The Mystery of the Spiral Bridge Read online

  An offhand exchange with the other four boys proved that they had uncovered nothing unusual during the day. Late that night Frank sidled up to Yancy’s trailer and put his ear close to the door. The voices inside were subdued, but clear enough for the young sleuth to identify as Yancy’s and Deemer’s. The boy held his breath and listened intently, noting certain words he was sure were underworld lingo.

  Frank heard Deemer mention Joe’s name in connection with the discovery of the dynamite. Then Yancy spoke up. “What about this Frank Teller? I thought he was an apple, but he ain’t.”

  A third voice said, “I hear by the grapevine Teller did a bice.”

  A cold chill went up Frank’s spine. So they thought he was an ex-jailbird! “No wonder Yancy figured I knew the baron!” Frank gritted his teeth. “If only I hadn’t asked ‘who’?”

  Suddenly there was a noise nearby. Frank ducked around the trailer and flattened himself against it as a flashlight’s beam stabbed the darkness.

  CHAPTER XII

  The Protector

  FRANK held his breath as the light flashed about near the entrance to the trailer. Then it went off. The door squeaked open and shut.

  A voice from inside said, “Oh, it’s you, Willy. What a layabout! Here, give me the glasses.”

  “Arkitnay!” retorted Willy Teeple. Frank heard two heavy boots drop to the floor, then all grew silent. Frank waited, but no further talk came from within, so he quietly returned to his own trailer. Inside he whispered to Joe:

  “First we have to prove those ex-cons are doing something crooked here. In that case, maybe the police can help us. But we’re up against a tough assignment, Joe. Come on. Let’s contact Radley again.”

  The two boys took flashlights and slipped out of the trailer. Joe retrieved the radio set, then the Hardys cautiously made their way into the woods bordering the road.

  Once out of sight of the work camp, Frank flicked his light on and off just enough to pick their way through the dense forest. Progress was slow.

  “Do you think it’s safe to stop now?” asked Joe.

  “No. They may have a lookout this close to the trailers.”

  Stumbling and groping, Frank and Joe plodded on through a stand of pine trees. Finally they came to a small clearing, where the moonlight illuminated a huge boulder. The Hardys dropped to the ground, their backs against the stone.

  “Okay,” said Frank. “Let’s get Radley.”

  Joe turned on the transmitter, then put in the call to Bayport. No response.

  Joe tried again, without results. “Did you check the batteries?” asked Frank.

  “There’s plenty of juice,” his brother replied.

  Just then a ham operator came in strong and clear. He asked Joe where he was located.

  Joe was polite, but said this was an emergency call and would the ham please sign off.

  “As you say. Good luck. Over and out.”

  “Whew! I hope the cons aren’t listening in,” said Frank.

  “If they are, we’re sunk!” declared Joe. He called Radley again. This time a faint reply reached their ears among interference. Joe tuned out some of the static.

  “Sam? ... This is Joe. How’s Dad?”

  The reply was heartening. Fenton Hardy was improving steadily! “He has intervals of lucidity,” Radley reported, “but his memory is foggy.”

  The operative went on to say that X rays had shown the reason for this. “Fenton must have been hit in the back of the neck,” Radley said. “The doctors feel that his memory won’t be clear for at least a week or so.”

  “But he will get better!” Joe said tersely.

  “Definitely.”

  With a sigh of relief, Joe passed the radio to Frank, who told Sam, “I’ve heard more of those jailbird words. For instance, they called me an apple. What’s that?”

  “A swindler.” Radley chuckled. “They think you’re a crook, Frank. That’s good!”

  “Don’t tell Aunt Gertrude!” Frank grinned.

  “Got a pencil and paper?” Radley asked. “I can give you a list of prison slang your father compiled.”

  “Roger.”

  Joe turned on his flashlight and laid it on the ground. Then, as Sam dictated, he jotted down:

  Suddenly Radley was cut off.

  “Oh—oh, what’s up?” Joe fretted.

  “Bad atmospheric conditions, probably,” Frank said. “We’d better get back.”

  “Okay, swindler,” needled Joe. “We have enough words to work on.”

  They started back as quietly as they could. But it was impossible to avoid stepping on twigs which snapped and cracked loudly. Frank used the light sparingly, as a precaution against being spotted.

  Suddenly Joe said, “Hey, look!”

  Just ahead of them lay a narrow path, which came to a fork. A right turn would lead them to the camp. The left-hand trail headed in the direction of a mountain ridge. Frank bent down and flashed his light over the ground near the path. Among the matted pine needles was a half-burned safety match.

  “Somebody’s been using this trail, and more than likely one of the workmen,” Frank commented.

  “Let’s follow it toward the mountain,” said Joe.

  “Sort of late now.”

  Joe was not to be dissuaded. “But we might find a good clue.”

  “Okay, but we can’t be long,” Frank replied.

  At first the path was easy to follow, with the moon providing enough light to guide them. But as the Hardys reached higher ground, a series of switchbacks made the going laborious.

  Joe stopped suddenly. “Say, Frank,” he whispered, “do you suppose this leads to some kind of lookout spot?”

  Instead of answering, Frank seized Joe by the wrist and pulled him behind a pine tree. “I thought I saw something move!” He pointed to an opening between the pines.

  “I don’t see anything,” said Joe.

  “Follow me!” Frank ordered. Getting down on all fours, the boys crept across the trail, flattening themselves now and then to listen. They heard a clink, like the sound of metal.

  Frank skirted around the trees, then stopped at the edge of the opening. Here the pines grew so close together they completely obscured the moonlight.

  Joe inched up beside his brother. “It looks like a cave of some kind,” he whispered.

  Frank nodded, pointing to a stump some thirty feet away, atop which was a boxlike object.

  The boys lay side by side in the darkness, wondering what to do next. Was someone hiding in the cave? Should they risk entering it? Or should they wait and come back later?

  “We have the advantage of surprise,” Frank said finally. The boys rose to their feet, then tiptoed forward. Now they could see plainly that the opening was indeed a cave.

  “When I shine the light, we’ll dash in,” Frank said. Click. The flashlight’s glare revealed two eyes gleaming at them, as a menacing growl issued from the cave mouth.

  “Good night!” Joe cried out. “A bear!”

  As the huge beast lunged from the cave, the Hardys turned and fled. The growls of the bear became fiercer as it crashed through the trees.

  Frank and Joe fairly flew onto the trail. Suddenly the bear gave a loud grunt. This was followed by a ferocious thrashing about. Soon the boys realized that the animal was no longer pursuing them. They halted, trembling and out of breath.

  “Whew! I thought we were done for,” Frank said. “A black bear that size can tear your head off.”

  The young detectives retraced their steps cautiously to the spot where the bear had stopped. “There he is.” Joe pointed, and Frank shone his light on the animal. The boys’ jaws dropped in astonishment. The bear was fettered by a long chain, at which he strained toward the box on the stump, two feet away.

  “Leapin’ lizards!” Frank exclaimed. “That’s a beehive!”

  “What a fiendish setup,” said Joe.

  The Hardys deduced that someone wanted the trail guarded and had done this by keeping the
bear chained in the cave, tantalizing it day and night by a feast of honey just out of reach.

  The length of the chain was cunningly contrived, the boys observed. It extended across the trail so that an unsuspecting wayfarer would be frightened out of his wits, or even gravely injured by the voracious bear.

  “Bears normally stay out of peoples’ way,” Frank remarked, “but this one has a right to hold a grudge against humans.”

  Making sure to stay clear of the bear’s flicking claws, the boys lifted the hive from the stump and heaved it close to the bear, whereupon the animal quickly ripped the hive apart and began to devour the honey.

  “Wow! Somebody is going to be surprised!” Joe said with a chuckle.

  They speculated on the reason for the “bear trap,” and who was responsible, and wondered if it had any connection with their case. The boys started back along the sloping trail. As they descended, the Hardys were startled to hear a man’s voice calling:

  “Hey, Swede! Teller! Are you there?”

  “It’s Deemer,” Frank whispered. “Let’s lie low. We don’t want to tip our hand yet.”

  The Hardys dived behind a thicket and crouched motionless, hardly daring to breathe. Suddenly came the sharp crack of gunfire! Bullets whizzed overhead, thudding ominously into the trees. Then it was quiet. Finally the cracking of twigs came to their ears.

  As the sound gradually grew fainter, Joe took a deep breath. “He’s leaving. Why do you suppose he shot at us, Frank?”

  “He’s jittery.”

  The Hardys made their way cautiously along the trail behind the rifleman. But, again, they were halted by a strange happening. Through the trees a weird rosy pink glow spread over the sky.

  “Good grief!” said Joe. “It’s not sunrise yet!”

  The eerie light gave the black sky an awesome tint.

  “This is the spookiest spot I’ve ever been in,” Joe murmured.

  “And the most dangerous!” Frank added.

  “I’ll say! Maybe there’s a forest fire!” But Joe’s guess proved wrong when the pink light soon vanished and all was dark again.

  Mystified, the Hardys went on toward the work camp. Every few feet they stopped to listen. The thought of Deemer, perhaps lying in wait to ambush them, caused the boys to break out in a cold sweat. Finally the trailers came into view.

  “Look!” said Frank, halting abruptly. In the moonlight they could see Deemer sitting beside the door of their trailer, holding a rifle between his legs.

  “Oh, swell!” Joe said in disgust. “How do we get in?”

  The boys decided on a decoy action. Joe scooped up a rock and hurled it full force over the trailer. It landed with a thud. Deemer leaped up. Joe tossed another large stone in the same direction.

  This time the hiring agent darted out of sight around the trailer.

  “Inside, fast!” hissed Frank.

  He and Joe sprinted from the trees and slipped into their sleeping quarters.

  They undressed silently in record time and climbed into bed. When Frank adjusted his pillow, his hand touched a piece of paper. “Another warning,” he thought. By using his flashlight under the cover, Frank read the note. It was from Biff and read:

  “Phil’s in trouble. Going to be fired. Caught making sketches of D and A.”

  CHAPTER XIII

  Surprise Password

  FRANK whispered the message to Joe just before the screen door opened. Deemer stood silhouetted in the doorway, a gun in his hand. He tiptoed over to look at Frank and Joe, who feigned sleep. Joe sat up, as if alarmed.

  “Something wrong, Mr. Deemer?”

  “W-why, I—er—” The hiring boss was clearly flustered. “I thought—er—you’d both gone into the woods and gotten lost. It’s dangerous there, especially at night.”

  Frank, too, sat up and put on a sleepy act. “Mr. Deemer, do you usually carry that equalizer?” Joe asked.

  Frank turned on his brother and snapped, “Arkitnay!”

  Deemer almost dropped the gun and his eyes bugged. He opened his mouth to speak, then evidently thought better of it. Without a word he stalked off to his own trailer.

  “We got him worried, anyhow,” Joe said with satisfaction.

  “Yes, but we’ll have to be careful. We’re still in the dark as to what his game is.”

  Despite only a few hours’ sleep, Frank and Joe awoke refreshed and keyed up for the sleuthing which lay ahead. At breakfast Frank casually seated himself next to Phil and said, “We heard what happened.” Amid the clatter of utensils, Frank instructed his friend, “If you’re fired, put on a sad face. Soon as you can, go to Boonton and stay at the Eagle Hotel. We’ll get in touch with you there.”

  Phil nodded. Further conversation was impossible because Bond Deemer arose and pounded on the table for attention. “Quiet! Quiet!”

  A hush fell over the workmen. Deemer turned to stare at Phil and a sarcastic smile curled his lips. “Rubinow,” he said, “if you want to draw pictures, okay. But not here. You’re fired!”

  With a stricken look, Phil asked, “When?”

  “Right now.” Deemer pulled a brown envelope from his pocket and flung it at the boy. “Here’s your pay. Scram!”

  Amid the murmur that arose, Phil, pretending to be stunned, took the envelope and left the trailer.

  “He’s a layabout, anyway!” Frank said in a voice that could be plainly heard. A few eyebrows were raised among the men, but there was no comment.

  Later, at the busy construction site, Frank climbed aboard the pan next to Yancy. The motor thundered and growled as the big machine responded to Yancy’s touch. It scooped up a huge bucketful of dirt, then trundled off to deposit it by the side of the highway. As they started back for another load, Frank decided to put out a few feelers.

  “You think I’m a bindlestiff, eh, Yancy? I figured you to be a finger.” Yancy, surprised, jammed on the brake so hard they both nearly flew off the seat. Frank continued, “I’m a torch man, but a tin star caught me on a cheeser. Ain’t it the way? Copped a heel but fell flat.”

  Yancy gave the machine more gas. “You’re okay, kid, but stow the con gab. The baron don’t like it. We ain’t all in the club.”

  “What about the local yokels?” Frank parried.

  “Most of ’em are okay. They’re all scared of Rosy.”

  “Rosy?” Frank thought fast. “The big fire at night?”

  Yancy turned, grinning. For a fraction of a second he did not look where he was going. The machine hit a rock projecting from the roadbed and tilted crazily.

  “Jump!” Yancy yelled and dived from his seat. Frank followed suit, landing unhurt on the soft shoulder of the road. The vehicle flipped over with engine racing and wheels twirling madly.

  Frank and Yancy dived from their seats

  Frank and other workers ran up to Yancy, who had landed on a hard-packed surface. He lay moaning, clutching at his right leg. Angan hurried over, looking disgusted. “You’re supposed to be an expert!” he growled. “What’s the matter with you?”

  One of the men arrived with a first-aid kit. He stripped the coverall from Yancy’s leg, and after examining the injury, said, “Afraid it’s a bad fracture. We’ve got to get him to a hospital.”

  A temporary splint was applied to Yancy’s leg. Grimacing with pain, he was placed on a stretcher, which two men slid into the back of a small truck. It eased onto the completed section of the highway and sped away.

  Angan turned his attention to Frank. “What happened, Teller?”

  Frank shrugged. “Couldn’t say.”

  The foreman scowled. “You guys stick together pretty thick!” he said. “Pick a partner, Teller, and get the derrick to haul up that pan.”

  Frank looked at his brother. “Hey, Jensent I could use a squarehead on this job.”

  With Tony’s help, the Hardys directed the crane operator to lift the huge vehicle. It needed a few repairs, which Tony handled with skill. While he worked, the three boys had a chance to confer. />
  Frank told the others of Yancy’s reference to the baron and added, “If we could only get to him!”

  “But who is he, and where does he stay?” asked Joe.

  Tony had not yet heard any reference to a person called the baron. “I don’t think Biff and Chet have, either.”

  “Quiet!” Frank warned.

  A truck hauling rocks had drawn up close to the trio. A brawny man jumped from the cab, motioned Frank aside, and walked him out of earshot of Tony and Joe.

  “What’s up?” asked Frank.

  The truck driver looked him squarely in the eye and said, “Helix.”

  Two thoughts flashed through Frank’s mind: Mr. Hardy’s mumbled word, which the boys had thought was Felix must instead be helix, meaning a spiral! And the warning received earlier by the Hardys was signed with a three-looped spiral resembling the letter M.

  Frank deduced that “helix” must be the gang’s password, or at least a special sign used by them.

  “Okay.” Frank made a spiral loop with his right forefinger and pointed upward. This seemed to satisfy the workman. He beckoned Frank again, moving farther away.

  “We got a job to do tonight, Teller.”

  “A job? On whom?” Frank asked sharply.

  “On McGuire. He’s been snoopin’ around like a dick, so he’s gettin’ a bath in the canal.”

  Biff to be drowned? A wave of terror enveloped Frank, but he remained outwardly calm. “How do I know that’s true?”

  “Listen, If I—Mike Shannon—say so, it’s true.”

  “Okay,” Frank said. “McGuire thinks I’m his friend.”

  “Good. You and the Swede can take care of him at midnight.”

  Frank trudged back to the pan, his mind in a turmoil. Biff Hooper was the next target of the gang. When Joe and Tony heard of the nefarious plan, they too were horrified.

  “We’ve got to save Biff!” Joe said.

  “We will,” Frank assured him. “I’ve got an idea.”

  It was agreed that Tony would alert Biff later at an opportune moment, give him the plan of action, and warn him to show no surprise or emotion that night when the Hardys came to pick him up.