The Ghost at Skeleton Rock (5 page)

“Bayport calling Fenton H. in Puerto Rico! Come in, please!”

Again and again Joe repeated the call. But transmitting conditions were poor and he failed to make contact.

“Never mind,” said Frank. “We'll try again tomorrow.”

“Which reminds me,” Sam Radley put in. “I have news for you two.”

He reported that Jack Wayne had spotted a car, tent, and trailer which might belong to Hugo and Abdul. He had made the discovery while flying over a wooded area fifty miles away.

“He couldn't get any answer to a phone call here, so he contacted me,” Sam explained. “Told me he was planning to take you up for a look-see at five tomorrow morning. He didn't think the trailer would pull out before that.”

The boys were jubilant at the news, and called Jack to say they would be on hand promptly for the take-off.

Early the next morning Frank and Joe hopped out of bed the instant their alarm clock rang. After breakfast they drove to the airport.

Jack Wayne had his own ship,
Skyhappy Sal,
fueled and ready on the runway. He was talking to Tony Prito, a good friend of the Hardy boys. During the summer the handsome, dark-eyed, olive-skinned boy drove a truck for his father's construction firm.

“Hi, fellows!” Tony greeted them. “Dad gave me the morning off. I decided to get some exercise and hike out here to see your dad's new plane. Boy, it's a real beauty! Say, you Hardys are on the job early. Another case?”

Frank explained briefly what their mission was, and Jack asked, “Want to come up with us? I have room for another passenger and we'll be back soon.”

Tony enthusiastically accepted, and a few minutes later they took off. As the plane soared high above Bayport, Jack turned to Joe.

“Here, take over,” the pilot said. “Might as well get a lesson out of this while you're in the air.”

Joe proved to be a good pilot and navigated the craft on a straight course toward the spot where Jack had sighted Hugo's trailer.

“We're getting close,” Jack said as a wooded area came into view. “Drop down a little, Joe.”

Soon Frank cried out. “There they are! That's Hugo's outfit all right.”

Joe swooped lower to get a better look at the fortuneteller's camp. The drone of the plane's engine must have aroused the occupants, for a man came rushing out of the trailer.

“Abdul!” Frank exclaimed.

Shaking his fist, the giant rushed back into the trailer and emerged with a high-powered rifle.

“He's going to shoot at us!” Tony cried out.

“Gun it!” Jack ordered.

Joe began to climb for altitude. Seconds later there was a flash from the rifle muzzle. Almost at the same instant, sheets of flame billowed from under the engine cowling and smoke began to seep into the cabin.

“He hit a gas line!” Jack shouted. “The engine's on fire!”

INSTINCTIVELY Joe pulled the control wheel back and lowered the wing into a steep left bank. He jammed the right rudder pedal to its full limit. The plane descended rapidly and skidded sideways in a “slip.”

“Good work!” Jack said to Joe. “The plane's side motion will keep the flames away from the cabin!”

Joe reached down between the seats and turned the fuel selector valve to the “off” position, thus cutting off the flow of fuel from the tanks to the engine.

“Keep her slipping toward that clearing just to your left!” Jack ordered. “We should make it in there easy!” Joe nodded.

With the fuel valve turned off, the engine used the remaining gas in the lines. It then sputtered and quit.

Joe and his companions watched anxiously as the plane slipped toward the clearing. When just a few feet above it, the young pilot kicked the rudder pedals into neutral and leveled the wings. There was a jolt as he pulled the wheel back hard and the plane touched down on the grassy clearing. Joe then pressed hard on the wheel brakes. The craft rolled ahead for several yards and came to a halt with a lurch.

“Handled like a veteran!” Jack gave Joe a broad grin.

At that moment Frank caught sight of Abdul and Hugo sprinting toward their car. “Those men are getting away!” he yelled.

The Hardys and the others hopped out of the plane and dashed after them. But the men had too big a lead. They jumped into their car while the pursuers were still fifty yards away. The car roared down the woods road and disappeared.

Though disappointed, Frank pointed out that at least the suspects had had to abandon their tent and trailer. “Maybe they left some clues.”

A quick search revealed little of interest. Besides some costumes, the crystal ball, and fortune-telling paraphernalia, Hugo and Abdul's gear consisted of food, street clothing, and cooking utensils. The searchers turned their attention to smaller articles.

“What's this?” Tony asked, unrolling a flag which he had found tucked away on a shelf of the trailer. On the left was a white circle on a red triangular field, and five green and white stripes running horizontally.

“A foreign flag!” Frank exclaimed.

“What about this?” Jack asked, pointing to a black cloth skeleton on the lower right-hand corner.

“Some kind of a Jolly Roger,” Joe suggested.

“But why would petty thieves use a pirate flag?” Tony queried.

“Perhaps Hugo and Abdul belong to some rebel group,” Frank mused.

Tony remarked, “Maybe they're just a couple of petty fakers.”

Frank shook his head thoughtfully. “In that case, why all the rough stuff when we first saw them, and the rifleshot just now? If you ask me, they're mixed up in something big—and this skeleton flag may be a clue.”

The group headed back to
Skyhappy Sal.
Jack Wayne removed part of the cowling and made a quick examination of the damage caused by Abdul's bullet. The shot had almost severed the slender copper tubing of the fuel line.

“What's the verdict?” Frank inquired.

Jack shrugged, frowning. “I can make a temporary repair with a plastic line—good enough to get us in the air, anyhow. But I doubt that it would hold as far as Bayport.”

“How about the Eastern City airport?” Tony suggested. “We could install a new fuel line there.”

Jack nodded. “That's what we'll have to do.”

He made the repair quickly, then everyone piled in. With Joe at the controls, the plane headed toward Eastern City. Located less than twenty miles away, this thriving city was a terminus for half a dozen airlines. Jack explained their plight to the tower and received permission to land. A mechanic guided him as he taxied the plane to a repair hangar.

“How long do you figure it'll take to put in the new line?” Joe asked as they climbed out.

“Oh, not too long, once I get the right size tubing,” the pilot replied. “Fifteen, twenty minutes—if Tony will help me.”

“Sure, be glad to!” Tony, an expert with tools, loved to tinker over an engine.

“In that case,” said Frank, “Joe and I will find a phone booth and call the police.”

They strode quickly to the terminal building. As they skirted the magazine stand on their way to the telephone booths, they noticed a man seated alone in a corner. Olive-skinned, with long, shiny black hair, he looked to be a Latin American. The man slouched on the bench, chin in hand, listening to music which apparently was issuing from a small portable radio on his lap.

Joe grinned at the catchy tune. “Boy, I go for that stuff,” he said.

“What stuff?” Frank asked.

“Hot calypso!” Joe said.

His reply seemed to electrify the man on the bench. Jumping to his feet, he darted toward the boy and hissed in his ear, “Where are your gloves, you fool? You might leave fingerprints.”

Joe blinked and stared. The man's next move was even more astounding. He pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and stuffed them into Joe's hand!

The boy was taken completely by surprise, but instinct warned him not to betray his reaction. The stranger watched him closely.

Joe swallowed hard and looked at the gloves. They were made of gray fabric with a small label sewn to the hem of one, reading
Made in Tropicale.
Acting on a hunch, Joe pulled them on.

This seemed to please the stranger, who gave a tight smile. “Ah,
bueno!”
He produced a small key and slipped it into Joe's gloved hand, adding, “You have been instructed!”

Without another word the man turned, switched off the music, and strode away. For the first time, Frank and Joe noticed that what they had thought was a portable radio was actually a small portable record-player.

“Let's follow him!” Joe said.

“Better not,” Frank advised. “I think we've stumbled onto something big. We've done the right thing so far. Let's not spoil it.”

“You're right. ‘Hot calypso' must be a password. Let's look at this key.”

Joe held it up for examination. The key was inscribed with the number 176.

Frank repeated the number excitedly. “That wadded note we found in the dummy's eye!” he exclaimed. “It said ‘Skeleton Rock 176' !”

“But what does it stand for?” Joe asked.

Frank thought a moment. “I can't answer that, but I'll bet this key opens one of those public lockers over there.”

The boys hurried to the south wall of the air terminal, honeycombed with metal lockers.

“Here it is,” said Frank.

Joe glanced around cautiously. The Latin American was not in sight and no one else seemed to be looking at the boys. Joe inserted the key in the lock.
It fitted!

He turned the key and the door swung open. The locker contained a black-leather zippered case.

Joe reached in and pulled out the case. The next instant, both boys jumped in alarm as a voice behind them barked:

“You're under arrest!”

As THE Hardys whirled around from the airport lockers, they saw a dark-haired, hard-jawed man of medium build eyeing them coldly.

He flipped open his coat and flashed a detective's badge. “Now, then, who are you and what's your game?”

“We're Frank and Joe Hardy,” Frank said coolly. “Our father is Fenton Hardy, the investigator. While we're at it, maybe you wouldn't mind telling us who you are?”

“Shanley, airport detective!” the man replied crisply. Opening his wallet, he showed them his detective's license. “You two still haven't told me what you're up to,” he prodded.

“We're not ‘up to' anything,” Joe said tersely.

Shanley was annoyed. “Let's have a look at that leather case,” he demanded.

But Frank interposed. “If you want to see the contents, let's go to police headquarters.”

“Okay,” the detective grumbled. “Come on. We'll go in my car.”

The Hardys agreed and the trio headed out through the glass doors of the terminal building, with Joe clutching the brief case.

“Car's over there at the far end of the lot.” Shanley pointed.

As they started across the parking area, Joe caught his brother's eye. He made a slight gesture toward the zippered case. Frank nodded.

Turning to Shanley, Frank started chattering casually. “Do you have an office here in Eastern City?” he inquired.

While Frank distracted the detective's attention, Joe gave the zipper a quick jerk. Inside, he caught a glimpse of several thin, flat boxes sealed in cellophane. They bore a drug manufacturer's label with the name
Variotrycin.

Joe pulled the zipper shut before Shanley noticed anything. The young detective's mind was racing.

“Variotrycin's that new wonder drug I read about in the papers,” Joe thought. “But what has a new wonder drug to do with dummies and diamonds—or
Skeleton Rock 176?”

Joe, deeply engrossed in trying to find an answer to the puzzle, was taken off guard by three men who suddenly darted out from between two cars parked nearby.

“We'll take that case!” snarled the leader, a burly, baldheaded man in a polo shirt.

“Oh, no, you won't!” Joe ducked, and threw up an arm to protect himself.

Frank leaped to his assistance, fists flying, as the hoodlums tried to grab the case.

To their astonishment, Shanley had disappeared. But there was no time to speculate about what had happened to him as Frank drove home a punch that split the lip of his adversary, while Joe gave another of the men a blow that sent him reeling.

In doing so, Joe dropped the case he had held under his left arm. As the young detective stooped to pick it up, he was amazed to have it snatched from the ground by none other than Shanley! The detective had crept up from behind.

“Thanks!” Shanley sneered, and sprinted for his car.

The Hardys were powerless to stop him. With the odds three against two, their attackers were pressing the boys harder than before.

Furiously, Frank and Joe swung their fists with telling effect. One of their opponents howled with pain as Joe caught him on the nose. A second later the baldheaded leader winced and groaned under the walloping impact of Frank's fist under his chin.

Even so, the fight began to go against the boys. Step by step, they were being driven back and hemmed in against the bumper of a parked car.

Then, suddenly, the tide of battle turned. The burly baldheaded man was jerked around and struck on the jaw by a blow that rocked him on his heels.

“Tony!” Joe cheered. Heartened by the unexpected help, the Hardys put forth a fresh surge of fighting fury.