The Short-Wave Mystery (5 page)

At that moment the boys heard their names shouted from the back yard. “There's Chet,” said Frank. “Wonder what's up.”

The Hardys went through the kitchen and out the door to meet their friend.

Chet, who was carrying his stuffed squirrel, greeted them with an embarrassed look. “Say, fellows, we really goofed on that deer. He belonged to somebody!”

“What do you mean?” Joe blurted.

“I just met the owner out front. Seems the deer was his pet. He was pretty mad but I—”

Frank grabbed Chet's shoulder. “You didn't give him any money?”

“Ten dollars,” Chet said, shrugging. “The head was worth that much to me. He wanted more, but I talked him down to ten.”

Joe groaned. “Chet, you've been swindled!”

“Swindled?” Chet's jaw dropped and he stared at the Hardys. “How come?”

“That guy didn't own the deer—he's just a con man,” Frank explained. “He tried to shake us down, too, but we called his bluff.”

“Why, that low-down cheat!” Chet's moonface turned beet-red with anger. Dropping his stuffed squirrel, he bounded off down the driveway. “He's not getting away with my ten bucks!”

Half startled, half amused, Frank and Joe ran after their chum. Far ahead on Elm Street, more than a block away, they could make out a tall, shuffling figure.

“That's the man!” Chet yelled. Spurred by anger, he and the Hardys sprinted in pursuit.

The clatter of their leather-soled shoes reached the stranger's ears. He glanced back, then broke into a run. The chase was on!

Frank and Joe quickly drew ahead of their puffing, chunky pal, but the gaunt swindler's long-legged strides kept him a safe distance from his pursuers.

Reaching Oak Avenue, which was lined with stores, he turned right and disappeared from view. The three boys rounded the corner moments later, straining for a glimpse of their quarry. Oak Avenue led into Bayport's business district and the sidewalk was dotted with pedestrians.

“There he goes!” Frank yelled, pointing down the street.

Three blocks later, after a maddening halt by traffic en route, the boys saw the swindler dart into an alleyway between two rows of buildings.

“Now we've got him!” Chet panted.

Weaving their way through the sidewalk throng, the trio reached the alley opening. But as they plunged into the narrow passage, they collided full tilt with three small boys who were running out.

The swindler got away
!

“Why don't you watch where you're going, fatso!” one of the boys yelled at Chet.

“Jimmy Gordon!” Joe exclaimed, catching the boy's arm. Jimmy angrily threw off his grasp.

“Hold 'em! Hold those kids!” came a shout from somewhere farther along the alley. The Hardys saw Policeman Con Riley, an old acquaintance, lumbering toward them through the passage.

“What's the matter?” Frank asked impatiently as he and Joe restrained the three urchins.

“I'm running those brats in!” Riley roared. “They've been marking windows, and racing carts in the supermarket. Now they're going to the station house!”

“Never mind all that. We'll be responsible for them,” Joe said. “Help us catch a real crook!”

“Real crook?” Riley looked startled. “What're you talking about?”

“A swindler—he gypped me out of ten bucks,” Chet complained. “He's a tall, bony guy in a checked coat. We saw him run down this alley.”

“No one came out of this alley. I'd have seen him,” Riley declared.

“Then he must've gone into one of these stores —through the back way,” Frank said.

“That's right, he did,” piped up one of Jimmy Gordon's companions. “We saw a guy like that go in the back door of the five-and-ten.”

Riley glowered at the three urchins, then looked up at the Hardys and Chet. “All right, let's find him. But hang onto those little brats—I'm not through with 'em!”

“Okay, Jimmy—you and your pals come along and help us,” Frank ordered. “And no tricks! We know your name's Jimmy Gordon and we have your address, if you try giving us the slip.”

Jimmy gaped in dismay, then sullenly motioned his companions to do as Frank said. The Hardys and Chet each kept a hand on one of the smaller boys as the whole group crowded into the five-and-ten and spread out through the aisles. The gaunt swindler, however, had vanished. Policeman Riley questioned several clerks as well as pedestrians outside, and other stores in the block were also combed, but their quarry was nowhere in sight.

“Hold those kids!” someone shouted

“Guess you're out of luck, Chet,” Joe said as they collected in a group again.

“Great!” Chet groaned. “Ten bucks gone. Think of the hamburgers that would've bought!”

“You're telling us,” one of the urchins said wistfully. “I could sure use one right now.”

“We might've earned a handout at the hot-dog drive-in stand if that cop hadn't shown,” Jimmy grumbled.

Riley gave a snort.
“Earn
a handout? That'll be the day, any time you sidewalk cowboys do a lick of honest work! Just wait'll the sergeant hears what you've been up to!”

“If they're hungry,” Frank said diplomatically, “why not let them go home for a decent meal? We'll take them—it's almost suppertime.”

“Not for us it ain't,” Jimmy muttered.

“Why not?”

“My ma doesn't get home from work till after eight. Mike and Tommy have to get their own meals, too—when they get 'em at all.”

Frank was taken aback. He drew Policeman Riley aside and whispered earnestly.

Riley nodded. “Okay, I'll give 'em a break this time.”

“Thanks a lot.” Frank then made for a nearby telephone booth and dialed the Hardys' number. Aunt Gertrude, who by now had returned home, answered his call.

At first, when Frank suggested bringing the street waifs home to dinner, she was horrified. But after he had explained the situation, Miss Hardy softened. “Humph! Well, of course, if they're really hungry, that's different. I'll set some extra places.”

The youngsters looked flabbergasted at Frank's invitation. Mike, a happy-go-lucky type with tousled black hair, and Tommy, scrawny, with big blue eyes, seemed ready to accept, but both glanced at Jimmy before speaking. Evidently he was the ringleader.

“What's the catch?” Jimmy demanded gruffly.

Frank rumpled his hair. “Stop looking for catches, wise guy. Here's a chance for some free chow. Better take it.”

“Well... okay.”

At the Hardy house, Aunt Gertrude took one shocked look at the dirty urchins, then set her jaw firmly. “March them right up to the bathroom and get them cleaned up!” she ordered. “Soap and plenty of hot water—but don't use the good guest towels! Chet, you're staying too, of course, so you can help.”

Grinning, the older boys obeyed. By the time dinner was served, their three young charges had been scrubbed until they glowed, and their hair combed neatly. Mr. Hardy, meanwhile, had arrived from the airport. He was somewhat astonished at the array of guests but made no comment.

When Aunt Gertrude saw how the youngsters, once their shyness had worn off, attacked their plates of delicious hot roast beef and mashed potatoes, she beamed with pride. “Well,” she murmured across the table to her brother, “at least they know what to do with good food.”

Later, as they waited for Miss Hardy to serve dessert, the detective said to Frank and Joe:

“The FBI's becoming more and more concerned about these industrial thefts. That code message you picked up may be a real lead. Before we talk about it, though, how are you two crook-chasers making out on the Batter case?”

Mr. Hardy's words seemed to have an electric effect on Jimmy Gordon. His eyes blazed. “Crook-chasers? Batter case?” He glared at Frank and Joe. “So it's just like I thought—you two are nothing but stooges for the cops!”

Almost knocking over his chair, he sprang up and darted for the door with a wave to Mike and Tommy. “Come on! This whole deal's some kind of a dirty frame-up! Scram, guys—scram!”

THE Hardy boys acted fast and managed to restrain Mike and Tommy before they could leave the table. But Jimmy was already streaking into the hallway. Aunt Gertrude, however, had heard the uproar from the kitchen and took prompt action.

She darted into the hall, snatched an umbrella from the closet, and charged aftei him. As Jimmy yanked open the front door, she snagged his arm with the crook of the umbrella.

“Stop right there, young man! I want to have a word with you!”

Jimmy was about to flare back, bu one glimpse of Aunt Gertrude's wrathful expression changed his mind. “Let me go!” he whined.

“Don't talk back to me, you imp! Just where did you leave your manners? Get to the table this instant!”

There was a chuckle from Fenton Hardy. “Better do as she says.”

Scowling, with his lower lip outthrust, Jimmy plodded sullenly back to the dining room.

“Sorry if I frightened you lads,” Mr. Hardy said, resuming his place at the table. “Didn't Frank and Joe mention that I'm a private investigator?” The youngsters shook their heads.

“And the Batter case has nothing to do with you, Jimmy,” put in Frank. “Your aunt asked Joe and me to recover some stuffed animals that were stolen from the auction at your uncle's place.”

Jimmy gave the Hardy boys a surprised stare. “Is that why you were nosing around out there?”

“Right,” Joe acknowledged. “The thieves' getaway car grazed a tree and we were checking the bark for paint traces.”

“Hey! That's keen!” said Mike.

Tommy murmured, “Private eyes!” His blue ones were big with amazement.

“Now that that's settled, let's get on with the apple pie à la mode,” Frank said, grinning.

By the time dessert was finished, even Jimmy looked relaxed and heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction. Chet took the youngsters out to his taxidermy workshop and offered to give them lessons in preparing stuffed animals. All three promised to come back the next day. “You can help me mount my deer's head, too,” Chet added.

“My uncle Elly did a lot of that kind of work,” Jimmy said. “There's still some stuffed animals over at the house.” Frank and Joe traded startled looks.

Chet finally left in his jalopy. Jimmy and his two pals got into the Hardy boys' convertible and were driven home.

After Mike and Tommy had been dropped at their doors, Jimmy murmured:

“That guy you were chasing today-I know him.”

“You
know
him?” Joe exclaimed in surprise.

Jimmy nodded. “I got a look at his face when he ran in the ten-cent store. His name's Moran—Soapy Moran. He used to work for Uncle Elly.”

“What sort of work?” Frank asked.

“Nothing much—odd jobs, running errands.”

A moment later Jimmy pointed ahead to a shabby tenement building. “Here's my place.”

The convertible drew up to the curb and the freckle-faced boy climbed out. Frank said, “Will your mother be home by now?”

“Sure, the light's on, up there in our window. Thanks for the swell feed.”

Joe waved. “Don't mention it. See you tomorrow!”

As the brothers drove off, Joe turned to Frank. “Does it strike you as odd that this Soapy Moran should have been connected with Elias Batter?”

“It sure does,” Frank agreed. “I'd say it's no coincidence. That whole business about the dead deer may have been just a cover-up.”

“A cover-up for what?”

Frank shook his head helplessly. “Search me. Maybe just an excuse for snooping around our place.”

Joe gave a startled whistle. “If you're right, then he may be a member of the gang—or at least. a pal of those two auction thieves!”

“Could be. And speaking of the auction thieves, do you remember what Jimmy said about more stuffed animals at the house?”

“Yes, I've been wondering about them. Seems funny they weren't auctioned off.”

“Not only that,” Frank pointed out, “but the thieves may not even know about them. If we could see them, they might give us a clue to what was so valuable about the other animals—the ones that were stolen.”

Joe was excited over this possibility. “Let's drive out to Batter's house right now and take a look at them. We could borrow Jimmy's key.”

“I think we should get permission first.”

“Okay, let's stop somewhere and phone. We can probably find Crowell's home number in the book.”