Mystery of the Flying Express Page 6

  The two collapsed onto the floor of the cabinet —unconscious!

  Later—how much time had elapsed they did not know—they regained their senses. Cold water was being splashed on their faces. A voice rang through the buzzing sound in their ears. “Fellows, are you all right? You had a close call!”

  They opened their eyes to see Chassen bending over them. The door of the cabinet was open. They could breathe again!

  Joe stood up rather shakily. “Henry, you’re a lifesaver!”

  Frank rose beside him. “Put it there, pal. We would have been goners if you hadn’t got the door open. How did you do it?”

  “It was taking too long to do anything with the blowtorch, and I was feeling faint myself. So I ran my fingers around the edge of the door in a final attempt to get out—and presto! I tripped a catch at the top.”

  Frank patted him on the back. “We’re out of the cabinet,” he said, “but we’re not out of the boathouse. Let’s have a look at the doors!”

  “Nuts!” Joe said. “They’re locked.”

  “We might swim under them,” Frank suggested. “I’ll go first and see.”

  He lowered himself into the water, took a deep breath, and plunged straight down, feeling along the wooden door as he went. Finally he found the bottom and popped up on the other side of the barrier.

  Everything was dark and silent. The surface broke again as Joe’s head popped up beside him.

  “One to go,” Frank spluttered, “and we can all get away from here.”

  “Henry had better make it quick!” Joe said. “Here comes the speedboat! What’ll we do, Frank?”

  “We can’t leave without Henry. Not after what he did for us. Wonder what’s keeping him. He was supposed to come right after me.”

  “Probably couldn’t make it under the doors. It’s a tough swim for anyone. Look, we can’t do him any good by staying here. Let’s hide until the boat goes away and rescue him later.”

  Frank let himself quietly down in the water on the side of the dock away from the boat. Joe did the same. Only their fingertips and upturned faces showed, but the Hardys felt sure the darkness would complete their cover.

  “We may never get out alive!” Frank said

  They listened. The motor was throttled back and the boat bumped the other side of the dock, sending ripples over the surface. Joe was taking in a breath when he shipped a mouthful of water.

  He coughed and spluttered, breaking the tense silence like a cannon shot! Three men leaped from the boat and were on the Hardys like sharks. Two of them seized Joe, overpowered him, and hustled him into the boat.

  Frank, threshing around in the water, felt a cold steel claw close over his wrist in a vicelike grip, and he, too, was hauled into the speedboat. As the claw released its grip on him, he collapsed beside Joe.

  The boat sat dead in the water while the men debated their next move.

  “We had three of them. Where’s the third?”

  “Guess he didn’t make it out of the boathouse.”

  “That’s fine. We can take care of him later.”

  “What do we do with the two birds we’ve got? The bottom of the bay is awful close, and it would solve the problem once and for all.”

  “That’s not the way just now,” said the man in charge. “There’s a better way. Listen.”

  His voice sank to a whisper for a minute or two. Then they started the boat and headed out. The leader spoke to the boys. They couldn’t see his face in the darkness as he warned:

  “We’ll give you a chance this time, Hardys. But you’re on notice that you’ve received your final warning. Keep your noses out of Cape Cutlass. Next time it’ll be Davy Jones’s locker for you!”

  When the boat reached a point nearly out of sight of land, one of the thugs came back to the boys.

  “On your feet, punks!” he growled. “Here, put these on!” He shoved a couple of life preservers around their waists, then each received a stiff push that sent him toppling into the water. The boat sped off into the darkness.

  “No sense trying to swim,” Frank said as he bobbed up and began to float. “We can’t see the shore, and we might head for Europe!”

  “Fortunately, it’ll be light soon,” Joe answered. “We should be able to get our bearings.”

  The rising sun began to light up the sea. Dimly at first, then more sharply, the contours of land began to take shape about two miles away.

  “Cape Cutlass!” Joe could hardly believe it.

  “More than that!” Frank shouted. “We’re off the Starfish Marina!”

  It looked like an easy swim. The boys removed their life preservers and headed toward shore.

  As Joe started the crawl stroke he sighted something that chilled his blood—three fins cutting the surface of the water!

  “Sharks!” he shouted.

  Frank had already spotted them. He and Joe kicked furiously in a panic-stricken effort to ward off an attack by the tigers of the sea. This was one race they could not afford to lose!

  CHAPTER X

  Beware of the Claw!

  ONE of the fish circled the two swimmers, cutting between them and the shore! Then it erupted from the surface and leaped high into the air. Sunlight glittered on the creature. It had a pointed snout with a mouth drawn up at the corners, as if smiling, and big round eyes.

  Joe relaxed and grinned. “Hey, Frank. It’s a porpoise!”

  Frank brushed salt spray from his eyes. “Thank goodness!” He had just started to swim again when Joe called out:

  “Look, there’s a catamaran! Maybe we can thumb a ride.”

  The sailboat scudded before a strong breeze. The youth at the tiller brought her around to windward at a signal from his girl passenger, and came to a halt where the Hardys were bobbing in the waves.

  “Ahoy there. Need help?”

  “Sure do!” Frank shouted, and the girl tossed out a line.

  The boys pulled themselves aboard the catamaran, and sprawled dripping on the deck.

  “Thanks,” Frank puffed.

  “Don’t mention it,” the youth said. “I’m glad we sighted you. What happened?”

  “We—er—were out in a speedboat and got dumped,” Frank said.

  The girl smiled. “We came out to watch the porpoise.”

  “Glad you did,” Joe said.

  “If you like,” the boatman offered, “we can drop you off at the Starfish Marina. That’s where we rented this catamaran.”

  “The assistant there is very amiable,” the girl confided. “A little on the heavy side, but cute. He went out of his way to be helpful and had our boat ready in a jiffy.”

  Frank responded dryly, “Yes, we’ve met him. We’ve found him helpful, too!”

  The sailboat deposited the Hardys at the dock, and then skimmed back out in search of the playful porpoise.

  Chet Morton came running along the dock to meet them. He was accompanied by a man walking briskly behind him.

  “Look! It’s Dad!” Joe exclaimed.

  Fenton Hardy grinned broadly as he greeted his sons.

  Frank said, “We thought you were on Shark Island!”

  “I was until Chet phoned home to say you were missing. Your mother passed the information on to me. She was greatly worried. So was I.”

  “We ran into a bit of trouble for a while,” Frank admitted.

  “But we’ve latched on to some good clues,” Joe added.

  They related all that had happened.

  “We’ll put out a missing-person report on Chassen,” Mr. Hardy said. “Incidentally, the plane was found.”

  “Didn’t I tell you trouble was coming?” Chet said. “Gosh, I’m sorry about Henry.”

  “I have some news, too,” Mr. Hardy said. “Last week the maritime gang raided boats at Shark Island and picked them clean. I’ve got a list of what was stolen.”

  The detective pulled a notebook from his pocket and read off dozens of items. Suddenly Joe interrupted. “Dad, hold it! You just said fogho
rn. We ordered a foghorn from a guy who tried to peddle secondhand goods. He said his name was Skee.”

  Mr. Hardy nodded. “I suspected the thieves would peddle their merchandise all along the coast. Keep an eye out for that fellow. Perhaps you can learn who his associates are.”

  “Will do,” Frank promised.

  “Now tell me,” his father went on, “what’s the best clue to the kidnappers who seized you?”

  “One of them grabbed me with a hook when I was in the water,” Frank said.

  “A hook?”

  “That’s right. It felt like a steel trap on my wrist.”

  Their father was silent for a few moments. “That sounds like Hooks Zigursky,” he said. “If so, this whole affair is more sinister than I imagined!”

  “Who’s Hooks Zigursky?” Frank asked.

  “One of the most dangerous criminals in this part of the country. He used to be a smuggler and bank robber. Had his hand blown off the last time he tried to crack a safe with a charge of nitroglycerine.”

  “What a pity,” said Chet.

  “Yes, a real tragedy,” Mr. Hardy replied. “Brought on by himself. Since then he’s worn a hook, a mechanical claw with which he has been known to throttle a man or beat him unconscious.”

  “Wow!” Joe exclaimed. “Now he’s more dangerous than ever!”

  “For another reason, too,” Mr. Hardy said. “I was responsible for sending him to prison. The claw was the clue in that case also. Hooks received a stiff sentence, and he swore he’d be revenged on me someday. He served most of his time, and is out on parole now.”

  “I get it,” Frank put in. “If he’s up to some caper on Cape Cutlass and we’re getting in his hair, he has two powerful motives to liquidate us. Interference and revenge!”

  “But why didn’t he kill us when he had the chance?” Joe mused.

  “Maybe he’ll watch us from now on, in the hope of locating Dad.”

  Mr. Hardy thought it likely and added, “I’d advise you to contact Mr. Given immediately. Warn him that thieves might attempt to steal fittings from the hydrofoil. There she is now, about to dock. Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

  The hydrofoil was on schedule. By the time the Hardys reached her, the passengers already had debarked. Frank and Joe noticed an acrid smell in the air, and saw Given pacing up and down, obviously agitated.

  “Where have you been?” he stormed. “When I needed you most, you disappeared.”

  “What happened?” Frank asked.

  “Arson. That’s what! Somebody started a fire on the dock. Not bad, but enough to scare my passengers. It’s out now.” He pointed to some charred timbers.

  “Sorry,” Joe said. “We were unavoidably detained.”

  Frank warned him about the raiders, adding that he and Joe would ride the hydrofoil whenever they had time, which might not be often.

  Given eyed them shrewdly. “Working on another case?”

  Frank chose not to reply directly, saying only that they had an appointment to keep. They hastened back to Mr. Hardy, who stood alone on the marina wharf.

  “Boys,” he said, “I called Sam Radley and put him to work on the old license numbers you saw in the boathouse. He’ll check them out. That way we may come up with a fix on the place where you were held.”

  Sam Radley was a skilled and highly dependable detective.

  “We’re going to work on it, too,” Frank said. “We’ll look for a red neon sign that throws a glow over the road behind the boathouse. I noticed it just before we were locked inside.”

  “That’s a good idea. Meanwhile I’ll get back to Shark Harbor to do some more investigating.”

  The boys went to the cottage to shower and put on dry clothes. After a quick breakfast they returned to the marina to ask Mr. Hinkley if he knew where they could rent a car. Both boys were surprised to see a familiar car pulling into the parking area. In it were Callie and Iola.

  “So—the bad pennies have turned up once more,” Callie said breezily as Frank and Joe greeted them with big smiles. “Actually we’re relieved to see you. It’s no fun wondering where in the world you are!”

  “Tell us what happened,” Iola said.

  As Frank and Joe related the latest developments, Callie wrinkled her nose. “I think you’re missing one of the most important clues. Why haven’t you investigated the Decor Shop? I’d like to know who stole our jackets and set up those dummies.”

  “The Decor Shop?” Joe said. “Are you kidding? It’s run by a sweet little old lady who couldn’t possibly be implicated.”

  Frank looked reflective. “I think the girls have a point. Let’s not jump to conclusions. I vote for a closer look at the Decor Shop.”

  “All right,” Joe said. “But first things first. I think we should look for the neon sign before anything else.”

  “There’s only one problem,” Frank said. “We need transportation.”

  Callie grinned. “I know what you’re getting at. Okay. Be my guest and use the car. We’ll take the hydrofoil home.”

  “Thanks, Callie. You’re a doll!”

  An hour later Frank and Joe were driving down a dirt road thirty miles from the cape, the segment of the coast, as near as they could judge, where they had been held captive.

  Frank broke the silence. “This could be just about right. And look! There’s a red neon sign with a boathouse behind it!”

  In bold letters it advertised Calderon’s Shore Restaurant. The place was nearly deserted.

  Frank pulled off the road, parked in the shadow of some trees, and led the way past the neon sign to the boathouse behind the building. The doors were open, and a catwalk provided easy entrance.

  “Wait a moment, Joe,” Frank said. “It’s pretty dark in here. There’s a light switch near the door. Flick—”

  His foot hit a net piled up on the floor and he stumbled into a pool of shallow water. Something nipped at his legs!

  At the same time Joe said, “Hey, this isn’t the right place.” Then he burst out laughing. “Frank, you’re in a lobster tank!”

  CHAPTER XI

  An Unequal Match

  FRANK waded out of the tank, with lobsters clinging to the legs of his pants.

  Joe laughed uproariously.

  “Go ahead, make fun of me!” Frank said, shaking them off. “I’m lucky I escaped those crawly creatures alive!” Then he grinned. “I guess we had the wrong boathouse, all right.”

  Frank took off his shoes and poured water out of them. He set them aside while he removed his socks, then squeezed water from the bottom of his pants legs.

  “Listen, Frank,” Joe urged, “we’d better get out of here. If someone sees us, we might have trouble explaining why you went swimming with the lobsters.”

  “Right.” Frank grabbed his shoes and they returned to Callie’s car.

  Next they scoured the shoreline farther down the coast. Spelling each other at the wheel, they passed several red neon signs and plenty of boat-houses, but not one looked familiar.

  “We certainly weren’t this far down when we had our encounter with Zigurski!” Frank observed glumly. “We’re nearly at Shark Harbor.”

  Joe agreed. “But since we’ve come this far, how about paying Dad a visit?”

  “Good idea. It’s only a short run to the bridge.”

  Fenton Hardy was staying at a small motel on Shark Island, a narrow spit of sand paralleling the mainland for about ten miles. He was not in his room. The desk clerk said he was at the State Police barracks nearby.

  The boys found their father in the crime lab, where members of the felony squad were inspecting about fifty pieces of marine equipment. Mr. Hardy made the introductions.

  “Quite a lot of goodies you collected,” Joe remarked.

  “But only a small part of what was stolen,” a detective said. “This loot was found in an abandoned house.”

  Fenton Hardy pointed to a foghorn. “That will interest you.”

  Frank held it up. Someone had marked it i
n rough letters with the one-word notation: Hardy.

  Joe exclaimed, “This must be the foghorn I ordered from Skee the other day!”

  “Skee?” said another detective. “We know a Skee, too. Let’s hear about yours first.”

  Frank described the youth who had offered to sell them used maritime equipment cheap. “Joe ordered a foghorn, and that’s the last we’ve seen of Skee.”

  “Your description fits Skee very well,” the detective stated. “He’s the leader of a gang of young thieves who run in a wolf pack along the coast.”

  “Dad, that may be the cue for us!” Frank exclaimed. “Skee doesn’t know we’re on to him, and he’ll probably turn up with another foghorn. As far as he knows, Joe is still his customer.”

  “If we nab him red-handed,” Joe added, “we should be able to break up the wolf pack! And if by any chance Skee’s tied in with that gang you’re after, we may hit a double jackpot.”

  “And possibly find Henry Chassen,” Frank said.

  One of the policemen nodded. “That seems to be the ticket, Fenton. Your boys have developed a sound strategy. Attack the problem at both ends —Shark Harbor and Cape Cutlass—and see if the two lines of investigation converge on a single solution to all the robberies.”

  Frank and Joe drove back to Providence early the following morning, and went straight to the Starfish Marina. They found a mournful Chet Morton slumped in a beach chair. “Leaping Libra, fellows, am I in a jam this time!”

  “What now?” Joe asked.

  “A gang of hoodlums raided this place,” Chet mumbled. “They boarded half a dozen boats, stripped them, and sped off before the police arrived.

  “The Harbor Patrol says it will have a dickens of a job finding them,” he added. “Too many coves and inlets along the coast where they could be hiding.”

  “Probably Skee and his boys!” Frank said.

  “Just our luck,” Joe complained. “We came back to Providence all primed to deal with this gang. But they pulled off the job while we were snoozing at Shark Harbor!”

  “We’ve been outfoxed all right,” Frank declared.

  Chet’s expression became even more forlorn. “You can say that again, Frank. They took the Sleuth with them, and a big rubber raft, too.”