The Jungle Pyramid (15 page)

“It seems as if Frank's theory has merit,” Mr. Hardy said. “Our enemy may have followed us back here, and now he wants to get us out of the way.”

“But if the gold is already in Mexico or somewhere else, why would he get nervous because we're back in Wakefield?” Joe asked.

“He probably wouldn't. Which means, the gold must still be here!”

“He's sure determined to kill us,” Frank said. “He's as dangerous as a rattlesnake!”

“I think one of us should keep watch for the rest of the night,” Mr. Hardy said. “I'll do it.”

“We'll take turns,” Frank suggested.

“Don't worry about it,” his father said. “Most of the night is already gone. You two go back to sleep. Someone has to be bright and alert in the morning.”

They bolted the door, but nothing more happened. After an early breakfast they took a circuitous route through the woods to the mint. Fenton Hardy dropped off near the front gate and concealed himself behind a clump of trees where he could watch the entrance without being seen. Frank and Joe slipped behind some bushes at the back of the building and kept vigil near the rear door and side exit.

Workers began arriving. They left their cars in the parking lot and entered the building. Then visitors streamed in.

“They don't know about the gold heist,” Frank whispered.

“Armstrong has been keeping the theft under wraps,” Joe observed.

Hours went by. The sun grew hot, and the Hardys felt cramped.

“I'm hungry,” Frank said.

“I'll have a hot dog and a bottle of soda,” said Joe, pretending to nibble on a weiner.

“Make mine a hamburger,” Frank joked, “and a side order of French fries. I'd like to be in the Bayport Diner right now, Joe!”

“So would I,” Joe said. “Surveillance is tough when you're hungry.”

They took out some cookies they had brought with them and had their midday meal. Evening came, and the boys strained their eyes toward the rear gate of the mint but saw nothing suspicious.

Suddenly dry leaves snapped in the bushes behind them! The Hardys whirled around and got ready for action as the sound approached.

“I'll tackle him!” Frank whispered. “You clamp your hand over his mouth.”

The noise grew louder, then stopped behind the nearest bush. The branches parted and a face peered through at them. It was that of a little black and white terrier!

The Hardys laughed and sat down in relief.

“A canine suspect,” Joe chortled.

The dog advanced, wagging his tail. Frank stroked his back. Joe scratched his ears.

“Okay. Off you go,” the boy said. The terrier rubbed his head against the young detective's arm and licked his hand. “Go home!” Frank commanded. Instead, the dog climbed into his lap, where he settled down.

The Hardys tried to push him away. Thinking they wanted to play, he rolled over and over, pawing the air in a friendly fashion.

“We must get rid of him,” Frank muttered.

Joe found an extra cookie in his pocket. “This should do the trick,” he said, chucking the cookie in a high arc over the bushes.

The terrier darted after the flying missile, and came back with the cookie in his mouth! The Hardys groaned as he laid it at Joe's feet.

Eagerly the animal looked up at him, wagging his tail, obviously asking for another chance to fetch the cookie. Getting no response, the dog began to whine.

Frank became alarmed. “If he starts barking, everybody in the mint will know we're here!”

Just then a small bearded man came through the back gate and headed in their direction. The Hardys were frantic with fear that the dog would give them away!

The bearded man came directly toward them, walking up to the bush they were hiding behind. The dog growled at him.

“That did it,” Frank thought. “How are we going to explain?”

The man seemed to pay no attention, however. Instead of circling around the bush and confronting the boys, he veered to one side and walked into the woods without even looking at the dog.

“Joe! What do you make of that?” Frank asked, puzzled. “He didn't blink an eye!”

“I don't know,” Joe said slowly, watching the man intently. “He—he's strolling along in a funny way, almost like a zombie!”

“Joe! Maybe he's been hypnotized. Let's follow him.”

 

 

 

 

THE bearded man walked rapidly through the woods. It was dark enough for Frank and Joe to follow him at a close distance. They were relieved when the terrier dropped behind and then ran off.

“I hope he's headed for home,” Frank thought.

The man they were shadowing never looked behind or to either side as he went. He kept his right hand plunged into the pocket of his jacket as if protecting something. Reaching the dirt road Frank and Joe had scouted before, he avoided the road itself by moving through rough underbrush to the left.

“He doesn't want to be seen by anyone coming down the road,” Frank murmured.

“I guess the guy who hypnotized that man told him to stay clear of it,” Joe replied.

The stranger turned away from the road on a long hike through the woods to the empty airstrip, which he crossed. A plane could easily land or take off on it.

“Somebody's keeping the place ready to use,” Frank said in an undertone.

“A plane could even be parked in the underbrush,” Joe replied. “I wonder if the beard is meeting the pilot here.”

Their quarry did not stop, however. He walked across the airstrip into the woods on the opposite side. He and his two shadows continued past tall trees whose bare branches were etched in sharp outlines against the night sky.

Soon they came to an old unused dirt road. In spite of the darkness, the boys could see two parallel furrows. A vehicle had recently been driven up the road.

They followed the man until he came to a barbed-wire fence with a wooden gate. The Hardys ducked into the underbrush and watched the stranger advance to the gate. Another man approached from the other side, cradling a rifle over his arm.

“Give the password,” he demanded.

“Golden moonlight.”

The gate was opened and the beard went through, disappearing around a bend. The guard sat down on a stump and placed his weapon across his knees as he resumed his vigil.

Frank tapped Joe on the shoulder. He pointed along the fence, indicating that they should scout in that direction. Stealthily the two boys crept through the underbrush past the guard. They followed the fence until they noticed a light shining through the trees. Moving closer, they saw the outline of a cavernous barn on the opposite side. The light came from a window, its beam falling upon a dusty pickup truck parked outside.

“We'd better investigate,” Joe said, and he depressed the barbed wire with his foot. He put a hand on one of the fence posts and vaulted over. Frank followed, but his foot slipped and his jacket became entangled in the barbed wire!

“Joe!” he hissed. “I'm caught!”

His brother took off his own jacket, which he used to protect his hands as he pushed the barbed wire down. Frank pulled himself free and dropped down on the other side.

Slipping up to the area of the light, the Hardys hit the ground and crawled to the barn. Joe snaked his way around the pickup and Frank followed him. Then they peered into the barn window, which was ajar.

They saw an enormous room. A floor of broad planks extended from wall to wall. Dark rafters loomed overhead, and on either side of the room rickety stairs led to the haymow.

Each side of the building had a heavy reinforced wooden door fastened by a large bolt and chain. Peepholes had been cut in the doors so that anyone on the inside could identify visitors before admitting them.

Three men were seated at a table in the middle of the barn under a single overhead light bulb, playing cards. They were a rough-looking three-some with two days' growth of beard on their faces. Two wore levis and plaid shirts. The man who seemed to be their leader was dressed in slacks and in a turtleneck sweater.

Turtleneck dealt the cards. Each man picked up his hand and looked at it. One of the plaids started his bet and threw some chips into the pot.

As Frank and Joe surveyed the scene, their eyes focused in a corner that gave off a golden glow.

“Maybe that's the gold from the Wakefield Mint!” Joe gasped.

Frank nodded as the betting at the table continued. Turtleneck drew in the pot, adding a stack of chips to those he already had.

“I'm having lousy luck,” one of his companions said. “I want a new deck of cards.”

Turtleneck glared at him. “You accusing Jake Slobodky of cheating? You saying I just dealt from the bottom of the deck?”

“Naw,” the man replied. “I'm just saying my luck might change with a new deck.”

The game continued. Jake won again. He grinned as he raked in the chips.

The third man slammed his cards down in disgust.

“You complaining about how I deal, too?” Jake demanded.

“I'm complaining about this waiting,” the man grumbled. “We've got the gold here. The plane's ready. Let's get this show on the road!”

“You calling the shots now?” Jake asked.

“No, but I got a stake in this operation. And if you want my opinion, I say—”

A loud knock on the door interrupted him. The three men jumped to their feet and tiptoed to the door, where the pair in plaid shirts flattened themselves against the wall. Jake opened the peephole and looked out.

“Give the password!” he ordered.

“Golden moonlight.”

“Okay. Come on in.”

Jake unfastened the chain and shot back the bolt. The beard entered. His eyes were wide open and his face expressionless.

“He looks just the way Carlos did,” Joe thought.

The beard still had his right hand deep in his pocket. He stopped inside the door as if rooted to the spot. The other three gathered around him expectantly.

Jake spoke loudly to him, emphasizing each word. “What is your mission?”

“I must deliver the message,” the man said in a weird voice that seemed to come from a great distance.

“What is the message?”

“I do not know.”

“Where is the message?”

“I have it here.” He drew his hand out of his pocket. He was clutching a piece of paper in a tight grasp.

“Give me the message,” Jake ordered. “And then return to your home.”

The man handed the paper to him, did an about face, went through the door, and walked down the road toward the gate. Jake locked the door. “The trance works,” he chortled. “That guy'll be dead to the world till he wakes tomorrow morning. And he won't remember coming out here. Just like the guards who let us heist the gold from the vault.”

“But this man was able to talk. I don't like it,” one of the plaids objected.

“Nothing to worry about. He's programmed to answer just the questions I asked. If the Hardys catch him, he won't spill the beans.” Jake held the paper up to the light under the table.

“Wow!” he exploded. “Tomorrow is D-Day! The plane arrives at midnight and we'll be airborne pretty soon and got to be ready to move. Hey, gang, we're gonna be rich!”

After the general excitement had died down, the men started another game of cards. Jake won again. “This is my lucky day!” he boasted.

Frank nudged Joe. “They know we're on their trail,” he whispered.

“But they don't know how close we are,” Joe replied. “Think we should go and let Dad know?”

“Not yet,” Frank advised. “Jake and his pals are small-time crooks. Let's stay and see if we can find out who the ringleader is.”

“Good idea.”

The card game ended, and the players rose to their feet. Jake stretched and rubbed the back of his neck. “Might as well hit the hay,” he announced.

“That's not so easy to do,” the big loser grumbled. “The haymow's full of hay and dust. What a place for us to be holed up!”

“We'll use the cots in the corner, as usual,” Jake said, “and it'll be for the last time.”

Click!
A rifle bolt had suddenly slipped into place. Frank and Joe whirled around. They found themselves staring into the business end of a shotgun!