Mystery of the Samurai Sword (12 page)

“I understand.”

“Good. That's where the exchange will take place. The money for the sword, assuming you're not dumb enough to try doublecrossing me. Any tricks and you'll regret it!”

The receiver was slammed down as the caller rang off. Dobert Humber hung up with a somewhat stunned expression.

“It appears your anonymous tipster wasn't so far wrong after all!” he murmured to the Hardys.

Frank nodded thoughtfully. “He evidently assumed you'd already received the call and accepted.”

“If he knew the call was going to be made, he must be one of the thieves himself, or at least in with them somehow,” said Joe. “Which sounds like he's pulling some kind of doublecross—squealing on his own pals.”

“B-B-But should I have agreed?” Humber asked a trifle nervously.

“Sure! It'll give us a chance to trap the thieves and recover the sword!” said Joe.

Frank frowned and tugged his lower lip. “They may be having your house watched, Mr. Humber, to make sure you don't go to the police. They may even have your phone bugged or your line tapped. Would you mind if Joe and I stay here till you leave?”

“Of course not, do by all means! But if the thieves are watching my house and see you Hardys drive away right after me, isn't that likely to put them on guard?”

“It would if they saw us, but I intend to make sure they don't. Your car's in the garage, isn't it?”

“Yes, of course, but—”

“And the garage is attached to the house, so Joe and I could go there without being seen.”

Humber's eyes lit up with enthusiasm as he caught on. “You mean you and your brother can be hidden in my car when I drive away!”

“Right, sir.”

“Splendid idea, my boy! By jove, how clever. I wish I'd thought of that!”

At quarter after eleven that night, Humber's expensive limousine was driven out of the garage and away from the estate. Humber was at the wheel, the only visible person in the car. A flight bag filled with newspaper sat
on the passenger seat next to him. Frank
and
Joe were
huddled on the floor of the back seat compartment.

Meanwhile, two boyish figures could be seen in silhouette through one lighted window of the wealthy collector's mansion. They appeared to be watching the late TV news. Actually they were dummies which Humber had helped the boys rig with great glee. They consisted of stuffed suits of clothes with marble statuary busts fitted in place to serve as heads.

The hill on which Lookout Rock was situated had been the site of the middle cloverleaf in the motorcycle race. A narrow dirt lane ran along the foot of the slope.

Humber parked in a secluded spot and got out without saying a word. Frank and Joe crawled out the other side, which was concealed from view by the surrounding shrubbery. Earlier they had disconnected the courtesy light switch, so that no glow would be visible to give them away when the back door was opened.

Humber started up the hillside first and settled himself to wait at a convenient spot about halfway up the slope. The Hardy boys followed cautiously, keeping low and squirming through the underbrush. Rather than risk going too high and giving themselves away, they picked a hiding place which would afford them an equally clear view of Humber and the massive rocky outcrop on the brow of the hill.

“Got the time?” Joe whispered after a lengthy wait.

“About one minute to twelve,” Frank responded softly. “It won't be long now!”

Seconds crept by.

“Now!” Frank hissed as the illuminated dial of his watch showed twelve o‘clock.

The Hardys saw Humber rise to his feet, clutching the flight bag, and start slowly up the slope. Both boys braced themselves to make a sprint toward the rock and try to seize the thief once the exchange was underway.

Suddenly a siren shrieked somewhere below them! Frank and Joe glimpsed Humber's startled reaction, but their eyes were mainly fixed on Lookout Rock.

In the moonlit darkness they saw a figure bolt from cover and dart toward a motorcycle. Its engine roared to life and the rider sped off!

The Hardys raced up the hillside. It was too late to catch the thief, but Frank whipped out a flashlight, playing its beam on the ground. Then he stopped short. “Joe! Take a look at this!” he cried.

Joe gasped as he saw the object revealed by the flashlight beam—a sheathed, long-bladed sword lying near the base of Lookout Rock! Its scabbard was of plain, leather-covered metal, but its hilt was beautifully inlaid with mother-of-pearl!

“Just like the photo they showed us at the gallery!” Joe exclaimed, kneeling down for a closer look. “This must be it, all right!”

“Watch out for prints!” Frank warned.

“Don't worry, I'm not going to handle it,” Joe replied. “Got some twine here that should do for a carrying handle.”

He fished in his pocket and brought out some stout string salvaged from a package, then tied one end to the hilt and the other to the sheath. By gripping the string, the sword could now be picked up without danger of smudging any possible fingerprints.

“Hey! What happened to Humber?” Frank blurted.

His brother glanced down the slope but could see no one. “The car's gone, too!” Joe noted. “He must have taken off the same time as the guy on the motorcycle—that's why we didn't hear him go!”

Frank chuckled dryly. “That siren must've scared him out of his wits. He was probably afraid the police might nab him for buying stolen goods!”

“Speaking of the police—where are they?” Joe wondered aloud.

The boys hurried down the hillside to obtain a better view, unobstructed by trees. After surveying the moonlit lane in both directions, they could see no car of any kind, either police or civilian.

Joe frowned and scratched his head. “Boy, that's funny. Maybe the siren noise we heard was just a police car going by on the main highway.”

“Sounded closer than that,” Frank said doubtfully.

“Next question. What do we do for transportation? Looks like we're stuck out here with no car.”

After a hasty conference, the Hardys decided that one of them would go back to Humber's house to retrieve their car, while the other kept watch on the ransom site, in case the thief or thieves returned to look for their abandoned loot. The boys flipped a coin, and Joe got the job of staying.

“Don't take any chance of being seen,” Frank warned his brother. “Pick a spot where you'll be out of sight, and stay there till I get back!”

“Will do,” Joe promised.

His wait was shorter than expected. In less than an hour, their yellow car appeared on the dirt lane that bordered the foot of the hillside. Joe scrambled down from his hiding place to join his brother, bringing the samurai sword with him.

“You made good time,” he commented, climbing into the car.

“Yes, I had a lucky break,” Frank said as he maneuvered to turn the car around. “Phil Cohen tooled along shortly after I made it out to the highway. He was on his way home from a date and gave me a lift to Humber's house.”

“Was Humber there?” Joe queried.

“Probably. But the garage was closed and the place was dark, as if everyone had turned in.” Frank grinned. “Guess he was trying to give himself an alibi in case the law did come around.”

“That guy's a real nitwit,” Joe declared. “I wonder what he thought
we'd
say if that police car had picked us up?”

“No telling. He didn't stick around to find out! I guess Warlord had him sized up right,” Frank reflected. “Humber's only interest is looking out for Number One. The rest of the human race isn't all that important.”

Joe was silent for a minute or two as they drove through the residential suburbs on their way to the downtown area of Bayport. Finally he said, “Now that we've got the sword, do you think it had anything to do with Satoya's disappearance?”

“My hunch is yes,” the older Hardy boy mused thoughtfully. “But I can't prove it. Before we'll know the answer to that, we've got to find out whether he disappeared on his own accord or was kidnapped.”

“Right! I was thinking about that while I was waiting for you,” Joe said. “I've got an idea how Satoya could have pulled his vanishing act.”

“Let's hear it.”

“It's so simple,” Joe explained. “Say the chauffeur is as loyal to his boss as Oyama claims. When he turned into the underground parking garage, he could have stopped the limousine halfway down the ramp, just long enough to let Satoya pop out of the secret compartment. Then he could have continued on and pretended he knew nothing when Oyama searched the car. Meanwhile, all Satoya had to do was turn up his coat collar and slip away through the crowd. At that time, there was a mob of people around the hotel. None of them knew what was going on.”

Frank was impressed by his brother's theory. “When you put it that way, it sure sounds obvious, Joe! That's so simple, it's got to be the right answer!”

“But where's Satoya hiding?”

“If your deductions are right, he must have arranged for a place before he ever flew over here. Perhaps a house in an out-of-the-way spot!”

“That figures, with no nosy neighbors to wonder who he is. He could have had somebody rent it for him under a phony name before he arrived.”

Frank nodded, keeping a watchful eye out for late-hour traffic as they slowed and crossed an intersection with a blinking yellow light. He looked as though he were already turning over another idea in his mind.

“Joe, suppose Satoya knew beforehand that something was going to happen to the sword—”

“You mean, that someone might try to steal it?”

“Could be. Anyhow, say he went into hiding so he could try to get hold of it himself without anyone knowing what he was up to.”

“I'd buy that,” said Joe, “especially if the sword had belonged to the Satoya family. Remember what Mr. Shimada told us about how much the samurai class prizes their swords.”

“Right! But now that we're turning the
sword over to
the police, the whole thing's out of his hands. I mean, now there's no possible way Satoya can latch onto it secretly, and nobody else can, either.”

The younger Hardy boy shot his brother a keen glance. “What are you getting at, Frank?”

“Just this. If our reasoning is correct, Satoya will no longer have any motive for staying undercover.”

“You're right!” Joe snapped his fingers. “Once he hears the news on television, or reads it in the papers, maybe Satoya will turn up again!”

“Suppose the police decide not to release the news for a while, in order to keep the thieves in the dark.”

“Hm. Then how would he find out?”

“We could tip him off.”

Joe looked startled. “Are you kidding? How could we do that?”

“Look,” Frank replied. “If Satoya disappeared on his own accord, the chauffeur must have helped him. Right?”

“Sure, but how does th—” Joe broke off suddenly as he caught on. “Oh, oh! I get it. If our theory is correct, the chauffeur probably knows where his boss is hiding, so if we tip
him
off, he'll pass the word on to Satoya!”

“Check. But we'd have to do it very casually and naturally. Otherwise the chauffeur might get the notion that we're just trying to trap his master.”

“Any ideas?”

“We'll use the sword itself,” said Frank. “I just hope we can find him this late at night.”

Joe pointed out that every time they had gone to the Bayport Chilton, the chauffeur had been seated in the hotel lobby. “Come to think of it,” the younger Hardy boy mused, “maybe Satoya posted him there to report what goes on.”

“You could be right,” Frank agreed. “If you are, we've got a good chance of finding him there now.”

When the boys entered the lobby after parking outside the hotel, the granite-faced chauffeur was sitting in his usual spot. The Hardys hurried toward him. Frank noticed his eyes widen in surprise when he saw the samurai sword that Joe was carrying by the twine handle.

“Do you speak English?” Frank asked.

The chauffeur nodded. “A little.”

“Do you know if Mr. Kawanishi or Mr. Oyama is still awake?”

The reply was a shrug. “I do not know. Maybe so.”

“Well, look,” Frank went on smoothly, “we just recovered this sword that belonged to Mr. Satoya, the one that was stolen in New York. We're taking it to police headquarters, but we thought his company officials might want to know. Only it's late and we're in a hurry, so could you please give them the news?”

The chauffeur looked eager for more information, but seemed at a loss for words. Perhaps, the boys thought, it was because he did not speak English very well.

Instead, the man merely rose from his chair and bowed to the young detectives. “Thank you. I will tell them.”

The Hardys strode toward the door.

“Pretty neat, the way you handled that, Frank!” Joe murmured out of the corner of his mouth. “I'll bet he gets on the phone to Satoya as soon as we're out of the lobby!”

As the boys emerged from the hotel, they turned and headed toward their parked car. The downtown area of Bayport looked almost deserted at this late hour. A policeman who was coming along the street eyed them with interest.

Suddenly the young officer's face took on an expression of excitement. He quickened his pace so as to intercept the Hardys before they reached their car.