The Ghost at Skeleton Rock Page 5

  He explained that eyes for modern dolls are normally made of plastic with a metal rod running through them. The rod is usually hinged, with a small counterweight to make the eyes open and close.

  Frank murmured to Joe, “With a rod running through them, there wouldn’t be much room inside for hiding anything.”

  Joe nodded and said aloud, “If they’re plastic, they’re probably solid instead of hollow.”

  “That is correct,” said Mr. Hanade.

  “Do your Hugo dummies have solid plastic eyes?” Frank queried.

  “Yes. Modern merchandise, of course.”

  “Any idea where these glass eyes might have come from?” Joe went on.

  “Would be hard to say. Most likely from some old-fashioned American dolls or puppets.”

  “One more question,” said Frank. “Where are the Hugo dummies made?”

  “Mexico,” said Mr. Hanade. At once the boys thought of the prisoner who had a ticket to Mexico. The man went on, “The dummies are fashioned of papier-mâché.”

  The boys thanked him for his help and left. As they drove home, the group exchanged views on the mystery.

  “I still can’t figure out why those guys in Eastern City were so anxious to get their hands on that Variotrycin,” Joe remarked. “Maybe there’s a connection between the drugs and the diamonds.”

  “And how about that pirate flag in Abdul’s trailer?” Tony reminded them. “Where does that come in?”

  Frank shrugged. “You’ve got me, pal!”

  When they reached the Hardy home, Chet Morton was rocking himself in the glider on the front porch.

  “Hey, watch it, boy! You want that thing to collapse?” Joe called out laughingly.

  “Where’ve you fellows been?” Chet complained. “I’ve been waiting here so long I’ll bet I’ve missed my lunch.”

  Frank sniffed the appetizing aroma of freshly baked cake that floated out through the open windows. “Better come in and eat with us, Chet.”

  The stout teen-ager needed no urging. Soon all four boys were seated around the dining-room table, with Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude, spooning up hearty servings of delicious onion soup and enjoying crusty French bread.

  “How did things go, boys?” Mrs. Hardy asked.

  After hearing all about the exciting adventures, both women gasped and Aunt Gertrude said, “I warned you! If you’d only pay attention to me, you wouldn’t risk your lives that way.”

  Mrs. Hardy looked troubled. “Please be careful,” she cautioned.

  After luncheon the four boys trooped upstairs to Frank and Joe’s room. Once again the young sleuths took out the two instruction sheets for the Hugo dummies and began to compare them.

  “I’ll read off the extra words included on Chet’s sheet that are different, Frank, and you write them down,” Joe suggested.

  “Okay, shoot!”

  Frank wrote the words in a column with the translation opposite each one:

  “What is it—a code?” asked Tony.

  “Perhaps,” said Frank. After a couple of minutes of trying various combinations, he added, “I can’t make any sense out of them.”

  “Let’s try the first letters of each Spanish word reading down,” suggested Joe. “C,a,b,e,z,o, n,a,n—”

  “The first word, Cuerpo,” said Tony, “and the last word, Número, both have capital letters. Maybe that means the N should be separated from the rest.”

  Frank wrote it down this way:CABEZONA N

  “I believe you’re right,” he commented, and consulted a Spanish dictionary. He read aloud:

  “‘Cabezon, na, adj. big-headed; stubborn; n. collar of a shirt; opening in a garment for the passage of the head; noseband (for horses).’ ”

  “Doesn’t make sense to me,” said Frank, “unless the code refers to the Hugo dummy’s big head.”

  “That’s it!” Joe exclaimed. “The instructions might point out that the diamonds were secreted in the dummy’s head! And the N could stand for north, which is the position the dummy’s eyes are located on its face.”

  Excited, the boys warmed up their short-wave radio and beamed out a call over the Hardys’ special frequency. After several minutes Mr. Hardy answered.

  “Fenton to Bayport. Can you read me?”

  “Sure can, Dad!” Joe replied into the mike. “We have some important news for you!”

  “Better not tell it now,” Mr. Hardy warned hastily. “Someone may be listening!”

  “Then tell us where to reach you and we’ll send it in code by airmail,” Joe told his father.

  “I have a better idea, son. Suppose you and Frank fly down here to Puerto Rico and join me. I can use your help. Call Jack Wayne right away and make the arrangements.”

  Chet and Tony had listened to the invitation with envy. “Ask your dad if he can use us,” said Chet. “We could be a big help!”

  “It sure would be a lot of fun,” Joe agreed.

  “It’s okay. Bring your pals along.” Mr. Hardy chuckled, having heard the whole conversation.

  At once Chet and Tony dashed to the hall phone to call their parents. First Chet received permission to take a vacation from his summer work on the farm, then Tony’s father agreed to give him time off.

  The boys were jubilantly talking over their plans when the telephone rang sharply. It was Inspector Moon calling from Eastern City.

  “I have some bad news,” he told Joe, who answered. “That prisoner you and your brother captured this morning has just escaped by overpowering a guard.”

  “Escaped!” Joe echoed.

  “I thought I’d better warn you two,” the officer said.

  “Thanks, Inspector. We’ll be on our guard.”

  Frank was gravely alarmed when he learned of the escape. “Now we’re in real trouble,” he pointed out. “That man will pass along word to the gang that we have valuable information and they may try to harm us!”

  “Good night!” Joe exclaimed. “If they come here while we’re gone, Mother and Aunt Gertrude will be in danger!”

  “We’d better call Sam Radley and ask him to guard the house,” Frank decided.

  Mr. Hardy’s operative readily agreed not only to stand guard himself at night, but to provide around-the-clock protection for the Hardy home. A call to Jack Wayne brought the promise that Mr. Hardy’s new six-seater cabin plane would be fueled and ready for take-off at six the next morning.

  “I’ll be there at five to have everything in order,” the pilot promised.

  At dawn the brothers bounced out of bed, showered, dressed hastily, and had a quick breakfast.

  “Now take your time and chew your food properly,” Aunt Gertrude told them tartly. “I doubt that the island of Puerto Rico will sink out of sight if you don’t get there in the next few hours!”

  After good-bys and warnings to be careful, the boys flung their suitcases into the convertible and drove off. They picked up Chet and Tony, then set off for the airport.

  It was a few minutes before six, and shreds of morning mist still clung to the ground when they arrived at the airport. Jack Wayne was nowhere in sight. A line-boy was refueling the blue-and-white Hardy plane at the gas pit. The young detectives asked him if he had seen Jack Wayne.

  “I did, just a little while ago,” the line-boy answered. “The last time I saw him he was headed for Hangar B. He asked me if I’d help him tow your father’s plane out and refuel it. When I went over to the hangar a few minutes later, Jack was nowhere around. So I just went ahead and towed the plane out on my own.”

  The boys waited anxiously, but twenty minutes later, their pilot still had not arrived.

  Frank’s face clouded with worry. “I’m afraid that something has happened to Jack. He’d never be this late without letting me know.”

  “Yes,” said Joe. “It looks as if our enemies may have already started their newest attack.”

  CHAPTER IX

  The Ticking Suitcase

  “MAYBE Jack went to the shop to get something,” Tony said.

  In pairs the boys began their hunt. When they met again a short time later, their faces registered failure.

  “I’ll call the motel where Jack lives,” Frank decided. “He might have gone to his room to get something.”

  Hopefully the four boys hurried to the waiting room. Frank made the call.

  “Is he there?” Joe asked anxiously when his brother emerged from the booth.

  Frank shook his head. “The manager said Jack left a couple of hours ago.”

  For a moment the boys were silent, wondering what their next move should be. Suddenly Joe snapped his fingers. “We haven’t checked Jack’s plane. Let’s go look!”

  With quick strides the boys headed for Hangar B, where their father and Jack kept their planes. Jack’s sleek, silver-winged craft stood in one corner of the big corrugated-iron building.

  Frank reached the plane first, climbed up, and jerked open the cabin door. He stopped short and gasped. Slumped on the floor was the huddled form of Jack Wayne!

  “He’s here, unconscious!” Frank reported.

  “Good night!” cried Joe.

  Gently the boys lifted the pilot out of the plane and laid him on a pile of tarpaulins.

  “Is he badly hurt?” Chet asked.

  “I think not,” Frank replied, taking Jack’s pulse, which was even. “Just knocked out. In fact, I believe I smell chloroform in here.”

  Jack moaned and stirred. “Thank goodness it’s nothing worse,” said Joe.

  A few minutes later, though still woozy, Jack was able to sit up. “W-what—? W-where—?” he murmured, shaking his head from side to side.

  “Take it easy,” Frank advised.

  “Oh, hello, fellows,” Jack said shakily.

  Chet Morton brought him a drink of water. While the pilot was sipping it, Frank and Joe went off to question the man in charge of the airport at the time, Burt Hildreth.

  “Did you notice strangers prowling around early this morning?”

  “Don’t recall seeing any,” said Hildreth, a tall man with a weather-beaten face. “In fact, no one’s been out to the field this morning—except when this young man showed up at five o’clock.” He pointed to Joe.

  “Me?”

  “Sure. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our conversation.”

  Frank and Joe looked at each other, startled.

  The early-morning visitor to the airfield must have been the one who resembled Joe—the contact man for the theft ring!

  Hildreth was puzzled. “What goes on here?” he asked. “You fellows mixed up in a mystery?”

  “Yes,” said Frank. “Joe and I didn’t arrive until a few minutes ago.” He explained that the police were looking for a suspect who resembled Joe. He might even be made up to look like him.

  “Well, I’ll be doggoned!” Hildreth exclaimed. “That fellow sure is your double! He asked if Wayne had filed the take-off time for your flight. I said, ‘No, not yet, but he told me last night you’d be leaving around six.’ Then he walked off toward the hangar.”

  Joe’s eyes widened as a frightening thought struck him. “I have a hunch we’d better check our plane and check it good!”

  The boys hurried back to the hangar, where they found Jack Wayne fully recovered. He told them he had been about to step into the Hardy plane when someone had sneaked up behind him and put a rag with chloroform under his nose.

  “That’s the last I remember. But why would anyone want to knock me out?”

  “So he could sabotage our plane before take-off!” Frank replied grimly, and related Hildreth’s story.

  “Good night!” exclaimed Jack. “If that’s the deal, we’d better go over the ship with a fine-toothed comb, or we may wind up in the drink!”

  Worried, the group towed the big blue-and-white craft out onto the hangar apron. Under Jack’s supervision, they began a thorough check.

  Engine, landing gear, control cables, elevators, ailerons, trim tabs—everything seemed to be in order. Even the radio and flight instruments showed no signs of tampering.

  Frank relaxed a bit. “I guess my hunch was wrong. Anyhow, I’m glad we made sure.”

  “But we still don’t know why Jack was attacked,” Joe pointed out.

  While the pilot went off to file his flight plan, the others refreshed themselves with some hot cocoa at the airport lunch counter. Later, as Jack warmed up the engine for take-off, the boys lugged their baggage out to the ship.

  Frank squatted just inside the cargo compartment in the rear of the plane and checked off each item as the others passed them in to him.

  “Two bags for Joe and me,” he sang out. “Three bags for Chet. One suitcase for Tony, and a bag and two suitcases for Jack already stowed aboard!”

  Jack turned around. “Hey, did you say three for me? I brought only two.”

  “I’ll bet Chet slipped in an extra one full of chow!” Tony joked.

  “Either that, or he’s trying to sneak his dummy aboard as a stowaway.” Joe chuckled.

  Suddenly Frank turned pale. “Say, what if that fellow who chloroformed Jack planted the extra bag! It could mean—”

  The pilot had already jumped up from his seat and hurried aft. “These are my two suitcases,” he said, pointing them out.

  Frank grabbed the extra bag from the cargo space and held it to his ear.

  “It’s ticking!” he cried. “A time bomb!”

  There was an instant of near panic as Jack and the boys stood frozen with fear. Should they leap from the plane and leave it to blow up when the bomb went off? Or should they take a chance and try to carry the bag to a safe distance?

  Frank glanced at his watch. It was 6:33. “The person who planted the bomb probably figured we wouldn’t be airborne just yet, so the bomb must be set to explode a few minutes from now. Out of my way, boys!” he cried.

  Before anyone could stop him, Frank jumped from the plane, bag in hand, and sprinted down the runway. Near the edge of the field, he paused and hurled the bag toward a vacant, brush-covered lot beyond.

  He was halfway back to the plane when the whole airport rocked under a sudden explosion. Frank was hurled to the ground by the tremendous blast. Joe and the others ran to help him as dirt, brush, and debris rained down on all sides of the blast area.

  “Frank! Are you all right?” Joe cried, reaching his brother and kneeling down beside him.

  “Sure. Just a little shaken up.”

  “And m-me too!” said Chet. “Man alive, I thought you were a goner!” The stout boy’s face was ash white and the rest of the group looked equally shocked.

  By this time, the airport was in an uproar and it was some time before everyone was reassured that the bomb planter had directed his venom only toward the Hardys.

  Meanwhile, Frank made a full report over the phone to Chief Collig. Finally a signal for departure was given and the graceful blue-and-white plane took off on its flight to Puerto Rico.

  Everyone relaxed as the plane headed out over the Atlantic. The boys sat quietly and thought about the case. What sort of a racket were they up against? Obviously its members would stop at nothing to gain their objectives. The young sleuths had already had enough close scrapes to be sure of that!

  Frank and Joe each took turns at the controls as Jack instructed them in long-range flying and navigation. It was nearing lunchtime when a voice came crackling over the plane’s radio navigation frequency.

  “Sky Sleuth One-One-Eight-Howe-Baker! This is Tancho radio! Do vou read?”

  Frank clicked the plane’s transmitter to the proper frequency. He then picked up the microphone and spoke into it. “Tancho radio! This is Sky Sleuth One-One-Eight-Howe-Baker! Read you loud and clear! Go ahead!”

  “Eight-Howe-Baker! This is Tancho radio! Bayport tower has requested us to convey a message to you from Mrs. Hardy! You are requested to land at Centro in Tropicale! Repeat—land at Centro in Tropicale! Over!”

  The boys were puzzled. Why land at the new Caribbean island democracy? Frank decided to check.

  “Tancho radio! This is Eight-Howe-Baker! Would you please contact Bayport tower and have them call Mrs. Hardy? We would like to verify that message!”

  “Stand by!”

  Several minutes passed before the communicator’s voice again crackled from the loudspeaker.

  “Eight-Howe-Baker! This is Tancho radio! Bayport tower reports they called your home! No answer! Can we be of further assistance? Over!”

  “This is Eight-Howe-Baker! Negative! We are proceeding to Centro. Please change our flight plan accordingly! Over and out!”

  Shifting course to the right, Jack headed south-west toward Tropicale. Finally the lush green shores of the island came into view. The pilot consulted a map as they flew inland and soon they sighted the bustling city of Centro.

  Arrowing in toward the airfield on the outskirts of town, Jack cleared with the tower and made a smooth landing. Almost before the plane rolled to a stop, a man in a white suit came running out to meet them. He was tall and dark with a long, drooping mustache.

  As the boys climbed out of the plane, the stranger shoved a note into Frank’s hand, then dashed off the field. Puzzled, Frank unfolded the paper and read the typewritten message. It said:Danger. Do not come.

  Dad

  CHAPTER X

  Cross Fire

  CHET groaned in dismay at Mr. Hardy’s message. To have come all this way and not go on to Puerto Rico.

  Jack had a different idea. “Maybe it’s a trick,” he suggested.

  “Yes, and the radio message too,” Frank agreed.

  “Then let’s find that guy and make him talk!” Joe urged.

  “Okay. Anybody see where he went?” Frank asked.

  He and the others stared around the field. With several airliners loading and discharging passengers, the place throbbed with activity. Tourists swarmed about the terminal building.

  “There he is!” cried Tony, pointing to a tall figure in a white suit talking earnestly to a group of men. They were standing near the roadway that bordered the field.