Mystery of the Whale Tattoo (13 page)

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 started 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.

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.”

Joe bent down and inspected the left wheel. “In a way you did lose one,” he announced. “This wheel is locked solid.”

Frank examined it, too. Joe was right. With the help of the mechanics, the boys tried to push the plane ahead. Its left wheel would not turn.

“That's impossible,” one of the mechanics named Hank said. “We checked the wheel bearings just yesterday. There was enough grease on them to keep it turning for a year.”

Frank leaned closer and sniffed. “Joe, can you identify that odor?”

Joe shook his head.

“We haven't any proof yet,” Frank said, “but I'll give odds that this is sabotage. There are half a dozen acids which lay dormant until activated by heat.” Frank reasoned that such an acid could have eaten into the bearings, causing them to freeze.

“We'll check it out for you,” Hank said.

The mechanics lifted the left landing gear and wheel onto a dolly. Then they climbed into the jeep with the boys and towed the plane back to the hangar area.

While Frank and Joe waited for Chet to return from the doctor's office, they checked to see if they could rent a plane for the afternoon. They were disappointed that nothing was available except a helicopter—and neither of them was qualified to fly such a craft.

“That's just great,” Joe said. “While we're stranded, those crooks will find the whale and then the Ivory Idol will be gone for good.”

“Wait a minute,” Frank said. “Jack Wayne has his helicopter rating!”

“You're right. Let's phone him.”

Jack informed the Hardys he would be at the airport within an hour. Heartened by this, the boys returned to the doctor's office. They found Chet smiling.

“Nothing broken,” he said. “But I'm supposed to take it easy for the next few days.”

Chet was told of the proposed helicopter trip. He volunteered to stay at the airport and keep an eye on the Hardys' plane. “I'll keep a lookout for any suspicious characters,” he added.

“We'd appreciate it,” Frank said. “But are you sure you're up to it?”

Chet nodded. “You could do me one favor, though.”

“What's that?” Joe asked.

“Bring me that black case I had with me in the plane.”

“Sure. But what's in it? You've been lugging that thing around with you ever since this investigation began.”

“In it, my good man,” Chet said, “are the tools of an artist. All my scrimshaw equipment. You don't think I'd let little things like a stolen whale and an ivory statue interfere with my hobby, do you?”

They brought Chet his case and got him positioned just outside the hangar in which their damaged plane was being examined.

Jack Wayne had arrived and checked out the helicopter. When Frank and Joe were securely strapped into their seats, Jack started the engine, let it idle a while, then engaged the rotors.

The copter lifted slowly from the ground, skimmed a few feet down the runway, then shot straight up into the air. They were on their way. Jack freed one hand and passed an air chart to Frank and Joe.

“That line in black grease pencil,” he shouted over the roar of the engine, “represents a direct route from where the whale was stolen to the point at which you found the balloons.”

“That's one of the problems,” Frank answered. “Joe and I flew over every inch of that route and we didn't find a trace of the whale.”

“What are the red elliptical lines you've drawn in, Jack?” Joe asked.

“Now there's where we might have some luck,” the pilot answered. “Taking into consideration the meteorological data about the storm on the night of the theft, those red lines indicate ways in which the weather balloons carrying the whale might have drifted off course.”

“I see,” Joe said. “So if we search along these routes we might find the spot where the whale tore loose.”

“That's the idea.”

The first two areas they covered turned up nothing and consumed valuable time. Joe was discouraged. “Cheer up,” Jack told him, “we still have two more to go.”

“What happens if we draw blanks there too?” Joe asked.

“We'll just have to think of something else,” Frank said.

Fifteen minutes later Jack pointed down to a field bordered by a small stand of trees, beyond which lay a sparkling lake. “Somebody else seems to have lost something, too,” he said.

Three men were covering the ground bird-dog fashion. “Let's go down and take a look,” Frank said. He pressed the binoculars to his eyes.

Jack brought the helicopter lower. As it neared the ground, the three men looked up, pointed, then ran for the woods. “It's Tim Varney and Mug Stine!” Frank exclaimed. “And Rembrandt is with them!”

“Rembrandt!” said Joe. “Well, I'll be a cross-eyed monkey. He certainly had us fooled.”

The three men disappeared into the woods. Moments later, several white puffs of smoke appeared from the shadows of the forest. Bullets pierced the helicopter's Plexiglas canopy near Frank's head. Jack Wayne sent the aircraft leaping skyward.

“That was a close one.” Frank took a deep breath.

“We're out of range now,” Jack said. He radioed the airport, giving their position and reporting the fact they had just been fired upon. Wayne gave the criminal's names to the tower operator and requested that Police Chief Collig of Bayport be notified immediately.

“Man, would I like to get my hands on Rembrandt!” Joe said as the helicopter hovered. “I'll bet if we examined his right fist we'd find a three-part whale tattoo. Who would have thought of looking for a thing like that on a man whose entire body is covered with tattoos?”

“I guess we all goofed,” Frank said, and added, “Suppose we keep an eye on those birds until the police get here.”

Wayne circled over the woodland, but there was no sign of the trio. Finally the Hardys decided it was futile to keep up the surveillance. Also, seeking out the lost whale was more important.

Frank turned to the pilot. “Jack, there's nothing we can accomplish here. The police will have to find those men by themselves. Let's continue on the search route.”

“Okay by me,” Wayne replied.

He manipulated the controls and the helicopter moved forward. Past the trees, they flew over a cabin at the side of the lake. A speedboat was moored at the cabin's pier. Wayne came down for a closer look. The place appeared to be deserted.

“I think we can skirt around the lake,” Joe said. “The whale wouldn't—Hey! Wait a minute!”

The thought that stopped Joe occurred to Frank at the same time. “Do you think it might have fallen into the water?”