The Mysterious Caravan (14 page)

The ground around the vats was mucky from dye that had dripped over the edges, and the boys slipped and slid in their haste to search around the gooey vats.

Finally Frank shouted, “There he is!”

Scott jumped up from behind his cover and ran off as fast as he could, the hem of his djellabah splashed with a rainbow of colors.

Joe was the first to get anywhere near him. With a desperate lunge, the young detective clawed at the cloak and stopped the man short.

“
There he goes!” William said.

Scott turned on him, cursing in French. With strength that Joe had not anticipated, Scott pinned his arms to his sides and lifted him up to the rim of a purple vat! Looking down into the fluid, the boy flailed about furiously. If he were thrown into the dye, it might be fatal!

J
OE
struggled desperately. Finally he succeeded. Scott lost his grip and the boy fell down, into the muck outside the vat.

Scott crouched for a moment before darting off again. By this time the others had reached Joe and helped him up. Both his arms were purple.

“Hurry!” Christine said. “We must get him cleaned off right away. If the dye has sufficient time to set, his arms might be stained for a year!”

Too messy to use a taxi, they boosted and pulled one another up to the rooftop again, hurried down the stone steps, and jogged along the road toward the Cellier home.

Christine's mother greeted them at the door with a baffled look. “What happened?” she exclaimed.

“Joe fell near a dye vat,” the girl said. “We
need some strong soap, Mother. If you bring it out, I will use the garden hose.”

Mrs. Cellier returned with laundry soap and a box of washing detergent. Joe scrubbed for ten minutes, while his brother played the hose over his arms.

“I guess that's about all that'll come off now,” Frank remarked finally.

Joe looked at his arms. They were still rather dark. William broke into a white-toothed smile and said, “Joe, now we are brothers! Can you lend me a dollar?”

As the others laughed, Joe playfully reached for his wallet. Then a look of horror crossed his face. “It's gone! My wallet's gone! It must have dropped beside the vat!”

“I remember Scott bending down,” Frank said. “I'll bet he picked it up!”

“I will go back and look,” William offered.

“I'm coming with you,” Chet said.

While the others cleaned their shoes, the two hurried off. Half an hour later they returned to say that a diligent search had failed to produce the missing wallet.

“That does it!” Joe said in disgust. “Now Scott has the map!”

“What a rotten break,” Frank agreed. “Lucky I've got the other copy.”

“Now what?” Chet asked.

“We're going to Scott's apartment to see if we
can get that map back!” Frank said. “What was the address, Christine?”

The girl wrote it on a piece of paper. “I would go with you if I could,” she said. “But I have a meeting with a scholarship committee. You see, I intend to study medicine in Paris next fall.”

“We can find our way,” Frank said. “Besides, we'd better not all go anyway. That would be too obvious.”

It was decided that he and William would take on the assignment. They were to meet Joe and Chet later at the hotel.

“But I would advise,” Christine said, “that you wear djellabahs.”

“Good idea,” Frank agreed. “Where do we get them?”

“My father has several. They will fit you.”

Clothed in the Arab costumes, Frank and William set off immediately to the Gueliz, the French quarter where Scott-Dubonnet lived. Using a taxi, they found the street and stopped at the number indicated.

It was a small modern apartment house. The names of the tenants were listed above the mail-boxes in the foyer.

“Here it is,” William said. “Dubonnet. Second floor, apartment B.”

The companions ascended the narrow stairs quietly and moved along the hall about half-a-dozen
paces until they faced 2B. Voices could be heard inside.

“I'm glad they're speaking English!” Frank whispered.

Tossing back the hoods of their djellabahs, the boys pressed close to the door to eavesdrop. Unmistakably, two of the voices belonged to Scott and Sam Brown! The words of several others were indistinct.

Brown said, “Come in on the deal with us. When we capture the Hardys tonight, we'll force the secret of the mask from them.”

Scott laughed as if enjoying a big joke.

“What's so funny about that?” Brown demanded, obviously annoyed.

“I have your secret already,” was the reply.

Now Frank and William heard the crinkle of unfolding tissue. “Here it is,” Scott said.

There was a moment of silence, followed by murmurs of disbelief.

“How did you get it?” This was Tiffany Stribling.

“How? Well, it took some doing, but that's my secret.”

“Wait a minute,” Brown said. “Here's the mask. Let's check this out.”

Again silence, and the boys realized that the criminals must be confused by the upside-down reading of the lines traced on the tissue. After a few minutes, Stribling discovered what Chet had
stumbled upon. “Pretty clever. It's reversed. This seems to be authentic.”

Scott spoke again. “Now listen. We have money to finance this treasure hunt, and the map. We'll make a sixty-forty split. Sixty for us.”

“Oh, no, you don't!” Brown said, his voice rising.

“Have it your way, then. We'll part company.”

Mumbling and grumbling followed, after which Stribling said, “Aker took care of that gumshoe Hardy. What more do you want?”

“I want sixty-forty!” Scott replied harshly. “How do I know that your man really rubbed out the detective?”

“He did. George has never failed an assignment.”

Frank turned ashen. Had his father paid with his life to pursue this case?

William whispered, “I am sorry, man. I am really sorry.”

“All right, you win.” Stribling said finally.

“Good,” Scott said. “Here's money to get a couple of jeeps and supplies. We'll leave——”

Just then footsteps sounded at the bottom of the stairs.

“Let's go,” Frank said quietly, pulling up his hood. The two boys started down the stairway. Frank stole a look at the man who pushed past them.

The cab driver from Casablanca!

“
Pardon
,” he said and looked directly at the young detective. Then he cried out in alarm. “Dubonnet! Hurry!”

As the boys reached the foot of the stairs and raced out the door, they could hear a commotion behind them.

“There they go! Frank Hardy and an Arab!”

The boys found an alley and dashed through to a parallel street. A taxi passed by and they leaped into it. As it started off, their enemies, waving their arms and shouting, tried in vain to pursue them.

When the boys arrived at the hotel, they met Joe and Chet in the lobby.

“Did you get my wallet?” Joe asked. Then he noticed his brother's disturbed expression. “What's the matter? Did anything happen?”

“It's Dad,” Frank replied, hardly able to control his voice. “They got him!”

“What?”

“Hold it. Now wait,” William objected, trying to calm the grief-stricken boy. “Remember, Stribling said that Aker was
supposed
to get your father. But there is no proof! Even Tiffany does not know if his man was successful.”

With tears welling in his eyes, Joe hastened to a telephone booth. “I'm phoning home.”

It took twenty minutes for the call to go through, giving the boys anxious moments to consider their predicament.

“If anything has happened to Dad,” Frank said, “we'll have to return to the States right away.”

“Of course,” William said. “But do not give up yet!”

Mrs. Hardy finally answered and was surprised to hear from the boys.

“How's Dad? Is he all right?” Joe blurted.

“Oh, I suppose so. But he isn't here right now.”

“Where is he?”

“I really don't know. He took an overnight bag with him and said he'd get in touch with me later.”

Joe bit his lip. What should he say?

“Is there anything wrong?” Mrs. Hardy asked.

“Well—maybe. But we don't know for sure. Mother, if you hear from Dad, will you have him get in touch with us at the Manzur Hotel or at the Celliers' in Marrakesh?”

“Yes. I'll tell him to call right away.”

The boy looked bewildered as he hung up the phone.

“Good grief!” Chet said. “What are we going to do now?”

William spoke up. “Get the police and raid Dubonnet's apartment!”

The Jamaican's determined voice roused the Hardys, and they immediately agreed to the strategy. Since the boys were acquaintances of Dr. Cellier's, the police were cooperative. They
accompanied the Americans to Dubonnet's place, but found it empty!

“It looks as if somebody left in a hurry,” one of the officers said.

“Let's go back to the Celliers',” Joe decided. “If we want to continue with the treasure hunt, we'll have to act fast.”

Christine was home, and when she and her parents heard about the afternoon's events, they were flabbergasted.

“I think your father would want you to pursue the case to the end,” Dr. Cellier said. “And you had better stay here for the night. Then, in the morning, rent jeeps and some gear, like sleeping bags, and get detailed maps of the area around the lost city.”

“Will you come with us?” Chet asked hopefully.

“I cannot go right now. But I will try to follow later.”

After the boys had picked up their luggage at the hotel, Christine showed them into the guest room. It had a large French window looking out onto the ramparts of Marrakesh. Mrs. Cellier brought in a cot, and Christine got her sleeping bag. “We do not have enough room, really,” Mrs. Cellier apologized. “But it is only for one night.”

“Please don't worry about that,” Frank said. “The accommodations are just fine.”

The boys waited hopefully for a call from Bayport, but none came. Finally they went to sleep.

How long they had dozed off Joe did not know. But he was awakened by a noise. He sat bolt upright and adjusted his eyes to the moonlight streaming into the French window.

Now the others responded to his sudden movement. They looked, mouths agape, at a figure standing in the window. It was a man with his body painted in bright colors. He wore a grass skirt, but the most startling thing was his face. It was hideous. Obviously he was wearing a mask.

He spoke a few words, then leaped from the casement onto the top of the wall and disappeared.

“A
ju-ju
man!” William said, his throat dry.

“What did he say? Did you understand it?” Chet asked.

“Yes. He put a curse of death upon us!”

T
HE
boys jumped out of bed and climbed through the window. When they reached the ramparts, however, the
ju-ju
man was out of sight, and they returned to their room.

“You don't believe in this curse stuff, do you, William?” asked Chet, trying to act unconcerned.

“N-no,” the Jamaican replied. “Not entirely.”

“Tell you what, William,” Frank said. “Now that we have the whammy on us, you take this charm to ward off the wizard's power.” He removed the lion's tooth from his neck and placed the chain over his friend's head.

“I'll try,” William said.

The next morning they were up very early. They gave Dr. Cellier a duplicate of the map in case he could join them later, and said good-by to their hosts. Christine accompanied them to the
business district, where Chet and William rented two jeeps, while tents, camping equipment, shovels, crowbars, and assorted digging tools were rounded up by the Hardys.

All the while one nagging question persisted. Would they or their enemies be first to find what lay at the end of the route of the mysterious caravan? Time was now more important than ever.

With their chores swiftly completed, the young detectives consulted a reliable road map Dr. Cellier had given them.

“Good-by, Christine,” Joe said.

The girl shook hands with each one. “You will see a lot of little fortified villages along the way,” she said. “These are called casbahs. The natives are usually very nice people. They are Berbers.”

“Not Arabs, you mean?”

“No. The Berbers are blue-eyed Caucasians. Where they came from originally nobody seems to know. They live in the Atlas Mountains and are farmers or herders.”

Frank drove one jeep and Joe the other, and they set off along the highway, which wound higher and higher through the mountains to the east.

For the first twenty miles the road was good, although seemingly little used. They passed very few cars along the way. Frank floored the accelerator
for a while but had to ease off because the road narrowed and grew steeper.