The Disappearing Floor (8 page)

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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: The Disappearing Floor
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Frank and Joe were glum as they drove home. “Do you suppose Makin was aboard?” Joe asked.
Frank shrugged and frowned uncertainly. “I don't know. That inlet was practically a swamp—it sure didn't look like an easy place to get on or off the cruiser. But the purple smoke was the same kind we ran into the other night. That would seem to link the cruiser itself to Strang.”
Joe glanced at his brother. “Incidentally, why did you ask Mr. Filmer if those amethysts were genuine?”
“Makin's a confidence man plus his other rackets—remember? I thought he might be planning to use the stones for some con game.”
As soon as the brothers arrived home, Frank placed a call to Western State University. He explained that he wanted information about a former professor named Aden Darrow.
“I'll connect you with Dean Gibbs,” the switchboard operator replied.
Frank identified himself to the dean.
“Oh, yes. I've often heard of your father,” Gibbs said. “What can I do for you?”
Frank explained that Darrow's name had come up in connection with a case the Hardys were investigating. He asked if the dean could tell him anything about Darrow's background.
“Up until last term, Professor Darrow taught a special course in crime-detection methods here,” Dean Gibbs replied. “He has a background in both physical and organic chemistry. Before he joined our faculty, he worked in police crime labs in several western cities.”
“Why did he leave the university?”
“Well, that was rather unfortunate,” Gibbs said. “You see, he had been trying to raise funds for research on a project which he claimed would be of great value to the police.”
“What sort of project?” Frank inquired.
“To be honest, we know very little about it. Professor Darrow had become secretive and suspicious. In fact, we felt he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. After the school refused to allot any money for his project, Darrow became extremely upset and resigned.”
“I see.” Frank was thoughtful for a moment, then said, “We were told he recently bought a house here in Bayport. Did he say what his plans were when he left the university?”
“No, not a word. In fact, we had no idea of his present whereabouts before you called.”
Frank was just hanging up when a plane roared low over the house. The boys could hear it turn and zoom back as if it were buzzing the Hardy residence.
“That may be Jack Wayne!” Joe exclaimed. He rushed to look out a window. “It's
Skyhappy Sal,
all right. Maybe Jack wants to talk to us!”
The boys dashed downstairs and switched on their two-way radio. Joe took the microphone.
“Hardys to
Sal....
Can you read us?”
The pilot's voice crackled over the speaker, “Loud and clear, Joe! Listen, I think I've picked up a hot lead from Hirff. It may tie in with those jewel robberies your dad is—”
Jack's voice was drowned by a sudden burst of static. When it came through again, it was so faint the Hardys could catch only a few words:
“If the tigers bite
...
amethyst
...”
There was another burst of static. The radio message died out completely!
CHAPTER X
The Ghostly Figure
JOE tuned the receiver anxiously, trying to restore a clear signal.
“Hardys to
Sal!
Come in, please! ... Hardys calling
Sal!”
There was no response. The two boys looked at each other, worried and mystified.
“What do you suppose went wrong with the transmission, Joe?” his brother muttered.
“Search me. What I'm wondering is whether Jack's okay!”
The brothers ran up the basement stairs and dashed outdoors. Shading their eyes, they scanned the sky. Jack's plane was now a mere speck in the blue, rapidly dwindling from sight. It was heading on a southerly course.
“At least he's still up there!” Frank said, half under his breath.
Joe added, “Let's hope he makes it all the way—wherever it is he's going!”
The boys went indoors and tried for a while longer to re-establish radio contact with
Skyhappy Sal,
but their efforts were unsuccessful. Frank and Joe returned to the living room and slumped into comfortable chairs.
“I'd sure like to know what Jack was trying to tell us,” Frank brooded.
“So would I. That message was weird!” Joe furrowed his brow, trying to make sense out of the few words that had filtered through.
“If the tigers bite ...
What could he possibly have been referring to, Frank?”
“Don't ask me. It's strictly Greek as far as I'm concerned.” Frank scowled in deep thought. “‘Tigers' might refer to animals in some zoo, I suppose. Or maybe to tigers being brought into the country by some animal importer.”
Joe shook his head. “Sounds pretty farfetched. Jack was flying south. That
might
mean he was heading for the Caribbean area.”
“Maybe. So what?”
“Well, they have jaguars down in Central America. And, in Spanish, the jaguar is called
tigre.”
“For that matter, what about tiger sharks?” Frank broke off abruptly and sprang up from his chair. “Wait a minute! We must be getting daffy with the heat. We can find out where Jack's going just by checking with the airport tower!”
Frank strode to the telephone in the front hall and dialed. He talked for a few moments, then hung up and returned to the living room, wearing a frustrated expression.
“The tower operator says Jack didn't file a flight plan—which probably means he's just making a brief local flight.”
“Then we should be hearing from him soon,” Joe suggested.
“We hope!” Frank added, crossing his fingers.
Just then a car pulled up in front of the house with a squeal of tires and a series of loud backfires.
“Don't tell me—let me guess. It's Chet Morton,” said Frank.
Joe grinned and glanced out a window at Chet's red jalopy. “Who else?” He went to open the front door as their chunky friend came bounding up the walk. “Hi, Hercules! How'd you make out on the amethyst trail?” Joe asked.
“We didn't.” Chet went on into the living room and flopped onto the sofa. “Those girls still can't remember where they picked up the stone—and we didn't find any new ones, either.”
“Tough luck,” Frank sympathized.
The Hardys gave Chet news of the latest developments, including Jack Wayne's radio message.
“Tigers?” Chet's eyes bulged. “I hope you're not going to be bumping into any of
those
on this case!” He paused to sniff the aroma wafting from the kitchen.
“Mmm!
Do I smell chicken?”
“Fried chicken.” Mrs. Hardy had paused at the door and smiled as she glanced in. “And there'll be honey to go with Aunt Gertrude's hot biscuits. Would you like to have dinner with us, Chet?”
“Would
I? Boy, and how! But I'd better call Mom and let her know.”
An hour later, the meal just over, the doorbell rang. Frank went to answer it.
“Telegram for Frank and Joe Hardy,” said a messenger.
Frank signed for it and ripped open the yellow envelope as he brought it into the living room.
“Hey! It's from Dean Gibbs at Western State University!” He read the telegram aloud:
PROFESSOR DARROW'S SISTER EAGER TO FIND HIM. IF POSSIBLE PLEASE CONTACT PROFESSOR. ASK HIM TO CALL HER.
“Wow! What a break!” Joe exploded.
Chet looked puzzled. “How do you figure that?”
“This gives us a perfect excuse to go right up to the Perth mansion and find out what's going on!” Frank explained. “Want to come along?”
“Well, I dunno.” Chet squirmed uncomfortably. “Maybe you'd better count me out.”
“Don't be chicken. You're coming with us!” Joe said, slapping the plump youth on the back.
Frank said, “I just thought of something. If Professor Darrow taught crime-detection methods, maybe we can find some articles by him in Dad's journals. That'll give us material to work up a conversation with him. It might even furnish us a clue to his research project!”
“Good idea!” Joe agreed enthusiastically.
In their father's study the Hardys checked the annual index of each of the three criminology journals to which their father subscribed. They could find only one article authored by Aden Darrow. It dealt with new data on the power of light beams.
Although the article gave no hint of Darrow's present field of research, it did include a photograph of the professor demonstrating some ultraviolet equipment. He wore eyeglasses and was bald, with a rumpled fringe of gray hair.
“Well, at least we know what he looks like,” Joe remarked.
The boys hurried to the Hardys' convertible. A red glow of sunset suffused the western sky as they drove out of Bayport's residential district and into the wooded outskirts of town. Soon they pulled up on the dirt lane directly in front of the Perth mansion.
“You fellows handle it,” Chet said. “I'll stay in the car.”
Grinning, Frank and Joe walked up the tree-covered slope to the house. Joe pressed the doorbell. Moments passed. He was about to ring again when the door suddenly opened. A tall, dark-haired, hatched-faced man confronted them.
Noel Strang!
“Well, what do you want?” he demanded, giving the boys a hard stare.
“We have a message for the man who lives here,” Frank said boldly.
“I
live here,” Strang retorted. “What is it?”
“We mean Professor Aden Darrow,” Frank said, displaying the telegram.
Strang reached out to take it, but Frank made no effort to give him the paper. “Sorry, but the message is personal. It's from his sister.”
“Too bad!” Strang snapped. “Professor Darrow suffered a breakdown from overwork and had to leave on a long vacation. I have no idea how to reach him.”
“Did he go out of the country?” Joe spoke up. “If so, maybe we could—”
The door slammed in the boys' faces!
Frank and Joe looked at each other uncertainly then turned and started down the veranda steps. In the gathering dusk a light suddenly blazed on in an upstairs window. Joe glanced up over his shoulder, then clutched Frank's arm.
“Look!” he exclaimed.
Through the window curtain, they glimpsed a man who seemed to resemble Professor Darrow! An instant later he moved out of sight.
“Strang's probably watching us,” Frank muttered. “Let's go!”
At the car they discussed their next move.
“Let's drive around till it gets dark, and then come back and keep watch on that window,” Joe suggested.
“Okay,” Frank agreed.
Leaving the dirt lane, the boys cruised back and forth along the main road until darkness had closed in. Then they returned and parked their convertible well out of range of the house. Taking flashlights, the boys started up the slope. Chet was not enthusiastic but agreed to accompany them.
Suddenly Frank paused as moonlight glinted off something on the ground. He switched on his flashlight cautiously, covering the lens with his fingers to shade the glow.
There lay the square tiled surface Chet had described to them!
The dragon design was formed in colored mosaic.
“That's it!” Chet whispered excitedly.
“How come we couldn't find it before?” Joe said.
“Maybe sometimes it's covered over with brush and loose shrubbery—on purpose,” Frank reasoned.
Before they could examine the spot more closely, Chet gasped and pointed off to the left. A white figure was moving slowly among the trees!

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