Read The Mystery of the Spiral Bridge Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Mystery of the Spiral Bridge (3 page)
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“They're searching the building. The night supervisor phoned headquarters as soon as I reported seeing that thief.”
The Hardy boys had hoped to handle this case mostly by themselves. Now the police already had been called in. Sensing their concern, Miss Tice became apologetic. “I don't usually flare up like that,” she said. “But it was an unnerving experience.”
“We're sorry you had such a scare,” said Joe. “I'd sure like to get my hands on that phony.”
“At least,” Miss Tice remarked, “you still have the tape.”
“What?” Frank exclaimed. “I thought the thief got away with it.”
“I forgot to mention I'd changed the tape.” The nurse opened the night-table drawer and pulled out the first tape.
“Thanks a million,” Joe said. “We'll take the recorder and play the tape when we get home.”
When the nurse had checked Mr. Hardy's pulse and respiration, Frank asked if she could describe the thief.
“The man was tall,” she said, “with jet-black hair and a mustache.” The impostor, she added, had worn a mask which she had almost torn off during her tussle with him. “If I'd known Judo,” added Miss Tice, “I might have caught him!”
The boys exchanged glances. Except for the mustache, this description resembled that of the intruder at Radley's apartment!
At the sound of brisk footsteps in the corridor, the nurse and the Hardys left the room. Outside, they met Chief Ezra Collig of the Bayport Police Department, followed by a patrolman, who held a rumpled white jacket in his hands.
“Hello, Frank, Joe,” the husky, keen-eyed chief said. Collig was an old friend of the Hardy detectives. “When I learned your father was here, I wanted to investigate this matter myself.”
Joe looked at the jacket. “Is that the one the thief wore?”
“Yes,” replied the chief. “We found it near the first-floor fire exit.” Collig's eyes narrowed. “Are you sure, Miss Tice, there was nothing else stolen from this room? Like hypodermic syringes or sedatives?”
“Positive,” the nurse assured him.
Frank spoke up. “Joe and I hope to solve this mystery on our own, Chief, but we'd like to brief you on it.”
The boys gave the officer a concise account, ending with their plan for possibly picking up a clue on tape.
“Good idea,” the chief said. “I'll do my best to help you. At least we can have an alert sent out for anyone resembling the intruder. I'm posting a guard on this floor, and also will have this jacket analyzed in our lab.”
“Thanks, Chief. That's swell,” said Frank.
When the police had gone, Frank asked the nurse, “Did you have much of a tussle with the thief?”
“No. When I grabbed his mask, he pushed me aside and ran.”
“Would you mind showing me your fingernails?” Frank requested.
The woman held out her hands. Using a pocket flashlight, Frank carefully scrutinized both hands. Suddenly he said, “Here's somethingâa wisp of black hair!” He pointed to the nurse's right forefinger.
“Why, I never noticed it!” she exclaimed.
Miss Tice removed the tiny hair, which Frank folded in a sheet of white paper and put in his slacks pocket.
The young sleuths took the recorder, thanked the nurse for her cooperation, and left the room. Outside Mr. Hardy's door was a patrolman whom the boys knew. He assured them, “No sneak thief will get by Tim Callahan.”
The Hardys grinned. “I believe it, Mike,” said Joe.
As soon as they arrived home, Frank and Joe went directly to their lab. Frank was first to study the strand of hair under a powerful microscope. “Joe! Take a look!”
His brother did so. “Say! That hair's gray near the roots. It's dyed black!” Joe was exuberant. “Matlack's for sure. I bet the mustache is phony too.”
Both boys were exhilarated by the thrill of their discovery. Now for the tape. Did it, too, hold a valuable clue?
Soon the tape was revolving on the machine, and although Frank had turned the volume up full, there were great stretches of silence. These were interspersed by Mr. Hardy's mumbling, which was indecipherableâexcept one word that came through with relative clarity.
“What's that, Joe? Something like âlicks'? I'll play it back.” The strange word, or part of a word, came over three times.
Joe listened intently. “Sounds to me like Felix,” he said.
“Could be. Perhaps Felix is a henchman of Matlack's.” Frank shut off the machine and Joe telephoned police headquarters. Chief Collig was still there.
“Chief,” said Joe, “do you know of any underworld character named Felix? We think that's a word which came over on the tape.”
Collig said this did not ring a bell, but he would check his files thoroughly. “I'll let you know.”
When Frank and Joe returned to the house, they quietly went into the kitchen and made cocoa. As they drank, the brothers discussed the night's events. Suddenly Joe put down his cup. “Frank! In all the excitement we forgot to check the airport for the plane that tailed Jack!”
Frank immediately telephoned Bayport Airport, and learned that one other plane from Kentucky, an air taxi out of Louisville, had asked for landing permission the previous afternoon. It had taken off a short while ago.
“Joe, that Kentucky pilot must have been the one who tailed Dad's plane!” Frank exclaimed. “Wish we could've nabbed him.”
“Where is he headed?” Joe asked.
“La Guardia Airport in New York.” Because it was too late for the Hardy boys to do anything further, they tumbled into bed. Early the next morning Aunt Gertrude summoned them to breakfast. Although the bacon and scrambled eggs were delicious, Frank and Joe hardly tasted the food. Directly after the meal, the boys rushed to the telephone in their father's study.
It seemed an interminable wait, but Frank finally contacted an official at La Guardia. The man said that an air taxi from Louisville had landed early that morning and discharged its only passenger.
“Is the plane still there?” asked Frank.
“Yes,” was the reply. “The pilot is checking weather reports. Would you like to speak with him?”
Frank's eyes brightened. “Certainly would!”
The pilot, who proved to be an accredited flier, reported that his passenger, a dark-haired, tall man with a mustache, had carried a large roll of hundred-dollar bills, from which he had peeled the fee for the chartered flight.
Upon hearing that he had flown a suspected criminal, the pilot whistled. “I wondered why he seemed so nervous about the plane ahead. Kept telling me not to get too closeâjust an act, I guess.”
Frank then asked, “Do you happen to know where he was heading?”
“Afraid not. Just that he was going to take a taxi into the city.”
Frank thanked the flier and hung up. When he told Joe what had happened, his brother said, “Well, at least, if the rat's in New York City, maybe he won't be pestering Dad.”
The boys went downstairs. Suddenly they heard a series of loud bangs from outside. Aunt Gertrude ran out of the kitchen and gave a startled squeak. But her nephews grinned, quickly recognizing the source of the noise.
“That's only Chet's jalopy, backfiring,” Joe said.
This conclusion was verified by a cheerful whistle as Chet Morton came through the back door. Frank and Joe entered the kitchen just as Chet, their best pal, plopped his ample frame into a chair. A longing look came over his round, freckled face.
“Ohâoh,” Joe said knowingly. “Guess who's ready for a second breakfast?”
Chet was known far and wide for his never-failing and huge appetite. “We-ll, I could use a snack.”
“Humph!” Aunt Gertrude sniffed. “After you scared us half to death with that noisy jalopy?”
“That backfire is getting better, isn't it?” Chet said good-naturedly.
Soon he was enjoying a thick bacon-and-egg sandwich on toast and a glass of milk, served by Miss Hardy.
“Sure is a beautiful day, fellows,” he said, between bites. “What say we take a ride on Barmet Bay in your motorboat?”
“Not a chance,” said Frank.
“Why not? By the way, have you heard from your father?”
The brothers related everything that had happened. Chet was shocked to hear of Mr. Hardy's illness. “Boy! He must have run into a gang of dangerous criminals.”
Joe could not resist saying, “In fact, that hospital prowler might turn up around our neighborhood.”
Chet swallowed hard. “W-what? Areâare you going after him?”
“Sure thing,” Frank said. “You want to help us?”
Chet groaned. “Count me out! This is vacation, remember?”
Fond of fun, opposed to hard work, and inclined to back away from danger, Chet nonetheless was staunchly loyal to his pals. When necessary, he pitched in with two-fisted determination to assist Frank and Joe in threatening situations.
Now the chubby boy looked up sheepishly from his second glass of milk. “You know, if you really need me, I'llâ”
“That's the spirit!” Joe grinned. “We'll expect you to come on the run if we call for help.”
“I'll be available.”
Excusing themselves, Frank and Joe once more hastened to the study. First they checked with Chief Collig. There were no clues on the intern's jacket, and no Felix in the police files. Then Joe phoned Sam Radley and listened with raised eyebrows as the operative talked.
“Sam, you've really been busy! I'll take that down.” Joe wrote quickly on a note pad. When he hung up the phone, he told his brother, “Sam contacted a New York prison where Matlack served time. He was released a year ago, and went to live in New York with a widowed sister. I have her address.”
“What a break!” Frank exclaimed. “All clues point to Manhattanâso that's our next stop.”
He called Jack Wayne, who agreed to fly the boys to La Guardia early that afternoon. When the brothers announced their plan, Aunt Gertrude objected. “You can't just leave us,” she said. “I know the police are protecting your father, but what about your mother and me?”
“I can help,” Chet offered.
“Great!” said Frank. “Maybe Biff, Tony, and Phil can, too. We'll call them for a meeting.”
Within an hour the three boys had joined Frank, Joe, and Chet in Mr. Hardy's study. Biff Hooper was a well-built, six-footer whose favorite pastime was boxing. Tony Prito, slightly shorter, was handsome with an olive complexion and dark eyes. Phil Cohen, slender and agile, had an easy-going manner. His friends admired his great talent for drawing and painting.
“I sure feel terrible about what happened to your dad,” said Tony. “Especially since he was working on this case for my father. Tell us what to do.”
Frank and Joe outlined their plans. All four of the Hardys' chums would take turns helping Radley guard their home, and if necessary, relieve Collig's guards at the hospital.
“I hope you nail this guy Matlack,” said Biff. “Good luck!”
After lunch and a visit to see their father, Frank and Joe drove to the airport. They left their car in the parking lot and hurried to meet Jack at the plane. Twenty minutes later the boys were looking down on the green countryside five thousand feet below, as Jack headed for New York.
The brothers were licensed pilots, and took turns at the wheel. But as they neared the metropolis, Wayne resumed control, contacted La Guardia tower for instructions, and soon brought the plane in.
Grabbing their suitcases, the Hardys thanked Jack for the lift and hopped out.
“So long,” called the lean young pilot. “Call me if you need me.”
“Will do!” The brothers hurried through the terminal, hailed a taxi, and headed directly for the address which Radley had given them. Presently they reached a dingy section of downtown Manhattan, and soon pulled up in front of a dilapidated, multiple-family dwelling.
“This is it, Number 47,” said Frank. He paid the taximan and the boys got out.
The Hardys stood for a few minutes, noting the various details of the structureâwindows, doorway, and fire escape. “Shall we make inquiries now?” asked Joe.
“Not yet. We better find a place to stay. There's a hotel down the street. Doesn't look like much, but at least it's close.”
The young sleuths sauntered to the shabby hotel and mounted a short flight of steps which led into the dimly lighted lobby.
The brothers grimaced at the stale musty odor which greeted them. They registered at the desk and were given a key to Room 306.
“Cash and carry,” said the clerk, a prune-faced individual with thinning hair. “Pay now and carry your own bags.”
“Great welcome,” Joe whispered wryly as they climbed the creaking stairway.
Frank and Joe's room was no more than they expected: peeling wallpaper, one bare ceiling light bulb, a sagging bed, and two lumpy chairs.
They had just finished unpacking when they heard the low growl of a siren outside. The Hardys looked out the window. Parked directly below was a police car, its red toplight spinning.
“Wonder what's up,” Joe said.
The next instant the door to their room was kicked open with an earsplitting slam!
CHAPTER IV
Attack From Above
STARTLED, Frank and Joe wheeled about to see a dark-suited man standing in the doorway, pointing a revolver in their direction. “Stand where you are!” he barked.
“Who are you?” Joe blurted.
“Detective Mulvey, New York Police Department.”
Immediately two uniformed policemen stepped from behind Mulvey. “Turn around and put your hands high against the wall!” The brothers did as they were told and the police searched them. “They're clean,” one said.
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