The Apeman's Secret Read online

  “The head of the Children of Noah is a fellow called Noah Norvel,” the ace detective remarked.

  “He’s been in the news a good deal lately, on charges of brainwashing his young cult members and preventing them from seeing their parents. So the FBI has had their eye on him. He has a huge estate in Westchester County just north of New York City, where he keeps a whole fleet of personal cars. If I’m not mistaken, one of them is a red Mercedes.”

  “If you’re right, that may be another clue indicating Sue has joined his cult,” said Frank. “Do you think there’s any chance she may be staying at his estate, Dad—I mean, assuming the red car does belong to Noah?”

  “I think it’s definitely worth checking out.” Fenton Hardy gave the boys directions for reaching Noah’s estate.

  Frank and Joe contacted Chet Morton over a pocket walkie-talkie, as arranged beforehand, and met their chum fifteen minutes later at the parking garage where they had left their car. As the Bayport trio drove up through the Bronx on their way out of the city, Chet proudly informed the Hardys that Micky Rudd had kept his cartoons so they could be looked over by other members of the Star Comix staff.

  “Nice going, Chet!” Joe congratulated their pal. “We may now be traveling with a future famous cartoonist!”

  In the hope of picking up a possible clue in the case of the fake Apeman, the Hardys decided to stop at the home of the late artist, Archie Frome. Hamp Huber had given them Frome’s address in a suburb overlooking Long Island Sound.

  It turned out that Frome had been a widower. His married daughter, a pleasant young woman named Mrs. Elver, was busy cleaning the house. She invited the boys to come in and sit down while she answered their questions but kept a tight grip on the collar of an enormous Irish wolfhound that pranced and growled eagerly at the sight of the visitors.

  “Don’t be afraid of Rory.” She smiled. “He’s like a big puppy. The trouble is, he’s apt to knock you down, trying to make you feel at home.”

  Aside from a sofa and two chairs, the living room looked somewhat bare.

  “I’ve already been through Dad’s studio and donated a lot of his drawings and paintings to the Comic Art Museum,” Mrs. Elver said. “Now I’m disposing of most of the furniture.”

  “What’s the Comic Art Museum?” Chet asked.

  The cartoonist’s daughter said that many of the people involved in producing cartoon strips and comic books had purchased a building in a nearby town in Westchester and turned it into a museum for storing and displaying the artwork in their field.

  “Oh, I’d like to see that place!” Chet exclaimed. Mrs. Elver told the boys its location.

  Frank explained why they had come, then asked, “Do you have any idea why your father might have called Micky Rudd ‘a real crook’?”

  The young woman shook her head. “I’ve been married for over seven years now, so I was sort of out of touch with Dad’s work. I do know he got fed up with the comic book business, so these last few years he spent all his time illustrating children’s books.”

  Mrs. Elver frowned thoughtfully and added, “However, I do remember Dad mentioning there was a mysterious burglary here.”

  12

  A Ghostly Figure

  The Hardy boys’ detective instinct was immediately stirred upon hearing of the burglary.

  “What was taken?” Joe asked.

  “Nothing, that’s the odd part about it. Yet there were valuables in plain sight, like an expensive camera and a new TV and a video cassette recorder in the living room, not to mention all the silverware in the dining room, or a cut-glass punchbowl that’s worth several hundred dollars. But the robber passed it all up!”

  “How did you find out about the burglary?” Frank inquired.

  “Dad told me about it. It happened shortly before he died.”

  “No, ma‘am, I mean how did he find out there had been a burglary if nothing was taken?”

  “Oh, because Rory chased the robber away. He’d been snoozing alongside Dad’s bed, the way he always did, but I guess he finally heard some noises and woke up and went galumphing downstairs to see what was going on. Then his growls and the commotion woke Dad. Apparently the robber just had time to make it out the front door before Rory took off an arm or a leg.”

  “Maybe the thief had no time to steal anything,” Joe suggested.

  Mrs. Elver looked doubtful. “I don’t know. Dad said there were signs that he must’ve been searching the downstairs rooms quite thoroughly before Rory got after him. There was even Dad’s gold wristwatch lying out in plain view on the drawing board in his studio. The thief could have slipped that in his pocket, but he didn’t.”

  The Hardys could offer no solution to the mysterious burglary. But they promised to let Mrs. Elver know if it proved to have any connection with the Apeman case.

  When the boys returned to their car, Joe studied a road map briefly. “Look,” he pointed out, “the place where that other muscle-man suspect works is about ten miles from here. Why don’t we detour there and talk to him?”

  “Suits me,” said Frank, and Chet made no objection.

  The man in question was a mechanic named Vic Cardiff. He was employed at a highway gas station and proved to be a sullen-looking, belligerent type with beetling black brows and a heavy jaw.

  “I know all about you guys,” Cardiff said, brushing aside Frank’s attempted introduction. “You’re those two punks who think they’re smart detectives just because their old man’s a private eye. Right now you’re mixed up with this nut who goes around posing as the Apeman and smashing things up.”

  “We’re not mixed up with him,” Joe said. “We’re trying to find out who he is.”

  “And you think maybe I’m the guy, huh?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “It’s what you meant, though,” the muscular mechanic growled. “Why else would you be looking me up? Well, you’re barking up the wrong tree, so beat it!”

  “All we want to do is ask you a few questions,” said Frank, standing his ground. “If you’ve got nothing to hide, what’s wrong with talking to us?”

  “You heard me! I’ve got nothing to say to you guys, so scram outa here! I got work to do.” Without another word, Cardiff turned away and went back to greasing a car that was up on a hoist.

  “Nice guy,” Chet muttered as the boys climbed back into the Hardys’ sporty car.

  “Like they say, it takes all kinds,” Frank said, starting the vehicle and turning out into the stream of highway traffic.

  “Yes, and it takes all kinds of clues to solve a mystery,” Joe added wryly. “Only we didn’t get any free ones from him!”

  It was late afternoon when the Bayporters reached their destination. They had to ask directions at another gas station in order to find Noah’s mansion. It was located several miles from the nearest town on a narrow wooded road that was little more than a country lane.

  The imposing stone house was well screened from the road by trees. There was no wall or fence enclosing the grounds, but the boys glimpsed at least two armed guards on patrol as they drove past, and also a series of huge, white-painted boulders, which apparently marked the boundaries of the estate.

  “Got any plan?” Joe asked his brother. “Or do we just walk up and ring the doorbell?”

  Frank shook his head. “Not yet. That would only put Noah on guard, and we might not learn anything. I think our best bet is to keep watch on the place, say for twenty-four hours anyhow, and see if we can spot Sue Linwood going in or out.”

  After driving a little farther, Frank pulled off the road. The boys got out of the car and walked through the woods back toward Noah’s mansion. Scouting around cautiously, they found a low-branched tree that afforded a clear view of the house and attached garage.

  “That should do for a stakeout,” Joe said, and his two companions agreed.

  Only two cars were visible on the drive, neither of them a red Mercedes, but the Hardys realized there might be other cars
behind the closed doors of the garage.

  After checking in at a nearby motel and phoning their homes in Bayport, the three boys ate a hasty supper of hamburgers and french fries, then they drew straws to see who would stand the first lookout. Joe picked the shortest one, giving him the first watch from six to nine. Chet would get the next, from nine to midnight.

  “If either of you sees anything interesting, give a buzz on the walkie-talkie,” Frank instructed.

  “Right,” said Chet. “Better get some munchies to keep me awake.” As they paid at the cashier’s counter, the stout boy bought a bag of peanuts, some grape-flavored gum, and two candy bars.

  “Just don’t eat yourself to sleep,” Joe warned.

  Driving back to the wooded lane, Frank and Chet dropped off the younger Hardy boy near the stakeout tree, then returned to their motel, where Chet settled down for an early nap. At nine he relieved Joe, who had nothing to report.

  Sometime later, Frank was roused by the buzzing of the walkie-talkie. He groped for the set sleepily and pressed the switch to communicate. “H-1 here.”

  “I just saw something spooky!” Chet’s voice crackled over the speaker.

  “Like what?”

  “A ghost—that’s what!”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “No, honest! There’s a white figure moving around through the trees. I’ve caught sight of it twice!”

  “Did you try to trail it or find out who it was?”

  “N-Not yet.” A faint gulp came over the walkie-talkie. Chet’s voice quavered a bit, but he went on bravely, “If the figure shows up again, I’ll try and grab it. But how about some backup?”

  “We’ll be right with you,” Frank promised.

  Joe was already awake. Frank relayed the news as they flung on their clothes. Then the Hardys hurried out to their car and sped toward the scene of action. Rather than risk any attention by driving past at such a late hour, they parked and skirted the mansion on foot.

  But the lookout tree was empty!

  Frank gave a soft owl-hoot signal. No one responded. A slightly louder hoot still drew no response. Worried, the Hardys searched about cautiously but could find no trace of their roly-poly chum. Chet had disappeared!

  13

  The Face at the Window

  Joe was inclined to plunge on boldly and search the grounds of Noah Norvel’s mansion. But his brother stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “Take it easy,” Frank advised. “We could be walking right into a trap!”

  “We’ve got to find Chet, haven’t we?” Joe retorted.

  “Sure, but he may already have been lured into a trap. It won’t help him much if we fall for the same trick.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Frank pointed to two nearby white boundary stones. “Those boulders mark the edge of Noah’s estate. I’ve got a hunch that white spook was just bait to draw Chet over the line.”

  Joe frowned uneasily. “You mean one of the guards may have spotted Chet in the tree?”

  “Right. So he passes the word, and another one puts on a white robe and starts flitting around among the trees, just enough to catch Chet’s eye. Then when Chet tries to follow the ghost, they wait till he steps over the line and nab him. He’s now trespassing on Noah’s property, so that gives them the right to arrest him.”

  “Wow! You could be right, Frank. That would sure explain where Chet disappeared to. But what are we going to do about it?”

  Frank puckered his forehead thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “I’m in favor of a direct approach, Joe. Let’s go right up to the front door and find out what’s what.”

  “Well, if you say so, I’ll go along! What’ve we got to lose?”

  The two boys hurried back to their car, which was parked on the shoulder among some trees, and drove out onto the road again. As they turned up the driveway of Noah’s estate, a guard suddenly stepped out into view from among the shrubbery and held up his hand to signal them to stop.

  As Frank braked to a halt, the guard challenged them roughly. “What do you guys want here? Don’t you know Mr. Norvel doesn’t receive visitors this late at night?”

  Frank acted on a sudden hunch. Instead of replying, he pulled out the amulet that the taxi driver had given him and showed it to the guard.

  The sight of the metal token bearing the dove and olive-branch symbol seemed to take the guard by surprise. He stared at it for a moment with a puzzled scowl, then at the two boys. Finally he muttered, “Okay,” and waved them on.

  “Smart move, Frank!” Joe chuckled as their car continued up the driveway. “Looks like those amulets must be used as identification by the cultists, eh?”

  “Right, at least by the ones who have direct contact with Noah. It also means there must have been a Child of Noah at the Alfresco Disco the other night, when the fake Apeman raided the costume party.” Frank broke off as he glanced in the rearview mirrow. “Uh, oh!”

  “What’s the matter?” his brother asked.

  “The guard’s calling someone on his walkie-talkie. Something tells me we’re about to be met by a welcoming committee!”

  As their car drew up at the top of the drive and the Hardys got out, Joe suddenly gasped. Frank saw that he was staring at one of the upper-story windows of the mansion.

  “See something?” the elder Hardy boy asked.

  “Someone!” Joe corrected. “See that window-with the fringe of light? A girl up there was closing the Venetian blind just now, but I got a quick look at her face. I think she was Sue Linwood!”

  “Could you swear to that, if we have to call the police about Chet?”

  Joe hesitated unhappily. “No, I’m not absolutely certain,” he admitted. “But she sure looked like the girl in the picture Mr. Linwood gave us, and he thinks she joined Noah’s cult. I’d say that adds up to pretty fair circumstantial evidence, or at least grounds for suspicion.”

  “So would I,” Frank agreed. “Let’s see how far it’ll get us.”

  The Hardys walked boldly up to the entrance of the mansion. But before they could ring the bell, the front door suddenly opened. A youthful, shaven-headed cult member in a white robe stared out at them suspiciously.

  “Peace be with you, brothers,” he mumbled in a voice that was noticeably lacking in brotherly warmth.

  Frank introduced himself and Joe, adding, “We’d like to see Mr. Noah Norvel.”

  Instead of answering, the white-robed cultie stepped aside, and a tall, heavyset man appeared in the doorway. His skin was deeply tanned to a walnut brown, and his long blond hair and bushy beard were sun-bleached almost white. He was clad in a gold satin jumpsuit.

  “You are seeing Noah now,” the man announced with a mocking smile. “I’ve been expecting you Hardys. Come in!”

  He moved backward and waved them inside with a gesture that also seemed somehow mocking.

  As the Hardys entered, they saw the reason for his sarcastic amusement. Their pal, Chet Morton, was lying face down on the floor with his wrists handcuffed behind his back! The fat boy’s face was flushed with embarrassment and the discomfort caused by his awkward position.

  “What’s the big idea?” Joe blurted indignantly at the cult leader. “He’s a friend of ours!”

  “Indeed?” Noah responded with a malicious twinkle. “Then perhaps you can explain what he was doing spying on my house and trespassing on my property?”

  Frank spoke up quickly, “Did you ask him?”

  “Of course! And the only answer he could give me was some cock-and-bull story about chasing a ghost. Can you imagine?”

  “Sure, I can imagine. Your followers wear white robes, don’t they? Maybe Chet saw one of them in the darkness and thought it was a ghost. Whatever he saw, or thought he saw, that doesn’t give you any right to handcuff him and treat him like a criminal!”

  Noah’s voice and expression hardened. “On the contrary! I could call the police and file an official complaint against him! But I won‘t—providing you
Hardys promise not to subject me to any more harassment.”

  “Nobody’s harassing you,” Frank said coldly. “Chet may have blundered onto your property by mistake. If so, I’m sure he’ll be glad to apologize. But you’d better not go making any charges you can’t prove.”

  The bearded cult leader’s lips twisted in another unpleasant smile. “I’ve no intention of wasting my breath arguing with you two impudent young snoops. I’ll simply warn you once and only once against intruding in my affairs.”

  “Good!” Joe retorted. “Then maybe now you’ll take the time to hear why we came.”

  Noah folded his arms and looked down his nose at the Hardy boys. “I’m listening.”

  Frank said, “Mr. Paul Linwood has asked us to help find his daughter Sue. On his behalf, we demand a chance to speak to her.”

  Frank was hoping to goad the cult leader into admitting that Sue Linwood was staying at his mansion, along with whatever young culties he kept at his beck and call.

  Instead, Noah snorted scornfully. “You demand? What makes you think that your wishes are of any importance under my roof? As an act of kindness I’ll let your friend go, but I want all three of you out of this house immediately. Do you understand? And from now on, keep off my property or I’ll have you all arrested!”

  As he spoke, Noah gestured with a snap of his fingers, and the white-robed cultie who was standing by proceeded to remove the handcuffs from Chet’s wrists. The plump youth got up sheepishly and left the mansion with the Hardys.

  “That big phony!” Joe fumed as they climbed into the sleek yellow car.

  “Guess I really messed things up,” Chet confessed glumly. “I was trying to catch up with that ghost, and the first thing I knew, two guards jumped out from behind the trees and grabbed me!”

  “Never mind, it wasn’t your fault, Chet,” said Frank. “You were deliberately set up, which means they must have spotted you up in the tree. Or maybe they spotted all of us earlier on.”

  Back at their motel, the three Bayporters were about to turn in for the night when the telephone rang. Chet answered, then held out the phone to Joe, who was nearer to him. “For you Hardys. It’s your Aunt Gertrude.”