Mystery of the Samurai Sword (16 page)

From the looks of things, no such help was likely to be needed. Mr. Satoya coolly whirled and weaved and ducked with the smooth precision of a ballet dancer—and at every move, another attacker seemed to go flying!

Frank and Joe grinned, recognizing his slick evasive technique as that of aikido, by which the attacker's own momentum is turned back against himself.

The Hardys relied more on old-fashioned American punches to discourage their opponents, and these seemed to work equally well.

One by one, the panting Gung-Ho's seemed to lose heart and fall back to let others do the fighting. At last they were actually watching, more like spectators than participants.

Moments later, as Frank uncorked a hard right that sent an attacker spinning back against the wall, one gang member exclaimed admiringly, “Hey, man! These dudes are
good!
”

When Joe also decked an opponent with his fist, and Mr. Satoya sent another man flying over his shoulder, the gang suddenly burst out laughing and applauding.

The Hardys could scarcely believe their eyes and ears. They and their elderly companion had fought the Gung-Ho's to a standstill, and now they were getting cheers instead of blows. Like Horatius defending the bridge of Rome with his two friends, by their spunky fight they had actually won over their enemies!

“If you can't lick ‘em, join 'em!” one motorcyclist chuckled and stuck out his hand toward Frank. “Put‘er there, pal!”

Frank hesitated a moment, suspecting a trick, but then grinned and responded to the offered handshake. “Suits me.”

Other gang members crowded around to join in the handshaking and smoke the figurative peace pipe.

“Hey, Pop!” one said to Satoya. “Where'd you learn all those trick judo throws?”

“Aikido, actually,” the Japanese tycoon corrected. “I learned it in a martial arts
doio
in my native land, many years before you were born, young man. If you too wish to learn the art, perhaps that can be arranged. My company may soon open a plant here in the Bayport area. When this happens, I shall give orders for an instructor to be sent over as part of the staff. He will teach you young men to be true samurai—not dangerous jackals or bullies.”

The Gung-Ho's took his reproof with good-natured respect and heartily applauded the announcement. Mr. Satoya was clearly pleased. He seemed more at ease with these high-spirited, roughneck gang members than he had in the polite surroundings of the Bayport Chilton Hotel.

“What did you guys jump us for, anyhow?” Joe asked.

The motorcyclists grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

“No special reason,” one said. “We were just tooling along when we spotted your car. Len Boggs talked us into chasing you. I think he's still sore ‘cause your brother beat him in the Hare Scrambles race.”

The gang leader reddened at this, but finally and reluctantly came forward to shake hands with the Hardys.

“What're you guys doin' out here?” another motorcyclist asked. “Solvin' another mystery?”

“Trying to,” Frank replied. “We almost had a crook collared before you Gung-Ho's showed up. Now he's taken off.”

Suddenly an idea occurred to Frank. “Hey, how would you like to give us a hand?” he said.

“Why not?” a gang member replied. “What's the deal?”

“Did you notice that green station wagon that was parked near the road when you first got here?”

“Sure, what about it?”

“Have you guys got CB radios on your bikes?”

“Most of us have. Why?”

“How would you like to fan out from here,” Frank proposed, “and see if you can spot where that wagon went?”

“I will pay a one-hundred-dollar reward to the first man who sights it,” Mr. Satoya promised.

The Gung-Ho's exploded with enthusiasm. They all hurried out to their motorcycles. Soon the gang was roaring off in all directions in pursuit of the fugitive.

Frank and Joe returned to their car with Mr. Satoya. Frank tuned in their radio to the proper frequency, and the three waited tensely for news.

At last a voice crackled over their speaker. “Len Boggs calling the Hardys!”

“Hardys here. We read you,” Frank replied. “Come in, please! Any luck, Len?”

“You betl I've spotted your green station wagon!
”

The Hardys felt a thrill of excitement at Len Boggs's report. Both sensed that the case was nearing a climax, and that luck was giving them another chance to trap the traitor inside the Satoya Corporation, the culprit behind the mystery of the samurai sword!

“Where're you calling from, Len?” Frank spoke into the microphone.

“The Pine Glen area near Shoreham. Know where that is?”

“Sure, west of town. It's not much built up.”

“Right. Just a few scattered houses and farms. The station wagon's parked outside a house on Locust Road.”

“You think it's the same one you saw here?” Frank inquired, trying to avoid a false alarm.

Len Boggs sounded confident. “Sure looks like it. The license number starts with an X7.”

“That's it!” Joe exclaimed excitedly as the combination clicked in his memory.

“Okay. Give us directions,” Frank said.

Len Boggs complied, describing enough landmarks to make sure they found the spot.

Soon the Hardys sped off in their car with Takashi Satoya. The gray-haired Japanese recluse seemed to be enjoying the adventure thoroughly, coming more and more out of his shell as he traded remarks with Frank and Joe.

In less than fifteen minutes they sighted Len Boggs signaling to them from the road ahead.

“Any signs of life or new developments?” Frank said out the window as he braked to a gentle halt.

“Nope. The station wagon's the only car parked outside, and no one else has shown up,” Len reported.

“Great! That sounds as though we ought to be able to handle the situation,” Joe opined.

“Let's not take anything for granted,” Frank cautioned. “Ikeda may have pals inside.”

Satoya nodded. “It is always wise not to rush into danger.”

After a hasty conference, they parked off the road and approached the house on foot. Well screened from view by trees, it was a modest white bungalow, bordered by tall shrubbery.

Len Boggs had agreed to ring the bell, since his face presumably would not be recognized by Haruki Ikeda. The others waited out of sight nearby, huddled behind shrubbery.

Presently the door opened. Ikeda looked out with a suspicious frown. “Yes?”

The next moment he gaped in surprise as the others burst into view. Satoya called out what sounded like a command in Japanese and dashed toward the front door with the Hardy boys. Len Boggs stepped aside.

Ikeda tried to slam the door in their faces, but Satoya flung himself forward to push it open with his shoulder. The Hardys were close behind.

Suddenly Ikeda seemed to stop resisting their push. The door flew open under their combined weight, and all three went plunging inside. Their momentum carried them well into the front room, and they wound up sprawling headlong on the floor.

As Frank and Joe scrambled to their feet, they heard Len Boggs chuckle gleefully as he yanked the door shut behind them. The room seemed to fill with menacing figures, and the Hardys realized they had been lured into a trap!

Takashi Satoya rose calmly to his feet beside them. From his impassive expression, the gray-haired industrialist seemed utterly unperturbed by what had happened. But Frank and Joe felt no such confidence as they eyed the enemies who confronted them.

Besides Ikeda, there were five men, ranged in strategic fighting positions. Two were Americans-Krunkel and another man, no doubt his partner in crime, Darbold. The other three were tough-looking Orientals with tattooed arms—obviously
Yakuza
, or Japanese gangsters. Among them the Hardys recognized the crook who had tried to shadow them in New York.

Satoya spoke coldly in Japanese, but his words drew a jeering response.

“Let's not waste time!” Krunkel growled in English. “Just grab‘em and tie'em up—then we can figure out what to do with them!”

One of the
Yakuza
reached inside his suitcoat, as if to draw a weapon from a shoulder holster and cover the three prisoners.

But Satoya moved like lightning. He swept up a small table that stood within reach and hurled it through the air! It caught the threatening Japanese gangster on the side of the head and knocked him off his feet!

With angry oaths, the other crooks swarmed into action. But the Hardys and their gray-haired companion did not wait helplessly to be seized. They met the attack with flying fists and swirling aikido counter-moves.

In a minute the room was a bedlam of noise and violent activity. Ikeda, the gangsters and the two American burglars were far more dangerous opponents than the awkward, roughneck Gung-Ho gang had been. Also, the Orientals were expert enough in the martial arts to offset Satoya's fighting skill.

Whether the outnumbered trio could survive the battle looked doubtful. Frank and Joe realized the odds were heavily against them.

But suddenly the front door flew open and three black-clad figures burst in! A man in a business suit was with them.

“It's Sam Radley—and the
ninja!
” Joe cried.

The newcomers waded in, swinging punches and karate chops in all directions. In a few minutes the fight was over, and all six crooks, including Haruki Ikeda, were being lined up against the wall and frisked.

“What a break!” Frank panted. “You sure showed up at the right time, Sam! How'd you find this place?”

“Easy.” Sam grinned. “Krunkel returned to the motel, then he and his partner came out again about an hour after you and Joe left. I think they may have gotten a phone order to come to this house. Anyhow, I trailed them here and then went off to find your dad.”

“Where is he?” Joe asked.

“Three guesses,” said a familiar voice.

One of the black-clad figures peeled off his hood, and the boys saw that the speaker was none other than their father, Fenton Hardy!

“Good night!” Frank exclaimed in astonishment. “When did you become a
ninja,
Dad?”

Mr. Hardy chuckled and gestured toward his black-clad associates. “I'm not sharp enough to call myself a
ninja
yet, son. But these two gentlemen have been giving me some mighty useful training. They're old army buddies of Mr. Satoya's. He uses them as his private security team.”

“So that's where they came from!” said Joe.

Mr. Satoya explained that because at first he had suspected either Kawanishi or Oyama of being the traitor in his company, he had also been suspicious of the American detective whom they had hired to protect him.

The two
ninja
had been sent to the USA before his own arrival in order to prepare for his “disappearance.” Later they had been instructed to keep an eye on the Hardys, and after Humber's newspaper interview, the wealthy collector had also been placed under observation, in case he might have been involved in the gallery theft.

It was through Satoya's secret request to the Japanese ambassador in Washington that the FBI had pulled Fenton Hardy off the case. Eventually, however, the famed private eye had convinced the two
ninja
agents of his trustworthiness—and since then he had been cooperating with them.

“But there's still a good deal we don't know about this case,” Mr. Hardy concluded. “I'm hoping you boys can clear things up.”

“I think we can explain part of the puzzle,” Frank volunteered. “Ikeda hired the three gangsters to come over to this country beforehand, just like Mr. Satoya sent his two
ninja.
My guess is that the gangsters then hired Krunkel and Darbold to steal the sword from the Palmer-Glade Galleries.”

“Right,” said Joe. “But they also had a duplicate made, so they could switch it for the real sword and make Mr. Satoya look like a phony when he couldn't open the secret compartment, because the hilt of the fake sword had no secret
compartment!
”

The ransom ploy, so the Hardy boys reasoned, had been a clever way of getting the fake sword accepted by the police without anyone questioning its authenticity.

Had Warlord bought the fake sword, the police would no doubt have been tipped off by a secret phone call that they would find the stolen weapon in his possession.

When this move failed to work, the Hardy boys and Dobert Humber had been lured to Lookout Rock for a second ransom ploy. This time the crooks had taken no chances on anything going wrong, or themselves being trapped by the police. The siren trick had been used to make it look as though the thief had fled in panic, with the fake sword being left at Lookout Rock, where the Hardys would be sure to discover it.