The Short-Wave Mystery Read online

  “Er—you haven’t paid me, sir.”

  “What? ... Oh, sorry.” As the man stopped to fumble for his wallet, Joe glanced at him. In spite of the low slouch hat shadowing his face, Joe felt that the man looked familiar.

  Their eyes met for a moment. Without another word he stuffed the wallet back into his pocket and darted toward the door!

  “My money, sir!” Mr. Roundtree exclaimed. But the customer was already out of the shop—the door slamming shut behind him.

  Suddenly Joe’s memory clicked. No wonder he had not recognized the fellow with a hat on!

  “Chet! That was the baldheaded thief at the auction!” he cried, dashing from the store.

  Chet stared open-mouthed, then trotted after Joe as Roundtree gaped in helpless bewilderment. The thief was nowhere in sight, yet he could not have taken a car—there was a solid line of automobiles parked at the curb.

  “Wh-which way did he go?” Chet demanded.

  “Don’t ask me!” Joe ran to a girl who was standing in front of a florist’s window. “Did you see a man with a wolf’s head just now?”

  “A man with a wolf’s head?” The girl looked at Joe suspiciously. “Are you kidding?”

  Joe reddened and started to explain, then gave up. “Oh, never mind—thanks just the same!”

  He ran up the street, then down, with Chet at his heels, looking in stores and questioning passersby. None had seen the man. Discouraged, the boys started back to the taxidermy shop.

  “I can’t understand it,” Joe said. “That man came out of the store only a few minutes ago. He couldn’t vanish into thin air.”

  Just then a woman’s shrill scream brought the boys to a halt. Joe and Chet exchanged startled glances. Another scream split the air.

  “In there!” Joe pointed to Zetter’s Radio and TV Store, next to Roundtree’s. The two youths dashed inside. There were no customers in sight, nor anyone at the counter.

  From somewhere in back, they heard a door burst open and a loud, frightened sob. Guided by the sound, Joe and Chet darted into a narrow passageway leading to the rear of the shop.

  A woman stumbled into view, pale with fright. “Th-there’s a wild animal out there!” She pointed to the back door. “Something ferocious! I was taking a shortcut through the alley when I saw it! It scared the wits out of me!”

  By this time a policeman and several other people were crowding into the store. Joe and Chet ran out the back door into the alley.

  “She’s nutty!” Chet declared, looking all around. “There’s no animal out here!”

  Then Joe caught a glimpse of baleful eyes and gleaming fangs. “Oh, yes, there is!”

  With a chuckle, he pointed down the steps of a depressed cellar entrance to their right. Propped near the cellar door in the shadowy gloom was the mounted wolf’s head, looking as if the whole animal were about to come bounding out of the darkness!

  “Good grief!” said Chet. “So that’s what scared her. I guess this explains how that crook got away, too.”

  “Sure. He was afraid I might remember his face, so he ran through Zetter’s right after he left Roundtree’s—and dumped the wolf here so no one would spot him making his getaway.”

  As Joe retrieved the wolf’s head, Mr. Zetter, a tall, dark-featured man, came up the alley. He frowned at the noisy hubbub outside his shop.

  “What’s going on here?” he snapped. As the boys explained, Zetter snorted irritably. “A fine how-d’you-do! I leave the store for a few minutes to get a sandwich and find the place in an uproar when I get back!”

  He strode inside, the boys following. The woman gave another gasp of alarm when she saw the wolf’s head in Joe’s arms. She soon calmed down, however, and smiled shamefacedly upon realizing her mistake. After Joe had reported the auction thief’s getaway to the policeman, the two boys returned the head to Roundtree’s and Chet purchased glass eyes for his deer.

  By the time they arrived at the Hardy house on Elm Street, Fenton Hardy was home. He listened with a wry grin of amusement to Joe’s story. “Good work, son, recognizing that bald auction thief. But what about the wolf’s head?”

  “We took it back to the taxidermy shop.” Joe paused as he saw his father frown slightly. “Was that a wrong move?”

  “Well, it might have been wiser to leave it where you found it. If the thief stashed the head there, he may have been planning to come back for it later. In your place, I would have staked out the alley and kept watch.”

  “I should’ve thought of that!” Joe chided him self.

  “Maybe it’s not too late,” Frank spoke up. “Come on, Joe. Let’s give it a try!”

  Leaving Chet at work with the youngsters, the Hardys drove downtown. At the taxidermy shop they received bad news.

  “Sorry, boys,” Mr. Roundtree reported. “That fellow came back and snatched the wolf’s head right off the counter. He was out of the store before I had time to blink.”

  Joe groaned. “Did he go off in a car?”

  “ ‘Fraid I didn’t notice. To tell the truth, I hardly had time to collect my wits.”

  “Say,” Frank asked on a sudden hunch, “do you happen to know who mounted that wolf’s head?”

  “Why, yes. It was an old customer of mine—Elias Batter.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  A Secret Treasure

  ELIAS Batter—the late owner of the stuffed animals stolen at the auction! And now another of his mounted specimens had been purchased by one of the thieves! Mr. Roundtree peered shrewdly at the Hardys as he saw their startled looks.

  “Did you boys know Mr. Batter?” the taxidermist asked.

  “Not personally,” Frank replied, “but we’ve heard of him. You say he was a customer?”

  Roundtree nodded. “Used to drop in often for supplies. Can’t say I cared for him much.”

  “Why not?” Joe queried.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Struck me as a sly, disagreeable sort.” The taxidermist gave a slight, embarrassed cough. “Maybe I shouldn’t be saying that.”

  “How’d you happen to get the wolf’s head?” Frank queried.

  Roundtree explained that Batter had traded it to him for several unprepared pelts. “Good trade, too. Elias Batter was a fine craftsman—his work would stand out anywhere. And—”

  “You mean you could actually identify animals that he stuffed?” Joe put in.

  “Yep.” Roundtree described thick eye-waxing, dramatic poses, and meticulous double sewing as characteristics of Batter’s craftsmanship. “Particularly the sewing. He had a way of using extra stitches on a skin.”

  Glancing at Frank, Joe could see that his brother had been struck by the same idea. This might explain how the thief had spotted the wolf as Batter’s work!

  “Did you have the wolf’s head displayed in the window?” Frank asked.

  “Yes. The man you’re looking for came in and asked for it specially.”

  “How long ago was it that he came back?”

  “Not long. You didn’t miss him by more than two minutes.”

  Disgusted at their bad luck, the Hardys thanked Mr. Roundtree and left his shop. A freckle-faced boy was lounging against their convertible. “Well, what d’you know? It’s our little pal!” Joe exclaimed. “Hi, Jimmy!”

  “Hi.” The youngster acknowledged their greeting rather glumly. “I saw you two go in there, so I thought I’d wait. Just wanted to explain why I didn’t show up today.”

  “That’s all right,” Frank said. “Mike told us you had to do some things for your mother.”

  “Uh-huh. She came home early and made me do a lot of work.” Jimmy reached into the convertible and pulled out a bag of groceries which he had set on the back seat. “Like going to the store for this stuff.”

  “Put it back,” Frank advised. “We’ll give you a lift home.”

  Jimmy brightened at the prospect of another ride in the convertible with the top down. As the car swung away from the curb, Joe queried, “You said you saw us go into the taxiderm
ist’s?”

  “Yeah, I was standing in front of Zetter’s window, watching a color TV,” Jimmy replied.

  “You didn’t happen to notice a man come out of Roundtree’s carrying a wolf’s head?”

  “Sure, he was parked in front—right where you guys parked.”

  “What kind of car?” Frank asked eagerly.

  “A green four-door.”

  “The same one he and his partner were driving Sunday, I’ll bet!” Joe exclaimed.

  Jimmy looked from one Hardy boy to the other. “What’s the deal? Is he some kind of a crook?”

  “Sure is! He’s one of the auction thieves.” Joe immediately warmed up the convertible’s short-wave and reported this latest development to the police.

  At the tenement house where the Gordons lived, Frank suggested that he and Joe go in and meet Jimmy’s mother. He agreed, but without enthusiasm.

  Frank and Joe accompanied him up two flights of rickety stairs, then along a corridor with paint-peeling walls. Jimmy opened the door to the Gordons’ apartment and led them inside.

  A woman peered from the kitchen, which gave off an aroma of boiling cabbage. Seeing the Hardys, she came out, wiping her hands on her apron. She would have been attractive looking except for the lines of care in her face.

  “Ma, this is Frank and Joe Hardy, the guys I was telling you about,” Jimmy mumbled.

  “Oh, yes. The detective’s sons, aren’t you? Pleased to meet you.” Shaking hands, she gave the Hardys a rather suspicious stare. “Real big-hearted of you, taking Jimmy home to dinner last night. Saved me cooking for him.”

  “We enjoyed having him,” Frank said.

  Mrs. Gordon’s lips formed a grudging smile. “Hope he behaved himself.” Her smile faded as she added, “Can’t stay out of mischief, most of the time, and he won’t pay attention at school, either. Needs a father’s hand—that’s the whole trouble.”

  “He’ll shape up. Won’t you, Jimmy?” Joe said, rumpling the youngster’s hair.

  There was a moment’s awkward silence.

  “Jimmy says Elias Batter was his uncle,” Frank ventured cautiously.

  “Oh, he does, does he?” Mrs. Gordon frowned and Jimmy moved off sullenly, pretending to toy with a colored glass paperweight on a table.

  “Did you ever hear Mr. Batter speak of a man named Soapy Moran?” Joe asked.

  “No, I didn’t!” Mrs. Gordon snapped, her face hardening. “I got better things to do than poke my nose into Eli’s affairs! And what’s more, they’re none of your business, either!”

  The Hardys reddened at the unexpected outburst. Joe tried to explain the reason for his query, but Mrs. Gordon brusquely cut him off.

  “I—er—guess we’d better be going,” Frank said. “Nice to have met you, Mrs. Batter.”

  As they retreated down the hall, Joe gulped. “Whew! I sure pulled a boner that time.”

  “Guess we both did,” Frank said. “I probably shouldn’t have brought up Batter’s name. Remember, Jimmy told us his mother wouldn’t have anything to do with his uncle Elly.”

  That evening Mr. Hardy was called away for an urgent meeting with a client on an insurance investigation. After studying for a couple of hours, Frank and Joe worked the ham bands for a while in their attic shack. Then they turned their attention once more to the uncracked code message.

  “It’s a cinch this can’t be a simple substitution or transposition cipher,” Joe mused.

  “Not with this mixture of words and numbers,” Frank agreed. “What puzzles me is the—”

  He broke off as Aunt Gertrude called up, “There’s a visitor here to see you two!”

  Frank and Joe hurried downstairs. Jimmy Gordon was waiting in the living room. The freckle-faced youngster looked embarrassed as they greeted him.

  “How about some cocoa and cookies?” Frank suggested. Jimmy seemed to relax as they enjoyed their snack in the kitchen. But not until they went up to the radio shack and let him listen in on a call from a ham in Texas did he speak of the reason for his visit.

  “Sorry Ma got so sore at you fellows this afternoon,” Jimmy mumbled awkwardly. “I figured I ought to sneak over and explain.”

  “Sneak over?” Joe said. “Won’t she worry?”

  “Aw, she’s out gabbing with one of the neighbors. Besides, she was picking on me all through supper, so she’ll know why I didn’t stick around.” Jimmy paused and then went on, “You see, Ma always gets worked up when anyone mentions Uncle Elly. She says he was a crook and made trouble for the whole family.”

  “I’m sorry, Jimmy,” Frank apologized. “We didn’t realize that.”

  “Aw, it’s not your fault.”

  “Why did she consider your uncle a crook?” Joe asked, after exchanging glances with Frank. “Had he ever been convicted of breaking the law?”

  “No, not that I know of,” Jimmy replied. “But he was Ma’s oldest brother, and she says he was always getting into some kind of scrapes. Once he almost got sent up for robbing the Crescent Jewelry Store.”

  “When was that?” Frank inquired.

  “Oh, when I was little. I don’t remember much about it, but Uncle Elly was living with us then. That was before he got married. The police came around and questioned everybody at our place, even Ma and Dad.”

  “Sounds pretty unpleasant,” Joe remarked sympathetically.

  “Ma sure thought so.” Jimmy’s face took on a resentful scowl. “We were living in a better neighborhood then, and she says no one on the block would have anything to do with us after that. Dad even lost his job at the bank on account of it.”

  Frank said, “And your mother blamed your uncle Elly?”

  “Uh-huh. The cops never did prove he was guilty, but she made him move out of the house.”

  “But you still went on seeing him?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “He’d drop in sometimes when she wasn’t home. And after Dad died, he used to slip me money.”

  The youngster fidgeted silently for a moment. Frank and Joe said nothing, sensing that he was on the verge of revealing something more.

  “Look, can you guys keep a secret?”

  “Of course we can,” Frank assured him. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Uncle Elly had something hidden away for me. Something valuable. That’s what I was looking for the other night.”

  “What is it?” Joe asked.

  Jimmy shrugged. “He wouldn’t tell me. It was like this. I went to visit him once after he got sick. He said, ‘Jimmy boy, if anything happens to me, I got something secret hidden away that could be worth plenty!’ ”

  “He didn’t tell you where it was hidden?” Frank queried.

  “Nope. When I asked him, he just laughed and said, ‘Look in the right spots and you’ll find it.’ Then he had a fit of coughing. When he got his breath back, he said, ‘I’ll tell you later, when the time comes.’ But it turned out that was the last time I ever saw him.”

  The Hardys frowned thoughtfully, turning the problem over in their minds.

  Jimmy asked earnestly, “Will you guys help me find it? If it is worth a lot, like Uncle Elly said, Ma could sure use the dough.”

  “You bet we’ll help you,” Frank promised, patting the boy’s shoulder. “As a matter of fact, we expect to go over to your uncle’s house soon. Maybe we can look around then.”

  Jimmy left, looking happier than the Hardys had yet seen him. Joe took him to the front door. When he returned to the attic, he found Frank twirling the tuning dial absently, his thoughts obviously far from the ham bands.

  “What do you make of that story Jimmy told us?” Joe broke in.

  “It could explain a lot,” Frank replied. “If Batter hid something valuable, that might even be what the auction thieves were after.”

  “Suppose we were lucky enough to find it,” Joe said. “How could we prove Batter meant it for Jimmy? Wouldn’t it be Mrs. Batter’s property?”

  Frank’s face grew troubled. “Good question. I’m not sure if—�
�

  He broke off with a startled look as a voice suddenly blurted from the speaker:

  “Aardvark bulldog ... Aardvark bulldog ...”

  “The code voice again!” Frank gasped, hastily adjusting the tuning.

  A moment later came the sound of barking. Frank snatched pencil and paper and wrote down the message that followed:

  CHAPTER IX

  The Tabloid Key

  THE Hardys listened breathlessly as the message was repeated. Once more came a series of loud barks. Then the sounds faded.

  “What a break!” Joe exclaimed.

  “It’s not over the same frequency,” Frank noted, “but pretty close. They probably vary their transmitting frequency on a regular schedule.”

  Joe nodded as he pulled up a chair. “We were lucky to pick ’em up twice!” Eagerly the two boys settled down to compare the new message with the one they had received earlier.

  “They’re both in the same code,” Frank remarked. “That’s obvious just from looking at them. What beats me is the way the numbers alternate with words.”

  “Me, too,” Joe agreed in a puzzled voice. “Either one by itself might indicate a fairly simple cipher. Or they might refer to a codebook. But the two mixed together...” He shook his head, mystified.

  “You may have something there, though,” Frank said. “The numbers are given in pairs, just as they would be for a dictionary code. One might be the page number, and the other the number of the word on the page.”

  “In that case, why give any words at all?”

  “That doesn’t make sense to me, either.” Frank brooded silently for a few moments, then said, “Another thing, You’ll notice that some words are preceded by a pair of numbers and some aren’t.”

  “Right,” Joe responded. “In the first message, for instance, there are no numbers before ‘sheep’ or ‘hairs,’ and in the second message—”

  “Hold it! Say those words again!”

  Joe obliged. “Sheep. Hairs. What about them?”

  “Don’t you get it?” Frank said. “The ‘aardvark bulldog’ bit indicates the gang may be using animal code names—”