Mystery of the Flying Express (5 page)

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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: Mystery of the Flying Express
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“It's a detailed drawing of the marina!”. Frank exclaimed
They went back to the boathouse. Chet listened to their story about the mysterious stranger, and promised to keep an eye on him if he should return to the area.
“Incidentally,” Chet went on, “Mr. Hinkley is an interesting character. He's a Lion.”
“So what? Dad's a Rotarian,” Joe said.
“That's not what I mean. Mr. Hinkley was born under the sign of Leo. Trouble is, that makes him fire!”
Joe frowned. “Quit your doubletalk, Chet. Is that some more astrological lore?”
Chet stated authoritatively. “Each sign of the Zodiac is either earth, air, fire, or water. Mr. Hinkley is fire because he's Leonine. As a Cancerian, I'm water. Not a good combination! Water goes better with earth. Now if only he were earth! Between us we'd be growing a bumper crop of—”
“Grass!” Joe interjected.
“No siree, fat green dollar bills. One of us was born at the wrong time.” Chet sighed mournfully. “Well, see you later.”
He went off to take care of a customer, and the Hardys walked back into town for their appointed meeting with the girls. But Callie and Iola were not in the Pizza Palace.
“They must still be on their shopping spree,” Frank complained. “Let's go back where we left them!”
The Decor Shop was closed when they got there.
“What now?” Joe inquired irritably. “Do we have to look all over Cape Cutlass for them?”
Frank peered through the window. Suddenly he started as if he could not believe his eyes. “The girls are inside!” he cried. “I can see them, but something's wrong! They're sitting on stools with their heads on a display case! I'd swear they're unconscious!”
The boys banged on the door and shouted. But the only response was the echo of their own voices. The figures did not move.
Thoroughly alarmed, Frank told Joe, “You stay here and do what you can! I'm going for the police.”
He ran down the street, through the crowds that had dwindled with the closing of the shops. Music drifted out of the Pizza Palace. People were turning off the sidewalks into the restaurants for dinner.
At the end of the avenue Frank caught sight of a blue uniform. He ran to the policeman. “Officer, am I glad to see you!” he burst out. Quickly he explained what had happened—how the girls had failed to keep their rendezvous after shopping and how they were now locked in the Decor Shop.
“We'll see about this!” the policeman said, leading the way up the street on the run.
When they joined Joe at the Decor Shop, the police officer forced the door open.
The burglar alarm went off with a terrific racket, bringing a crowd of passers-by to the scene. They craned their necks for a view of the interior. More policemen came in a patrol car and cor doned off the area.
The Hardys took no notice of the turmoil. They hastened over to the motionless figures on the floor and halted dumbfounded.
They were mannequins—dummies wearing Callie's and Iola's jackets!
CHAPTER VI
Collision Course!
FRANK and Joe scurried through the Decor Shop in search of Callie and Iola. Frank peered under the counters, opened closets, and fingered his way along rows of dresses hanging on the racks. Joe took the office first, and then went into the storeroom, where he rummaged through crates and barrels.
Converging in the middle of the store once again, they shook their heads in distress. The policeman had been inspecting the doors and windows. There was no indication of forced entry.
“Hank,” the officer called to one of the men from the patrol car, “let's get Mrs. Lane down here. She owns the place.”
“Roger.” Hank got into his car and drove off. About fifteen minutes later he was back with a gray-haired, middle-aged lady. She gasped in amazement when she saw her mannequins in Callie's and Iola's jackets.
“Those dummies were in the window when I went home,” she insisted. “I can't imagine why anyone would set up a fake scene like that.... The two girls? ... No, I don't remember seeing them. But then I see so many girls during the day. I do hope nothing has happened to them!”
“Amen to that!” Frank said anxiously. “But we've got to find them pretty soon or else sound a general alarm that they've been kidnapped!”
While the policeman talked to Mrs. Lane, Joe took Frank aside.
“It's only an hour and a quarter until the
Flying Express
starts for Bayport. We've promised to be on board! What'll we do?”
Frank replied, “We can't go without Callie and Iola. Wait a minute! Mrs. Lane doesn't remember the girls. But maybe one of her employees does. Suppose we get on the phone and question all of them?”
They told their plan to the policeman. “Good thinking,” he said. “You boys man the phones in the office while I make out my report.”
Mrs. Lane supplied a list of her employees and the boys began dialing.
“Zero!” Joe reported, breaking the connection after his first call.
“Same here,” his brother said disconsolately. “Let's hope we have better luck with the rest.”
Thoroughly dejected, Joe reached the last name on his list. A part-time clerk answered.
“Yes,” she replied to Joe's query. “I remember those two girls.”
Beckoning Frank to listen in by way of the extension, Joe begged the clerk to go on.
“Not much to add,” the voice said. “All I saw was that they were having a conversation with a man. Then the three of them left together.”
“Who was he? Do you know his name?”
“Yes—Rance Nepo. He runs the photography store around the corner.”
“Thank you,” Joe said, and hung up. “There's our lead, Frank!” He grabbed the jackets, and together the boys ran to the photography store. It was a small place, with dust-covered cameras, rolls of film, and art books in the windows. As they entered, a warning bell jangled.
From the back room emerged a red-haired man with a stubble beard. “Are you Rance Nepo?” Frank asked.
The man cracked the knuckles of one hand in the palm of the other.
“Why, yes,” he said. “Need some film?”
“No,” Frank said and quickly introduced himself and Joe. Then he inquired about the girls. “We heard you talked with them and that they left with you,” he said.
Nepo admitted that Callie and Iola had accompanied him out of the Decor Shop.
“Nothing wrong with that, was there?”
“Of course not, Mr. Nepo. But please try to remember. Perhaps the girls mentioned where they were going next?”
Nepo went on. “The blonde was interested in miniature flash bulbs. She'd just bought some kind of figurine decorated with them. I heard her ask where she could get more. The clerk said she had no idea, so I introduced myself and said I had that sort of information at my place.”
“So they came here with you?” Frank asked, surprised.
“Yes. I let them look up the company in
Photographer's Guidebook.
When they found what they were looking for, they left. Said they were going to the Pizza Palace to meet a couple of fellows who would probably be late.”
“Thanks. That's us!” Frank said.
Nepo snickered. “Good luck with the girls! I think you may need it!”
Frank and Joe thanked him and left. “Let's try the Pizza Palace again,” Frank said tensely.
They entered and scanned the restaurant anxiously.
“There they are!” Joe said.
They found Callie and Iola seated at a table for four.
“Where have you two vagabonds been all this time?” Callie demanded irately.
“Don't you realize,” Iola added, “that the
Flying Express
is leaving in a little while?”
“Wait a sec,” Joe retorted. “Frank and I were here on time. You were nowhere on the horizon, so we went looking.”
“Must have just missed you,” Callie said, smiling.
“What worrywarts!” said Iola. She beckoned to a waiter, who instantly brought the pizzas pies they had ordered. Frank's and Joe's were loaded with pepperoni.
“Your reward,” Callie teased.
Before they started to eat, Frank called the police and reported that the girls had turned up, then went back to the table.
“This hasn't been our day!” Iola said. “Our jackets were stolen while we were in the camera shop. I can't imagine—”
She broke off as Frank produced the two garments from behind his back. “How did you ever—?”
“We'll tell you later,” Frank interrupted. “Let's get going or we'll miss the boat!”
Joe paid the check and they dashed through Providence to the dock.
The
Flying Express
was still there. Two minutes later she moved out into deep water, gathered speed, and gradually raised her hull into the air for the run back to Bayport.
Spencer Given approached Frank and Joe with a forlorn expression. “Notice anything different this trip?”
Frank looked around. “Obviously we don't have as many passengers.”
“That's the point. A lot of people think that the
Flying Express
isn't safe. They've dropped us! They're traveling home to Bayport by bus. You understand what I'm up against.”
“We understand, Mr. Given,” said Joe. “We'll do our best to restore confidence in your commuter service.”
“So will we,” Callie said. “Iola and I would recommend the
Flying Express
to anybody!”
Given permitted himself a thin smile. “Thank you. We'll see how your boy friends do on the return trip.”
The four settled down in the lounge and the Hardys told of their harrowing experience at the Decor Shop.
“So! You thought we were dummies!” Callie said. “Iola, I don't know how we should take that!”
“It's not funny,” Frank said. “We thought you were hurt.”
“We know,” Iola said, and put her head on Joe's shoulder.
Frank asked, “Are you sure you didn't lose the jackets?”
“They were definitely stolen!” Callie declared. “We had them when we went into Rance Nepo's shop. While we were getting the address of the flash-bulb company, they disappeared. We thought one of the customers had taken them.”
“Or,” Iola conjectured doubtfully, “it could have been Mr. Nepo. We didn't exactly keep him under surveillance while we were going through
Photographer's Guidebook.”
“You're right. We can't count out anyone at this point.”
“The whole thing seems so childish,” Iola said.
Frank shook his head. “I doubt that it was merely a prank,” he said. “There's more behind it.”
“It could be a warning of some kind,” Joe said.
“Or else someone wanted to keep us here. Delay us enough so we'd miss the boat. Maybe some dirty work has been planned for this trip!”
The group fell silent, thinking it over, and Frank broke the spell.
“All we can do right now,” he said, rising, “is circulate and keep a sharp eye on all the passengers.”
“Let's separate,” Callie suggested. “Iola and I'll go forward; you boys go aft.”
They strolled around, casually pausing to chat with people. Frank and Joe passed the girls twice, but neither had anything to report.
Later Joe remarked to his brother, “We're almost at Bayport. Nothing has happened so far.”
“Keep your fingers crossed!” Frank replied.
Dusk was beginning to fall as the
Flying Express
headed into Bayport Harbor. The lights of the city flickered in the distance and a rising moon cast silvery rays over the water. Small craft were converging on the docks from every point in Barmet Bay.
The pilot of the
Flying Express
cut his engines and the hydrofoil slowed for the approach to her berth, a few hundred yards off the bow.
People began to stir, collecting their belongings or simply waiting for the moment when the gangplank would be lowered.
The Hardys stood on deck, near the pilot and Spencer Given, watching the activities in the harbor. Through the dim light two powerboats, one behind the other, streaked in at right angles to the hydrofoil's course.
“I hope those guys have the common sense to change their course!” Joe muttered.
A moment later Frank yelled the warning:
“They're not veering off! They must be a couple of lunatics! Hold on tight. There's going to be a crack-up!”
It was too late for the pilot to do anything but watch in horrified incredulity. Given winced, and ducked as if he could not bear to see what was about to happen.
The first powerboat flashed across the bow of the
Flying Express,
missing the bigger craft by a hair‘s-breadth, and vanished into the darkness of the bay.
The powerboat following behind never had a chance. As the hydrofoil plowed into it amidships there came the sickening sound of splintering wood!
CHAPTER VII
Diver's Peril
THE whistle aboard the
Flying Express
shrieked as the pilot threw the hydrofoil into reverse. Passengers screamed in fright and questions flew back and forth.
“How did it happen?”
“Was anybody killed?”
Frank and Joe did not wait for answers. Instead they raced for the life preservers hanging from the cabin walls and flung them into the bay.
After kicking off their shoes, they dived into the cold water.
The boys scanned the gloomy waters for the sight of a bobbing head. Nothing. Not even a piece of flotsam could be seen in the semidarkness.

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