The Apeman's Secret Read online

  “Good idea!”

  The boys looked up the address of the Olympic Gymnasium in the Manhattan telephone directory. It turned out to be located in the basement of an office building in the West Forties, not far from the seedy Times Square area.

  The spacious room was filled with young men in gym trunks who were working out with barbells and tugging rhythmically at the handgrips of weight-lifting machines. The atmosphere reeked of liniment and perspiration.

  A powerfully built fellow with one leg in a plaster cast was seated on a bench near the door, enviously watching the exercisers. As Frank and Joe came in and looked around for someone who might give them information, he suddenly exclaimed, “Say! You two are the Hardy boys, aren’t you?”

  Frank and Joe responded with friendly grins and introduced themselves.

  “I thought I recognized you,” he said. “I saw you on TV last night. I’m Rollo Eckert.”

  They shook hands.

  “Don’t tell me you guys are working on the Apeman case?” he inquired.

  “The fake Apeman case.” Frank smiled. “Matter of fact we are. Maybe you can help us.”

  “Glad to, if I can.”

  “We’d like to know how many men in this part of the country are near enough to champion class to impersonate the Apeman.”

  Rollo Eckert looked embarrassed. He hesitated before replying, “‘Fraid I can’t help you much there. I just don’t know the local body builders well enough. Actually I’m from California. I just came east because I was offered a part in a Broadway show. But then I had an accident and broke my leg. So now I can’t even go home to California until the lawsuit over the accident is settled.”

  “Tough break,” said Joe with a glance at Frank. Both Hardys felt that Eckert was stalling because he was too polite or cautious to name any names.

  “I’ll tell you someone who might know, though,” Eckert went on helpfully. “A friend of mine, Zack Amboy. He just went into the locker room to dress, but he’ll be out in a minute. Zack’s a world-class body builder. In fact, he won the title of Mr. Hercules last year. He knows all the guys who pump iron around here.”

  Presently Amboy emerged onto the floor of the gymnasium, wearing street clothes. He greeted the Hardys enthusiastically when Rollo introduced them.

  “Pleased to meet you, fellas! I’ve heard a lot about you and your old man. Saw you on the television news last night, by the way!”

  Although Zack was impressively big and seemed very good-natured, Frank and Joe got the impression that he might not be overly bright.

  Eckert told him why the Hardys had come and then went hobbling off on crutches. Zack scratched his head thoughtfully and began counting on his fingers.

  “Well, let’s see. Come right down to it, I can only think of eight guys who might be able to go around pretending they were the Apeman. Y‘understand now, I’m not talking about their faces, just their builds.”

  Frank said, “If you saw what happened at the disco last night on the TV news, then you also must have seen the faker who impersonated the Apeman.

  Zack nodded. “Sure, I got a good look at him. That guy had a great set of muscles! He could win plenty of competitions!”

  “Could you give us the names and addresses of those eight body builders you mentioned?”

  “Sure thing. I dunno where they all live, but I can get their addresses out of the files.”

  Amboy went into the office of the gymnasium manager. He soon came out again, holding a slip of paper with the names and addresses. “There you go, fellas.”

  Frank and Joe thanked him and said good-bye as the manager came over to speak to the strong man. The two boys walked out of the gym and were on their way through the basement corridor toward the stairs when Zack came running after them.

  “Hey, there’s a call for Frank Hardy!”

  Surprised, Frank went back to answer the phone. Joe waited for him and chatted for a minute with Zack, who was on his way out of the building.

  Meanwhile, Frank picked up the phone in the manager’s office. “Hello,” he said but got no response. “Hello! ... Hello?”

  There was still no reply. Frank waited, thinking the party might have been called away from the phone. But after a while he heard a click as the person hung up.

  Frank lowered the phone in puzzlement. Suddenly a thought struck him. He put down the receiver and ran out of the gym, only to stop short in dismay.

  Joe lay sprawled unconscious in the corridor!

  8

  Sea Signal

  Frank knelt down anxiously to examine his brother. Joe’s pulse was strong and regular, and his only injury was a bump on the back of the head.

  Remembering a first-aid cabinet that he had noticed on the wall cf the gym, Frank ran back to fetch a bottle of smelling salts. He waved it under Joe’s nose and chafed his wrists. Presently the younger Hardy boy revived and sat up.

  “Wow!” Joe rubbed his head and looked around to get his bearings.

  “Can you remember what happened?” Frank asked.

  Joe recalled chatting briefly with Zack Amboy. After Zack left, he said, he had walked up and down the basement corridor for a bit while waiting for Frank to rejoin him. “Then someone slugged me from behind!” Joe ended ruefully.

  “How do you feel? Want to go to a doctor?”

  “No, I’m okay. Whoever conked me didn’t hit me all that hard. I was just stunned. What about that phone call?” Joe inquired. “Just a trick?”

  “Yes, to separate us, so whoever knocked you out could pull his stunt,” Frank said angrily. “When I picked up the phone, no one answered. He kept me on the line just long enough to slug you.”

  “What’s the angle?” Joe said and got up on his feet carefully. “Any ideas?”

  “Probably a warning to keep our noses out of the Apeman mystery.”

  “Who do you suppose set us up, one of the musclemen at the gym?”

  Frank shrugged. “It’s possible. Or it could have been the sneak who’s been trailing us.”

  There was a public telephone on the stairway landing. The boys tried calling their father again and this time got an answer. Fenton Hardy listened to their report with concern, then asked them to read out the list of eight possible suspects that Zack Amboy had provided.

  After hearing their names and addresses, the ace detective commented, “They live quite far apart, in three different states. Tell you what. I’ll have some of my operatives check them out. That way we can eliminate whichever ones have alibis for last night and the other times the fake Apeman went on a rampage.” Mr. Hardy took down the information and added, “In the meantime, you boys watch your step. If what happened to Joe was a warning, you may be in considerable danger!”

  “We’ll be careful, Dad,” Frank promised.

  On their way home from New York, the Hardys stopped in a pleasant suburban community called Fair Oaks, where the artist Hamp Huber lived. He was a big, affable man, at least a good match in size for the Apeman’s impersonator. Evidently he had been working at the drawing board when the Hardys arrived. His open-necked sports shirt was slightly ink- and-paint-stained.

  After sizing Huber up, both boys felt that their best tactic was to be completely frank about the reason for their visit.

  “Sure, I’m sore about getting fired by Star Comix,” the artist admitted, “but not because I need the job. No good illustrator has any trouble getting assignments these days, and I’m one of the best, if I do say so myself! I’ve got all the work I can handle.”

  “Then what’s your gripe?” said Joe.

  “I’ve been drawing the Apeman comic book for over two years,” Huber said. “I gave it the best I had. I really think I helped build up the character. And now when it all starts to pay off and the Apeman gets popular on television, do I get a raise or a pat on the back? No, I get fired!”

  “We were told they couldn’t depend on you to deliver the work on time,” Frank said bluntly.

  “Baloney! They�
�ve been satisfied with my performance these past two years. What’s so different now? That’s typical of the way Micky Rudd operates!”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He thinks he’s the one-man genius of Star Comix,” Huber replied. “Whenever he’s afraid that any artist or writer may get too much credit for some character or comic book, right away Rudd finds an excuse to fire him or switch him to another assignment. That’s so Rudd can hog all the credit himself!”

  Frank hesitated a moment before asking, “Ever hear of an artist named Archie Frome?”

  “Sure, he died not long ago. A very talented guy!”

  “Somebody told us he called Mr. Rudd ‘a real crook.”’

  Hamp Huber chuckled heartily. “If old Archie Frome said that, you better believe it!”

  “Why?”

  “Archie was one of the nicest fellows you’d ever want to meet; warmhearted, always sweet-tempered. I’ve never heard him say an unkind word about anybody. So if he actually called Micky Rudd a crook, he must’ve had some mighty good grounds for saying so!”

  When they resumed their drive to Bayport, Frank and Joe made another stop in Shoreham, at the Argus Insurance Company offices. It was a few minutes after closing time, and Mr. Linwood brought Sue’s boyfriend out to the lobby to meet them.

  Buzz Barton was a husky, freckle-faced young man. The Hardys liked him immediately. He was eager to do anything possible to help find Sue Linwood. Like her father, Buzz suspected that she might have joined the Children of Noah.

  “But here’s the catch,” Frank explained. “Joe and I have already had one run-in with the culties and they know our faces. If we’re going to find out whether or not Sue’s aboard the Ark, we’ll have to have somebody else act as spy. That’s where you come in.”

  “Leave it to me!” Buzz volunteered. “There’s always a group of ‘em down around the waterfront just before dinnertime. I’ll pretend I want to join. One way or another, I’ll get aboard!”

  “Good! If she is on the Ark and the culties make any trouble, Joe and I can meet you out at the ship and bring you both ashore. We have a good fast boat.”

  “I’ll try and call you this evening,” Buzz promised, “and let you know the score.”

  Joe drove the last leg of their trip home. Once again the Hardys had a strong hunch that they were being shadowed but in the busy rush-hour traffic were unable to trap the tail car.

  When they arrived home, their mother said that Chet Morton had stopped by during the afternoon. “I told him you’d gone to see the publisher of Star Comix in New York, and he got very excited,” Mrs. Hardy added. “I’m not sure why.”

  “Uh-oh! Three guesses!” groaned Joe with a comical look at his brother.

  Frank grinned. “Let’s face it. It must have something to do with this new cartooning kick he’s on.”

  Sure enough, their plump pal showed up just as Aunt Gertrude was setting the table for dinner. Chet brought fresh samples of his artistic output. The Hardy boys saw that he had changed the name of his cartoon character from Muscle Man to Captain Muscles.

  “Now that you know Micky Rudd, will you show him my new creation?” Chet begged.

  “Well, uh—I’m not sure we’ll have a chance,” Frank stalled, “but if we do, we’ll show it to him.”

  The Hardys were saved from making further awkward excuses by the telephone ringing. The caller proved to be Buzz Barton.

  “We’re in business!” he reported excitedly. “I told the culties I wanted to be a Child of Noah, and they accepted me right off. There’s a motor launch due in about half an hour to take a group out to the Ark, and I’m going with ‘em!”

  “Where’s it anchored?” Frank asked.

  “Just off Barmet Bay.”

  “Great! And do you have that special ladder we gave you?”

  “Sure do! I pretended I’ve been on the road, so I’m carrying a small bedroll. The ladder’s coiled up inside it. I also packed a flashlight, like you said.”

  Frank instructed Buzz on a set of signals and promised that he and Joe would bring their boat within sight of the Ark at 11:00 P.M.

  About 10:15 P.M. the two youths drove to the boathouse where they stored their speedy craft, the Sleuth. Soon the sleek motorboat was planing out across the moonlit waters of Barmet Bay.

  Presently the lights of the big, converted cruise liner became visible in the distance. It was anchored a mile or so north of the entrance to the bay.

  Joe cut the engine and dropped the anchor. The Hardys transferred to a small plastic rowboat.

  Dipping their oars gently, they rowed toward the Ark. It was a few minutes to eleven. As they approached the liner, two short flashes and one long flash of light shone from the ship.

  “That means he’s found Sue and she’s ready to come with him!” Frank exclaimed in a whisper.

  Rowing in closer, they found the special detective’s climbing rig dangling over the side as arranged. It consisted of a slender nylon cable with plastic projections at intervals to serve as foot- and handholds.

  Making their boat fast to the cable, the Hardys clambered up the ladder. But as they scrambled aboard the Ark, rough hands grabbed them in the darkness!

  9

  Deep-Sixed!

  Deck lights suddenly flashed on, including a spotlight aimed directly at the Hardy boys’ eyes. They blinked and squinted in the dazzling glare and tried to avert their faces, but the hands gripping them tightly from behind prevented them from doing so.

  Presently they were able to make out a man in captain’s uniform. Another man, wearing third mate’s stripes, was with him, as well as several shaven-headed, white-robed cultie youths.

  “What’s the big idea, grabbing us as if we were criminals!” Frank said boldly to the captain.

  “What do you expect us to do when two harbor rats come sneaking aboard in the middle of the night?” the captain retorted roughly. “Shake hands and offer you a cup of coffee?”

  “We came here to see a friend,” put in Joe.

  “Funny way to visit a friend, crawling aboard in the dark like a couple of sneak thieves!”

  “We saw flashes of light from the deck, so we figured there must be someone on watch who could tell us if it was okay.”

  Joe would have liked to add sarcastically, “How do you suppose we could have climbed aboard if our friend hadn’t put a ladder over the side for us?” But he realized that any such remark was only apt to cause worse trouble for Buzz Barton, if he was not already in an unpleasant predicament. In any case, their captors must be well aware of how they had clambered up the side.

  “You were right about one thing!” the captain growled. “There was someone on watch! And now that you’ve been caught trespassing on my ship, you’re going to be taught a lesson you won’t forget! Give‘em the deep six, fellows!”

  With hoots and cries the others closed in on the Hardys as the captain watched mockingly. Frank and Joe put up a fierce resistance, but they were overpowered by sheer numbers. The boys felt themselves picked up by a dozen hands. Next moment they were heaved over the side like jettisoned cargo!

  Kersplash! They hit the water almost simultaneously. Breathless from their steep plunge and the shock of immersion in the cold water, the Hardys floundered wildly for a few moments.

  Luckily both were good swimmers. They made it safely to their boat with three or four strong strokes. Boarding it without capsizing the craft was their next problem, but at last, soaked and panting, they flopped miserably into their little plastic rowboat.

  Jeering laughter rang out from the deck of the liner above them. Then, with a noisy clatter, the nylon climbing rig was tossed down on top of them.

  “Those cowards!” Joe raged, clenching his fists. “If only we could take ‘em on two at a time!”

  “Forget it,” Frank said, gritting his teeth. “We did sneak aboard in the dark, and we knew we were taking a chance, so what’s the use of blowing our tops?”

  As they rowed back t
o the Sleuth, he added, “What worries me is what’s going to happen to Buzz Barton!”

  Joe shot an anxious glance at his brother. “You think they might really work him over?”

  “Who knows? If that skipper’s ruthless enough to throw us overboard, there’s no telling what he and those Noah nuts might do to someone who joined the cult under false pretenses!”

  “That’s assuming they know Buzz is our friend and why he joined up.”

  “They’re just bound to know!” Frank declared. “How else could they have gotten all set for us if they hadn’t dredged the truth out of Buzz?”

  “H‘m!” Joe said worriedly. “Then maybe we ought to call Dad and ask him to do something to get Buzz out of this mess! We’re the ones who got him into it!”

  “Good idea! Let’s try the radio!”

  As soon as they got back to their motorboat, the boys warmed up the Sleuth’s powerful transceiver and beamed out the Hardys’ emergency-code call. By luck, their broadcast brought an almost immediate response from their father, who happened to see the flashing signal on his own set that indicated an urgent transmission. “What’s up, Sons?”

  Frank hastily briefed him. The boys could tell from Fenton Hardy’s tone of voice that he was as disturbed as they were over the situation.

  “Go to the Coast Guard station as fast as possible and ask for help!” the famous manhunter advised. “Meantime, I’ll call Washington!”

  “Okay, Dad!”

  Joe gunned the engine, and in seconds the Sleuth was carving a double bow wave of water as it sped toward the Barmet Bay Coast Guard station.

  Much to their relief, a lieutenant was waiting to receive them, and a launch was already warmed up and ready to shove off. “Your dad must have called some important people,” the officer told the Hardy boys. “We’ve had an urgent request from the FBI as well as official authorization from our own department!”

  The launch cruised swiftly across the bay and soon had the Ark pinned squarely in the glare of its powerful searchlights. As they pulled alongside the converted cruise liner, the lieutenant called out through an electric bullhorn: