The Wailing Siren Mystery Read online

  “We’ll soon find out,” Joe replied as he ran back toward the garage with Frank behind him.

  “Just a minute,” their mother called. “One of you has to go to the hotel. Sam Radley’s waiting for these letters.” She handed Frank several envelopes for Mr. Hardy’s operative, adding that the detective had something that he wanted brought back.

  “Okay,” Frank said. “Joe, you go to Chet’s. I’ll be back here in twenty minutes. If you need any help at the Mortons’, call me.”

  When Frank returned from the errand, he found his mother even more disturbed than before.

  “Chet phoned again,” she said. “He told me what the trouble is. Actually, it’s a family matter. Chet says they must have two thousand five hundred dollars tonight. Mr. Morton is away on business for the Dairymen’s League and Chet says his mother begs us to lend her at least two thousand dollars of it until he comes home. The banks are open this evening. Chet will drive over for the money in three-quarters of an hour. Poor boy, he was so confused he could hardly talk.”

  “Did you talk to Mrs. Morton, Mother?” Frank asked.

  “No, dear,” she replied. “Chet said she couldn’t come to the telephone.”

  “Mother, you didn’t fall for a line like that!” Frank exclaimed. “Chet’s mother would never ask for a loan of that much money!”

  Mrs. Hardy looked at her tall son in amazement as he continued.

  “The person who will call for the money will be the one who lost the two thousand dollars we found. This is our chance to catch him!”

  Mrs. Hardy was unconvinced. Despite the fact that she had the utmost confidence in Frank’s judgment, she was the type of woman, who, when a friend was in need, would make any sacrifice to help. Besides, she was sure the voice on the telephone had been Chet’s. And he would not deliberately deceive her.

  “It’s something to do with a relative. Chet didn’t seem to want to explain, and I got the feeling that the Mortons didn’t care to tell us why they needed the money.”

  “All right,” her son said, putting an arm around his mother’s shoulder. “I know you’re generous and sympathetic, but we can easily check on Chet’s story. I’m going to telephone Joe. He should be at the Mortons’ by this time.”

  He quickly dialed Chet’s number. It was several seconds before the boy picked up the receiver.

  “Hello? ... Frank?”

  “Is Joe there? Put him on.”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Say, Joe, what’s the story about the two thousand five hundred dollars? It’s not a phony?”

  “It isn’t phony,” Joe replied. “I believe we ought to lend the Mortons the money.”

  “What! Where’s Mrs. Morton?”

  “Out. She’s getting the other five hundred dollars.”

  “You really think we should do this?” Frank asked.

  “Yes.”

  “All right. Tell Chet I’ll bring it out.”

  “No, don’t do that,” Joe replied. “Chet will pick it up.”

  “You’re coming, too?”

  “Sure.”

  Frank hung up. He was perplexed. Maybe the request was legitimate, after all.

  As a result of the conversation, Mrs. Hardy hastened to her desk in the corner of the living room. She drew out her savings account passbook and filled out a withdrawal form.

  Her son put the book and withdrawal slip in his pocket, and hurried down the street. “I have an uneasy feeling about this,” he told himself as he entered the bank. “I hope Joe hasn’t been fooled.”

  He laid the passbook and withdrawal form on a teller’s counter. When the clerk looked up and recognized Frank, he lifted his eyebrows.

  “How do you want this?” he asked.

  “In twenty-dollar bills,” Frank said. “And please make a record of the serial numbers.”

  The teller glanced at Frank with a smile. “This is a departure from your usual mysteries, isn’t it, Frank? Normally you’re on the collecting end instead of the payoff end.”

  Frank nodded. The teller made a list of the serial numbers and gave the boy a duplicate. Then he stamped the passbook and handed Frank the money. As he started home, Frank remembered the night he had been attacked and kidnapped on this way to the ball park. With such a large sum of money on his person he did not want to take the risk of being held up.

  He stopped at headquarters and asked Chief Collig for a police escort. He was tempted to tell Collig about his suspicions, but decided this might embarrass the Mortons. It would be better to call upon Biff and Tony to carry out the next part of his plan.

  After being driven home in a police car, Frank telephoned Biff and Tony. He asked them to drive at once to the road that led past the Morton farm. When Chet and Joe left there, they were to warn the boys if anyone followed them. In any case, Biff and Tony were to keep an eye on Chet until he got home again.

  The boys readily agreed. Tony said he would start at once and pick up Biff.

  To Frank, the next half-hour ticked by as if every second were a day. He breathed a sigh of relief when the stutter of Chet’s jalopy told him the boy was only a block away. Frank rushed to the curb, the envelope with the money in his pocket.

  The car made its way erratically down the street, weaving as if the driver were not in full control of his faculties. Chet stopped the car and stared at Frank as if he had never seen him before. His round, full face was damp with perspiration, and his eyes revealed a terrible fear that made his hands tremble on the wheel.

  “What’s the matter, Chet? Is the trouble bad?” Frank asked. “Come inside and we’ll talk it over.”

  “No—no,” Chet pleaded. “Give me the money and let me get back home as quick as I can.”

  “Where’s Joe?”

  Chet did not reply for a second, then he whispered, “He—he’s coming.”

  “Can’t you stop in for a minute? I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Chet’s double chin quivered as he gulped. His mouth was so dry he could hardly rasp out, “Please, please, Frank. No. No. I tell you I have to go. Give me the money.”

  When Frank drew the envelope from his pocket, Chet snatched it from his hand.

  “Chet, you ...”

  “Good-by!” the frightened boy fairly squealed.

  The old car lurched forward and rumbled down the street.

  As he entered the house again, Frank realized that Chet must be in a state of shock brought about by severe worry. How serious was the Morton trouble? Maybe Joe would be able to tell him when he came.

  After twenty minutes went by and his brother still had not returned, Frank became anxious.

  “I’ll phone the farm,” he decided. Mrs. Morton answered.

  “This is Frank. Is Joe there?”

  “Why, no,” was the reply. “I haven’t seen him.”

  “Is Chet home yet?”

  “No.”

  “Well, he has the money,” Frank said.

  “Money?” Mrs. Morton’s voice sounded casual.

  “The money you asked for. I gave it to Chet.”

  There was silence for a moment. “I don’t understand, Frank. I didn’t ask for any money.”

  The boy groaned. His hunch had been right. What he had suspected might be a swindle had turned out to be one. What a fool he had been!

  And what had happened to Chet and Joe?

  CHAPTER XVI

  Two Knockouts

  SINCE Mrs. Morton knew nothing about the strange request for two thousand five hundred dollars, Frank decided he had better not alarm her before investigating further. Drawing a deep breath, he said:

  “When you see Chet and Joe, will you have them get in touch with me right away, Mrs. Morton?”

  “Yes, Frank. But what about the money?”

  “Chet can explain that better than I can,” Frank replied. He said good-by and hung up.

  Mrs. Hardy overheard the conversation and immediately became alarmed, even though Frank tried to reassure her.

>   “Oh, why didn’t I listen to you? I’ve been so gullible,” she said tearfully.

  Frank’s next move was to contact Biff and Tony. Frank’s hands were moist with anxiety as he dialed Biff’s home. The lanky boy answered.

  “Hi, Frank!” he said. “We tailed Chet. Everything’s okay.”

  “But Chet hasn’t arrived home.”

  “Sure he did,” Biff insisted. “We saw him drive into his lane.”

  “Did you watch him go into the house?”

  Biff admitted he had not, and at no time had he seen Joe. He and Tony had followed the jalopy to within a block of the Hardy home, he said. They had waited on a side street until Chet began his homeward trip. Then they had followed the rickety car until the stout boy had turned into his driveway, whereupon they had driven back to Bayport.

  “Did you see Joe’s car anywhere?”

  “No.”

  Before Biff could say more, the telephone operator cut in. “There’s an urgent call for Mr. Frank Hardy,” she said.

  “I’ll take it,” Frank said, his heart beating faster.

  No sooner had Biff hung up than Mrs. Morton’s voice said excitedly, “Frank, something awful has happened to Chet.”

  “What!”

  “A neighbor carried him in—unconscious. He was lying alongside the driveway by his car. I just called our doctor!”

  “I’ll be right out there, Mrs. Morton!”

  Frank stopped only long enough to tell his mother where he was going and to phone for a taxi.

  A little while later he was bounding up the farmhouse steps. Chet’s mother met him at the door, her face pale with anxiety.

  “He’s on the sofa,” she said, leading the way. “Oh, I wish the doctor would get here!”

  Frank looked at his friend. Chet’s face was as white as the damp cloth that lay on his forehead. Beneath the compress could be seen the outline of a bump the size of an egg.

  “He received an awful blow,” Mrs. Morton said.

  Frank knelt beside his friend. “Who hit you, Chet?”

  The reply was a string of jumbled words. As Frank listened, he began to realize the stark truth of the situation. Quickly he searched Chet’s pockets. The envelope with the money was gone!

  At that moment the tires of a car sounded in the driveway. Dr. Brown hurried in. As he set his black bag on a chair and began his examination of Chet, the worrisome thought that maybe Joe also had met with foul play prompted Frank to hurry outside.

  Catching sight of the Hardy convertible parked next to the Mortons’ barn, he ran toward it. Joe was not in the car. Just as Frank was wondering where to look next, he heard a low moan. It seemed to come from the barn.

  Quickly he pushed open the sliding door and snapped on a light, almost stumbling over a prone figure as he did so. It was his brother, tied hand and foot, and barely conscious. A thin stream of blood trickled down one side of his face from a wound above the temple.

  After ripping open Joe’s collar and untying his bonds, Frank revived the semiconscious boy. As Joe struggled to a sitting position, he pressed a hand to his head.

  “Ow!” he said. “I can still feel that pistol butt. Where’s Chet?”

  Frank told him. “And the doctor had better look at you, too,’ he said.

  “I’ll be all right,” Joe said, getting up.

  As the boys walked slowly from the barn, Joe gave an account of his harrowing experience. When he had arrived at the Mortons’, a tall masked man with a gun had met him at the door. When Joe had resisted, the masked stranger threatened that if his orders were not carried out, Chet’s sister Iola would never return to her home. Joe did not know that Chet had already been told the same story.

  “I was helpless,” Joe said. “When you called, I wanted to tell the truth, but the man was holding a gun against my ribs.”

  “How did you get slugged?” Frank queried.

  “When Chet left for town, the man wouldn’t let me go. I tried to sneak off to our car, but he hit me with his pistol butt. That’s all I remember until you found me.”

  The boys went to the house. They entered the living room just as the doctor finished bandaging Chet’s head.

  “It’s only a bad bruise,” he said. “But the boy must be kept quiet. Don’t question him until after he has had a complete rest.”

  Dr. Brown examined Joe’s head, pronouncing him all right, but advising a good night’s rest. As the physician drove off, two policemen arrived. Mrs. Morton had summoned them. Joe stayed long enough to report all he knew, then the Hardys went home.

  When the boys confirmed the loss of the money, their mother was inconsolable. Then, bracing herself, she said she was thankful Joe and Chet were safe.

  Frank went to telephone Biff. Tony was there, and the two became greatly disturbed over the news.

  “I can’t help feeling that we’re responsible for botching the whole thing,” Biff said woefully.

  “Of course you weren’t,” Frank replied. “Nobody could have figured out what was going to happen. But you can help us by supplying any clues you can think of.”

  Biff recalled that a car without lights had been parked way off the wrong side of the road a short distance from the Morton farm. Biff and Tony thought it had been empty when they passed it, but perhaps it had not been.

  Frank was so excited that he remained awake until two o’clock. The thieves had struck because they could not get their hands on the money at police headquarters. They must be captured before they could strike again!

  The first step was to consult his father’s operative, Sam Radley. Early the next morning he telephoned the man at his hoteL

  “Frank,” Radley said, after hearing the whole story, “this is a mighty serious case. Assault and battery are bad enough, not to mention grand larceny. We’ll go into this thoroughly. I’ll be ready to leave here in an hour.”

  The boys picked him up and they drove to the spot where the empty car had stood.

  “Say, Joe,” Frank said, “do these tire prints mean anything to you?”

  Joe bent down to examine them. “I’ll say they do. Same kind as the car that followed the Morton truck after it had been stolen.”

  “We’ll look for more clues,” said Sam Radley, pulling a detective’s field kit from his pocket.

  Using a magnifying glass and tape measure, he went over every inch of the ground and nearby bushes, gathering up samples of dirt onto laboratory slides. Next he went to work on an analysis of what he had found. It was not long before he said:

  “All set, fellows. I think we know whom to look for: Two men. One tall, with reddish hair.”

  “That blasts my idea it was the fake salesman with the blond hair,” Joe remarked.

  “The other man was short and has an uneven gait,” Radley went on. “The red-haired fellow drove the car, which is a new blue sedan with a scratch on the driver’s door.”

  “Wow!” Joe exclaimed. “How did you figure all that, Sam?”

  “I simply translated some clues I found,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

  “Let’s have them.”

  “We know the driver was red-haired because I found two of his hairs on a branch of those hazel bushes which brushed against the door where he stepped out of the car. Also, his stride was long, which means he’s tall. The other man’s footprints were short and uneven. The impressions made by one of the feet is deeper than the other. He has a slight limp.”

  “The man who left the letter at the News office!” Joe exclaimed.

  “How do you know all that about the car?” Frank asked.

  “Well, I measured the wheel base and there are some exhaust stains on the grass. The two figures give me the size. I found blue paint flecks under where the driver’s door would have been, and on a broken-off twig, which means there’s probably a scratch on the car door. So there it is.”

  “The driver was the tall fellow who put Chet and me out of the picture,” Joe surmised.

  “We’ll see Chet next,” t
he detective said.

  “I hope he’s awake and can talk,” said Frank.

  When they entered the Morton home, they found Chet wide awake, lying on the living-room sofa. He had a large tray of lunch on a chair beside him.

  “Chet’s coming along fine,” Mrs. Morton said with a laugh. “Whenever his appetite returns, I know he’s well.”

  The Hardys and Sam Radley began to fire questions at the boy. They learned from him that the tall man had come to the house when Chet was alone, and at gunpoint had forced the defenseless youth to carry out the extortion scheme. The man had hoped to get both Frank and Joe to the farm, but when Frank had stayed home, the thief had changed his plan of attack.

  “He told me I’d be followed every minute,” Chet said. “One of his pals was hiding in the trunk of the jalopy when I drove to your home. He said he’d shoot me if I went inside the house, or told you anything.

  “When I got back here,” Chet went on, “somebody jumped from a bush in our driveway and hit me.”

  “Do you know what the man in your jalopy looked like?” Sam Radley asked.

  “No.”

  “All right. I’ll call the police and tell them what happened. They can put out an alert for the two men and the sedan.” With that, Radley went to the telephone.

  Frank continued to question Chet. “Think hard, Chet! Didn’t you get any clue at all?”

  “Well, maybe I did. Just when I was seeing stars, I heard someone say, ‘The take-off’s tomorrow at eleven.’ ”

  Joe glanced at his watch. “It’s ten-thirty now!” he exclaimed.

  CHAPTER XVII

  Trouble at Sea

  THE Hardys immediately recalled the incident of the missing Jack Wayne and his plane. Were Chet and Joe’s attackers in some way connected with the hijacker?

  Joe telephoned the local airport and spoke to a man there who knew the Hardys. The boy suggested that all pilots flying out at eleven be on guard against trouble. He also asked if there were any strangers in a private plane waiting to take off.

  “There’s no flight scheduled out of here at eleven, either commercial or private,” he was told.