Mystery of the Whale Tattoo Read online

A Phony Exposed

  THE milling youths now provided an excellent screen for Mug and Baby Face, who kept their knives poised against the backs of the Hardy boys.

  “We don’t know anything about the Ivory Idol,” Frank said calmly.

  “Quit kiddin’. We read the papers, too.”

  “Listen, Merks,” Joe exploded. “You’ll never get away with this! That tattoo between your eyes is like a signal light and you know it!”

  Baby Face was taken aback. “Where’d you learn my name?” he asked “And how’d you know that’s a tattoo?”

  “We know about you,” Frank replied.

  “And the Ivory Idol,” Baby Face hissed. “I’ll give you three more seconds to start talkin’—”

  “Dump!” Joe cried out. Frank instantly recognized the signal for an old trick. Both boys bent quickly at the waist, grabbed the ankles of their captors, and pulled hard. Mug and Baby Face lost their holds and dropped to the pavement.

  “Into the street!” Frank shouted. They dashed forward the same moment the two gangs of young hoodlums charged at each other. The Hardys were caught in the middle!

  They dodged, feinted, and ducked to get clear of the scene. Baby Face and Mug were not far behind, battling to get at them.

  Suddenly sirens wailed and police cars and paddy wagons screeched into the area. Several of the youths bolted. A few got away, but most were caught within the police cordon.

  Frank and Joe grinned as they waited their turn to enter the paddy wagon. “Just like in the movies,” Joe said. “The cavalry arrives in the nick of time.”

  Frank craned his neck and looked around for Baby Face and Mug. “If we’re lucky,” he said, “the police will have picked up our playmates.”

  “All right!” said a big patrolman. “Into the wagon. Hurry it up!” The ride to the station house was short. The gang members were herded together in a large room to be booked. Frank and Joe, who looked out of place among them, identified themselves to the officer in charge and requested that he call Sergeant Bill Thompson at headquarters to verify their story.

  Thompson came to the boys’ aid immediately. Hearing what had happened, he checked the list of prisoners. “Good news, boys,” he reported. “Merks was picked up. Unfortunately Stine got away.”

  “Too bad,” Joe said.

  “Well, your job may be a bit easier now that Merks is out of the running,” Thompson said. “Come on. I’ll drive you to the airport.”

  He stayed with the Hardys until they boarded their flight. Soon after they were airborne, Frank pulled the copy of the information card on the Society of the Whale Tattoo from his pocket. He and Joe studied it carefully.

  Mug and Baby Face, the boys concluded, were not in the society. Neither of them had the proper whale tattoo. Apparently they were independents hired by the society.

  “Our first real response,” Joe said, “came when we planted the story about knowing where the missing whale was. From that time on, we’ve been shadowed pretty closely.”

  “Right. But what about those thugs insisting that we know the location of the Ivory Idol?”

  “Frank, I’ve got it!” Joe slammed his fist on the armrest. “Remember Merks’ remark ‘We read the papers, too’!”

  “The Ivory Idol is in the whale!” Frank interrupted excitedly. “I should’ve guessed it before now. Kane must have hidden it there before he was killed.”

  “It makes sense! We’ve got to find the whale—and fast!”

  It was late in the evening when the Hardys finally reached their home. Their mother and Aunt Gertrude welcomed them warmly and prepared hot chocolate and a tasty snack. As they relaxed, Frank and Joe related their adventures, including their search for Zelemeyer’s Circus. But they toned down the more dangerous parts.

  “Well, that’s not quite the same version Chet told us,” Mrs. Hardy said with a twinkle in her eyes. “But I suppose it’s close enough.”

  “Chet’s back in Bayport?” Frank asked.

  “Yes. Your father felt he could form a new cover much better without Chet. But he’s still working on your case, asking everybody about Zelemeyer’s Circus.”

  “That’s a good thought,” Frank nodded. “Maybe Zelemeyer’s did play in Bayport.”

  “Gracious,” Aunt Gertrude said, “I meant to tell Chet about Mrs. Hendricks. She went to every one of them before her arthritis got so bad.”

  “Went to every what?” Joe asked.

  “Circus, of course,” his aunt replied.

  “Sort of a circus nut, you’d call her, I guess,” Mrs. Hardy said, and the boys looked in surprise at their mother.

  “Well”—Mrs. Hardy looked embarrassed—“you can’t live around two teen-agers without picking up some of their language.”

  Her sons laughed, and Frank said, “How do we contact Mrs. Hendricks?”

  Miss Hardy went to the telephone, dialed a number, and handed the receiver to Frank.

  “Oh, hello,” Frank said to the pleasant though somewhat quavering voice of the woman who answered. “I’m Frank Hardy.... She’s fine.... My mother, too.... No, nothing’s wrong. I wonder if you remember a certain circus in town.”

  Frank explained, and as he listened to Mrs. Hendricks’s reply, his eyebrows lifted. “Yes, go on, please.... And you remember a whale? Now, Mrs. Hendricks, please tell me all you can recall.”

  After listening a few minutes longer, Frank thanked the woman and hung up. Then he grabbed Aunt Gertrude and danced her around the room.

  “My goodness, Frank! Are you mad?” she protested. “Careful of my spectacles!”

  “For Pete’s sake, spill it!” Joe cried.

  “Okay. Listen carefully,” Frank said as Aunt Gertrude flopped down in an easy chair.

  The Zelemeyer Circus had played in Bayport many years before, at the old fairgrounds adjacent to the very spot where the new supermarket was going up. The circus went broke and disbanded. The stuffed whale they were exhibiting was buried on the spot because nobody wanted it.

  “Wow!” Joe exclaimed. “What news! Cousin Elmer should hear this. Hey! Cousin Elmer!”

  “Save your breath, Joe,” Aunt Gertrude said. “Cousin Elmer is no longer with us.”

  The boys looked startled. “You mean he died?” Frank gasped.

  “Of course not. He left. Flew the coop.”

  “That’s right,” Mrs. Hardy confirmed. “Elmer just upped and vanished two days ago without a word to anybody. We found a note on his dresser saying he was sorry he couldn’t stay and meet Fenton.” Their mother got the note and the boys read it.

  “That wasn’t very polite of him,” Frank said.

  Aunt Gertrude agreed emphatically. “Indeed not. And the way he ate my apple pie, you would have thought he’d say good-by in person. Not a true Hardy, that’s all!”

  “He might be the black sheep,” Joe said, trying to make light of it, but the boys were instantly suspicious of the man who had accepted their hospitality.

  “Anything missing around the house?” Frank asked guardedly.

  Mrs. Hardy assured them that nothing had been stolen, and none of Fenton Hardy’s records and files had been disturbed.

  Frank was still not convinced. “There’s something fishy about the whole deal—the way he came early, the way he wouldn’t give any details about his past, and now his sudden disappearance.”

  “But the motive’s missing,” Joe said. “If he was an impostor, he’d have to have a reason.”

  “I’m sure he did. It’s just that we can’t see—Wait a minute!” He looked again at the note Elmer had left, then said, “Joe, do we still have that scrap we saved from the burning of Boko’s strongbox papers?”

  “Sure.”

  Joe went to their room to get it and Frank compared the two. “Oh, no! Our guest was none other than Boko the Clown! That sprained arm in the sling was a dodge to hide his whale tattoo!”

  CHAPTER XVII

  Rembrandt’s Confession

  No doubt about it. The writing
on the two pieces of paper was identical.

  “Oh! That—that terrible man!” Aunt Gertrude wailed. “To think we were living under the same roof with a criminal!”

  “Well, he’s gone now,” Mrs. Hardy said. “He probably was scared that Cousin Elmer would arrive.”

  “We’ve got to find him,” Frank declared. “He may well have the key to our mystery.”

  The next morning, after doing some chores around the house, the boys started to Solo’s Super Carnival in Newton. If the heat was off, Boko might have gone to his old haunts. If they were lucky, the young detectives might actually nab him, or at least learn something about his whereabouts.

  The miles whizzed away beneath the purring wheels and the fresh morning air filled Frank and Joe with a sense of well-being. But when they rounded a bend in the road, a garish billboard broke the spell. It read: NEW, SPECTACULAR WHALE SIDE SHOW!

  At Solo’s Super Carnival

  See with your own eyes

  The world’s greatest

  rarity

  The lettering was in an inverted pyramid and painted at each side was a colorful whale spouting a great white plume of water.

  “So it was Solo himself who got the whale!” Joe said indignantly.

  “I can’t believe it,” Frank said. “No one but an absolute moron would steal practically the only stuffed whale in the world and then put it on display just a few miles from the scene of the crime.”

  As Frank guided the car skillfully over the rolling countryside, Joe wondered aloud whether Boko’s action had anything to do with their buddies’ whale.

  “We’ll know soon,” Frank said. “There’s Newton up ahead.”

  The tents and fluttering pennants came into sight, close to the edge of town. Cars were already trickling into the dusty parking lot. The Hardys found a place close to the entrance and locked their convertible.

  A familiar figure greeted them at the ticket booth. “Hi, Frank. Hi, Joe,” said Knocker Felsen. “How’re you doin’?”

  “Pretty well,” Frank answered. “And you?”

  “Not bad. Listen, you guys, why don’t you go right on in? Free, I mean, to make up for what happened the first time. I guess I was just plain jealous and I wasn’t thinkin’ straight.”

  “Thanks, Knocker.” There was a thin trace of sarcasm in Joe’s voice. “Your change of heart have anything to do with the whale?”

  Knocker looked blank as Frank went on, “And how about Boko. When did he come back?”

  “Boko? What do you mean? I ain’t seen him in a long time. He ain’t been around here, if that’s what you mean.” Knocker studied the serious expressions on the Hardys’ faces and a smile came to his lips. “Oh, the whale? Is that what’s eatin’ you?” He broke into a laugh. “You haven’t seen our new side show yet. Go ahead. First midway to your left.”

  “What did you make of Knocker?” Joe asked as they headed toward the whale side show.

  “If he’s hiding something he’s sure putting on a great act,” Frank replied.

  The Hardys paid their money and entered the huge tent. “Hey, what’s this?” Joe asked with surprise.

  A variety of mounted fish were positioned along the Walls—sailfish, tuna, groupers, a few sharks, and several other multicolored specimens. On a long board in the center of the tent was a stuffed dolphin, much the worse for wear. And over the dolphin was a hastily lettered, single word: Whale.

  “What a con job that is!” Joe groaned.

  “You’re right,” Frank said. “But no one can accuse the carnival of fraud because from a technical scientific point of view the dolphin actually is a toothed whale.”

  “Boy, that’s stretching a point mighty thin!” Joe declared as they left the tent.

  “To say the least, but that still leaves us minus one Blue Whale and one Ivory Idol.”

  The boys went to talk to Sid Solo. He was happy to see them again, but had heard nothing further about Boko. Still under the impression—as was most everyone else—that the Hardys knew where the missing whale was, Solo congratulated them on their sleuthing abilities. He readily granted permission to talk to his employees about Boko.

  Frank and Joe questioned the carnival people for nearly three hours, speaking a few minutes with them between acts and during coffee breaks. No one told them anything they had not heard before. One of the last they queried was Rembrandt the Tattooed Man. When Frank asked him if there was anything he wanted to add to his earlier statements, Rembrandt stared silently at his feet. He would not raise his eyes to meet Frank’s.

  “Rembrandt,” Frank pressed, “there is something more, isn’t there?”

  Rembrandt bobbed his head. “I ... I . . . don’t know how to say it. I ...”

  Frank laid a comforting hand on the tattooed shoulder. “It’s all right,” he said. Take your time and tell us in your own words.”

  Rembrandt shook his head. “I was frightened, that’s why I didn’t speak up before. It’s not easy for a man to admit he’s a coward.”

  “Frightened of what?” Joe asked.

  “It’s a gang, I think.”

  “Why would they want to hurt you?” Frank pressed on.

  Rembrandt swallowed deeply, then said, “Boko was one of them. I overheard a telephone call he made. There was something valuable hidden in that whale your friends found. So far as I could tell, Boko’s gang had stolen whatever it was a long time ago and was now trying to sell it.”

  “But then why did Boko disappear?” Frank asked.

  “He was going to double-cross his gang. Some private detective was going to pay him for information. Well, the gang found out and came looking for Boko. He took off. Me, I was too scared to let on that I knew anything at all. I’m sorry, fellows.”

  “It’s all right,” Frank said. “We understand.”

  “I know I should have spoken up earlier, but I hope you can still do something with the information.”

  “We can,” Joe said. “Your information helps us to fit some of the scattered pieces of this puzzle into place. It explains why Boko was arguing over the phone about money.”

  The Hardys tried to cheer the tattooed man, but when they left, Rembrandt was still glum. The boys went to a phone and called the Bayport Airport and asked that the Hardy plane be made ready for flight. Then they called Chet and told him they were going to have another crack at finding the missing whale. They asked him to stop by their house, pick up their binoculars, and meet them at the airport.

  They were only five miles out of Newton when the music program they were listening to was interrupted by an announcer.

  “News bulletin,” the crisp voice of the news-caster said. “Learning that Frank and Joe Hardy returned to Bayport late yesterday, a reporter from this station went to their home to obtain a follow-up statement concerning Biff Hooper and Tony Prito’s stolen whale. At the Hardy home our man spoke to Chet Morton, close friend of the young sleuths. Contradicting earlier reports, Morton said that the brothers had not yet located the whale. In fact, they were going to make another search by air this very afternoon. Neither Frank nor Joe Hardy was available for comment. We now return you to our regular program.”

  “Oh, that’s just great!” Joe fumed. “Now they know we’ve been bluffing all along. That little announcement might just have blown the case!”

  Frank pressed down on the accelerator and stepped up their speed to the legal maximum. “We’re not through yet. Those crooks are going to redouble their efforts to find the whale, but as of now they’re no closer than we are. We’ve got to beat them to the punch.”

  They arrived at the airport, parked the car, and found Chet waiting for them next to the blue-and-white, single-engine plane. He still carried his little black case, and looked terribly embarrassed.

  “I’m sorry, fellows,” he murmured.

  “Ye cats, Chet!” Joe said. “Whatever made you spill the beans like that?”

  “I didn’t—I mean not actually. It was that tricky reporter. He star
ted firing questions at me like a machine gun. I got confused, started to hem and haw, and zingo! He put two and two together and went dashing away. I couldn’t stop him.”

  “Well,” Frank said, “no use crying about it. Let’s get into the air and start working!”

  The boys climbed into the Hardys’ plane, fastened their seat belts, and warmed up the engine. Obtaining clearance from the tower, Frank taxied down the runway. The light plane gained speed and was almost at the point where Frank would pull back on the wheel and ease the craft up. But suddenly the plane slewed violently to the left and ground-looped.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Bird Dogs

  FRANK cut the engine instantly and the plane’s wild gyrations came to halt a few moments later.

  “Joe, Chet! You all right?” Frank yelled.

  “I’m okay,” Joe answered. “What happened?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Hearing a groan behind them, Frank and Joe turned to see Chet, his eyes glazed, his forehead marked with a red splotch from a bang against the cabin wall. The Hardys quickly unfastened their seat belts and loosened Chet’s.

  “Don’t move,” Frank cautioned. “We’ll get help.”

  The chubby boy’s eyes were clearing. “No, no,” he mumbled. “I’m okay. Just a king-sized headache.” He probed his injured head. A lump was appearing rapidly. “Ugh! Lucky I’m thick-skulled. What’d they do—drop the roof on me?”

  Sirens wailed. Two crash trucks sped across the field to the stricken plane, their red lights flashing. They squealed to a stop and men jumped from the vehicles with fire extinguishers.

  “My brother and I weren’t hurt,” Frank told them, “but Chet has a nasty bump on his head.”

  Chet insisted he was all right, but one of the men advised that he see the airport doctor. They helped him from the plane and into one of the crash trucks which then sped off.

  First making sure there was no danger of fire, Frank and Joe examined the plane. Two mechanics arrived in a jeep to probe for the cause of the trouble.

  “She just whipped off to one side and began ground-looping,” Frank explained. “Felt as if I’d lost a wheel.”