The Twisted Claw (6 page)

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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: The Twisted Claw
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Fenton Hardy and Frank arrived in Bayport in the early afternoon. Joe had just come home and was in the study with Chet.
“Hi!” Chet greeted them. “Heard you had a run-in with the museum thieves.”
“And they won,” Frank replied ruefully.
“By the way,” Joe said, “Sam Radley telephoned from California. He had trouble getting an airline reservation and won't be here till tomorrow morning.”
At Joe's request, Frank repeated the story about the robbery. Then he produced the piece of rope he had found on the floor of the storeroom.
“Looks like ordinary rope to me,” Chet muttered.
“It does,” Frank agreed. “My guess is that it's part of the rope the thieves must have used to tie up the loot. But here's what I find particularly interesting. Notice that it's neatly spliced.”
Joe shrugged his shoulders. “So what?”
“Doesn't it suggest anything to you?” Frank questioned.
Suddenly Joe's eyes lit up. “Oh, I get it. Experienced sailors are usually good at splicing ropes. Maybe the crew of the
Black Parrot
have been committing the robberies!”
“Could be,” said Mr. Hardy. “But I have a hunch that they're only involved in transporting the loot.”
Frank agreed. “The thefts seem to be the work of a skilled gang.”
Joe eagerly suggested that they try again to investigate the
Black Parrot.
Their father was reluctant. He warned the boys that they would surely be recognized by the captain and most of the crew.
“We won't attempt to board the ship,” Frank explained. “We'll observe it from a distance. With luck, we might pick up some useful information.”
There was a long pause. “All right, I'll go along with your plan,” Mr. Hardy said finally. “But you must be extremely careful.”
“We will,” Frank promised.
Joe was jubilant. But an instant later his enthusiasm disappeared. “Wait a minute. We've overlooked something. Where do we find the
Black Parrot?”
“I have a hunch that the ship will be back at the East Coast sooner or later,” Frank said. “Let's try all the ports up to Canada.”
During the next few days the Hardys checked the shipping schedules in the newspapers, and kept in constant contact with the various harbor authorities. A week went by before Frank's prediction proved to be correct.
“You were right!” Joe said. “The
Black Parrot
is due to dock at Stormwell again day after tomorrow.”
“We'll leave for Canada in the morning,” Frank decided. “Too bad we can't use Dad's plane. But Jack's flying him to Philadelphia tomorrow. He wants to have another talk with Watkins.”
Chet needed no persuading to go along. They arrived at their destination late the following afternoon and checked in at a hotel near Stormwell.
“How about something to eat?” Chet suggested.
“Okay,” Frank answered, smiling. “I noticed a dining room just off the lobby.”
“So did I,” the stout youth admitted.
“You didn't expect Chet to miss any spot where food is served,” Joe said to his brother jokingly. “He has a built-in compass that would lead him to all the restaurants within fifty miles.”
“Cut it out, fellows,” Chet said.
They entered the dining room and sat down at a table. A waiter handed each of them a menu. While they were trying to decide what to order, Frank could not help overhearing a conversation between two men sitting at an adjacent table.
“The
Black Parrot
wasn't due in till tomorrow,” one of them said angrily. “So what happens? The ship shows up a couple of hours ago. It's forcing me to rearrange my docking schedule.”
“I don't like those
Parrot
ships, anyway,” the other man commented. “There's something strange about them. Wish they'd stay away from Stormwell.”
“Luckily the
Black Parrot
won't be in port long. It isn't picking up much cargo, and the crew looked as if they were in a big hurry to get underway again.”
Frank leaped to his feet. Followed by Joe and Chet, he rushed past the startled waiter and out of the restaurant.
The hotel manager quickly secured a rental car, and the boys headed for the docks.
As they approached the waterfront, Joe pointed toward the pier. “There she is! What's that they're hauling aboard?”
“Looks like a pile of logs,” Chet said. “I'd say about a dozen.”
Frank's attention was focused on a flatbed truck from which the cargo was being lifted. On the side of the vehicle was the name
Norland Lumber Company, Cloud Lake, Canada.
The boys watched as the logs were lowered into the hold of the
Black Parrot.
Then crewmen began to scurry around the deck. Shortly the ship's engines rumbled and a boiling caldron of foamy water appeared at the stern.
“That was a short visit,” Chet muttered as he and the Hardys watched the freighter glide away from the pier.
“Odd,” Joe remarked. “Why would the ship come here just to pick up a dozen logs?”
Frank's thoughts were elsewhere at the moment. “Norland Lumber Company,” he said to himself. “This might be worth investigating.”
The boys saw two men climb into the truck and drive off.
“What do you make of it?” Joe asked.
“I'm not sure yet,” Frank said. “But right now, I think we'd better check out that lumber company.”
After returning to the hotel, Frank phoned the local police.
“Yes. I can tell you something about the Norland firm,” an officer said in response to his question. Actually, it's a lumber mill. I hear it may close down.”
“Where is it located?”
“Thirty miles northwest of here—just off the Old Pine Road.”
“Thank you,” Frank said. He hung up and turned to his companions. “Let's drive out to the mill.”
“But it'll be dark when we get there,” Joe pointed out.
“I know, but time is important.”
They hurried to the car and started off. The Old Pine Road was unpaved and driving was difficult.
Suddenly the car began to wobble. Frank stopped and jumped out. Seconds later he gave a cry of dismay, “We have a flat!”
“Great!” Joe muttered in disgust. “Just what we need!”
He and Chet helped Frank to take out the spare tire. While Frank jacked up the car, Chet flopped down on the spare.
Pffft!
The tire collapsed under his weight.
“Oh, nol” Joe shook his head. “The spare's no good!”
“We're stuck,” Frank admitted. He furrowed his brow. “The mill can't be more than a mile from here. Let's walk.”
Chet did not think much of this suggestion, but he did not want to stay in the car, either. “I'd better go along,” he mumbled. “Somebody has to see to it that you guys don't get into trouble!”
The trio trudged on. Darkness had settled over the trees and progress was slow.
Joe took out his flashlight and scanned the area. “Look,” he said. “Tire tracksl”
“They were made by a heavy truck,” Frank concluded. “Like the one we saw at the pier.”
He motioned Joe and Chet to halt, and listened intently.
“What's the matter?” Joe whispered after a few minutes of tense silence.
“I thought I heard something in the underbrush.”
“Like what, for instance?” Chet quavered.
Frank shone his light at the trees, but all was still. “Maybe it was just a squirrel.”
“I think we should wait till tomorrow,” Chet suggested. “This looks like trouble!”
“Why don't you walk back to the car and Joe and I'll go alone,” Frank said.
Chet shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “No,” he said. “I'll come with you.”
Proceeding cautiously, they finally spotted a small group of wooden buildings ahead. Light came from a window in one of them.
“That must be the mill,” Joe whispered. Frank nodded, then signaled to his brother and Chet to follow.
All at once the ground gave way beneath them. A split second later the boys plunged into a deep hole!
CHAPTER VIII
Fire!
THE boys lay stunned. Shortly, beams of light pierced the darkness from the rim of the hole above.
“We have visitors,” a man's voice snarled.
“Three, to be exact,” said another.
“Who are you?” Frank demanded as he struggled to his feet.
There was no response. Instead, a rope was tossed down into the hole.
“Start climbin' out of there!” one of the men ordered. “And don't try anythin'. We're armed.”
Frank helped his brother and Chet to their feet. Then they hoisted themselves up out of the hole. The boys could only make out the vague images of three men holding pistols and powerful flashlights.
“Now talk!” one of the men growled. “What're you kids doin' here?”
“Sightseeing,” Chet said innocently.
“The fat one's a comedian!” the fellow boomed. “He won't think it's so funny when we throw them back in the hole.”
They stepped closer and the tallest of the three stared at Frank and Joe. “I recognize these two!” he shouted. “They were taken off the
Black Parrot
by policemen in Stormwell.”
“They're snoopers!” the man to his right exclaimed nervously. “We'd better get outta here. They might be workin' for the police!”
“Okay. But first, let's take these kids to the shack and tie ‘em up. We don't want 'em trailin' us.”
The Hardys and Chet were herded to one of the wooden structures and shoved inside. Then their arms and legs were tightly bound with ropes. When the job was finished, the three men left. For a few seconds they stood outside talking in the dark.
Joe rolled over and pressed an ear to the wall.
“What'll we do now?” one man whispered.
“Head for Port Manthon. The
Yellow Parrot's
docked there for repairs,” said another. “We'll board it and sail out of the country. Let's get the truck. We can make it in three or four hours if we hurry.”
When they moved on, Joe excitedly relayed the conversation.
Frank said, “Port Manthon is about a hundred miles farther up the coast. If only we could get loose and—” His words were interrupted by the sound of a truck's engine being started.
“They're leaving!” declared Joe.
As the men drove off, a shower of glowing carbon sparks spouted from the vehicle's exhaust pipe. The red-hot particles landed in some dry brush. Smoke appeared, then flames.
Unaware of what was happening, the boys tried to free themselves.
Chet suddenly yelled, “I smell smoke!”
“So do I!” Joe said.
“Fire!” exclaimed Frank.
Outside, the flames were spreading at a furious rate. Soon the boys could feel the heat radiating through the thin, wooden walls of the shack.
“We've got to get out of here!” Joe cried. He rolled across the floor toward the door of the structure and kicked it open. “Come on!” he urged his companions.
Frank and Chet quickly followed. Outside, Joe found the sharp edge of a partially embedded rock and used it to cut the ropes binding him. Then he freed the others.
The boys looked around in horror. They were completely encircled by a raging inferno. The heat was almost unbearable.
“We're done for!” Chet shouted.
“The mill is beginning to catch fire!” Frank cried.
Desperately the Hardys sought some means of escape. There was none!
Then Joe grabbed his brother's arm. “Listen!”
A flapping noise came from the distance. As the sound grew louder, they looked up to see a Royal Canadian Air Force helicopter hovering overhead.
“Wh-what's going on?” Chet stammered weakly.
“We're getting out of here!” Frank shouted to him.
The boys waved their arms wildly. A rescue sling was lowered from the chopper, and, one by one, they were hoisted aboard.
Then the craft hovered over the site of the fire, pouring ribbons of white foam on the blaze. Another helicopter joined it, and together they extinguished the fire.
“We reached you just in time,” said one of the crew members. “What were you fellows doing in the middle of a forest fire?”
The Hardys told him what had happened. They said that they were not sure how the fire had started.
“Perhaps one of the men threw a match, either carelessly or intentionally, on the dry brush,” Frank concluded.
“Looks that way,” the crew member agreed. “Anyway, the glow was sighted all the way from Stormwell. We were asked to help.”
After several minutes the helicopter landed on a small airfield well beyond the scene of the fire. Provincial police were on hand when they arrived. The young sleuths identified themselves and repeated their story.
“What you fellows told us fits in with an arrest we made an hour ago,” explained one of the officers. “Three men were stopped for speeding outside of Stormwell in a truck. I recognized two of them as being wanted for larceny and fraud. They're already on their way to Montreal for questioning.”
Then Frank, Joe, and Chet were driven back to their hotel. They had a quick meal, after which Frank placed a telephone call to his father. Mr. Hardy listened to his sons' adventure with great interest.
“You've really come up with something,” he said. “I'll have Jack fly me to Montreal tomorrow. I want to interrogate these three men.”

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