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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

The Short-Wave Mystery (9 page)

BOOK: The Short-Wave Mystery
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“That reminds me, Dad,” Joe put in, “do you recall a robbery a few years ago at the Crescent Jewelry Store?” He related what Jimmy Gordon had said about the suspicion against his uncle.
“Hmm. It comes back to me vaguely,” Mr. Hardy replied. “A valuable diamond necklace was taken—a necklace with perfectly matched pear-shaped stones. The case was never solved.”
Joe gave a low, excited whistle and Fenton Hardy narrowed his eyes shrewdly. “You think the necklace may have something to do with those animals that were stolen from the auction?”
“It's a possibility, Dad,” Frank spoke up. “If the crooks thought Batter still had the stones, they might figure one of his stuffed animals would be a likely hiding place.”
Joe added, “They might even
know
he had the stones—especially if they were on the robbery with him. What's more, Batter told Jimmy that he had something secret hidden away, something that was ‘worth plenty,' and he wanted Jimmy to have it if anything happened to him.”
“Hidden in the house?” Mr. Hardy asked.
“I guess so, but Jimmy doesn't know. His uncle apparently intended to tell him, but they never saw each other again before Batter died.”
Reaching Elm Street, Frank garaged the car and they went into the house. Aunt Gertrude was testing a roast chicken in the oven.
“Humph! About time you three were getting home!” she said severely. “I was beginning to think this bird might go to waste.”
“No danger.” Fenton Hardy grinned. “If the boys aren't hungry, I'll eat it all myself.”
“Who said we aren't hungry?” Joe retorted, sniffing the delicious aroma. “Mmm! Aunt Gertrude, you sure know how to cook poultry.”
“Never mind buttering me up,” she said. “You boys had a phone call, by the way.”
“From whom, Aunty?” Frank inquired.
“That lawyer, J. Sylvester Crowell. Said he'd be in this office till six, and if he didn't hear from you, he might call back this evening.”
Joe snapped his fingers eagerly. “Maybe he's been in touch with Mrs. Batter!”
“There's still time to reach him,” Frank said, glancing at the clock. “Let's try.”
The boys hurried to the telephone and Frank dialed the attorney. Crowell himself answered.
“I called in regard to your request to visit the Batter house,” he told Frank.
“You've spoken to Mrs. Batter about it?”
“Yes. She thinks it very unlikely that you can gain any dues from the remaining stuffed animals. However, she's willing to have you take a look at them—on condition that you don't disturb anything else in the house.”
“Of course not,” Frank promised. “When could we go over?”
“It would have to be tonight, I'm afraid. Mrs. Batter is only back in town for one day, and she's leaving again in the morning to visit her sister.” Crowell added that the boys would have to pick up the key at Mrs. Batter's apartment, and gave her address.
“Right, sir,” Frank said, jotting it down. “We'll stop there about a quarter to eight.”
Mrs. Batter received the boys with a cold, beady-eyed stare. “Just what is it you expect to find?” she demanded.
Frank smiled and shrugged. “Maybe nothing. But if there's anything special about the stuffed animals your husband made, the ones still at the house may give us a clue.”
“What do you mean by ‘anything special'?”
“If we knew the answer to that,” said Joe, “we'd probably have this case solved.”
“You certainly don't seem to be making much progress,” the widow snapped. “However, if you think it'll do any good, go ahead and look. The electricity is still on. But I shall expect to have the key back tonight. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mrs. Batter,” Frank said.
As the boys drove away, Joe grumbled, “You'd think she was doing us a favor!”
Frank chuckled. “Maybe she is, if this trip helps us turn up any clue to Jimmy's treasure.”
The temperature had dropped sharply since sunset, and the boys drove with their convertible top raised and the heater on. Joe noticed his brother watching the rear-view mirror. “What's the matter? Someone on our tail?”
“I thought so for a while,” Frank said. “Guess I was mistaken, though.”
On Hill Road they turned up the gravel driveway to the Batter house and climbed out of their car. The boys mounted the porch and Frank inserted the key in the front-door lock. The door creaked open. Both Hardys switched on flashlights and probed the darkness until Joe located a wall switch. The blaze of light revealed a huge, drafty hallway with a winding staircase at the far end.
“Let's take a look upstairs first,” Frank suggested.
“Okay.” The boys could see their breath in the chilly atmosphere. The wind outside echoed through the house and rattled the shutters.
On the second floor the young sleuths moved from room to room, playing their flashlight beams into each one. All seemed bare and empty except for worn carpeting and a few items of old furniture.
“It would sure take more than one evening to tap for hollow walls and check the flooring in a house this size,” Joe murmured.
Frank nodded gloomily. “We'll just have to keep our eyes open for anything unusual.”
One room with a workbench and a musty odor appeared to have been Batter's taxidermy shop. A scarred desk stood in one corner. Joe pulled open the drawers. They seemed to contain only odds and ends, such as old receipted bills.
“Let's go through these papers before we leave,” Frank said, “to be sure we don't miss anything.”
The attic and downstairs rooms were also largely empty. At the rear, the boys discovered what might have been intended originally as a game room. Mounted heads of a deer, a moose, a rhinoceros, and a Canada lynx glared eerily from the walls.
On the dusty fireplace mantel were a stuffed owl and a snake. Joe picked up the latter. On its wooden base was a metal plate which read:
 
SPECKLED KING SNAKE
MOUNTED BY D. CARSON
“D. Carson,” Joe muttered. “Who's he?”
“Some pal of Batter's, I suppose,” Frank said.
The owl and rhinoceros had similar plates. Seeing none on the deer, Frank lifted it down from the wall. “This must be Batter's work. Let's see if we can find anything unusual about it.”
The boys examined the head carefully. Several fine puncture marks were clearly visible around the muzzle and eyes. As Joe fingered among the fine hairs, he discovered other holes. “Looks as if someone's been probing it with a hatpin.”
“Probably Mrs. Batter!” Frank exclaimed. “She must suspect the same thing we do—that her husband hid something in one of the—”
A weird shriek from outside startled the boys.
“Good night!” said Joe. “That wasn't the wind, was it?”
As if in answer came another wailing cry, then another.
“Those are human voices!” Frank exclaimed. “Out in back somewhere!”
It was impossible to see anything from the windows. The boys dashed into the hallway, then through the kitchen to the back door. As they stepped onto the open rear porch, both aimed their flashlights beams into the darkness.
Joe started to say, “Do you hear anyth—” But his voice choked off as something struck him a hard blow on the back of the head!
Frank turned and saw his brother crumple. Then he, too, was struck down from behind!
CHAPTER XI
Night Alarm
WHEN Frank opened his eyes, he was still lying on the porch. His head throbbed and he was chilled to the bone. Suddenly he saw his brother's still figure. Frank raised himself.
“Joe! Joe, are you all right?”
The only response was a faint moan, but after Frank had shaken him, his brother's eyes opened. “L-l-leapin' lizards! What happened?”
“Someone conked us. Can you stand up?”
“Sure, I guess so.” Stiffly the boys struggled to their feet. Joe shook his head. “Whew! We sure walked into a trap!”
“You can say that again,” Frank agreed wryly. “Those spooky wails we heard were just a trick to get us out here. The guys who beaned us must have been waiting right outside the door.”
Joe cast an anxious glance toward the lighted windows. “What do you suppose they were after?”
“Don't know. But I could sure make a guess!”
Impelled by the same thought, the boys reentered the house cautiously. No one was in sight and there was not a sound. As they came into the game room, Joe gave a gasp of dismay.
“The stuffed animals are gone!”
“Not all of them,” Frank said. The rhinoceros head, owl, and snake had not been taken.
Joe surveyed the remaining specimens with a look of gloomy satisfaction. “Well, at least this proves our theory. They took only the animals Batter himself had stuffed, so they're definitely looking for something he stashed inside one of them.”
Frank nodded. “We'd better notify the police.”
“I'll call them on our short-wave.” Joe hurried out to the boys' convertible. The police operator promised to send a prowl car.
When Joe returned to the house, his brother was coming down the staircase. “The animals weren't all they took,” Frank said.
“What else?”
“They rifled Batter's desk and stole all the papers from the drawers.'
“I don't get it,” Joe said, puzzled. “If they were after something hidden in the animals, why bother with papers?”
Frank shook his head, equally mystified. “I don't get it, either.”
The police car soon arrived. Two officers took down the boys' story and made a brief search, but found no traces left by the thieves. “You fellows feel well enough to go home alone?” one officer asked.
“Sure, we're okay,” Frank said. “Just a couple of lumps on our heads.”
“Let's hope we don't wind up with any more when we tell Mrs. Batter what happened,” Joe said ruefully. “We have to return her key.”
The widow seemed less upset by the news than the Hardys had feared. “I doubt that what the sneaks got will be worth much,” she scoffed.
“Maybe their first haul, from the auction, wasn't worth much, either,” Frank said, “and that's why they came back for a second try.”
Mrs. Batter's green eyes narrowed. She started to say something, then seemed to check herself. “Humph! Well, don't expect me to pay any medical bills!” she snapped. “What happened was your own fault.”
As the Hardys left in their convertible, Joe said, “I'll bet she did that probing with a hatpin, all right. That's why she didn't get much worked up about this theft.”
Frank grinned dryly. “She's satisfied there was nothing in the heads—but she still doesn't want to talk about it.”
They were just pulling up their driveway when Frank slammed on the brakes. The beam from their headlights showed Chet's stuffed aardvark lying in front of the garage!
“What's that doing out here?” Joe exclaimed. Both boys jumped from the car. The kitchen was ablaze with light. Sensing something wrong, Frank and Joe dashed inside.
Aunt Gertrude was seated at the table, sipping tea. “Well!” She sniffed. “Too bad you weren't here five minutes ago when I needed you.”
“What happened, Aunty?” Frank demanded.
Miss Hardy explained that their father had gone to see Sam Radley, his chief operative. She herself had dozed off in front of the TV set. Suddenly she had been awakened by a noise at the back of the house. When she went to investigate, she had glimpsed a prowler in the garage.
BOOK: The Short-Wave Mystery
6.4Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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