The Hooded Hawk Mystery (5 page)

As Frank put down the phone, Chet appeared with a huge container of ice cream. Frank told Chet of the meeting to be held at the Hardy home that evening.

“Maybe it's about our rubies,” their stout friend suggested.

As dinnertime approached, Chet drove the Hardys and their falcon home in his jalopy.

“Let me know what happens, fellows,” he called, waving good-by.

Fenton Hardy was waiting. “Our callers will arrive about nine o'clock,” he said.

Night had closed in and they were waiting for the front doorbell to ring, when a knock sounded on the back door. The boys and their father hurried to the kitchen and Fenton Hardy opened the door. Two men were standing there.

“Mr. Ghapur!” the detective exclaimed.

“We thought we were being followed,” the importer explained, stepping in. “Please pardon this strange way of entering your home.”

Rahmud Ghapur was a dark-complexioned man, about fifty years old, with lines at his temples that indicated a normally jovial disposition. Right now, however, his expression was tempered by the seriousness of the situation. His companion, about ten years younger, was introduced as Mr. Delhi, a trusted emissary and cousin of Satish Nayyar.

Ghapur added that the Indian, who retained a high government post, had assumed the name Delhi because he wished to remain incognito while in the United States.

“My real name is Bhagnav,” Mr. Delhi said.

Mr. Hardy shook hands with him and introduced his sons. “We'll go up to my study,” he said, “where we can be sure that our discussion will not be overheard by possible eavesdroppers at our doors or windows.”

He led the way to the second floor. After everyone was seated, Frank offered to bring the falcon to Mr. Ghapur, but the man advised against it.

“If the bird were to see me,” he said, “the fine progress you have made with her might be undone.”

Ghapur turned to his companion. “Please tell your story,” he requested.

Mr. Delhi began with a question. “Had you heard that Tava Nayyar was on his way to the United States in order to complete his education?”

“We learned it last night from a newspaper clipping,” Frank replied, and told of their ad venture in the boathouse.

“He arrived in New York all right,” Mr. Delhi went on. “Then he was kidnapped!”

“Kidnapped!” chorused the Hardys, and Joe added, “When?”

“About a month ago. Ransom was demanded in rubies. We received orders to leave the gems in a certain place in India. The orders were carried out and the rubies picked up. But Tava has not been released.”

“You haven't heard anything?” Frank asked.

“Oh, yes. We have received a new ransom note which demands that more rubies be left at the designated spot. The note, like the first one, threatens Tava with death if payment is not made or if the story of his kidnapping is published.”

Mr. Delhi paused. “I—I I am afraid Tava may not even now be alive,” he said somberly. “But his father has not given up hope.”

Rahmud Ghapur picked up the story. “Satish Nayyar sent Mr. Delhi to this country to see if he could track down the kidnappers. Since I am a native of the same province, he came to me for help. I suggested that we get in touch with you. Can you and your sons look into this matter for us?”

“We'll be glad to,” Fenton Hardy assured them. “In fact, my boys may have picked up a clue already.”

“Yes? How so?” both visitors asked in amazement.

Frank and Joe told them of the precious rubies from the carrier pigeon brought down by the hawk.

The Indians were astounded to hear this news and agreed that the rubies might very well be part of the ransom. They thought, too, that the missing youth might be held at the place from which the pigeon had been released or where it was heading.

“More likely it's the latter, since the pigeon came in from the sea.” Mr. Hardy said. “We'll do our best to find the spot.”

Mr. Ghapur leaned forward in his chair. “Nothing must happen to Tava. He is like one of my own family. When he was just a small child, I was the guest of Satish Nayyar.” Turning to Mr. Delhi, he asked, “Do you remember the cheetah hunt?”

“I certainly do,” Mr. Delhi recalled, “and my cousin will never forget how you saved Tava's life, at peril of your own, when the boy was attacked by the cheetah.”

“It was a great honor,” Ghapur said quietly. He turned back to Fenton Hardy and concluded, “I guess we've finished our mission here. Mr. Delhi will return with me to my home in Washington. His enemies must not know where he is, so we will leave the way we came. We are deeply grateful to you all.”

“We'll try to justify your gratitude,” Fenton Hardy promised.

Mr. Delhi asked that they spare no expense in tracing down every possible clue. “Incidentally,” he added, “Tava brought along his favorite goshawk on this trip. This might help you locate him.”

When he and Rahmud Ghapur had left, Mr. Hardy said to his sons, “I believe there's a connection between Tava's kidnappers, the rubies on the pigeon, and the smugglers of aliens from India. You boys made a start checking the coast-line for clues. You might follow up on that, as well as try to locate the carrier pigeons' cote while I'm away. I'm due back in Washington tomorrow.”

“We'll keep after the waterfront angle,” Frank assured him. “We're going to do some sleuthing from the air, too, to track down the pigeon's owner.”

The family was up early the next morning so that Fenton Hardy could catch the first plane to Washington. While the boys were feeding and watering the falcon, their mother brought them two hundred dollars cash and asked that they deposit it in the bank before three o'clock. They drove their father to the airport, then looked for their friend George Simons, who owned a helicopter.

“No passengers ahead of us today, I hope,” said Frank.

“You're the first. Climb in. What are you fellows chasing this time?” the pilot asked with a smile.

“Carrier pigeons and their home cotes,” Frank told him.

First they flew to the end of the bay and from there headed in the southwesterly direction which the two carrier pigeons had followed. The pilot kept the helicopter at low speed while Frank scanned the land below.

Meanwhile, Joe was watching the horizon behind them for any slow-moving boat that might be plying between some ship and the shore. He saw none but suddenly cried out:

“Here comes a pigeon northeast of us!”

Simons held the helicopter stationary until the bird had come alongside and moved ahead of his craft. Then he trailed it. For about eight miles the pilot kept the pigeon in sight while Frank plotted its course on a map he had brought. Then, suddenly, the bird made a dive for a sparsely wooded area.

Simons stopped his forward flight and lowered the helicopter to get a better look. The boys carefully scrutinized the area, but there was no sign of a house or barn with a cote. Frank and Joe were puzzled, but finally concluded it must have been a wild bird that had just happened to take the southwesterly route.

Although the Hardys spent most of the morning scouting the Bayport environs, they saw no other pigeons.

At the airport, as the boys climbed into their convertible, Joe asked, “Where do we go from here?”

“We ought to go to the bank,” his brother replied, starting the motor. “But let's scout around the waterfront first for the heavy-set, sun-tanned man wearing a ruby ring.”

Joe nodded. “How about looking for that suspicious sailor on the Daisy
K?
If he's the fellow, he may be wearing the ring now.”

They parked their car a block from the shoreline, then walked briskly to the dock area, where fishing boats, excursion steamers, deep-sea charter cruisers, and pleasure craft tied up. As the two headed for the
Daisy K,
Joe gripped Frank's arm and pointed toward an outdoor lunch stand.

“Look at the ring on that fellow on the second stool!” he said excitedly.

A stocky, dark-skinned sailor sat there eating. As he lifted a hamburger to his mouth, the sun sparkled on a ruby ring—the same unusual ring the falcon snatcher had been wearing!

The boys passed quickly and ducked behind a building.

“What'll we do now?” Joe asked.

“Let's confront him and see how he reacts,” Frank urged. “We'll move in on either side.”

“Okay.”

They took seats next to the man and Frank looked him straight in the eye. “What did you want with our falcon?” he asked.

The man looked up, startled. “Falcon? You've mistaken me for someone else,” he mumbled and backed off the stool.

Joe gripped him by the shoulder. “If you won't tell us, you can explain it to the police!”

“The police? Say, what's going on? I don't know anything about a falcon, I swear!” The sailor's voice grew loud and he shook off Joe's hand.

“Where did you get that ruby ring?” Frank broke in, stepping in front of the suspect.

This question brought a curious reaction. Apparently the man thought the boys intended to steal it, for he yelled, “Oh, no, you don't!” and plunged headlong at Frank, trying to move past him.

Frank thrust out a leg in front of the sailor, who tripped over it and fell. Instantly Joe came down on his back, pinning him to the ground.

“Now maybe we'll get an answer!” he said.

 

 

 

 

BYSTANDERS had gathered around the Hardy boys and the sailor.

“All right, talk!” Frank ordered, dragging the man to his feet.

The heavy-set, dark-skinned sailor straightened up. Glaring at the Hardys, he asked, “What do you want to know about my ruby ring?”

“Where did you get it?” Joe asked.

“Well, I didn't steal it, if that's what you think,” the man said sullenly. “I bought it from another sailor just last night.”

“What did this man look like?” Frank pressed.

The sailor suddenly reddened. “Why—er—I don't know, but he also was Indian. Say, I can prove everything I told you!”

Turning, he yelled to the counterman to verify his story. To the Hardys' chagrin the counterman did so, saying he had seen the transaction.

“We're sure sorry,” Frank apologized. “We—we made a mistake. We'd like to make up for it.”

The sailor grinned. “Well, all right, you can pay my lunch check,” he said. “I'm broke.”

“Maybe we can do even better,” Joe said. “Want to sell the ring?” he asked, recalling that Mr. Delhi had said to spare no expense in following up clues.

The sailor hesitated, then took off the ring, named the price he had paid for it, and said he would sell for a small profit. Frank paid him, as well as the lunch check, from his mother's two hundred dollars. The sailor saluted crisply and hurried away.

Shaking their heads ruefully, the Hardys resolved to be less hasty in jumping to conclusions. They went to the bank to deposit Mrs. Hardy's remaining bills, then continued on toward the dock where the
Daisy K
tied up. She was not in port.

“As long as we're here,” said Joe, “we may as well make some inquiries about the crew.”

They quizzed supply men and ships' captains. Finally one of the captains declared:

“That sounds like a fellow named Ragu, first mate on the Daisy K. Heavy-set. Piercing black eyes. Came from India. I've seen a ruby ring on him.”

Frank and Joe could hardly believe their good fortune. That sailor they had seen leaning on the boat's rail must have been the original owner of the ring! The captain said he had just seen him in the Sea Foam Restaurant. The boys hurried there and spotted Ragu at a table in the far comer.

As the Hardys approached, Ragu glanced up and half rose from his chair, then slowly settled back.

“You're Ragu, aren't you?” Joe asked.

“Of what importance is that to you?”

“We'd like to know something about a ruby ring you've been wearing,” Frank told him.

“I own no ring,” the sailor said belligerently.

Frank displayed the ring he had just bought. “You don't own this ring now,” he said evenly, “but you did. Where did you get it?”

Ragu snatched the ring and hurled it away.

“You are evil boys!” he almost screamed.

Instinctively Frank and Joe turned to recover the ring. Frank picked it up. When the boys whirled back, Ragu was dashing out a side door.