Mystery of the Flying Express Page 8

  “I’ve got a court order,” Given announced, “to keep those aqualantes away from the Flying Express. But Marlarky hasn’t stopped hounding me. My plans for a real-estate development on Cape Cutlass are going up in smoke. People are turning down my discount offers on lots. They’re afraid to buy at any price!”

  “Why is that?” Joe asked.

  Given waved a Bayport newspaper at them. “Here, read this!”

  An advertisement had been placed by Big Ma-Iarky. It read: “Come to Cape Cutlass in safety by car, train or bus. What good is a discount if you don’t live to enjoy it?”

  “A duck!” Chet exclaimed in disgust

  Joe folded the paper and handed it back. “Rather unethical, Mr. Given, but I’m afraid it isn’t illegal.”

  “Not illegal,” Given retorted testily, “but it’s a threat, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No doubt about that,” Frank agreed. “Malarky intends to run you out of business. We’ll do our best to prevent him from doing it.”

  “Your best is what I’ll need! Keep trying!”

  The Hardys discussed what to do next.

  “Let’s talk to Henry Chassen again,” Frank suggested. “Maybe there’s something—some kind of clue—he forgot to tell us when he described his rescue yesterday.”

  “You know, we never even asked him where he lives,” Joe reminded his brother.

  “You’re right. Maybe we can find out from the Decor Shop.”

  When Frank and Joe arrived there, Chassen and Rance Nepo were standing in front of the door talking.

  “Hi, fellows,” Henry said. “Rance is trying to sell me another camera.”

  Nepo smiled cordially and extended one of his instant models on the palm of his hand. “Here’s a beautiful example of the art. Have a look through the range finder.”

  Frank raised the camera and began to take some practice views while Joe struck up a conversation with Nepo and Chassen. They spoke about the technique whereby a snapshot could be taken and developed almost immediately.

  “We’ve come a long way in photography,” Nepo remarked. “No more need to take pictures outside and develop them in a darkroom.”

  There was something about Nepo that made Frank uneasy, something he could not quite put his finger on. “How about letting me work this lovely gadget myself,” he said. “Suppose I take a snapshot of you two.”

  “By all means,” Nepo invited him. He was eager to show off this new and expensive model he had just received from the manufacturer.

  Frank took a picture of Nepo and Chassen standing together. Sixty seconds later he removed a clear picture of the two men and held it up for inspection.

  Nepo grinned. “Ever see a clearer photo?”

  “Can’t say I have,” Frank admitted. He handed the camera back. While the other three were deep in the technicalities of photography, he pocketed the picture.

  “Incidentally, fellows,” Chassen said, “have you any pictures of your family? It would be interesting to see your parents together.”

  “The only one I happen to have is of Dad,” Joe answered. He reached into his pocket for the passport picture of Fenton Hardy that he had picked up in Bayport and forgotten to give to his father.

  Frank nudged him. “Wait a minute, Joe. You gave it to me. Here it is.”

  He brought out Sam Radley’s passport photo and showed it to Nepo and Chassen. They scrutinized it intently before handing it back. “Looks like a man of action,” Nepo commented. “Well, I’ll have to go now. See you later.” With that he left.

  Frank and Joe questioned Henry again about his escape, but Chassen could shed no more light on their captors. He told the boys that he lived in a boarding house on Maple Street, then said good-by.

  Joe was mystified on the walk back to the cottage. “Frank, why the exchange of the photos of Dad and Sam Radley?”

  “I’m suspicious of Nepo. I don’t want him to be able to identify Dad.”

  “Why do you suspect Nepo?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  At the cottage Frank brought out the instant photo, placed it flat on the table, and studied it carefully. Joe and Chet looked over his shoulder.

  “Somehow—somehow this guy looks familiar,” Chet mused. Suddenly he exclaimed, “I’ve got it. Frank, quick, give me a pen!”

  Frank handed him one and Chet went to work on the figure of Rance Nepo. With a few skillful strokes he put a fluff of curls around the head and sketched a flouncy dress.

  Joe watched, fascinated. “What in the world are you doing, Chet?”

  “Don’t you see? This is the lady in the case. The one who phoned you in Bayport and knocked Frank off the hydrofoil catwalk!”

  Frank whistled softly. “Of course! Rance Nepo is our phony blonde!”

  CHAPTER XIV

  Anchors Aweigh!

  “CHET, you’re a genius,” Joe said. “You’ve got a great memory!”

  Chet bowed modestly. “Thanks for the compliment. But after all, I had one advantage, Joe. I’m the only one who saw Nepo close up in his disguise. Shall we report him to the police?”

  “No, not yet,” Frank said. “Nepo thinks he has us fooled, which gives us a chance to fool him. Joe and I’ll visit his shop tomorrow, and add a few loaded questions to the chatter about cameras.”

  Nepo’s place was shut tight when they got there. A heavy green shade covered the glass panel of the front door and a large sign dangled by a wire cord. It said: Closed—On Vacation.

  “Strange, he didn’t say anything to us about taking off,” Joe remarked.

  “Not so strange, Joe, if he’s up to something. But Henry Chassen might be able to tell us what’s cooking.”

  Chassen was not in his room at the boarding house nor at the Decor Shop. No member of the staff had seen him since the previous day.

  “Did he say he was going on vacation with Rance Nepo?” Joe inquired.

  The clerks said No.

  “Something’s fishy,” Frank said gravely as they paused at the curb.

  “We ought to warn Henry about Nepo,” said Joe. “If he’s traveling with Nepo, he should know that his companion doesn’t wear a white hat. Let’s tell the police now.”

  Frank shook his head. “There’s no proof that Nepo’s committed a crime,” he pointed out. “We need solid evidence before we can go to the police.”

  Back at the Starfish Marina, the young sleuths found Chet in a tizzy again, and Al Hinkley hopping mad.

  “More thievery!” the man fumed. “They came in here and lifted the outboard motors from a couple of my boats.” He stalked off muttering to himself.

  “I’m as burned up as Mr. Hinkley,” Chet mum bled fretfully. “I hardly turned my back before the motors were gone.”

  “They just didn’t fly away,” Joe said. “Didn’t you see anybody snooping around?”

  “Not a soul.”

  “Don’t throw in the sponge, Chet,” Frank said. “Joe and I’ll cruise around for a look-see.”

  Chet still seemed depressed. “Being a Cancerian,” he said, “I’m bound to have some bad luck now. It’s nice to have an Arian and Scorpion on my side. You’re in the right House of the Zodiac this month to make discoveries and uncover plots.”

  “I hope so!” Frank said as the Sleuth churned out into the bay. Joe handled the controls. Frank sat at the bow, scouting the area around the Starfish Marina through high-powered binoculars.

  He sighted a rowboat with two men holding fishing rods over the side. There wasn’t another boat within half a mile, so Frank watched them for a few minutes.

  “Slow down, Joe. I want a better look at those fishermen. They haven’t moved their lines at all. See for yourself.”

  The Sleuth slowed to quarter speed. Joe locked the controls and joined Frank in the bow. Taking the binoculars, he surveyed the rowboat from stem to stern.

  The two men hastily pulled in their lines, tossed them under a seat, unlimbered the oars, and began to row shoreward.

  Frank t
ook the binoculars. “They’re going awfully slow,” he said in a perplexed tone. “That rowboat can’t be all that heavy. It’s as if they were trailing an anchor.”

  Joe exclaimed, “Frank, you’ve hit on the answer! They’re dragging stolen motors. I’ll bet my sweet Scorpion!”

  Joe went back to the controls and guided the Sleuth in the direction of the rowboat. As they drew closer, he asked Frank to take over. Then he skinned down to his shorts, lowered himself into the water, gave a hard kick, and arched below the surface in a long underwater dive that brought him beneath the rowboat.

  He saw two chains extending down from the sides. Following one chain hand over hand, he reached the end—where an outboard motor was tied!

  Joe’s breath was giving out! His heart pounded, and there was a buzzing in his ears! He needed air!

  Summoning all his remaining strength, he tugged hard on the chain and zoomed to the surface.

  Gulping in air, he surveyed the scene. The rowboat had capsized and its occupants were flounder ing in the water.

  “Help!” one of them shouted. “Help! Save us!”

  Joe quickly swam over to one of the men, got a lifeguard’s grip on him with an elbow under his chin, and boosted him up into the Sleuth. Frank leaned over the side, grasped the hand of the other man, and pulled him in.

  Both collapsed in bedraggled heaps. Frank quickly bound their wrists.

  “Let’s not forget the motors,” Frank said. “They’re what we came here to get.”

  Joe got out a towrope, swam back to the overturned rowboat, fastened one end of the rope to a ring at its bow, and swam back.

  Frank had the Sleuth moving as Joe climbed in. The rope tightened, and the motorboat moved toward the dock with the rowboat in tow.

  Pulling into the Starfish Marina, Frank shouted to Al Hinkley, “Call the police! We’ve found your stolen motors.”

  Chet came running up. His round face broke into a big grin as Frank and Joe hauled the motors up onto the wharf.

  “Well, that gets me off the hook, doesn’t it, Mr. Hinkley?” he said as his boss emerged from the office after phoning the police.

  “It does, as far as I’m concerned, Chet. But you’d better apply some elbow grease to those two motors. They need a lot of work after their dunking in the bay!”

  The men from the rowboat were back on their feet by the time a squad car rolled into the Starfish Marina. Frank and Joe went along to headquarters to make a statement about the theft and recovery of the two outboard motors.

  The prisoners were given dry clothing and then brought in for questioning. They were advised of their rights to legal counsel, then the police sergeant asked the first man:

  “What’s your name?”

  “Eric Anderson.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “No place in particular. I work at odd jobs wherever I happen to be.”

  The police sergeant turned to the second man, who said his name was Robert Meyer. He, too, had no steady job.

  “You’re both drifters?”

  “Yeah. And we ain’t talking.”

  Anderson shifted in his chair. “Give us a break, will you?” he whined. “The boss will drown us if we spill the beans!”

  Frank poured a glass of water and held it out to him. As he started to drink, Frank fired a question.

  “Is your boss Hooks Zigurski?”

  Anderson choked over the water he was drinking. Sputtering and coughing, he reached for his handkerchief, blew his nose, and regained his breath.

  “Never you mind who our boss is!” he growled. “Look. I want a lawyer.”

  “Okay,” the sergeant said. “Book them for being in possession of stolen goods and supply oounsel.”

  “I guess there’s nothing more we can do here,” Frank remarked. They set off for the cottage, where Chet was waiting for them.

  Much to their surprise, so was Fenton Hardy!

  “Hi, Dad!” Joe said. “Short time no see.”

  “What’s up?” Frank asked.

  The private investigator looked grim. He went right to the point.

  “Boys,” he said huskily, “Sam Radley has disappeared!”

  CHAPTER XV

  Under the Bed!

  SAM Radley missing! Frank and Joe exchanged startled glances.

  “We thought he was checking those license plates we saw in the boathouse,” said Frank.

  “He was,” Fenton Hardy answered. “In fact, he reported back that he was on to something that would interest all of us.”

  “Maybe Sam found out who owned the plates!” Joe said excitedly.

  His father nodded. “That’s possible. Trouble is, he never passed the information on to me.”

  “Tell us what happened, Dad,” Frank urged.

  “Not much to tell. We were supposed to meet at Shark Harbor. Sam’s car turned up in the parking lot near where I’m staying. The attendant remembers seeing him park. After that—no sign of Sam!”

  Frank was about to speak when Chet interrupted. “Leaping Libra! What sign of the Zodiac was Sam Radley born under?”

  Joe turned to him in annoyance. “What difference does that make? We’re not reading horoscopes now. We’re dealing with a man who’s disappeared under mysterious circumstances!”

  “Mysteries are my specialty,” Chet responded. “When was Sam Radley born?”

  Frank said resignedly, “We might as well get it over with. Sam was born in early December.”

  “Then he’s a Sagittarian—the sign of the Archer. They are generally smart cookies. But the planets are out of kilter for them this month!”

  Chet produced a small book from his pocket, flipped the pages to the sign of the Archer, and read in a booming voice, “‘This is a time of suffering from a big mistake. Retaliation is due.’ ”

  “That’s not too far off,” Frank commented. Quickly he told his father about Rance Nepo being “the lady” in the case. “I made a mistake when I showed Sam’s picture to Nepo. And Nepo captured Sam by mistake, thinking he was you, Dad.”

  Chet looked at him with an air of authority. “Well, whoever did it is in for big trouble this month. The book says retaliation. He’ll pay for kidnapping Sam.”

  Fenton Hardy nodded. “The question is, Who does Nepo work for? Obviously he’s connected with the gang trying to sabotage the hydrofoil. But they’d hardly be interested in Radley. Nor in me, since I’m not working on the Given case. My only enemy at large now is Zigurski. He swore he’d get revenge when I sent him up the river. Perhaps he grabbed Sam to get back at me!”

  Chet cleared his throat. “Mr. Hardy, Hooks Zigurski can’t be the guy who grabbed Sam Radley!”

  “Oh no? Why not?”

  “Because Zigurski isn’t near Shark Harbor! He’s in Miami, Florida!”

  “And how did you come by that vital piece of information?”

  Chet looked apologetic. “I didn’t mean to step out of line, Mr. Hardy. But I needed to know Zigurski’s birthday to figure out what he’s up to. So I used you as a reference with the State Parole Board. They told me Zigurski is in Florida. I hope you’re not mad at me.”

  Fenton Hardy chuckled. “It’s hard for anyone to get mad at you, Chet. What did the parole people tell you about Zigurski?”

  “They said he was born on July twentieth. That makes him a Cancerian. The sign of the Crab.”

  Frank grinned. “That puts you and Hooks under the same sign, Chet! Makes you two of a kind, doesn’t it?”

  “Not at all, Frank. Zigurski was born on the cusp!”

  “The cusp?”

  “That means three days before or after the last day of a sign of the Zodiac. People born on the cusp have the characteristics of both signs.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as Hooks Zigurski. He was born between Cancer and Leo. He may look like a Cancerian on the outside, but he’s Leo inside. I’m sure of that!”

  “Is that good or bad?” Frank wanted to know.

  “Bad news, in t
his case. A Leo likes to give orders. He has a habit of taking what he wants. Isn’t that how you read Zigurski, Mr. Hardy?”

  “Right on the button, Chet. If Zigurski is in Florida, he must have delegated the job of kidnapping me to someone else. He himself knows me and wouldn’t have made the mistake of capturing Sam.”

  “Which brings us back to Nepo,” Frank concluded.

  “Right ”

  “I wonder why Hooks went to Florida in the first place,” Joe mused.

  “Could be to establish an alibi,” Frank suggested.

  Fenton Hardy nodded. “Yes it could,” he agreed.

  “If we only knew what caper he’s planning now!”

  Joe sounded desperate. “He might be tied in with the boat thieves and the attempt to sabotage the hydrofoill How can we stop him, Dad?”

  “It won’t be easy. But for a start, alert all the Cape Cutlass marinas. They’re sitting ducks right now. But if we’re lucky, the gang may be caught in the act!”

  The detective got up from his chair and peered out the window. “I came up here secretly to give you the news about Sam Radley. Now I’d better get back to Shark Harbor and see if I can pick up his trail.”

  “How do we fit in, Dad?” Joe asked.

  “Up here, you can watch out for Nepo and Zigurski. Either of them could be the key to this puzzle.”

  Suddenly Frank put his finger to his lips. “Sh! Listen! A prowler!”

  Someone was moving around outside the cottage. Footsteps sounded softly as if the person was trying to avoid detection.

  Fenton Hardy whispered, “I can’t let anyone see me here. I’ll hide under the bed.” He got down on the floor and squirmed out of sight.

  Frank stepped quietly to the door and jerked it open. A bent figure stumbled into the room.

  “Mr. Malarky!” Joe exclaimed as the big man caught his balance.

  “What a nice surprise,” Frank added with a smile. “We’d like you to meet Chet Morton.”

  They shook hands and Frank went on, “We thought you had forgotten about us using your cottage. So you remembered after all!”

  Big Malarky was embarrassed. “I nearly did forget you,” he confessed. “When my secretary reminded me you boys were here, I came over to see if you were comfortable.” With a sly grin he added, “See any more outboard motors?”