The Short-Wave Mystery Read online

SPECKLED KING SNAKE

  MOUNTED BY D. CARSON

  “D. Carson,” Joe muttered. “Who’s he?”

  “Some pal of Batter’s, I suppose,” Frank said.

  The owl and rhinoceros had similar plates. Seeing none on the deer, Frank lifted it down from the wall. “This must be Batter’s work. Let’s see if we can find anything unusual about it.”

  The boys examined the head carefully. Several fine puncture marks were clearly visible around the muzzle and eyes. As Joe fingered among the fine hairs, he discovered other holes. “Looks as if someone’s been probing it with a hatpin.”

  “Probably Mrs. Batter!” Frank exclaimed. “She must suspect the same thing we do—that her husband hid something in one of the—”

  A weird shriek from outside startled the boys.

  “Good night!” said Joe. “That wasn’t the wind, was it?”

  As if in answer came another wailing cry, then another.

  “Those are human voices!” Frank exclaimed. “Out in back somewhere!”

  It was impossible to see anything from the windows. The boys dashed into the hallway, then through the kitchen to the back door. As they stepped onto the open rear porch, both aimed their flashlights beams into the darkness.

  Joe started to say, “Do you hear anyth—” But his voice choked off as something struck him a hard blow on the back of the head!

  Frank turned and saw his brother crumple. Then he, too, was struck down from behind!

  CHAPTER XI

  Night Alarm

  WHEN Frank opened his eyes, he was still lying on the porch. His head throbbed and he was chilled to the bone. Suddenly he saw his brother’s still figure. Frank raised himself.

  “Joe! Joe, are you all right?”

  The only response was a faint moan, but after Frank had shaken him, his brother’s eyes opened. “L-l-leapin’ lizards! What happened?”

  “Someone conked us. Can you stand up?”

  “Sure, I guess so.” Stiffly the boys struggled to their feet. Joe shook his head. “Whew! We sure walked into a trap!”

  “You can say that again,” Frank agreed wryly. “Those spooky wails we heard were just a trick to get us out here. The guys who beaned us must have been waiting right outside the door.”

  Joe cast an anxious glance toward the lighted windows. “What do you suppose they were after?”

  “Don’t know. But I could sure make a guess!”

  Impelled by the same thought, the boys reentered the house cautiously. No one was in sight and there was not a sound. As they came into the game room, Joe gave a gasp of dismay.

  “The stuffed animals are gone!”

  “Not all of them,” Frank said. The rhinoceros head, owl, and snake had not been taken.

  Joe surveyed the remaining specimens with a look of gloomy satisfaction. “Well, at least this proves our theory. They took only the animals Batter himself had stuffed, so they’re definitely looking for something he stashed inside one of them.”

  Frank nodded. “We’d better notify the police.”

  “I’ll call them on our short-wave.” Joe hurried out to the boys’ convertible. The police operator promised to send a prowl car.

  When Joe returned to the house, his brother was coming down the staircase. “The animals weren’t all they took,” Frank said.

  “What else?”

  “They rifled Batter’s desk and stole all the papers from the drawers.’

  “I don’t get it,” Joe said, puzzled. “If they were after something hidden in the animals, why bother with papers?”

  Frank shook his head, equally mystified. “I don’t get it, either.”

  The police car soon arrived. Two officers took down the boys’ story and made a brief search, but found no traces left by the thieves. “You fellows feel well enough to go home alone?” one officer asked.

  “Sure, we’re okay,” Frank said. “Just a couple of lumps on our heads.”

  “Let’s hope we don’t wind up with any more when we tell Mrs. Batter what happened,” Joe said ruefully. “We have to return her key.”

  The widow seemed less upset by the news than the Hardys had feared. “I doubt that what the sneaks got will be worth much,” she scoffed.

  “Maybe their first haul, from the auction, wasn’t worth much, either,” Frank said, “and that’s why they came back for a second try.”

  Mrs. Batter’s green eyes narrowed. She started to say something, then seemed to check herself. “Humph! Well, don’t expect me to pay any medical bills!” she snapped. “What happened was your own fault.”

  As the Hardys left in their convertible, Joe said, “I’ll bet she did that probing with a hatpin, all right. That’s why she didn’t get much worked up about this theft.”

  Frank grinned dryly. “She’s satisfied there was nothing in the heads—but she still doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  They were just pulling up their driveway when Frank slammed on the brakes. The beam from their headlights showed Chet’s stuffed aardvark lying in front of the garage!

  “What’s that doing out here?” Joe exclaimed. Both boys jumped from the car. The kitchen was ablaze with light. Sensing something wrong, Frank and Joe dashed inside.

  Aunt Gertrude was seated at the table, sipping tea. “Well!” She sniffed. “Too bad you weren’t here five minutes ago when I needed you.”

  “What happened, Aunty?” Frank demanded.

  Miss Hardy explained that their father had gone to see Sam Radley, his chief operative. She herself had dozed off in front of the TV set. Suddenly she had been awakened by a noise at the back of the house. When she went to investigate, she had glimpsed a prowler in the garage.

  “Wow! What did you do?” Joe asked.

  “What could I do—a weak woman with no menfolk in the house to protect me?” Miss Hardy glared at the boys over her teacup. “I took a broom to him, naturally.”

  Frank and Joe burst out laughing.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Gertrude,” Frank said, choking, “but I wish we could have seen that!”

  “He must have been trying to get away with the aardvark,” Joe declared.

  “He was, but he dropped it fast when I swatted him,” Miss Hardy said tartly. “Then I was so overcome with shock, I had to come in and make myself some tea.” She added after another sip, “He must have had a car. I heard it speed off.”

  Frank snapped his fingers. “We’d better look and see if he got the bear!”

  The two boys hurried out to the garage. Nothing but the aardvark had been disturbed.

  “He may have been hoping to get both animals, though,” Joe said. “You know, Frank, we’re a couple of chumps. We never even thought of investigating Chet’s stuffed specimens!”

  “You’re telling me. I wonder if we can get him to rip them apart so we can take a look.”

  “We’d better,” Joe said. “If none of the other animals contained anything, the bear or the aardvark might hold the answer!”

  Saturday morning at breakfast the boys told their father of the night’s events. “Sounds to me as if you must have been followed and spied on at the Batter house,” the detective said.

  “Frank suspected someone was tailing us,” Joe put in.

  “Then when the thieves looked in through the windows,” Mr. Hardy went on, “they realized for the first time they hadn’t taken all of Batter’s stuffed animals. So they acted fast.”

  “And at least one of them came here to check our garage before we could get back home,” Frank added. “Soapy Moran may have tipped them off about Chet’s taxidermy work.”

  As they finished Aunt Gertrude’s tasty flap-jacks and sausages, Mr. Hardy announced that he would be busy for most of the weekend on the Lektrex security check. “But I called the Star yesterday,” he said, “and arranged to have them send us a copy of last Monday’s edition from New York, special delivery. If you boys are around when it gets here, try decoding that first message you picked up.”

  Later, they telep
honed Chet. His sister Iola answered. Iola, a pert brunette, was Joe’s idea of the prettiest girl in Bayport.

  “Chet and I have decided to give a party at our place tonight,” she said. “Nothing special, just fun. Can you make it?”

  “Sure thing,” Joe said. “Count me in.”

  “Good! There’ll be about a dozen, including Callie, of course.”

  “That’ll make up Frank’s mind,” Joe said with a sly grin at his brother. Callie Shaw, an attractive blonde, was Frank’s favorite date. “Is Chet there?” he asked.

  “No.” Iola giggled. “He took his staff of helpers fishing, to get a specimen to work on. He’s coming to your house later. Oh, by the way, would you two pick up Biff Hooper? He doesn’t get off from his watchman’s job until eight, and his car is out of commission.”

  “Sure. We’ll take the Sleuth and come by way of Willow River,” Joe promised.

  It was after one o’lock when Chet’s yellow jalopy finally pulled into the driveway. Chet and the three youngsters were munching candy bars—a second dessert to their picnic lunch.

  “Look what we caught!” Jimmy squealed proudly, holding up a five-pound black bass.

  “Wait’ll you see it mounted,” Chet boasted “Then it’ll really look like something.”

  “Nice going,” said Frank. Sensing an opportune moment, he told about the latest theft of Elias Batter’s stuffed animals and proposed that Chet open the aardvark and bear cub. “Whatever those thieves are after must be valuable,” Frank argued. “Just think—you might find something in those animals that’s worth a fortune!”

  “And again I might not,” Chet said with a pained look. “Then what do I have? Two ruined specimens, or else a big job sewing them up.”

  “So what? That ought to be a snap for an old maestro like Professor Morton,” Joe put in.

  Jimmy said nothing, but he shot an excited glance at the Hardys and then gazed at Chet.

  “Look, you could do it at the party tonight,” Frank wheedled as he saw Chet hesitating. “Have a grand opening before the whole gang—and display your fish masterpiece at the same time!”

  The stout youth broke into a slow, pleased smile as he pictured Chet Morton, Taxidermist, dazzling the party guests with his exhibition of talent.

  “Hmm! That’s not a bad idea. Okay, I’ll do it!”

  Having detected an aroma of freshly baked cookies, Chet soon appeared in the kitchen, holding paste and newspaper to prepare some papier mâché. “May I borrow a bowl, Miss Hardy? Mmm, gee! Those cookies smell great!”

  Aunt Gertrude frowned severely, her hands floury from the bread dough she was mixing. “Very well, you’ll find another bowl like this one in the cupboard—and please leave a few cookies for our dinner tonight, Chet Morton!”

  The copy of the Star arrived in midafternoon. Frank and Joe immediately set to work checking the page and column references from the first message. Meanwhile, Chet and his taxidermy crew were working earnestly in the garage.

  While Jimmy cut a body form from half-inch board, Chet laid the fish on wet oilcloth, made a lateral incision, and peeled the body out of the skin with Mike and Tommy’s help. While the two boys treated the skin with borax, Chet himself worked on the bass’s head.

  Later he came plodding up to the Hardy boys’ bedroom to see how they were making out with the code message. Frank and Joe had already extracted three sentences from the paper:Progress will certainly have to be stepped up if the bridge is to be completed on schedule.

  To curb such illegal betting activities, police will check all suspected bookmakers.

  The publicity flight will leave on Monday for Miami.

  Taking the third word after each code word, Frank assembled the entire message:

  HAVE SHEEP CHECK ON HARES.

  “Still pretty meaningless until we know whom ‘sheep’ and ‘hares’ stand for,” Joe grumbled.

  “Suppose—just suppose—that ‘ares’ means the Hardys,” Frank mused. “In other words, say this was an order for someone to check on us ...”

  Joe gasped. “Then ‘sheep’ may be Soapy Moran! That’s why he came snooping around the next day!”

  There was a loud yell from outside. Chet raised the window. “What’s the matter, Mike?”

  “You sure that papier mâché’s okay?” the urchin called up plaintively.

  “Certainly, I’m sure,” Chet retorted indignantly. “I made it, didn’t I?”

  “But it doesn’t seem to go on right.”

  “Listen. Just trowel it on over the excelsior, as I told you! Don’t you think I know what I’m talking about when it comes to taxidermy?”

  “Well ... okay ... if you say so.”

  “And tell Jimmy to be melting the yellow petroleum wax in the double boiler on the hot plate. I’ll be down later to apply the finishing touches.” Chet slammed down the window, shaking his head. “Boy, it’s not easy, teaching a fine art like taxidermy to a bunch of novices!”

  “Sure you hadn’t better go down there and keep an eye on things?” Joe asked, grinning.

  “Don’t worry, they know what to do. I’ve trained ’em pretty well, if I do say so myself.” Chet yawned. “Besides, I need to lie down for a minute or two. Man, I was up at six this morning.”

  The Hardys chuckled as snores soon sounded through the room. Later, Joe shook Chet awake. “Hey, Maestro! Aunt Gertrude wants to know if you’ve seen her bowl of bread dough?”

  “Huh? Bread dough?” Chet blinked sleepily. “All I know is, it was on the kitchen table when I took the papier mâché in the pantry to—” The chubby youth’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped as a horrible thought struck him.

  He leaped to his feet and dashed downstairs. As he ran to the garage, Frank and Joe followed, scenting interesting developments.

  The three youngsters greeted them with puzzled looks. “Hey, Chet,” said Tommy, “something’s wrong with the fish. It looks like—well, like it’s growing, or something!”

  The shellacked bass had been placed in front of a glowing electric heater to dry. Its sides were visibly expanding! Chet groaned in dismay. “Oh, no-o-o!”

  The gilled skin was puffing out like a balloon. One stitch popped, then two, and a white paste trickled out the side.

  “Good grief!” Joe exclaimed. “Don’t tell me they used Aunt Gertrude’s yeast dough instead of papier mâché?”

  Chet nodded and sank down on a stool, covering his face with his hands. “Great, just great! It’s all my fault! I picked up the wrong bowl!”

  Frank and Joe were still chuckling over the incident that evening as they steered over the Willow River in their sleek motorboat, the Sleuth, to pick up Biff Hooper. Presently they came to the huddled buildings and high fences of the Lektrex plant. To their surprise, the entire area lay in darkness.

  “That’s funny,” Frank murmured. “I wonder if there’s been a power failure.”

  Their chum was not at the dock. Disturbed, the Hardys tied up and jumped out to look for him. Suddenly a loud, clanging bell shattered the night stillness.

  “The plant alarm!” Joe cried out. “Something’s wrong!”

  The Hardys leaped ashore and ran toward the main gate. Frank tripped on something in the darkness. His scalp prickling fearfully, he swung his flashlight beam downward. Both boys gasped as they saw the body of Biff Hooper lying bound and gagged on the ground!

  CHAPTER XII

  Dock Attack

  “BIFF!” Frank cried out. As he dropped to a crouch beside the Hardys’ motionless chum, his nostrils caught a sickish-sweet odor.

  “Is he alive?” Joe asked fearfully.

  “Seems to be breathing okay.” Frank ripped off the gag. “My guess is he was chloroformed.”

  Almost as Frank spoke, they heard the roar of a motor. A car zoomed off in the darkness.

  “Looks as if that second code message meant just what it said!” Joe murmured in a tense voice. “Raid Lektrex plant!”

  “Get Biff untied,” Frank said. “
I’ll try to phone for a doctor and the police!”

  Springing to his feet, Frank dashed toward the plant. The new wing jutted out from the left of the main building. On the right, farther back, stood the powerhouse with its high smokestack. Frank tried the front door. It opened readily.

  Inside, the light switch failed to work. Frank shone his flash around the pitch-dark lobby, then sucked in his breath. Another victim, an inside plant guard wearing a badge, lay unconscious on the floor. Like Biff, he had been tied and gagged.

  Frank paused long enough to remove the man’s gag and unfasten his collar. Then he darted to the telephone on the reception desk and snatched it up. There was no dial tone.

  From his previous visit to Lektrex, Frank knew that the executive offices lay just beyond the lobby. He hurried down a corridor, probing with his flashlight. On the right was a large, glass-partitioned office with desks. At one end, his beam picked out a large safe. Its door was hanging loosely ajar!

  Frank tried a phone on one of the desks. It, too, was dead. He ran back outside to rejoin Joe. Biff was now stirring and moaning.

  “He’s coming to,” Joe said.

  “Good. The thieves cut both the phone lines and the lights.” Frank told of the cracked safe and the unconscious guard. “I’ll tend to him as soon as I alert the police over the boat radio.”

  He dashed back to the Sleuth and switched on their marine transceiver, using the police frequency. In moments he succeeded in making contact.

  Frank was shutting off the radio when he heard a sudden noise. He whirled in time to see a dark figure sprint onto the dock. Suddenly the man picked up a broken piece of planking and hurled it!

  Though Frank ducked, the board struck him on the head with stunning force. He toppled backward in the boat.

  Meanwhile, Joe was still working on Biff. The lanky youth’s eyes opened and he struggled to sit up. “Easy, pal,” Joe said soothingly. “How do you feel?”

  “Sort of sickish. Guess I’ll be all right, though, once I get over this wooziness.”