham is!”

  CHAPTER V

  Away to Brazil

  JOE seized the paper and read the message. “Help,” the cablegram said. “Come Excelsior Grao Para. Do not reply. Just come. Graham.”

  “You see,” the butler remarked, “Graham must be in that hotel.”

  “Where is it?” asked Frank, who by now was wide awake.

  “The cable was sent from Belem, Brazil. It’s on the Amazon River, I believe.”

  “That’s a strange place for him to be. Well, we’d better speak to Mr. Retson right away.”

  “Yes, sir. He is waiting for you in his den,” Harris said.

  The Hardys found the tycoon looking very much relieved. “It’s obvious what’s happened,” he chortled. “Graham has learned the error of his ways. He’s got over all his nonsensical ideas and is ready to come home. The mystery is solved!”

  “Looks as if there’s nothing more for us to do,” Joe observed.

  “Wrong!” Retson retorted. “I hired you for an assignment, and it’s still your case. Go to Brazil and escort my son home. Judging by his cablegram, he’s in some kind of trouble. Get him out of it, even if it’s only an unpaid hotel bill.”

  Frank rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That’s okay by us, sir. But before we leave for Belem, we would like to talk with Mrs. Retson.”

  The tycoon frowned. “Ordinarily I’d say no. But this new information about Graham is sure to cheer her up. Only make it short. I won’t rest till I know you’re on the plane to Brazil.”

  When Frank and Joe appeared at Mrs. Retson’s apartment, Miss Hopkins greeted them in stony silence. Had she told Retson about the incident the night before? Did she think the Hardys had? Her face showed nothing. She swung the door open and invited them in with a wave of her hand.

  Mrs. Retson was sitting in an armchair, a shawl over her shoulders and a blanket across her knees. Her head was tilted to one side and her eyes were half-closed. She seemed completely listless.

  Frank suspected the woman was under sedation.

  “Mrs. Retson, we’ve come to ask you a few questions,” Frank said.

  The woman opened her eyes. “Questions? What kind of questions?”

  “Well, we saw a woman at the waterfall last night. She resembled you!”

  “It wasn’t me!” Mrs. Retson shuddered as she spoke and averted her eyes.

  “This woman later climbed up a rope ladder to your room,” Joe went on. “Who else could it have been?”

  Mrs. Retson’s voice rose to a shrill pitch. “I don’t know! I don’t know! You must have made a mistake in the darkness.”

  “There was a full moon last night,” Frank stated. “It lighted up the whole area of the waterfall.”

  “That explains what happened,” she cried. “People often have delusions at the falls, especially under a full moon! You boys imagined you saw a woman.”

  Joe picked up a flimsy scarf from an easy chair. From his pocket he pulled the fragment of material he had found the previous night, and fitted it into a tear in the scarf. It matched perfectly.

  Mrs. Retson seemed terror stricken at the sight. When Joe explained where the piece had come from, she slumped into unconsciousness.

  “She’s fainted!” Frank exclaimed. He began chafing her wrists while Joe massaged the back of her neck. Miss Hopkins came in quickly and held a glass of water to her lips.

  Mrs. Retson began to moan. She opened her eyes and gazed in bewilderment. After sipping a little water, she sat up. Joe adjusted the shawl, which had slipped down.

  The nurse broke the silence. “That’s e
nough. Mrs. Retson isn’t strong enough to be badgered like this. Do your investigating somewhere else!”

  “We’ll be leaving here soon,” Joe promised. “We’re going to Brazil to bring Graham home.”

  Upon hearing this, Mrs. Retson raised a hand and cried out, “No! No! Graham is not in Brazil. He’s right here!”

  Startled, Frank begged her to explain herself. But she merely gave a knowing smile and refused to say another word.

  Frank and Joe left the apartment, expecting the nurse to slam the door behind them. Instead, Miss Hopkins joined them in the hall.

  “You must be mystified by Mrs. Retson’s remark,” she said.

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Joe replied.

  Frank nodded in agreement. “What could she possibly have meant about Graham being right here?”

  “She believes in extrasensory perception and psychic phenomena,” Miss Hopkins explained. “She thinks a person can be in two places at once.”

  “So that’s it,” Frank said. “Thanks for telling us.”

  The boys went outside. Walking away from the mansion, they glanced back and looked up at Mrs Retson’s apartment. They saw a face in the window. The woman herself was staring down at them with a pleading expression.

  “I really feel sorry for her,” Joe said. “She must be mentally ill. That explains her going down to the waterfall last night and calling Graham!”

  The boys returned to the guesthouse. Chet Morton was there, and half an hour later Phil and Tony arrived. They had come to join Chet in the business of retrieving golf balls from the Granite City golf courses. The five discussed the latest events.

  “So Joe and I will go to Brazil,” Frank concluded. “Meanwhile, it would be a good idea if you guys could keep an eye on the Retson estate.”

  “How?” Chet asked. “You can’t do it with a place this size from outside!”

  “Maybe Retson will let you stay here. During part of the time you can scavenge golf balls, and when you’re not busy, you can keep track of what’s going on.”

  “Sounds good,” Chet said with a grin. “It would save us money, too. Let’s go see the big man.”