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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

The Short-Wave Mystery (10 page)

BOOK: The Short-Wave Mystery
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“Wow! What did you do?” Joe asked.
“What could I do—a weak woman with no menfolk in the house to protect me?” Miss Hardy glared at the boys over her teacup. “I took a broom to him, naturally.”
Frank and Joe burst out laughing.
“I'm sorry, Aunt Gertrude,” Frank said, choking, “but I wish we could have seen that!”
“He must have been trying to get away with the aardvark,” Joe declared.
“He was, but he dropped it fast when I swatted him,” Miss Hardy said tartly. “Then I was so overcome with shock, I had to come in and make myself some tea.” She added after another sip, “He must have had a car. I heard it speed off.”
Frank snapped his fingers. “We'd better look and see if he got the bear!”
The two boys hurried out to the garage. Nothing but the aardvark had been disturbed.
“He may have been hoping to get both animals, though,” Joe said. “You know, Frank, we're a couple of chumps. We never even thought of investigating Chet's stuffed specimens!”
“You're telling me. I wonder if we can get him to rip them apart so we can take a look.”
“We'd better,” Joe said. “If none of the other animals contained anything, the bear or the aardvark might hold the answer!”
Saturday morning at breakfast the boys told their father of the night's events. “Sounds to me as if you must have been followed and spied on at the Batter house,” the detective said.
“Frank suspected someone was tailing us,” Joe put in.
“Then when the thieves looked in through the windows,” Mr. Hardy went on, “they realized for the first time they hadn't taken
all
of Batter's stuffed animals. So they acted fast.”
“And at least one of them came here to check our garage before we could get back home,” Frank added. “Soapy Moran may have tipped them off about Chet's taxidermy work.”
As they finished Aunt Gertrude's tasty flap-jacks and sausages, Mr. Hardy announced that he would be busy for most of the weekend on the Lektrex security check. “But I called the Star yesterday,” he said, “and arranged to have them send us a copy of last Monday's edition from New York, special delivery. If you boys are around when it gets here, try decoding that first message you picked up.”
Later, they telephoned Chet. His sister Iola answered. Iola, a pert brunette, was Joe's idea of the prettiest girl in Bayport.
“Chet and I have decided to give a party at our place tonight,” she said. “Nothing special, just fun. Can you make it?”
“Sure thing,” Joe said. “Count me in.”
“Good! There'll be about a dozen, including Callie, of course.”
“That'll make up Frank's mind,” Joe said with a sly grin at his brother. Callie Shaw, an attractive blonde, was Frank's favorite date. “Is Chet there?” he asked.
“No.” Iola giggled. “He took his staff of helpers fishing, to get a specimen to work on. He's coming to your house later. Oh, by the way, would you two pick up Biff Hooper? He doesn't get off from his watchman's job until eight, and his car is out of commission.”
“Sure. We'll take the
Sleuth
and come by way of Willow River,” Joe promised.
It was after one o'lock when Chet's yellow jalopy finally pulled into the driveway. Chet and the three youngsters were munching candy bars—a second dessert to their picnic lunch.
“Look what we caught!” Jimmy squealed proudly, holding up a five-pound black bass.
“Wait'll you see it mounted,” Chet boasted “Then it'll
really
look like something.”
“Nice going,” said Frank. Sensing an opportune moment, he told about the latest theft of Elias Batter's stuffed animals and proposed that Chet open the aardvark and bear cub. “Whatever those thieves are after must be valuable,” Frank argued. “Just think—you might find something in those animals that's worth a fortune!”
“And again I might not,” Chet said with a pained look. “Then what do I have? Two ruined specimens, or else a big job sewing them up.”
“So what? That ought to be a snap for an old maestro like Professor Morton,” Joe put in.
Jimmy said nothing, but he shot an excited glance at the Hardys and then gazed at Chet.
“Look, you could do it at the party tonight,” Frank wheedled as he saw Chet hesitating. “Have a grand opening before the whole gang—and display your fish masterpiece at the same time!”
The stout youth broke into a slow, pleased smile as he pictured Chet Morton, Taxidermist, dazzling the party guests with his exhibition of talent.
“Hmm! That's not a bad idea. Okay, I'll do it!”
Having detected an aroma of freshly baked cookies, Chet soon appeared in the kitchen, holding paste and newspaper to prepare some papier mâché. “May I borrow a bowl, Miss Hardy? Mmm, gee! Those cookies smell great!”
Aunt Gertrude frowned severely, her hands floury from the bread dough she was mixing. “Very well, you'll find another bowl like this one in the cupboard—and please leave a few cookies for our dinner tonight, Chet Morton!”
The copy of the
Star
arrived in midafternoon. Frank and Joe immediately set to work checking the page and column references from the first message. Meanwhile, Chet and his taxidermy crew were working earnestly in the garage.
While Jimmy cut a body form from half-inch board, Chet laid the fish on wet oilcloth, made a lateral incision, and peeled the body out of the skin with Mike and Tommy's help. While the two boys treated the skin with borax, Chet himself worked on the bass's head.
Later he came plodding up to the Hardy boys' bedroom to see how they were making out with the code message. Frank and Joe had already extracted three sentences from the paper:
Progress will certainly have to be stepped up if the bridge is to be completed on schedule.
 
To curb such illegal betting
activities,
police will check all suspected bookmakers.
 
The publicity
flight
will leave on Monday for Miami.
Taking the third word after each code word, Frank assembled the entire message:
 
HAVE SHEEP CHECK ON HARES.
 
“Still pretty meaningless until we know whom ‘sheep' and ‘hares' stand for,” Joe grumbled.
“Suppose—just suppose—that ‘ares' means the Hardys,” Frank mused. “In other words, say this was an order for someone to check on us ...”
Joe gasped. “Then ‘sheep' may be Soapy Moran! That's why he came snooping around the next day!”
There was a loud yell from outside. Chet raised the window. “What's the matter, Mike?”
“You sure that papier mâché's okay?” the urchin called up plaintively.
“Certainly, I'm sure,” Chet retorted indignantly. “I made it, didn't I?”
“But it doesn't seem to go on right.”
“Listen. Just trowel it on over the excelsior, as I told you! Don't you think I know what I'm talking about when it comes to taxidermy?”
“Well ... okay ... if you say so.”
“And tell Jimmy to be melting the yellow petroleum wax in the double boiler on the hot plate. I'll be down later to apply the finishing touches.” Chet slammed down the window, shaking his head. “Boy, it's not easy, teaching a fine art like taxidermy to a bunch of novices!”
“Sure you hadn't better go down there and keep an eye on things?” Joe asked, grinning.
“Don't worry, they know what to do. I've trained 'em pretty well, if I do say so myself.” Chet yawned. “Besides, I need to lie down for a minute or two. Man, I was up at six this morning.”
The Hardys chuckled as snores soon sounded through the room. Later, Joe shook Chet awake. “Hey, Maestro! Aunt Gertrude wants to know if you've seen her bowl of bread dough?”
“Huh? Bread dough?” Chet blinked sleepily. “All I know is, it was on the kitchen table when I took the papier mâché in the pantry to—” The chubby youth's eyes widened and his jaw dropped as a horrible thought struck him.
He leaped to his feet and dashed downstairs. As he ran to the garage, Frank and Joe followed, scenting interesting developments.
The three youngsters greeted them with puzzled looks. “Hey, Chet,” said Tommy, “something's wrong with the fish. It looks like—well, like it's growing, or something!”
The shellacked bass had been placed in front of a glowing electric heater to dry. Its sides were visibly expanding! Chet groaned in dismay. “Oh, no-o-o!”
The gilled skin was puffing out like a balloon. One stitch popped, then two, and a white paste trickled out the side.
“Good grief!” Joe exclaimed. “Don't tell me they used Aunt Gertrude's yeast dough instead of papier mâché?”
Chet nodded and sank down on a stool, covering his face with his hands. “Great, just great! It's all my fault! I picked up the wrong bowl!”
Frank and Joe were still chuckling over the incident that evening as they steered over the Willow River in their sleek motorboat, the Sleuth, to pick up Biff Hooper. Presently they came to the huddled buildings and high fences of the Lektrex plant. To their surprise, the entire area lay in darkness.
“That's funny,” Frank murmured. “I wonder if there's been a power failure.”
Their chum was not at the dock. Disturbed, the Hardys tied up and jumped out to look for him. Suddenly a loud, clanging bell shattered the night stillness.
“The plant alarm!” Joe cried out. “Something's wrong!”
The Hardys leaped ashore and ran toward the main gate. Frank tripped on something in the darkness. His scalp prickling fearfully, he swung his flashlight beam downward. Both boys gasped as they saw the body of Biff Hooper lying bound and gagged on the ground!
CHAPTER XII
Dock Attack
“BIFF!” Frank cried out. As he dropped to a crouch beside the Hardys' motionless chum, his nostrils caught a sickish-sweet odor.
“Is he alive?” Joe asked fearfully.
“Seems to be breathing okay.” Frank ripped off the gag. “My guess is he was chloroformed.”
Almost as Frank spoke, they heard the roar of a motor. A car zoomed off in the darkness.
“Looks as if that second code message meant just what it said!” Joe murmured in a tense voice.
“Raid Lektrex plant!”
“Get Biff untied,” Frank said. “I'll try to phone for a doctor and the police!”
Springing to his feet, Frank dashed toward the plant. The new wing jutted out from the left of the main building. On the right, farther back, stood the powerhouse with its high smokestack. Frank tried the front door. It opened readily.
Inside, the light switch failed to work. Frank shone his flash around the pitch-dark lobby, then sucked in his breath. Another victim, an inside plant guard wearing a badge, lay unconscious on the floor. Like Biff, he had been tied and gagged.
Frank paused long enough to remove the man's gag and unfasten his collar. Then he darted to the telephone on the reception desk and snatched it up. There was no dial tone.
From his previous visit to Lektrex, Frank knew that the executive offices lay just beyond the lobby. He hurried down a corridor, probing with his flashlight. On the right was a large, glass-partitioned office with desks. At one end, his beam picked out a large safe. Its door was hanging loosely ajar!
Frank tried a phone on one of the desks. It, too, was dead. He ran back outside to rejoin Joe. Biff was now stirring and moaning.
“He's coming to,” Joe said.
“Good. The thieves cut both the phone lines and the lights.” Frank told of the cracked safe and the unconscious guard. “I'll tend to him as soon as I alert the police over the boat radio.”
He dashed back to the
Sleuth
and switched on their marine transceiver, using the police frequency. In moments he succeeded in making contact.
Frank was shutting off the radio when he heard a sudden noise. He whirled in time to see a dark figure sprint onto the dock. Suddenly the man picked up a broken piece of planking and hurled it!
Though Frank ducked, the board struck him on the head with stunning force. He toppled backward in the boat.
Meanwhile, Joe was still working on Biff. The lanky youth's eyes opened and he struggled to sit up. “Easy, pal,” Joe said soothingly. “How do you feel?”
“Sort of sickish. Guess I'll be all right, though, once I get over this wooziness.”
The boys broke off as a man came running toward them out of the darkness. “That's Dan Cronin, one of the night guards,” Biff said. “He's just coming on for the late shift.”
Cronin took in the situation quickly. Biff, now well enough to talk, explained that he had been patrolling outside the plant when someone had seized him from behind and clamped a rag over his face. “That's all I remember.”
“I figured something was wrong, even before I got here,” Cronin said. He told the boys he had been walking along the river, on his way to work, when he heard the alarm go off. “But don't worry. I've already kayoed one of the thugs. He was trying to get away in a boat.”
“In a
boat?”
Joe's eyebrows shot up. “Good grief! That must've been my brother Frank!”
The words were hardly out of his mouth when a motorboat engine racketed into life. Joe leaped up and sped toward the dock with Cronin.
Too late! The
Sleuth
was already shooting out across the river. Joe's yell brought no answer.
“Are you sure that was your brother aboard?” Cronin asked.
BOOK: The Short-Wave Mystery
2.39Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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