The Ghost at Skeleton Rock Page 4

  The Hardys and the others hopped out of the plane and dashed after them. But the men had too big a lead. They jumped into their car while the pursuers were still fifty yards away. The car roared down the woods road and disappeared.

  Though disappointed, Frank pointed out that at least the suspects had had to abandon their tent and trailer. “Maybe they left some clues.”

  A quick search revealed little of interest. Besides some costumes, the crystal ball, and fortune-telling paraphernalia, Hugo and Abdul’s gear consisted of food, street clothing, and cooking utensils. The searchers turned their attention to smaller articles.

  “What’s this?” Tony asked, unrolling a flag which he had found tucked away on a shelf of the trailer. On the left was a white circle on a red triangular field, and five green and white stripes running horizontally.

  “A foreign flag!” Frank exclaimed.

  “What about this?” Jack asked, pointing to a black cloth skeleton on the lower right-hand corner.

  “Some kind of a Jolly Roger,” Joe suggested.

  “But why would petty thieves use a pirate flag?” Tony queried.

  “Perhaps Hugo and Abdul belong to some rebel group,” Frank mused.

  Tony remarked, “Maybe they’re just a couple of petty fakers.”

  Frank shook his head thoughtfully. “In that case, why all the rough stuff when we first saw them, and the rifleshot just now? If you ask me, they’re mixed up in something big—and this skeleton flag may be a clue.”

  The group headed back to Skyhappy Sal. Jack Wayne removed part of the cowling and made a quick examination of the damage caused by Abdul’s bullet. The shot had almost severed the slender copper tubing of the fuel line.

  “What’s the verdict?” Frank inquired.

  Jack shrugged, frowning. “I can make a temporary repair with a plastic line—good enough to get us in the air, anyhow. But I doubt that it would hold as far as Bayport.”

  “How about the Eastern City airport?” Tony suggested. “We could install a new fuel line there.”

  Jack nodded. “That’s what we’ll have to do.”

  He made the repair quickly, then everyone piled in. With Joe at the controls, the plane headed toward Eastern City. Located less than twenty miles away, this thriving city was a terminus for half a dozen airlines. Jack explained their plight to the tower and received permission to land. A mechanic guided him as he taxied the plane to a repair hangar.

  “How long do you figure it’ll take to put in the new line?” Joe asked as they climbed out.

  “Oh, not too long, once I get the right size tubing,” the pilot replied. “Fifteen, twenty minutes—if Tony will help me.”

  “Sure, be glad to!” Tony, an expert with tools, loved to tinker over an engine.

  “In that case,” said Frank, “Joe and I will find a phone booth and call the police.”

  They strode quickly to the terminal building. As they skirted the magazine stand on their way to the telephone booths, they noticed a man seated alone in a corner. Olive-skinned, with long, shiny black hair, he looked to be a Latin American. The man slouched on the bench, chin in hand, listening to music which apparently was issuing from a small portable radio on his lap.

  Joe grinned at the catchy tune. “Boy, I go for that stuff,” he said.

  “What stuff?” Frank asked.

  “Hot calypso!” Joe said.

  His reply seemed to electrify the man on the bench. Jumping to his feet, he darted toward the boy and hissed in his ear, “Where are your gloves, you fool? You might leave fingerprints.”

  Joe blinked and stared. The man’s next move was even more astounding. He pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and stuffed them into Joe’s hand!

  The boy was taken completely by surprise, but instinct warned him not to betray his reaction. The stranger watched him closely.

  Joe swallowed hard and looked at the gloves. They were made of gray fabric with a small label sewn to the hem of one, reading Made in Tropicale. Acting on a hunch, Joe pulled them on.

  This seemed to please the stranger, who gave a tight smile. “Ah, bueno!” He produced a small key and slipped it into Joe’s gloved hand, adding, “You have been instructed!”

  Without another word the man turned, switched off the music, and strode away. For the first time, Frank and Joe noticed that what they had thought was a portable radio was actually a small portable record-player.

  “Let’s follow him!” Joe said.

  “Better not,” Frank advised. “I think we’ve stumbled onto something big. We’ve done the right thing so far. Let’s not spoil it.”

  “You’re right. ‘Hot calypso’ must be a password. Let’s look at this key.”

  Joe held it up for examination. The key was inscribed with the number 176.

  Frank repeated the number excitedly. “That wadded note we found in the dummy’s eye!” he exclaimed. “It said ‘Skeleton Rock 176’ !”

  “But what does it stand for?” Joe asked.

  Frank thought a moment. “I can’t answer that, but I’ll bet this key opens one of those public lockers over there.”

  The boys hurried to the south wall of the air terminal, honeycombed with metal lockers.

  “Here it is,” said Frank.

  Joe glanced around cautiously. The Latin American was not in sight and no one else seemed to be looking at the boys. Joe inserted the key in the lock. It fitted!

  He turned the key and the door swung open. The locker contained a black-leather zippered case.

  Joe reached in and pulled out the case. The next instant, both boys jumped in alarm as a voice behind them barked:

  “You’re under arrest!”

  CHAPTER VII

  Twin Clues

  As THE Hardys whirled around from the airport lockers, they saw a dark-haired, hard-jawed man of medium build eyeing them coldly.

  He flipped open his coat and flashed a detective’s badge. “Now, then, who are you and what’s your game?”

  “We’re Frank and Joe Hardy,” Frank said coolly. “Our father is Fenton Hardy, the investigator. While we’re at it, maybe you wouldn’t mind telling us who you are?”

  “Shanley, airport detective!” the man replied crisply. Opening his wallet, he showed them his detective’s license. “You two still haven’t told me what you’re up to,” he prodded.

  “We’re not ‘up to’ anything,” Joe said tersely.

  Shanley was annoyed. “Let’s have a look at that leather case,” he demanded.

  But Frank interposed. “If you want to see the contents, let’s go to police headquarters.”

  “Okay,” the detective grumbled. “Come on. We’ll go in my car.”

  The Hardys agreed and the trio headed out through the glass doors of the terminal building, with Joe clutching the brief case.

  “Car’s over there at the far end of the lot.” Shanley pointed.

  As they started across the parking area, Joe caught his brother’s eye. He made a slight gesture toward the zippered case. Frank nodded.

  Turning to Shanley, Frank started chattering casually. “Do you have an office here in Eastern City?” he inquired.

  While Frank distracted the detective’s attention, Joe gave the zipper a quick jerk. Inside, he caught a glimpse of several thin, flat boxes sealed in cellophane. They bore a drug manufacturer’s label with the name Variotrycin.

  Joe pulled the zipper shut before Shanley noticed anything. The young detective’s mind was racing.

  “Variotrycin’s that new wonder drug I read about in the papers,” Joe thought. “But what has a new wonder drug to do with dummies and diamonds—or Skeleton Rock 176?”

  Joe, deeply engrossed in trying to find an answer to the puzzle, was taken off guard by three men who suddenly darted out from between two cars parked nearby.

  “We’ll take that case!” snarled the leader, a burly, baldheaded man in a polo shirt.

  “Oh, no, you won’t!” Joe ducked, and threw up an arm to protect himself.

  Frank leaped to his assistance, fists flying, as the hoodlums tried to grab the case.

  To their astonishment, Shanley had disappeared. But there was no time to speculate about what had happened to him as Frank drove home a punch that split the lip of his adversary, while Joe gave another of the men a blow that sent him reeling.

  In doing so, Joe dropped the case he had held under his left arm. As the young detective stooped to pick it up, he was amazed to have it snatched from the ground by none other than Shanley! The detective had crept up from behind.

  “Thanks!” Shanley sneered, and sprinted for his car.

  The Hardys were powerless to stop him. With the odds three against two, their attackers were pressing the boys harder than before.

  Furiously, Frank and Joe swung their fists with telling effect. One of their opponents howled with pain as Joe caught him on the nose. A second later the baldheaded leader winced and groaned under the walloping impact of Frank’s fist under his chin.

  Even so, the fight began to go against the boys. Step by step, they were being driven back and hemmed in against the bumper of a parked car.

  Then, suddenly, the tide of battle turned. The burly baldheaded man was jerked around and struck on the jaw by a blow that rocked him on his heels.

  “Tony!” Joe cheered. Heartened by the unexpected help, the Hardys put forth a fresh surge of fighting fury.

  Their assailants lost heart rapidly. “These guys are too tough I’m gettin’ outta here!” gasped one of the ruffians. Pulling loose from the fray, he turned and ran, with Tony after him.

  The baldheaded ringleader followed, with Frank at his heels. As the third hoodlum tried to join in the getaway, Joe dropped him with a flying tackle.

  But the leader and the
other ruffian kicked off their pursuers and leaped into a car that was waiting for them on the road beyond the parking area. At the wheel was Shanley!

  Discouraged by this latest development, Frank and Tony went back to Joe, who was holding their prisoner. The fellow was bony and pinched-faced, and wore a cheap-looking pinstriped suit.

  “We’re taking you to police headquarters,” Joe told him.

  The sullen man shifted uneasily, but kept quiet as the group headed for the taxi stand.

  “By the way, fellows,” said Tony, “would you mind telling me what this is all about?”

  Frank gave him a quick account of the phony detective and the unexpected attack. “Thanks for coming to our rescue. You really saved the day!”

  “Ditto!” put in Joe. “If it hadn’t been for you, we wouldn’t have this prisoner. By the way, Tony, you’d better go tell Jack Wayne what happened. We’ll be back soon.”

  “Okay,” Tony agreed. “But don’t let buster boy here pull any more fast ones!”

  As he headed back to the hangar, Frank and Joe hustled their prisoner into one of the waiting taxis.

  “Police headquarters,” Frank directed the driver.

  A few minutes later the taxi pulled up in front of the brick building.

  The sergeant in charge led the Hardys and their prisoner into the office of Inspector Moon, a friend of Fenton Hardy. He greeted the boys warmly, then said to a detective, “Take this man into the interrogation room and get the facts.” Inspector Moon turned back to Frank and Joe. “Now give me the whole story.”

  The boys related everything that had happened at the airport terminal, including the way Shanley had led them into an ambush and then stolen the leather case.

  “What did Shanley look like?” the officer asked. As Frank gave a description of the man, the inspector frowned and shook his head. “That wasn’t Shanley.”

  “He was impersonating him, you mean?” Frank asked. “We saw his detective’s license.”

  “Sure, they were the real Shanley’s all right. His house was broken into last night and all his credentials stolen,” the inspector explained.

  Frank and Joe asked to read the report of the robbery, but found no clues of interest. In answer to Inspector Moon’s questions, they explained that they were helping their father on a case and described their brush with Hugo and Abdul at the wooded site.

  “I’ll put out a call for them right away,” Inspector Moon said. He picked up his phone and ordered that an alarm be sent to all radio cars.

  “One thing I don’t understand is why that Latin American fellow at the airport slipped me the gloves and key,” said Joe, after the officer hung up. “Couldn’t he tell just by looking at me that I wasn’t the right guy?”

  “Maybe you do look like the right guy,” Inspector Moon pointed out.

  “Wow! I never thought of that!”

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, Frank suddenly grinned. “Good night! My brother looking like some underworld character!” Then he sobered. “If this is some kind of a racket—like a theft ring for passing stolen goods—we now have a good description of one of the members.”

  “Right,” the inspector agreed. “I’ll pass the word around for the men to be on the lookout for a fellow answering Joe’s description.”

  “But of the criminal type, please,” Joe pleaded.

  Just then the door of the interrogation room opened, and the plainclothesman came out with the prisoner.

  “Learn anything?” Inspector Moon asked the detective.

  “No,” he replied. “He won’t even tell us his name.”

  “Any identification?” the inspector queried.

  “Not even a driver’s license. Only thing that might help is this tattoo.” The detective pulled up the prisoner’s sleeve to show a pineapple tattoo on his left forearm.

  “Hmm. It’s not much to go on,” the inspector said, “but check the files. Anything else?”

  “Yes, sir. This prisoner was carrying these in his pocket, together with a ticket to Mexico.”

  With a baffled look, the detective held up a pair of doll’s glass eyes! Instantly the Hardys realized they were just like the dummy’s eyes which had contained uncut diamonds!

  CHAPTER VIII

  Spanish Code

  FRANK and Joe were excited. Here was a definite clue that tied the Eastern City holdup men to the Hugo dummy racket!

  “I’d like to speak to you privately,” Frank said to the police inspector. “And bring the doll’s eyes along, please.”

  When they were alone in a rear office, Frank declared, “These doll’s eyes prove the man you’re holding and his gang are mixed up in the case Dad’s working on!”

  “And what about the boxes of Variotrycin in the brief case?” Joe asked.

  Inspector Moon looked thoughtfully at both boys and said that he would follow through on this angle in a few minutes, then he held up the doll’s eyes to the light.

  “No diamonds here,” he announced. “These eyes are empty. But we still have plenty to hold Mr. Pineapple on. Maybe he’ll change his mind later about talking.”

  Inspector Moon asked the boys to wait while he tried to find out about the Variotrycin. He telephoned first to Watkins Pharmacy. The boys could hear both sides of the conversation.

  “That stuff’s pretty new,” Mr. Watkins told the inspector, “and very expensive. Far as I know, the Lexo Drug people that make it won’t be supplying it in quantity until they can lower the price.”

  “Where is Lexo Drug?”

  Mr. Watkins said the company had a plant in Hartsburg. “If you have a prescription, I could put in a special order—”

  “No, thanks,” the inspector interrupted.

  Hartsburg was less than a hundred miles from Bayport. Inspector Moon then placed a long-distance call to the company.

  “I’d like to speak to the plant manager,” he told the switchboard girl.

  A man’s gruff voice came on the line. “McCardle speaking.”

  Inspector Moon introduced himself and said, “I’m calling to find out if any shipments of Variotrycin have been stolen recently.”

  The plant manager asked with a sharp note of interest, “Who did you say you were?”

  “Inspector Moon of the Eastern City Police Department.”

  Mr. McCardle cleared his throat, then said that a special messenger carrying a consignment of their new product had been attacked and robbed late the day before.

  “Where?”

  “Not far from here.”

  “Have you contacted your local police?” Inspector Moon asked.

  “No. We just heard about the robbery. But I’ll do so right away,” McCardle replied.

  He asked why the inspector had called him, and was told about the boxes in the brief case. “Well, we hope that you find the thief!” the manager said, then said good-by.

  Inspector Moon turned to the Hardys. “How about you fellows helping on this?”

  “We will!” the young sleuths promised.

  Before leaving headquarters, Frank asked if he and his brother might borrow the doll eyes for further examination. Inspector Moon readily agreed.

  The boys taxied back to the airport. Before the group took off for Bayport, Tony telephoned his father to tell what had happened. As he returned to the others, he said, “Lucky break! Dad says I can have the rest of the day off!”

  On the flight back, the Hardys brought Jack and Tony up to date on the developments in the mystery.

  “Things certainly worked fast,” Jack remarked.

  “Yes, and thanks a lot for your help,” Joe said as they landed at Bayport. Frank echoed his words.

  The pilot grinned. “Any time, fellows.”

  As the boys drove off, Joe suggested that they stop at Mr. Hanade’s puppet-repair shop to see if he could tell them anything about the glass eyes, and to return his instruction sheet, which they had copied.

  A few minutes later the trio pulled up outside Mr. Hanade’s shop. The pleasant Japanese proprietor greeted the Hardys and Tony politely. “You learn something from instruction sheet for Hugo dummy?” he asked as Joe thanked him for lending it to them.

  “Not yet, but we have something to show you,” Joe replied. He took out the glass eyes. “Ever seen any like these before?”

  Hanade studied them curiously. “Very old,” he murmured. “Nowadays, manufacturers do not make dolls’ eyes like this. Too expensive to make out of colored glass. Besides, glass breaks too easily.”