The Pentagon Spy (6 page)

“They can use it for kindling,” Frank encouraged him.

Chet pushed his hand through his hair to remove the straw and ran a finger around his collar. Then the two boys continued around the basement in the darkness. The flashlight showed dust and cobwebs everywhere except over one cinder block, where the mortar around the block had been pried loose and removed.

“This looks like a hiding place!” Frank exclaimed excitedly. “Let's see what's in it.”

Together they shifted the block back and forth and drew it from its position in the wall. Frank shone his beam into the cavity. They saw a parcel wrapped in brown paper inside.

“Maybe it's a bomb!” Chet said in alarm.

“I won't take any chances,” Frank promised. Picking up a long, thin stick from the floor, he stood to one side of the cavity and prodded the brown paper off the parcel. Underneath was a white cube about six inches square on each side.

“That's no bomb,” Frank muttered. Reaching in, he lifted the cube out, examined it, and began to chuckle. The whiteness was the reflection of waxed paper. Removing it, he held up a couple of sandwiches.

“One of the farmhands must have put it behind the cinder block to keep the rats away,” Frank surmised.

He put the sandwiches back in the paper covering, replaced them in their hiding place, and with Chet's help pushed the cinder block into its old position. Then the boys proceeded toward the rear door of the barn, where the machinery entered and left. It was locked. Slowly, they continued along the wall and finally arrived back at the steps.

“Let's go up to the next level,” Frank suggested. “I don't think there are any clues down here.”

Chet nodded, and they climbed the stone staircase to examine the ground floor. This part of the barn was used for storing grain. Frank and Chet shuffled forward cautiously, passing bins of wheat, oats, rye, and corn.

At the end of the row of bins, Frank turned right in the darkness, guided by the narrow beam of his flashlight. Chet, who was behind him, had caught his sleeve on a nail, which held him up for a moment. When he reached the place where Frank had turned, the light was too far away for him to see. He went left, expecting to catch up with his friend. Suddenly something clapped him on the shoulder, making him stop in paralyzed fright.

“Is th-that you, Frank?” Chet whispered tremulously.

There was no answer. He reached up and felt a soft pressure inside burlap sacking. The truth dawned on him. The corner of a large sack of grain had shifted under its own weight, sloped over as he passed, and struck him on the shoulder!

Running the back of his hand across his forehead, Chet hurried on until he saw a dim light in the wall of the barn. He figured it must be the open door to another room and that Frank was in there. Quickly he stepped through and, with a terrified scream, plunged into darkness! He landed on a pile of corn in the silo.

Groggily he struggled to his feet and discovered that the aperture of the silo was too high for him to climb through. “Frank!” he yelled. “Frank, help me!”

The older Hardy boy, having circled the room, was near enough to hear Chet shouting. Hastening to the spot, he shone his light down into the silo. Chet stood there, ankle-deep in corncobs. His mouth was open and his eyes were glazed.

“Chet, are you inspecting the corn for the horses and cows?” Frank asked with a chuckle.

“Just get me out of here!” Chet pleaded.

Frank spotted a rope on a hook and lowered one end to his friend. Then he wound the opposite end around a pulley used in lifting heavy sacks of grain and helped Chet scramble out.

“I've had it!” Chet declared emphatically. “I want to get out of here pronto!”

“We haven't finished investigating,” Frank pointed out. “There's the second floor—”

“Oh, all right,” Chet grumbled. “But don't lose me again!”

They ascended the stairs to the next level of the barn. Here they made a rapid inspection of lighter farm implements—shovels, hoes, rakes, crowbars, pruning hooks, and so on.

“Nothing here either,” Frank said finally. “Let's get back to the loft and see what Joe's doing.”

But when the two arrived, Joe was gone!

“Where in the world is he?” Frank said worriedly as he put on the light and looked around the loft. “He wouldn't leave without letting us know!”

“Maybe the thieves got to him while we were gone,” Chet said nervously.

“It's possible,” Frank replied somberly. “We were in the basement long enough that they could have hustled him down the stairs without our knowing it! If so, I'd better get on their trail. You stay here, Chet, while I run outside and see if I can find out what happened!”

Frank was heading for the door when a dark shape loomed on the roof against the rising moon. The figure raised its arm as if to spring through the skylight!

“Frank!” Chet quavered. “Don't go!”

Frank turned. “What's up?”

Speechlessly Chet pointed to the dark shape on the roof. As they stared, the figure swung down through the skylight into the loft. It was Joe!

“I thought that owl we spotted might have knocked the weather vane off center,” he said. “So I went out to see before it tumbled down to the ground. What a windfall for the crooks that would have been! Did you find anything downstairs?”

“Nothing,” Frank reported. “Chet even checked out the silo.”

Their rotund pal squirmed as Frank described the incident to Joe. “Knock it off, fellows, will you?” Chet pleaded.

“Don't worry, we know we can count on you,” Frank mollified him. “And now it's your turn to stand guard.”

Chet parked himself on the floor with his back to the wall, while the Hardys lay down to sleep. Squinting through the skylight, he could see dismal clouds scudding across the moon. A rising wind shook the shingles of the roof with a mournful sound. Chet shuddered and felt relieved that he was not alone in the darkness of the barn loft.

The minutes slipped away slowly. Everything was still, and Chet began to nod. Soon a snore arose from his corner. Fast asleep, he did not hear a faint sound in the night sky that grew louder as it approached.

Suddenly a terrific clatter erupted overhead, waking the three boys. The noise continued past the barn, started to die away, then came back with a thunderous roar that shook the building.

Frank and Joe leaped to their feet and rushed over to the skylight. Chet dived under the pile of hay. The noise diminished once more, and the Hardys climbed onto the roof. In the moonlight, they could see a helicopter circling for another approach to the barn. Again the clatter became deafening.

“What's that chopper doing?” Frank shouted in consternation over the noise.

“I don't know!” Joe yelled back. “The pilot must be a complete fool! He'll hit the barn!”

The helicopter came directly toward them. Someone on the inside played out a cable on a winch. It dropped ten feet and swayed back and forth under the chopper, which hovered over the roof. Four curved prongs spread out at the end of the cable.

“He's got a grappling hook at the end!” Frank shouted. “They're after the
Flashing Arrow!”

The chopper moved slightly and the cable swung toward the weather vane. Then the grappling iron struck the copper eagle with a loud clang. It missed. The whirlybird passed over the barn with only feet to spare, flew off far enough to circle around, then started back toward the weather vane, lower than ever. Joe could see the painted legend on its side: JF333.

The boys were scrambling up the roof in a frantic effort to reach the weather vane first. At the apex, they edged their way along the route they had taken with Morven during the day. It was even more dangerous in the darkness, but the boys gritted their teeth and pressed on as fast as they could, with Frank in the lead.

As he approached the
Flashing Arrow,
the chopper came directly toward him. It was so near that he could see the face of the pilot at the window, but the darkness prevented him from distinguishing his features.

Frank had almost reached the weather vane when the grappling iron swung toward it from the opposite side. The metal claws closed beneath the arrow of the weather vane and grabbed it as the man at the winch jerked the cable upward!

Desperately Frank lunged forward, his arm outstretched and his fingers grasping for the weather vane. But he missed by inches as the grappling hook plucked the
Flashing Arrow
from its bar. The winch rolled in the cable, drawing its prey into the interior of the chopper.

Then the helicopter moved up and disappeared into the darkness!

Frank slumped over the apex, breathing heavily. Joe almost lost his balance from the wind caused by the chopper's blades, and for a few moments the brothers rested in silence. Then they made their way back to the loft.

“I hate to tell Mr. Hammerley what happened,” Frank muttered.

“I know,” Joe said. “But we have no choice.” He lifted the phone and listened. Then he jiggled the instrument. “It's dead!” he declared.

Frank walked to the skylight and hauled in the wire. “It's been cut. Judging by the length, it was severed down below. I'll go over to Mr. Hammerley and tell him. You and Chet might just as well stay here.”

He left the barn and walked to the house, where he pressed the doorbell. Getting no response, he pushed the bell several more times. Then he banged the knocker and hammered on the door with his fist, at the same time shouting, “Mr. Hammerley! Mr. Hammerley!” Still, no answer came from inside the house.

Frank walked around the building knocking on the windows and at the back door, all to no avail. He was wondering what to do next when out of the corner of his eye he noticed a movement in the underbrush flanking the woods. A man was sneaking away!

Frank called out for him to stop, but the stranger started to run. Guiding himself by the sound of crashing through the underbrush, Frank ran after him. He caught up with the fugitive about twenty yards into the woods. Panting for breath, the man swung around, and his face became visible in the beam of Frank's flashlight.

He was Crow Morven!

“What were you doing hiding in the bushes?” Frank demanded.

“I was on my way home. When I saw you sneaking around the house, I thought you were a burglar, so I watched you.”

“Didn't you hear me call Mr. Hammerley and recognize my voice?” Frank asked.

Morven shook his head, pulling loose of Frank's grip. The young detective realized he had no right to stop the foreman, so he let him go and watched him disappear into the woods. Then he returned to the loft. Dawn was just breaking.

“Morven's our prime suspect,” Joe said after hearing Frank's tale.

His brother agreed. “Unfortunately, we still don't have any proof.”

The boys decided there was no point in remaining in the loft, now that the weather vane was gone. They moved to the front porch of the house and sat on wicker chairs around a small table until the housekeeper arrived at 8:00 A.M. She let them in with her key, saying she was surprised that Mr. Hammerley was still in bed. “He's always up when I get here,” she added, shaking her head. She went upstairs, calling the farmer.

At last he appeared, breathing slowly and with his face flushed. Yawning drowsily he invited the boys to have breakfast with him. “Anything exciting happen during the night?” he asked.

“I'm afraid so,” Frank said hesitantly. “The
Flashing Arrow
was stolen!”

“What!” Hammerley exploded.

Frank explained how the thieves had managed to remove the weather vane, and he watched Hammerley's angry face with apprehension.

“You knew the thieves might try to steal my antique. Why did you let them take it from under your noses?” the farmer thundered.

“We didn't expect a chopper,” Chet pointed out. “Neither did you.”

Hammerley simmered down. “You have a point there, young man. This is the first time I ever heard of robbery by helicopter.” He frowned thoughtfully, then sat down at the table. “So the crooks changed their method of operation. Is my hex sign still there?”

“It's there,” Joe confirmed. “‘They had no chance to take it.”

“We tried to phone you after it happened,” Frank said, “but the line was cut.” He explained how he had attempted to deliver the message in person, only to find complete silence at the house.

“I can't understand why I didn't hear you,” the farmer said. “I'm usually a light sleeper. But I didn't hear the helicopter you described, either. And I overslept this morning. Couldn't seem to wake up when Mrs. Smith called me. It's mystifying.”

“Not if you were slipped a drug,” Frank declared. He looked closely at the farmer. “You were breathing rather slowly when you came down, and your face was red,” he added. “Those are symptoms of chloral mixed with alcohol. Did you take anything before you went to sleep last night?”

“Only my nighttime cocoa.”

“Where's the cup?”

“It was on my bedside table. Mrs. Smith may have taken it to the kitchen by now.”

“We'd like to see it before she washes it.”

Hammerley led the way into the kitchen. The housekeeper was just about to put the cup into the sink.

“Hold it, Mrs. Smith!” Joe called. “May we have that cup for a moment?”

She handed it to the boy. At the bottom were the crusted remains of the cocoa Hammerley had drunk the night before.

“I'll get the kit,” Joe offered and went upstairs to the room where they had left their bags. Soon he returned with a small detective box the boys always carried with them on their trips. He set it on the kitchen table and removed an eyedropper with a chemical in it. He added a few drops of water from the faucet, then squeezed the solution onto the caked remains of the cup. Transparent crystals formed at the bottom.