Read The Secret of the Caves Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Secret of the Caves (12 page)
“What!”
The girls told what had happened at the Palais Paris, and Mary said, “I don't trust that Pierre Dumont, in spite of his fancy French manners.”
A quick comparison told the Hardys that the burly man to whom Dumont had whispered must have been Marcel.
“He might have been the one who hit you, Biff,” Frank said. “Maybe Dumont ordered him to case the car and when he spotted you hiding in the back he let you have it.”
When Callie told about the three men speaking in a foreign tongue, Frank and Joe exchanged meaningful glances.
“Good for you, Callie,” Frank said. “But think hard, can't you identify the language?”
“No. I couldn't even guess,” Callie replied.
“Let's go back and have a look-see,” Joe said. “Besides, Frank, I brought along enough money to bail out your watch.”
Chet transferred his gear, including the detector, to his jalopy, then took the wheel and followed the Hardys' car to the Palais Paris. By this time the parking lot contained many cars.
“They must have really good food here,” Iola commented.
“I hope it's better than their antiques,” Joe said.
All three girls said they would like to see the antique shop.
“Okay,” Joe said. “But don't try to buy any. thing. It'll fall apart!”
When the woman shopkeeper saw the Hardys she frowned, hastened into the back room, and reappeared with MarceL Frank gave the girls a questioning glance. A nod from Iola told him it was indeed Marcel whom Dumont had summoned during their interview.
The muscular man did not bat an eyelash when he noticed Biff.
“Well,” Marcel growled at the Hardys, “what do you want?”
“I came back to claim my watch,” Frank said.
As Joe opened his wallet and took out the money, the woman reached under the counter.
“Thanks,” Frank said after the exchange was made. “Now all we have to do is put the spinning wheel together.”
Marcel smirked. “Tough luck.”
“By the way,” Joe said suddenly to the sales-woman, “where can we find Cadmus Quill?”
Her dark eyes darted to Marcel before she replied, “Cadmus Quill? Never heard of him.”
Marcel thrust his head forward menacingly and said, “All right. You got your watch, so scram out of here.”
“But the girls want to look at your antiques,” Frank persisted.
“Some other time,” Marcel said, jerking his thumb toward the door. “We don't want you kids in the way of the payin' customers.”
Several diners, having finished their luncheon, had wandered in and were looking about the shop.
“Okay,” Frank said to the others. “Let's go.” When they reached the cars, Frank said, “Joe, I don't think you should have mentioned Quill.”
“I thought I might catch them off guard,” Joe replied.
“I think you didâtrouble is, now they'll really be suspicious of us,” Frank said, “provided Dad's report of Quill's connection here is correct.”
“Where do we go from here?” Joe asked.
The young detectives held a hasty conference. “I suggest we pack up and go back to Bayport,” Frank said. “Joe and I should talk with Dad and then decide on our next move.”
The Hardys made a speedy trip to Rockaway for their gear and rejoined the others.
Biff rode in the Hardys' car with Frank and Joe while Chet chauffeured the girls in his jalopy. Five miles later they stopped at the Hamburger Haven, piled out of the cars, and occupied counter stools.
After the girls had ordered, Chet boomed, “Three burgers for me, a double order of French fries, and a thick chocolate malted.”
While they chatted over their refreshing luncheon, the young detectives were amused by a small boy tumbling on a grassy plot next to the road-stand. As Joe paid for the meal, the youngster ran up, crying.
“What's the matter?” Iola asked.
“I lost all my pennies,” he said. “They dropped out of my pocket.”
“Don't worry. We'll find them for you,” Chet said importantly. He winked at Frank. “You see what I mean when I say that everybody should have a metal detector?”
“Okay, Sir Galahad,” said Frank, “do your good deed for the day.”
Chet hastened to his car. The others saw him frown. Then he ran to the Hardys' car and rum· maged through it.
“What's the matter, Chet?” Biff called.
“My metal detector! It's gone!” Chet cried out in dismay.
CHAPTER XVI
Deadly Clicking
“YOUR detector
must
be in one of our cars,” Joe said. “Come on. Let's look again.”
must
be in one of our cars,” Joe said. “Come on. Let's look again.”
But despite a thorough search of both vehicles, Chet's prized possession could not be found.
“There's only one answer,” Chet said. “My metal detector was stolen while we were parked at the Palais Paris.”
“You're telling me!” Biff put in. “That place is a jinx for us.”
“I think Chet's right,” Frank agreed. “Joe, you, Chet, and I will go back to the restaurant. Biff can drive the girls to Bayport in the jalopy and take our gear, too.”
“Okay,” Biff said. “But be careful of those monkeys at the Palais Paris. You know what one of âem did to me.”
Callie and Iola were reluctant to leave the Hardys, but conceded it was best that they return home with Biff.
“After all, we don't know how long the search will take,” Iola said.
“Besides,” Callie remarked with a twinkle, “I think we girl detectives have had enough excitement for one day!”
“Too much!” Mary declared.
After the girls and Biff were on their way, Frank, Joe, and Chet hopped into the Hardys' car and drove directly to the Palais Paris.
Frank parked and the three boys entered the restaurant and walked briskly to the manager's office. They could see Dumont through the open door. He beckoned.
“Entrez.
Come in.”
“Entrez.
Come in.”
“We'd like to talk to you,” Frank said seriously.
Dumont smiled. “No doubt you are seeking jobs as busboys,” he said. “I am sorry to say that we do not need anyâat present, that is. But you may give me yourâ”
“We don't want to work here!” Chet broke in tartly. “All I want is my metal detector. It was stolen from my car!”
“Metal detector? Ah, so that's what it is. You say stolen?
Ma foi!
Indeed, such is not the case.”
Ma foi!
Indeed, such is not the case.”
Chet's eyes bugged as Dumont rose, walked to a small closet, and pulled out the missing detector.
“That's mine, all right,” Chet said as the man handed the device over. “Where did
you
find it?”
you
find it?”
“Precisely where you left it.”
“It was left in the car,” Frank said tersely. “Who swiped it. Do you know?”
A pained expression crossed Dumont's face. “It was not âswiped,' as you Americans say,” he retorted. “The detector was left standing in a comer of our antique shop.”
Chet scratched his head and looked perplexed. “That's funny. I don't think I carried it in thereâor did I?”
Now even the Hardys were stumped. Chet was so fond of his new gadget he might conceivably have taken it inside. Frank gave their stout friend a questioning look. “Well, I can't remember tak ing it from the car, but I couldn't say for sure,” Chet said. “Well, anyhow, thanks a lot, Mr. Dumont,” he added. “Mercy buckets, as you French say.”
The manager rubbed a forefinger over his black mustache.
“Merci beaucoup,”
he corrected, smil ing. “Feel free to visit us any time.”
“Merci beaucoup,”
he corrected, smil ing. “Feel free to visit us any time.”
The boys went outside and hurried toward their car. “He seemed like a nice enough guy,” Chet remarked. “Compared to that Marcel character, anyhow.”
Frank and Joe did not reply. Both were deep in thought about the strange incident. If Dumont had had the metal detector stolen, then why would he return it so graciously?
“As Shakespeare says, there's something rotten in Denmark, Joe,” said Frank as he slid behind the wheel.
“Denmark alias Palais Paris,” Joe muttered.
Chet put his metal detector on the back seat, then sat in front between the Hardys. “Come on, Frank.” he urged. “Let's see if we can catch up to my jalopy.”
“Relax,” Frank said. “I'm not going to break any speed limits.”
“You can say that again,” Joe replied. “We've had enough hard luck for one day.”
The boys enjoyed the cool offshore breeze as they headed north toward Bayport along Shore Road. After ten miles, Frank stopped for a red light at an intersection. The motor purred quietly. All at once Joe's keen ears detected another sound.
Something was clicking on the back seat!
Joe jerked his head around. Nothing there but the metal detector. The boy reached back to turn it off. To his astonishment, the switch was already in “off” position.
“Frank!” Joe said tersely. “Quick! Pull over!”
The light had just shown green and Frank drove across the intersection and stopped on the shoulder of the road. “Whatâ”
“Get out! Hurry!” Joe cried, opening his door and diving onto the ground. Frank did the same and Chet followed a split second later.
Boom! A thunderous roar rent the air!
For a moment the Hardys lay half-stunned. Then Joe looked up. Smoke poured from the back of the car, which was a shambles. Frank raised his head and groaned at the sight. The brothers slowly got to their feet, but Chet remained face down in the dirt. The Hardys hastened to his side.
“Wh-what happened?” Chet asked in a weak voice, turning his head slightly.
“That detector of yours was booby-trapped,” Joe said. He bent down to pick up the twisted metal, still warm from the blast.
Carefully Frank helped Chet get up. He swayed uncertainly, unable to regain his balance. “Everything's going in circles,” he said. “Boy, IâmâI'm woozy!”
The Hardys sat him down beside the road, and flagged the first car that passed.
“Get help. We need the police and an ambu lancel” Frank commanded.
“In a jiffy!” The driver sped off and the brothers placed Chet gently on a grassy spot beneath an oak tree.
“Jumpin' catfish!” Joe declared. “Our car's a wreck, Frank. What'll we do?”
“Have it towed back to Bayport for repairs. Hey, wait a minute!” Frank lifted the shattered trunk lid. In the carton lay the pieces of spinning wheel. These had not suffered any damage. Frank took out the carton.
Chet was very quiet. He merely stared at the sky until a siren sounded in the distance. First to appear on the scene was a state trooper car with two officers. It was followed by an ambulance, its red light blinking rapidly.
The brothers quickly identified themselves to the policemen, who recognized the Hardy name immediately. The officers gave their names as Starr and Dunn.
“What happened here?” Trooper Starr asked.
“An explosion,” Frank said, pointing to the car. “Joe and I are okay, but our friend may be hurt.”
Chet was lifted to a stretcher and placed in the ambulance. “We'll take him to Bayport Hospital,” the driver said.
Frank and Joe tried to cheer their pal. “You'll be fine, Chet,” said Joe. “Just relax and obey the doctor's orders.”
“We'll see you soon,” Frank added.
Chet attempted a grin. “You sleuths will have to get along without me, I guess.”
The ambulance doors were closed, and with siren wailing, it sped north along the highway.
Trooper Dunn then radioed for a wrecker to tow the damaged car to a repair shop in Bayport. “It won't be here for another hour,” Dunn told the boys. “No use your waiting. We'll take you home after we hear your story.”
Frank and Joe briefed the troopers about the strange disappearance of the metal detector at the Palais Paris and the officers promised to make an investigation. They took the detector as evidence. Then, at top speed, Trooper Starr drove the boys âand their spinning wheelâto their front door.
Mr. Hardy himself came out and shook hands with the officers, old friends of his. After Starr and Dunn had driven off, the detective and his sons went into the living room. Frank took the wooden pieces from the carton and put them on the floor.
“Dad, we've had a terrible time,” Joe began.
“I know something about it,” Mr. Hardy said. “Mr. Morton phoned me. You'll be glad to know that Chet is suffering only from shock and has been taken home.”
“Thank goodness!” Frank said.
“Now come up to my study, and we'll go over this whole situation,” Mr. Hardy said.
Mrs. Hardy brought glasses of lemonade, and the three sleuths discussed every angle of the Todd-Quill case, while sipping the cool beverage.
“I'm convinced the Palais Paris is involved in some way,” Frank concluded.
“It would seem so,” Fenton Hardy agreed. “Tell me more about this Commander Wilson.”
The boys took turns relating their weird experiences at the Honeycomb Caves.
“E. K. T. Wilson's just plain loony,” Joe stated flatly.
“I wouldn't agree with you one hundred percent,” his father said. “If Wilson is as insane as he seems, I think he would be in an institution.”
“You mean maybe he's not crazy at all?” asked Frank. “It's an act?”
Their father thought that this was a possibility, however remote, and advised his sons to pursue the Wilson angle with all their power.
“I'll tell you why, boys. Your enemies are on the run!”
“You really think so?” Joe asked.
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