“Fellows, please go away from here. It’s awful dangerous,” Willy pleaded.
At that moment there was a noise in the underbrush. The four boys ducked out of sight while Willy walked nonchalantly toward the sound. Mike Shannon stepped from the brush. The two merely exchanged nods; then, as Willy Teeple hastened back along the mountain trail, Mike climbed up the spikes of the lookout tree.
“What do we do about this guy?” muttered Biff.
“Nothing yet,” said Frank. “We still don’t want to alert the baron.”
“I think we can trust Willy Teeple,” Joe said. “He’s in the gang’s clutches, for sure.”
The four boys set off once more in search of a clue which might lead them to Rosy. As they headed down the opposite slope, Biff, who was in the lead, broke into a trot. Joe was close behind him. Suddenly Biff let out a cry of alarm and disappeared before Joe’s eyes!
CHAPTER XVI
Lower Than Pigs
JOE checked his speed just in time to keep from falling into a deep pit. Biff lay moaning at the bottom of the hole.
Frank and Tony ran to help Joe pull Biff out.
“Ow! My left ankle! It’s broken!”
Frank quickly examined the injury. “It could be, but I think it’s only a bad sprain. Here, try to stand.” Biff made the attempt, winced, and nearly fell down.
“Somebody pulled a dirty trick,” Joe said.
The boys found that the freshly dug pit had been covered with boughs and a strip of tar paper, over which pine needles had been scattered.
Frank surmised that they probably were pretty close to Rosy, and that the trap had been placed there to discourage the curious.
After a hurried consultation, it was decided to get Biff back to Bayport as soon as possible.
“We’ll have you flown from the Boonton Airport,” Joe said. “Phil can go with you. Here, Biff, put an arm around my shoulder.”
With Frank and Joe on either side of their injured pal, Biff hobbled as fast he could. Occasionally Tony spelled each of the Hardys, until they reached the road leading to Boonton. It was gravelly and barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass.
“We might have to wait all day for a lift,” Biff said, discouraged. Frank examined the injured ankle once more. It was so swollen that Frank removed the work boot. As he did, the sound of wheels drifted from around a bend in the road, and into view came a horse pulling a wagon loaded with pigs.
The driver, obviously a farmer, stopped when the boys hailed him. He was tall and gaunt, showing a thin, weather-beaten face in the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat.
“Going to Boonton?” Joe asked.
“Yep.”
“Would you give us a lift? Biff here is injured. Sprained his ankle.”
“Ain’t room enough.”
“Please, Mr.—”
“Teeple’s the name.” The man tilted his hat and jerked a thumb toward his pigs. “I’m going to market. Got a full load.”
Frank tried a long shot. “Are you Willy Teeple’s father?”
The question caught the man by surprise. “You know my son?”
“Sure, he works for the baron!”
“You in that gang too?” the farmer asked, frightened, and Frank saw he was about to put the whip to the horse.
“Wait, Mr. Teeple. No, we don’t work for the baron, but we heard about him, on the road job. Do you know who the baron is, and where he hides out?”
The farmer grew agitated. “All I can say is the baron’s a bad man. I don’t know what he’s done to my Willy. But terrible things have been happening. Okay, the three of you get in back with the pigs. I’ll take the injured lad up front with me.”
Frank, Joe, and Tony pushed Biff up onto the seat beside Willy’s father. Then they jumped in with the pigs, and the wagon started toward Boonton.
“What are you boys doing here?” the farmer asked. “It’s dangerous.”
“Willy told us that,” Frank said. “We’re looking for Rosy.”
“The devil himself makes that fire!” the farmer exclaimed. On further questioning, he told the boys that several people, who had ventured near it, had vanished. “Including a detective!”
Before Frank could ask another question, a jeep appeared over the brow of a rolling hill, a mile away. Joe whipped the binoculars to his eyes.
“Here comes trouble. Four rough-looking customers and I’ll bet they’re the baron’s men.”
“We’ll have to hide among the pigs,” Frank said. He grabbed Biff by the shoulders and pulled him into the back of the wagon. Then the four companions lay flat, with the pigs snorting and grunting and stepping over them with their cloven hoofs.
“This isn’t exactly a perfume factory,” Joe remarked.
“Quiet,” Frank whispered. “Here comes the car.”
With screeching brakes, the jeep came to a stop, alongside the farmer’s wagon.
“Hey, you! We’re looking for four guys. Have you seen ’em?”
“What you say?”
“We’re looking for four of our road crew. They’ve stolen the payroll!”
“Hay what?”
“Oh, he’s deaf,” one of the men growled. “Let’s go.”
The jeep roared off, and when it was out of sight, the youths crawled from under the pigs.
“Thanks, Mr. Teeple!” Frank said. “That was a close call for us. And we’re not thieves.”
“I know it.”
The wagon crossed a small brook and stopped so the boys could wash and bathe Biff’s swollen ankle in the cold water. When they finally arrived at the airport, the Hardys and their pals thanked the farmer.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Teeple,” Frank said. “Your son is okay. We’re going to try to help him! But don’t say a word about this to anybody.”
The farmer promised and the hitchhikers got out, assisting Biff gingerly into the terminal building. Joe immediately phoned Phil, asking him to check out of the hotel and hurry to the airport. Then the starved boys went to the lunch counter.
By the time they had finished three hamburgers apiece, Phil Cohen stepped out of a taxi and ran to greet them. After hearing their story, he said, “I’ve got some news, too.”
Phil reported spying on four suspicious men staying at his hotel. “I heard them giving the password ‘helix’ to the bellman,” he said, and pulled a sketch from his pocket. It showed the faces of the four men.
“I think they’re the ones who were in the jeep,” said Joe. He took the sketch for future reference.
When Phil heard he was to accompany Biff back to Bayport, he asked, “What do we do for money?”
“Fly now, pay later.” Frank chuckled, and hurried away to convince a charter pilot that Radley would pay the bill at Bayport.
After the two boys had winged off, Frank, Joe, and Tony went directly to the Boonton police station. There they inquired whether Yancy had had any visitors at the hospital. A lieutenant named Murphy reported that Yancy had had but one visitor—a seedy fellow who looked harmless enough. “Claimed to be a distant cousin.”
“Did you put a tail on him?” asked Tony.
Murphy said a patrolman had shadowed the man as far as a shack at the outskirts of Boonton. “It convinced us that he was just a drifter,” Murphy continued, “so we didn’t bother any further.”
The boys thanked the officer, got directions to the shack, and hastened to find it. It was located not far from the town dump, and was constructed of old planks and wooden packing cases. The makeshift roof, of corrugated tin, was full of holes.
The trio approached the rickety door of the windowless shelter. Frank listened. Silence. He opened it quietly and the three stepped inside.
“This isn’t exactly the Waldorf-Astoria,” Tony said with a chuckle. The shack was littered with empty bottles, tin cans, and stacks of old newspapers.
Frank and Joe immediately poked about the debris, looking for a clue to the mystery man. On the floor, poking out from under a moldy mattress, was a handle
of a brief case. As Joe bent down to reach for it, footsteps sounded outside.
“He’s coming back,” Frank whispered. “Duck!”
The boys hid behind a stack of cartons and listened. The footsteps came closer, then circled the shack. Finally the door opened slowly.
“Oh boy!” a childish voice sang out. “He’s not here today, either.”
“Now we can play detective club again,” a second voice chimed in.
Frank, Joe, and Tony stepped out from behind the boxes to see two young boys peering inside. They cried out with fright, turned, and fled.
“Come back here,” Joe called. “We’re not going to hurt you!”
The youngsters stopped, then hesitatingly returned. “You aren’t robbers or anything?” asked the older one, who was about ten.
“Of course not,” said Joe. “Say, what are your names?”
The older boy was Andy Pulaski; the other, three years younger, was Rick. “We’re brothers and we live on Church Street,” declared Andy. He said they often came to the shack to play, but a rough-looking man had scared them away several times.
“He’s a bum!” Rick said, nodding his head vigorously. “I can tell, ’cause he doesn’t shave.”
“Well, you can play here all you want,” said Frank. He reached down and pulled the brief case from under the mattress. Then, leaving the boys to their fun, the young sleuths hastened away.
In the seclusion of a grove of trees, Frank and Joe stopped to examine the brief case, while Tony looked on.
Both sides were scorched and charred, and the place where initials would normally be imprinted was covered with dried mud.
Frank took out his knife and scraped away the crusty dirt. The initials showed up clearly—F.H.!
CHAPTER XVII
Dangerous Terrain
“DAD’s brief case!” Joe exclaimed. He opened it and looked inside. The case was empty, except for a gritty white substance in the bottom.
“Limestone!” Frank said, “Come on, fellows.”
On the double he led them back to the shack, where the two Pulaski youngsters were playing. Frank asked more questions about the man who had chased them away, but the children were vague in their descriptions.
“When he yelled ‘Scram,’ Rick and I just ran,” Andy said.
“He scared me,” Rick added. “I didn’t look back.”
Joe produced the sketches which Phil Cohen had made. “Did that fellow look like any of these?” he asked.
The children looked at the sketches and shook their heads.
“Well, if he comes back and chases you away again,” Frank said, “please tell us. We’ll be staying at the Eagle Hotel. Ask for Frank, Joe, or Tony.”
“Are you detectives?” asked Andy.
“Sort of,” said Joe.
“Gee, we’d like to know how to be real detectives,” said Rick. “Will you show us someday?”
“Maybe,” Joe replied. “See you later.”
Leaving the boys, Frank, Joe, and Tony made their way back to town. First, they stopped at the police station to report to Lieutenant Murphy what they had found and to leave the brief case there for safekeeping.
The lieutenant made a note of their investigation, saying he would be on the lookout for the vagrant. He added, “Maybe the old geezer found your father’s brief case somewhere. Doesn’t mean he stole it.”
Frank agreed that they should not jump to conclusions, but said he still believed that the shack dweller must be considered a suspect.
“And what about this light in the sky called Rosy?” Joe asked.
“Oh, that,” Murphy said with a shrug. “I’ve never seen it myself. Who knows what to believe?” Chuckling, he added, “These hill folks tell some awful tall tales.”
Frank told the police officer that they would be staying at the Eagle Hotel, in case any new leads turned up.
The boys went directly to the hotel, located two blocks from the station house. It was an old frame building with a small lobby. The boys registered as Frank Brown, Joe Jones, and Tony Wilson and paid in advance for one night’s lodging.
“No bags?” the clerk asked.
“We’re traveling light,” Frank replied.
The clerk summoned the bellman, a stoop-shouldered and shifty-eyed individual. He led the boys to a room on the second floor, in which there were twin beds and a cot. After showing them the bath, the man left.
Meanwhile, the three boys plopped into their beds. But the next instant Frank jumped up and said, “There’s something I forgot to ask Murphy.” He went to the telephone and had a call put through to the lieutenant. Frank questioned him about limestone deposits in the area. He was told that there undoubtedly were some in the caves and in a natural bridge deep in the woods.
“But nobody goes there,” the officer said.
“Why?”
“Dangerous terrain.”
Frank was about to quiz Murphy further, when he heard heavy breathing on the line. Quickly he thanked the lieutenant and hung up.
“An eavesdropper!” Frank said.
“The bellman, I’ll bet,” Tony exclaimed. “Phil warned us about him.”
Joe bolted the door lock, while Frank switched on an antique radio atop the bureau. A shrill jazz tune welled up.
“Nobody can overhear us now,” Tony said. “Where do we go from here, fellows?”
“Find Rosy,” Frank said promptly. “If we do, I’m convinced we’ll also find the baron. My guess is he’s behind that black magic.”
“First, I want a good, hot bath,” Joe said, stripping off his clothes.
He was in and out of the tub quickly. Tony followed. By the time Frank had finished toweling himself and stepped back into the bedroom, both Joe and Tony were sleeping soundly. Frank, too, stretched out, and despite the late-afternoon sunlight streaming in, he fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.
The boys awakened to find it dark outside. Tony checked his watch. “Nine-thirty! Did we ever need that sleep!” he said.
“And I could use some chow, too,” Joe declared.
They dressed and were about to leave when Frank suggested he and Joe take along the short-wave, the binoculars, and the rope. “Just in case somebody breaks in,” he said.
As the boys walked through the lobby, they noticed the bellman, his head tilted forward, apparently dozing. He did not stir as the trio passed. They found a diner several doors from the hotel, and had a hearty, though inexpensive meal.
“How’s our money holding out?” Joe asked as Frank paid the bill.
“For payroll robbers we’re pretty broke,” Frank quipped, then added seriously, “It’s time we phoned Radley.”
On the street once more, the sleuths found a public booth and Frank called Sam’s number collect. Radley was not home, but his wife accepted the charges. She said that her husband had gone to the airport and met Biff and Phil. An examination by a doctor showed that Biff had, indeed, suffered a severe sprain.
The woman reported that Mr. Hardy continued to gain strength, but it would take time to overcome his lapse of memory.
“Your mother and Aunt Gertrude are fine,” Mrs. Radley added. “Any message for them?”
“Tell them we’re okay,” Frank replied. “Thanks, and good night, Mrs. Radley.”
Back at the hotel, the boys went quietly to their room. Frank turned the key, opened the door, stepped inside, and switched on the light. As he did, something white appeared from under the connecting door of the adjoining room.
Joe leaped to snatch it up. “A message!” he said, unfolding the sheet of paper. He read it aloud:
“‘Get out! This is your last warning!’ and signed ‘the baron’!” Joe held out the paper and they all saw beneath the name the now-familiar spiral sign.
Before the Hardys could stop him, Tony rushed out into the hall. In two strides he reached the adjoining room and tried the door. It was not locked, and he pushed it open. The room was pitch-dark. The light from the hallway fa
iled to show any occupant. Tony slipped inside and felt for the light switch, but before his fingers could reach it, the door suddenly slammed shut. A brass-knuckled fist crushed against the side of his head and he went down in a heap!
A moment later the Hardys reached the closed door and pushed against it.
“Something’s propped against the other side,” Joe said.
He and Frank put their shoulders against the door and shoved it open enough for Frank to squeeze inside. He found the switch and flicked on the light. Frank gasped. Tony lay unconscious behind the door!
Frank ran to the open window, which opened onto a fire escape. Nobody there. He tried the connecting door to their room. Locked. Whoever delivered the note and the knockout blow had made a neat getaway.
The Hardys carried Tony back into their room, where he was revived with a cold compress. He stood up shakily.
“Whoo!” he said. “I’m—dizzy.”
“We’d better get a doctor,” said Joe. “You may have a concussion.”
Joe snatched up the sheet of paper
Frank decided to use a telephone outside the hotel, to call a physician and to report the attack to the police. He returned saying that a Dr. Jones was on his way.
All the boys were relieved when the examination indicated Tony needed only a few days’ complete rest before resuming normal activity. When the doctor had left, the young detectives were in a quandary as to where Tony might stay.
“It better be some place unknown to the baron,” Frank remarked.
“You’re right,” said Joe. “That gangleader is picking us off one by one—divide and conquer.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Frank said. “How about those two kids we met at the shack?”
“Good night,” Tony moaned, “I don’t want to stay in that dump!”
“No, not there,” Frank went on. “Remember Andy and Rick want to be detectives? Maybe their mother would put you up until you feel better. Meanwhile, Joe and I will look for Rosy and the baron.”
The Hardys thought they should leave the hotel at once. “One attack’s enough,” said Joe.
The Mystery of the Spiral Bridge Page 9
