Read The Clue of the Hissing Serpent Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Clue of the Hissing Serpent (13 page)
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The cowering figure of a man emerged above the gunwale.
“Holy crow!” Joe exclaimed. “It's Gerard Henry!”
CHAPTER XVII
The Chinese Note
THE prisoner looked surly as the police pulled him to the deck and snapped on handcuffs. Captain Ono, who came running up, was flabbergasted.
“Isâis this your kidnapped man?” he asked.
“No,” Collig replied. “But he's an escaped felon.”
“How did you get on my ship?” Ono asked Henry sternly.
The man confessed that he had climbed a rope and reached the deck shortly before the Queen sailed. Collig turned to Ono. “Why did you leave ahead of schedule?”
“All was in readiness. So why wait?”
“Did you notify the harbor master?”
“Of course. We adhere to proper procedure.”
The prisoner was led down to the police launch and Ono was told he could proceed. Frank and Joe hopped into the
Sleuth
and headed home.
Sleuth
and headed home.
When they arrived they received a phone call from their father. Frank answered it. He told about their proposed trip to Hong Kong and asked, “Is it okay with you, Dad?”
“Sure. I'll follow you as soon as I can. Right now I'm going to Dallas. Seems a branch of the tailoring-jewelry racket has sprung up there.”
The next morning at breakfast there was a knock on the back door and Phil Cohen entered.
“Hi, Phil,” Frank said. “What brings you over here so early?”
Phil looked serious. “I noticed something funny and wanted to talk to you. It's about Chet.”
“What about him?”
“He went into Paul Goo's Chinese Laundry yesterday afternoon.”
“Nothing funny about that,” Joe said. “Maybe he took his shirts.”
“You know his mother does all his laundry. He took nothing and picked nothing up. Before he went in he glanced up and down the street as if he wanted to make sure no one saw him. It looked suspicious to me.”
“Hml” Frank said thoughtfully. “Why would he do that?”
“That's just it. It's not like Chet,” Phil said. “Maybe he got mixed up in your Chinese mystery somehow, being that he spends so much time with Krassnerâ”
“I'll get to the bottom of this right now,” Frank broke in. He picked up the telephone and dialed the Morton farm. Chet answered.
“Hey, old buddy,” Frank said, “what were you doing in Paul Goo's laundry yesterday?”
There was silence on the other end. Then Chet said, “Who told you?”
“A little Chinese bird. What were you doing there?”
“Nothing much. Just got some lechee nuts.”
“Tell me the truth, Chet!”
“I am. Is it against the law to visit a Chinese laundry?” Chet would say nothing more.
When he hung up, Frank felt uneasy. “Let's check out the laundry,” he suggested.
“Right,” Joe agreed. “But first we'd better stop at headquarters. Maybe there's some news on Conrad.”
“See you later,” Phil said. “Let me know what develops.” He left through the back door when giggling voices of girls could be heard in the front. After a brief knock, Joe opened the door and Callie Shaw and Iola Morton breezed in.
Frank grinned at Callie, a pretty blond girl with brown eyes, whom he often dated. “Hi. What's up?”
“We're selling tickets to a benefit.”
“When, where, why?”
“Tonight in our barn,” Iola said. “Eight o'clock sharp.”
“But for whose benefit?” Joe inquired.
“That's our secret. You're coming, of course.” Iola reached into her pocket and pulled out two tickets. She handed them to Joe. “You can pay us later,” she said.
Just then Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude came in and greeted the girls. As they chatted, the boys drove off to headquarters. There they learned two pertinent facts. Nothing had been heard from Conrad Greene, and they were told that Paul Goo, the Chinese laundry owner, had an impeccable reputation.
“He's been in this country a long time,” Chief Collig said. “A friendly old duck. Likes kids.”
Frank and Joe thanked the officer, then drove to Mully Street. It was the main thoroughfare of Bayport's Little Chinatown. They passed two restaurants, a Chinese grocery, and a gift shop before coming to Paul Goo's place. They parked and went in. A tinkling bell announced their presence. The interior of the shop smelled of soap, starch, and steam.
Behind an ironing board stood Paul Goo, a spare, elderly man, whose eyes were shuttered in deep fleshy folds. “Hello,” he said with a smile. “You have some shirts?”
“Not today,” Frank said. “We want to ask your prices.”
“Oh yes. Very reasonable here.” Goo handed the boy a small printed paper listing his services.
“Thank you,” Frank said. “Do you have lechee nuts?”
The elderly man blinked. “Sure. For my friends.” He put a hand beneath the counter, produced two of the thin-shelled nuts so popular with Orientals, and handed one to each boy.
“Thank you,” Joe said. “You are very kind.”
They turned to go, but Frank hesitated a moment. “Are you from Hong Kong, Mr. Goo?”
The laundryman smiled broadly. “Yes. How you guess? Most people in Little Chinatown are from Hong Kong.”
Outside, the boys cracked the nuts. “Not bad,” Joe said. “What do you think of Goo, Frank?”
“He seems all right. But you never can tell. Let's put a tail on good old Chet and find out what's going on.”
Joe snapped his fingers. “Phil Cohen would be a good man for the job!”
The Hardys stopped at Phil's home. The sound of piano playing drifted across the front lawn and the boys found their friend busily composing a song.
“Sorry to disturb your symphony,” Joe said, “but do you have time for a surveillance job?”
“I think so. What is it?”
“Follow Chet. See if he goes to that Chinese laundry again. He may be headed for trouble.”
“Will do,” Phil agreed. “I'll phone Iola. She can tell me when Chet's coming into town again.”
“Thanks, pal,” Frank said.
As Frank and Joe drove off, they heard Phil picking on the piano keys again. An hour later he called them at home.
“I spoke to Iola, and guess what? Chet's on his way to town!” he reported. “I'm going to Mully Street right away.”
“Good. Keep out of sight and let us know what's happening.”
While the Hardys ate lunch, Phil hurried off to Mully Street. He stationed himself in a doorway where he had Paul Goo's shop in a clear line of sight. And he did not have to wait long.
Down the street strolled Chet, his lips moving as if he were mumbling to himself.
“The poor guy's gone bananas,” Phil thought. He left his hiding place and quietly fell in behind Chet, who seemed oblivious to the whole world.
When he stepped into the laundry, Phil flattened himself against the building and listened. He could not make out any words, but Chet and Goo conversed for about ten minutes in low tones. Then another customer entered. The mumbling ceased and Chet came out, a piece of paper in his hand.
His eyes were so intent upon it that he bumped squarely into Phil. “Oh, hello there,” he said.
“Getting more nuts?” Phil asked.
Chet was not the least shaken by the point-blank query. “No. Not today. Well, I have to go now.”
Phil watched Chet walk away. Suddenly he noticed the piece of paper fall to the ground. Unaware of it, Chet got into his jalopy and drove off.
Phil ran to the spot and picked it up. His eyes widened in surprise. “Wait till the Hardys see this!” he said to himself. Minutes later he drove up to their home.
“Hey, Frank, Joe!” he called out as he rushed to the door.
“What's the matter?” Frank let him in. “You're all out of breath.”
“Look at this!” Phil handed him the paper.
On it were lines of Chinese characters, delicately brush-stroked. Alongside each were phonetic pronunciations written in English.
Joe said, “Maybe Chet's some kind of go-between. It could be a message!”
“And he might have to deliver it orally, hence the mumbling,” Phil remarked, and relayed the information he had gleaned on his surveillance.
“We'll have to take this to an Oriental language expert,” Frank said.
“You do that,” Phil said. “I'll get back to my song.”
He left, and while Frank and Joe were studying the mysterious paper, the telephone rang. Joe answered. It was Conrad Greene's father.
Phil flattened himself against the building and listened.
“I have some information for you,” he said in a quavering voice.
“What is it?”
“I can't tell you on the phone. Come over here as soon as you can!”
“What a day,” Joe said to Frank with a sigh. “Mr. Greene wants to see us pronto. Do you suppose he received a ransom demand?”
“We'll find out soon. Come on.”
The boys went to their car after quickly telling their mother where they were headed. Forty-five minutes later they parked in front of the house on the cliff. They hastened to the door and were flabbergasted when it was opened by the grandmaster himself!
“Conrad Greene!” Frank exclaimed. “How did you get loose? Where were you held? Who kidnapped you?”
“Come in and I'll answer your questions one at a time,” Greene said with a grin.
In the living room his story unfolded. He had not seen his captors, because a hood had been clapped over his head. Where he was held was a mystery, too, but the why was perfectly clear.
“My captors warned me not to win the international championship!” he said. “They didn't hurt me, but guaranteed that I would be if I made an attempt to win. They drove me back just a little while ago.”
“Have you notified the police?” Frank asked.
“Not yet. I wanted to tell you first.”
Frank grabbed the phone and spoke to Chief Collig. Then he said, “Come on, Joe. We'll disconnect that phone tap. I don't think the gang is being fooled by it any longer, if they ever were.”
The job was quickly accomplished, and as Joe climbed down from the pole, a police car drove up. It was Lieutenant Skillman from the Ocean Bluffs force.
“Chief Collig notified me,” he said. “He also got in touch with the FBI. I'm sure they'll have a lot of questions for Mr. Greene.”
The boys left as Conrad beckoned Skillman into the house. On the way home, Frank said, “I think this whole caper was done to unnerve Conrad.”
“No doubt,” Joe agreed.
They mulled over the latest developments. The serpent gang had carried off the Ruby King, and it seemed logical that they also had been the ones who had kidnapped Greene. But why did they want him to lose the championship, now that he could not receive the valuable prize, anyway?
“It just doesn't make sense,” Frank said.
“Well, what do we do next?” Joe asked.
Frank looked at his watch. “It's too late to have that Chinese note deciphered now. We'll just be in time for dinner. And the party starts at eight.”
When the Hardys reached the Morton farm, the barn behind the house was vibrating with music. Frank and Joe entered to find the place festooned with colorful crepe paper and balloons. They recognized many of their friends from high school and the Bayport area. Couples were dancing to the rhythmic tunes produced by a three-piece combo.
“Wow, what a blast!” Joe said.
When Callie and Iola noticed the boys, they came over, took them by the hand, and led them to a long table. On it stood a punch bowl and a variety of sandwiches.
“Now tell us what this is all about, Iola,” Joe urged. “You said the party was for a benefit?”
“Right. Yours, to be exact.”
“Wait a minute. Whatâ?”
Iola interrupted him by putting a hand on his arm. At the same time she tapped a spoon on the punch bowl and called out, “Silence, please!”
Everyone became quiet.
“As you all know,” Iola began, “our two private eyes are going to Hong Kong on a most dangerous mission. We, their friends, felt they needed a bodyguardâa big one. We are holding this party to raise extra money for that bodyguard.”
The Hardys were dumfounded. “Who is he?” Joe finally asked.
“Who else?” Chet declared, a grin on his face.
Everyone cheered.
“We should have guessed,” Joe said. “He
is
the biggest one of our friendsâor rather the fattest!”
is
the biggest one of our friendsâor rather the fattest!”
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