The Masked Monkey Page 8

  “What’s the number?” the warehouse man asked.

  “Forty-two-o-seven-six.”

  The attendant led the way back to the cage he had shown the Hardys.

  “I’ll have to call the supervisor,” he told the men. “I’m not allowed to give you the monkey without a claim check.”

  “That’s all right,” Snap-brim said. “Meanwhile we’ll go see our little pet.”

  “Did you send your friends to look at the monkey?” the attendant asked timidly.

  “What?” Snap-brim looked puzzled.

  “Never mind,” Corduroy Pants said impatiently. “Call the supervisor. We’re in a hurry.”

  As soon as the attendant had left, the two men grasped the cage by the corners. Grunting and swearing, they maneuvered it out of the warehouse as fast as they could to a station wagon parked nearby.

  Frank and Joe, ducking behind crates, had trailed the two men to the spot where the monkey cage had stood, then followed them to the door. They saw Snap-brim and Corduroy Pants lifting the cage into the rear of the vehicle.

  As they did, the cage tilted and a package wrapped in brown paper fell out onto the road. The men did not see it. They hopped into the car and drove off.

  “We’ve got to follow them!” Frank said. The boys ran out of the warehouse. Joe pounced on the package, which was small enough for him to slip into his jacket pocket. Frank took down the license number of the men’s car, at the same time flagging a taxi. The boys jumped in, and Frank ordered the driver to follow the station wagon.

  It moved fast in the heavy traffic at the airport. The driver kept right on its tail, zooming around and past slower cars. It was a close race until the station wagon whizzed through a red light.

  The taxi had to stop. Disappointed, the boys watched their quarry vanish into the myriad of cars headed for New York City.

  “No use trying to catch up with them now,” Frank said, and told the driver to return to the airport. They got out and paid the fare.

  Joe suddenly remembered the package he had picked up. “Let’s see what is in it,” he said. “Maybe it’ll give us an idea of what to do next.”

  He unwrapped the brown paper and took out a rubber mask of a hideous countenance. The snout was misshapen. The eyes were mere slits of hatred. The fangs were bared in a savage scowl!

  “A monkey mask! It’s the face of Diabo!” Joe exclaimed.

  CHAPTER XIII

  One More Chance

  “THE face of Diabo!” Frank repeated. “Now I get it. This hideous mask is a form of psychological warfare. It sure can scare the wits out of a victim.”

  Joe turned the mask over, noting how the rubber would stretch under a simian’s jaw and over the back of its head. The earpieces were broad and thick, almost like earmuffs.

  “Do you suppose,” Frank said, “that the monkey in the cage really was Diabo?”

  “That howler was friendly,” Joe replied. “I can’t imagine him spitting and snarling like Diabo.”

  Frank snapped his fingers. “Joe, something else just occurred to me. If San Marten knows this fellow Solomon, then the Brazilian may be involved in Dad’s passport case, too! Remember, Solomon had a doctored passport.”

  “Wow!” Joe shook his head. “This San Marten is really a master criminal. Playing two rackets at the same time.”

  “Except that we don’t know for sure that the monkey is Diabo.”

  “I can’t believe he is,” Joe said. “But it would be a strange coincidence if he wasn’t.”

  Frank and Joe took a plane back to Bayport. At home they held a long session with their father after dinner.

  “I go along with your suspicion of San Marten as far as the passport racket is concerned,” Mr. Hardy said. “The man’s an enigma. The Brazilian Embassy hasn’t been able to come up with any information on him. All they know is that he lives in Belem, has no police record down there, and doesn’t court publicity.”

  “Anyhow, maybe we can help each other in our investigations,” Frank said.

  “Right. If I smash the passport gang, it may lead me to Graham Retson. Or, if you fellows find Graham, you may find the gang’s ringleader at the same time.”

  Early the next morning Frank and Joe drove back to Whisperwood to join their buddies. Chet was in high spirits. “I hope you guys are doing as well as we are,” he greeted them.

  “Just how well is that?” Joe asked.

  “We retrieved a couple of hundred more golf balls last night,” Phil said.

  “Most of them in pretty good condition, too,” Tony added. “They’ll bring in a lot of clams after we put them in the washing machine.”

  “Tonight,” Chet said, “we’ll be working the big water hole at the Olympic Health Club.”

  “I thought they wouldn’t give you a contract,” Frank put in.

  Phil winked. “They wouldn’t let Chet in the place. But Tony and I wangled the contract.”

  “It was easy,” Tony said. “We just walked in and said how about it and they said okay.”

  “Wait a minute,” Chet interrupted. “You guys were my bird dogs. I let you go ahead, that was all. I could have made the deal if I had wanted to.”

  When the boys’ laughter at his bragging had subsided, Frank and Joe asked Chet about Mrs. Retson. They were told she was still missing. The Hardys went to the mansion to report to their client. Harris opened the door.

  “Mr. Retson is in the den,” he said and escorted them in.

  Retson was seated at his desk, looking over some papers. He glanced up in surprise.

  “Hello, Mr. Retson,” said Frank. “We’re sorry to hear about your wife.”

  “What? Oh yes. More trouble. All I seem to have is trouble. Well, where’s Graham?”

  “I’m afraid we haven’t found him,” Frank said. He explained about San Marten and the wild-goose chase up the Amazon.

  “So you failed!” Retson exploded. “I should have known this case was too big for a couple of amateurs!”

  “Sir, we haven’t failed completely,” Frank said coolly. “We have reason to believe that your son was kidnapped. Chances are he is somewhere in the United States.”

  “And is being held captive by San Marten and his gang,” Joe added.

  “Nonsense!” Retson said. “I don’t believe there’s any such person as this San Marten you keep talking about.”

  Retson composed himself and in a lower voice added, “I’ll give you one more chance. But if you don’t find my son pronto, you’re fired.”

  “Mr. Retson, have the police investigated the disappearance of your wife?” Frank asked.

  “Yes, yes. They’re working on it. You don’t have to concern yourself with that.”

  “She and Graham might have been kidnapped by the gang!” Joe put in.

  “I doubt it,” Retson said sharply. “A rope ladder was found hanging down from her window. I believe she completely lost her mind and ran away. You leave that up to the police. Just find Graham!”

  The Hardys returned to the guesthouse. On the way Joe said, “Retson brushed off his wife’s disappearance quite casually.”

  “He sure did,” Frank agreed. “And he doesn’t seem to take us very seriously, either.”

  “We’ll have to do something to convince him that he can rely on us,” Joe said. “But what? We haven’t got a single clue to go on.”

  “Let’s try the Olympic Health Club,” Frank said. “Those flickering lights and the noises Chet reported might mean something. Also, remember the Condor golf ball which was thrown into our window the first night? That points to the Olympic too, according to Chet.”

  Joe nodded. “Let’s join the scavenging operation tonight and check out the premises. Another thing. What should we do about Mrs. Retson?”

  “Nothing. I’m sure once we find Graham, we’ll find his mother.”

  Chet was enthusiastic when he heard that the Hardys would join him that night. “We can use all the help we can get. We’ll even cut you in on the pro
fits!” he said with a grin.

  During the rest of the day, Frank and Joe kept the mansion and the staff under surveillance, but nothing unusual happened. At nightfall the five boys drove to the club in Chet’s pickup with the suction pump in the back. The Olympic golf pro, Gus McCormick, let them in, waited while they transferred the pump to a golf cart, and watched them vanish into the darkness over the golf links. Frank wheeled the cart up to the edge of the water hole, which was a distance from the clubhouse.

  “This is a combined operations strategy,” Chet said pompously. “We’ll have four units acting under central control.”

  “Where’s central control?” Joe asked.

  Chet slapped his chest. “Here!”

  “Shall we synchronize our watches?” Phil asked jokingly. “Oh, I forgot. I don’t have any.”

  “Neither do I,” Tony said. “I won’t be able to tell the time when I’m in the pond.”

  “I’ll keep time for all of us,” Chet told them.

  “Where do Frank and I come in, General?” Joe asked.

  “Frank, you handle the hose to the suction pump. Sweep up all the balls along the edge. Joe, you take the basket and gather the booty that Phil and Tony bring back from the water hole. Let’s go, team!”

  By midnight the boys had a basketful of golf balls, and the suction pump container was loaded.

  “All right, time to go,” Chet said. “We’ve gathered all the wealth in this place. Those balls in Joe’s basket look pretty good to me. Let’s take a gander at the container. It’ll probably have to be cleaned out.”

  He lifted the lid, took a peek, gave a low whistle and called, “Hey, fellows, look at what we dredged up tonight!”

  “Look at what we dredged up tonight,” Chet called

  Reaching in, he brought out a woman’s shoe.

  Tony chuckled. “Some lady player must have gone back to the clubhouse barefoot.”

  “That’s not all,” Chet said, reaching into the container again. This time he came up with a badly rusted pistol. The other boys looked in amazement.

  But before anyone could comment, a loud cry echoed over the golf course. Lights flickered on the clubhouse roof!

  CHAPTER XIV

  Big Deal for Chet

  “THOSE lights must be a signal to somebody!” Joe said excitedly. “Let’s get over to the clubhouse and see what’s going on!”

  Frank grabbed his arm. “Take it easy. Somebody’s coming.”

  The Hardys slipped away into the darkness just as several men ran up to the water hole. “What are you doing here?” one of them shouted.

  Chet explained.

  “Who gave you permission?”

  “Gus McCormick.”

  “We have a contract with Gus,” Phil said. “We get half the golf balls we retrieve, and he gets half. It’s a fifty-fifty deal.”

  The man grunted angrily. “Well, the deal’s off. Gus had no business making it. Now, you three, get out of here. And don’t come back or I’ll make it hot for you!”

  He and his companions strode off toward the clubhouse and the Hardys moved back to the water hole.

  “Those roughnecks are really mad about something,” Frank said. “I wonder what’s bugging them.”

  “Beats me,” Chet replied. “All the other pros gave us the go-ahead without any beefing by the management. What’s so special about this place?”

  “Gus acted as if he were in charge,” Phil commented. “He was glad to let us do all the work while he was getting half the profits.”

  “Something fishy’s going on,” Frank declared. “Remember the shout we heard? And the flickering lights? And the pistol we dredged up?”

  “What’ll we do now?” Chet asked.

  “We’ll have to get off the premises,” Joe replied. “Let’s go back to Whisperwood.”

  “And we’ll contact the authorities tomorrow,” Frank added. “Chief Carton might want to take a look at that gun we found.”

  The Hardys drove into Granite City early in the morning, taking the pistol and the shoe with them. They found the chief at his desk and explained their reason for calling on him.

  Carton toyed with a pencil. “I haven’t been out to the Olympic Health Club often,” he said. “It’s a private outfit and no member has turned up on the police blotter yet. However, this pistol calls for an investigation. I’ll have it put through tests in our crime lab. Want to come along and watch?”

  “Sure would,” Joe said, and told the chief about their own private lab at home.

  The fingerprint expert could find no prints on the pistol, but the serial number became visible after the weapon had been carefully scraped. Also, it was still in good enough condition to b fired by the ballistics expert, who returned a while later to the lab with his report.

  Carton left the office and returned with a file folder. Then he placed the ballistics report and the open file side by side. He rubbed his chin and commented, “This is very interesting.”

  “What, sir?” Frank asked.

  “A man held up a post office in Granite City two years ago. His name was Roscoe Matthews. This is our file on him.” He tapped the folder. Then he hefted the weapon in the palm of his hand. “And this is the holdup gun!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “The serial number proves it belongs to Matthews. And a bullet found at the crime scene matches the one just fired in our lab.”

  “Is Matthews a dangerous criminal?” Joe wanted to know.

  “Highly so. During the robbery he shot a guard in the shoulder. He would have killed him except the guard’s badge deflected the bullet. We put out an all-points bulletin on Matthews, but he dropped out of sight.”

  A sudden thought struck Joe. “What kind of loot did Matthews get away with?”

  “That’s the strange thing,” Carton answered. “He ignored the money. All he took was a batch of passports.”

  “Passports!” Frank exclaimed. “That’s what our dad is working on right now!” He gave Carton a quick explanation of both their father’s case and their own.

  “Do you have a picture of Matthews?” Joe asked.

  Carton pulled a photograph out of the file. It showed a broad-faced blond man with a long nose and a slight squint. It was not San Marten, as Joe had secretly hoped, and Carton had no further information to give.

  “Was Matthews a member of the Olympic Health Club?” Frank asked.

  Carton shook his head. “No. How the gun ever got into their water hole is a mystery to me!”

  “Talking about the water hole,” Joe said, “we also found a shoe. It probably doesn’t mean anything, but we brought it along anyhow.” He pulled the shoe from the paper bag in which he had carried the two items.

  Carton looked at it. “All I can say is it hasn’t been under water very long.”

  An idea flashed into Frank’s mind. “Maybe it belongs to Mrs. Retson!”

  “She might have lost it running away,” Joe added. “Or—or do you suppose she was murdered?” he said, his face registering shock.

  Carton stared at the shoe. “I’ll find out if it belongs to her. If it does, we’ll have to dredge the water hazard at the Olympic golf course.”

  On the way back to Whisperwood the boys discussed the latest turn of events. “I sure hope it’s not Mrs. Retson’s shoe,” Joe said.

  “Chances are it’s not,” Frank told him. “Any number of women play golf there. And why should she have run across the course? She would have been seen, recognized, and brought back. Don’t forget, she left in bright daylight.”

  “The question is, Did she go on her own or was she kidnapped,” Joe mused.

  “We’ve got to zero in on the Olympic Health Club fast, Frank. All these mysteries may be part of one big package.”

  Back at the guesthouse, the Hardys found Phil and Tony preparing to leave for Bayport.

  “What’s up?” Joe asked.

  “We’ve picked the golf courses clean around here,” Phil answered. “Now we’ll gi
ve the duffers a chance to dunk some more, then we’ll come back for another scavenging operation.”

  “You’re taking off when mysteries are busting out all over,” Frank protested.

  “We’ll be here in a jiffy if you need us,” Tony assured him. “Just give the word.”

  “How about you, Chet?” Joe asked.

  Before Chet could reply, the phone rang. He answered, then beckoned Frank and Joe to listen in.

  A strange voice asked, “Are you the guy who cleaned out the water hole at the Olympic Health Club last night?”

  “Correct,” Chet said.

  “Then you’re in possession of everything that was dredged up?”

  “Correct.”

  “How would you like to make a fantastic deal for the entire haul?”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “A cool thousand bucks!”

  Chet let out a low whistle. Frank gestured to him to keep the stranger talking.

  “That sounds great,” Chet went on. “How come—?”

  “You wonder why I’m offering so much?” the man interrupted. “Well, I want the golf balls plus everything else your suction pump brought up.”

  “Like a gun and a shoe?” Chet asked casually.

  There was a moment of silence. Then the man said, “I mean everything. Understand?”

  “Sure. Will you come over here? Or shall I bring the stuff to your place?”

  “Neither. Put it in a golf bag and leave it tonight under the tall elm in the woods south of the Olympic Health Club. Come back tomorrow night, and you’ll find your money in a paper bag under the same tree.”

  The phone clicked off and Chet gulped. “Wow! I’m in the middle of a dangerous mission!” He looked pleadingly at his friends. “I’ll need some protection!”

  “Don’t worry,” Frank said.

  “I wonder how this guy knew where to find you, Chet,” Joe mused.

  “That makes the whole business even stickier,” Frank replied. “We’re onto something big here. Whoever phoned knew the gun was down there, and must be connected with Matthews.”

  “It could have been Matthews himself,” Joe said.

  “Who’s Matthews?” Chet asked.