The Apeman's Secret

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Maybe I was imagining things,” he said, feeling slightly foolish.

  Much to the Hardy boys’ alarm, they found a police car stationed outside their house on Elm Street. “Just keeping an eye on things,” said one of the officers. “The ladies’ll tell you about it.”

  Rushing inside, Frank and Joe found their mother and Aunt Gertrude having tea in the living room in their bathrobes. Both were in a nervous state.

  “What’s happened?” Frank asked anxiously. “More calls?”

  “Worse!” snapped Gertrude Hardy. “We heard bellowing outside. Then we saw this awful face at the window, like that Apeman on television!”

  “I’m afraid I screamed,” Mrs. Hardy confessed. “Then he smashed his fist through the glass!”

  6

  A Sticky Shadow

  “Did the nut try to climb in?” Joe asked his mother and Aunt Gertrude.

  “No, thank heavens! But I admit I was terrified,” Mrs. Hardy replied. “Not Gertrude, though. She ran out to the kitchen and grabbed a rolling pin!”

  “I’d have used it on him, too!” Miss Hardy asserted with a grim look in her eye.

  “I’ll bet you would‘ve,” Frank said admiringly. “But how about the fake Apeman? What was he doing—just standing there, glaring in?”

  “We really don’t know,” the boys’ mother admitted. “While Gertrude was going for the rolling pin, I was phoning the police.”

  “By the time I got back from the kitchen, the brute was gone,” Miss Hardy took up the story. “When the police arrived, they couldn’t find hide nor hair of him. I think he realized if he tried any more funny stuff, he was asking for real trouble!”

  “If he didn‘t, he was no judge of character,” Joe agreed, repressing a smile. “Boy, when you go on the warpath with a deadly weapon like that rolling pin, Aunt Gertrude, you could sure flatten a lot more than a piecrust!”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere, young man!” Miss Hardy retorted, but the stern look on her sharp-featured face was partly betrayed by the pleased twinkle in her eyes.

  Both ladies looked somewhat calmer now that the boys were home and had heard the details of their frightening ordeal.

  “Is the alarm system on?” Frank asked.

  “It is now,” said his mother. “I turned it on right after I phoned the police. We should have switched it on as soon as you two left, but we neglected to do so. From now on, we’ll know better! How was the party, by the way?”

  “Exciting,” Frank said dryly.

  “We got a look at the Apeman, too,” Joe added. “In fact we chased him!”

  “For goodness’ sake, what happened?” Mrs. Hardy inquired. Forgetting their own upsetting experience, the ladies now looked concerned over the boys’ adventure that evening.

  “Give us a full report,” said Gertrude Hardy, her detective instincts aroused.

  Frank and Joe told how the mysterious wild man had suddenly appeared at the Alfresco Disco and threatened to smash up the dance pavilion, until they had driven him off with a counterattack.

  “We even got interviewed on television,” Joe concluded. “We saw ourselves on the ‘Eleven O’Clock News’ out at Chet’s place.”

  “Oh, dear! I don’t like that bit about our address turning up on the piece of paper your friends found on the ground,” Mrs. Hardy fretted.

  “It may be nothing to worry about, Mom,” Frank tried to reassure her. “It could have fallen out of the pocket of somebody in our high-school crowd.”

  “Sure, that’s the likeliest answer,” Joe agreed. “Or maybe someone who intends to get in touch with us for detective work. The only really unusual thing is this coin or amulet.”

  Holding the metal disk by its edges so as not to smear any possible fingerprints, Joe plucked it carefully from the plastic bag in which he and Frank had placed the various objects.

  Gertrude Hardy frowned shrewdly at the picture stamped on the curious amulet. “That’s a dove bearing an olive branch!” she declared.

  Frank snapped his fingers. “Of course! From the Bible story of Noah’s Ark!”

  “Actually, in the Book of Genesis,” Miss Hardy corrected, “the dove flew back to the Ark carrying an olive leaf in its beak. But most folks call it an olive branch.”

  “The important thing,” said Joe, “is the Noah angle.” He glanced at his brother. “Do you suppose there’s any connection between the Children of Noah cult and this nut who’s impersonating the Apeman?”

  Frank shrugged, knitting his brows in a puzzled expression. “You’ve got me there. But it’s an angle we should start looking into.”

  Before turning in for the night, the Hardy boys took the plastic bag to their laboratory over the garage to check the assorted objects for fingerprints. But the dusting powder failed to bring out a single print that was clear enough for identification purposes.

  Next morning, soon after breakfast, the telephone rang. Frank answered and heard a breezy, fast-talking voice.

  “You one of the Hardy boys?”

  “Yes, I’m Frank Hardy. Who’s calling, please?”

  “Micky Rudd. I’m the editor and publisher of Star Comix. Maybe you’ve seen some of our comic books.”

  “I sure have. A lot of kids in Bayport read them,” Frank said with a slight chuckle. “What can I do for you, Mr. Rudd?”

  “You and your brother open for any investigative work right now?”

  “You bet! Just what would you like us to investigate?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it over the phone. Could you come to my office in New York?”

  “How soon?”

  “What about today—after lunch?”

  Frank caught his breath then grinned wryly and glanced at his watch. Micky Rudd was obviously a man who believed in wasting no time. “Yes, sir, I guess we could make it,” Frank agreed.

  “Fine!” Rudd rattled off the address of the Star Comix editorial offices and added, “See you at one, buddy!”

  Frank heard the receiver crash down at the other end of the line. He hung up and turned to Joe with a slightly dazed smile.

  “Wow!”

  “What was that all about?” the younger Hardy boy asked.

  “We just got consulted by the publisher of Star Comix. He wants us to come to New York and tackle some kind of detective case.”

  “Uh-oh!” Joe gave a low whistle. “Wonder if it has anything to do with this phony Apeman vandal?”

  “Sounds like a good guess. The Apeman’s a Star Comix character. Whatever’s up, we’re going to have to step on it. We’re due in the publisher’s office at one o‘clock!”

  Before leaving, the Hardy boys phoned their father to report developments. But they could get no answer at the number he had given them.

  They also stopped in Shoreham to see Paul Linwood and tell him about their encounter with the Children of Noah the previous afternoon.

  “You mentioned that Sue had a boyfriend,” Frank added.

  “Yes, a chap named Buzz Barton.”

  “Since the culties know our faces, we may need an operative they don’t know. Do you suppose he’d help us?”

  “I’m sure he would!” the insurance company president declared. He promised to arrange a meeting when the Hardys returned from New York.

  The weather was perfect for their trip, a cool, sunny summer day. Frank and Joe enjoyed the ride as their car whizzed along the turnpike. Then Joe noticed his brother watching the rearview mirror.

  “What’s the matter? Do we have company?”

  “Could be. A brown station wagon’s been on our tail ever since we got on the turnpike.”

  “Did you notice it when we left Shoreham?”

  “Nope. But to tell you the truth, I wasn’t paying much attention.”

  “Can you make out the driver?” Joe asked.

  “Not very well. Let’s see if I can nudge him out in the open.”

  Frank tried slowing down, but the only result was a series of honks from impatient driv
ers. The brown station wagon continued to keep its distance. Traffic was heavy, and most of the time the driver managed to maneuver so that other cars screened him from the Hardys.

  At last the Manhattan skyline came into view, dominated by the Empire State Building and the twin towers of the World Trade Center. When the boys entered the city, Frank drew over to the curb to watch for their shadow.

  But the brown station wagon failed to appear. Either it had peeled off from the flow of traffic at an earlier exit or else had sneaked past unseen behind some larger vehicle, like one of the huge tractor trailers that thronged the turnpike.

  “How do you like that? He gave us the slip!” Frank muttered in annoyance. “Oh well, maybe I was just imagining things.”

  “That’s what you said last night,” Joe pointed out wryly. “Do you imagine things that often, or is twice in twelve hours just a coincidence?”

  “When you put it that way, anything’s possible. Let’s keep a sharp lookout at all times. If we are being tailed, that’s the one way to trap our shadow.”

  Though neither mentioned it, both boys recalled the blowouts their car had suffered yesterday in Shoreham and the firecracker that had been stuck in their exhaust pipe. That episode, too, seemed to indicate they were under surveillance. If so, their shadow was not only malicious but persistent.

  After leaving their car in a midtown parking garage, Frank and Joe made their way to Star Comix’s editorial offices in Rockefeller Center. Its walls were decorated with full-length color pictures of the company’s various superhero characters: the Apeman, the Silver Streak, Serpentella, the Doom Demon, and others.

  Micky Rudd proved to be a rangy, bald-headed man who seemed to live in a constant state of excitement. After inviting the Hardys to sit down, he paced about the office. “I saw you fellows on television last night,” Rudd began, “so I don’t need to tell you about this nut who’s impersonating the Apeman.”

  Frank nodded. “We saw him at the disco.”

  “Then you know he’s dangerous! That’s why I’m hoping you two will take the case. I want you to hunt him down before he blows his top completely and does something really serious!”

  7

  Muscle Men

  “What made you call on us, Mr. Rudd?” Joe asked.

  “As I say, I saw you on television last night. That’s what made me think of you. But that’s not the only reason; no, indeed!” Micky Rudd paused to flash a brilliant smile at the Hardys, as if he were spotlighting them in the full, dazzling glare of his hundred-kilowatt personality. “People all over the country have heard of the Hardy boys and their famous dad! They trust you. If they read that Star Comix has asked you two to find this phony Apeman, they’ll know it’s a real mystery case!”

  Rudd whipped a vivid blue silk handkerchief out of his breast pocket to dab the perspiration from his forehead.

  Frank frowned thoughtfully. “Are you implying that otherwise some people may think the raids and the vandalism are just a dirty trick to get some free publicity?”

  “Of course! What else?”

  “Seems a bit farfetched, doesn’t it?”

  “Sure, it does to us because we know it’s not true. But not to the general public, it doesn’t. They think if we’re in the comic book business, we must be crazy to start with!”

  Joe repressed a grin. “You’d have to be crazy to damage your own starring character.”

  “Right!” Rudd explained. “That’s just the point. All this monkey business could wreck the public image of the real Apeman. If folks keep hearing how this fake Apeman goes around threatening people and wrecking property, some of that unpleasantness could rub off on our copyrighted comic book character. It could ruin the appeal of his television show!”

  Rudd pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead again as he resumed pacing about the office.

  “So you assume that’s the impostor’s motive?” Frank asked.

  Rudd shrugged helplessly. “Who knows? The nut must hate somebody, the way he keeps smashing things up!”

  “Can you think of anyone who might have a spiteful grudge against Star Comix?”

  The bald-headed editor-publisher flung himself into his desk chair and screwed his face into a thoughtful scowl. “Well, let’s see. There’s an artist named Hamp Huber, who probably doesn’t like Star Comix too well right now.”

  “Why not?”

  “He used to draw our Apeman comic book, but last month I fired him.”

  “How come?” put in Joe.

  “Oh ... we had various differences. The main thing was, we couldn’t depend on him to deliver the work on time.”

  “This fellow Huber was a free-lance artist?”

  Rudd nodded. “Most of our comic books are done that way, by free-lance artists and writers who work at home. The guys you see working at drawing boards here in the office mostly just do coloring or make changes when we discover a goof in the pictures or balloons.”

  Frank said, “Give us Huber’s address, please, and we’ll check him out.”

  “Any other possible suspects?” Joe added.

  Rudd scratched his jaw. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t mention him, but there’s Gil Ostrow.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “The editor in chief of Galaxy Comics. That’s our main competitor. From what I hear, Gilly’s pretty jealous about the big hit our Apeman character has made on TV.”

  “Is Galaxy located here in New York City?” Frank inquired.

  “Yes. A few blocks up on Madison Avenue.” Rudd added the address to Hamp Huber’s name and address and handed the slip of paper across his desk to the older Hardy boy.

  “Is there any chance the impostor may have some connection with the TV show?” Frank went on.

  Micky Rudd thought for a moment, then shook his head doubtfully. “I can’t think of anyone in the television end of things who’d be mad enough at us to pull such a trick. But the guy to talk to about that is Vern Kelso.”

  “He’s a television executive?”

  “Yes, at the Federated Broadcasting System. That’s the network that carries ‘The Apeman.’ Vern and I worked together to develop the show, and then he helped sell it to the top brass at FBS.”

  The Hardys looked at each other to see if either had any more questions, then rose and shook hands with the bald-headed publisher.

  “Okay, Mr. Rudd,” said Frank. “We’ll do our best to find out who’s behind all this trouble.”

  “Good! I’m counting on you Hardy boys!”

  From Rockefeller Center, the two young sleuths walked north up Fifth Avenue toward Central Park. The street was fronted by fashionable shops, and on the right loomed the imposing gray spires of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

  “What did you make of Rudd?” Joe asked his brother as they turned toward Madison Avenue.

  Frank grinned dryly. “I’d say he’s quite a character himself. But underneath all that fast talk, I get the impression he’s really worried over this nut who’s on the loose, and maybe not just about the public relations angle, either!”

  “Same here,” Joe agreed. “Once or twice he looked downright scared, almost as if he thought that fake Apeman might come after him!”

  Although they had no appointment, the editor in chief of Galaxy Comics agreed to see the Hardy boys as soon as he heard who they were. He turned out to be a gnomelike man with a wild shock of rusty, graying hair that stuck out in all directions.

  As they shook hands with him in turn, Frank and Joe exchanged hasty glances. The same thought was passing through both boys’ minds. If Gil Ostrow really was behind the malicious vandalism, at least they could be sure of one thing; he certainly wasn’t impersonating the Apeman himself. He was not big enough.

  “Sit down, fellows,” Ostrow said. “Tell me what brings the Hardy boys to Galaxy Comics.”

  Frank explained that they were trying to find the mysterious vandal who had been posing as the Apeman. Since Galaxy Comics was the main competitor of the Apeman co
mic books’ publisher, it was natural to include Galaxy in their investigation. Frank tactfully named no names, but Gil Ostrow’s immediate response was a sarcastic smile.

  “So Micky Rudd sicced you on me, did he?” Ostrow chuckled contemptuously. “That figures!”

  “Why do you say that, Mr. Ostrow?” Joe asked.

  “Listen, Son! Rudd and I have been feuding for years. That big mouth would stoop to anything to do me a bad turn!”

  “Then you deny that you’d have any reason to try and make people sore at the Apeman character?”

  “Of course I deny it! Why should I want to cause the show any trouble? I think it’s great having a comic book character on television. The more the better! It’s good for our business!”

  “If you’re telling us the truth,” said Frank, “why should Mr. Rudd try and throw suspicion on you?”

  “I just told you, we’ve been feuding for years. He probably didn’t mention that we sell twice as many comic books as Star Comix does.” Ostrow hesitated a moment, studying his fingernails, then looked up with a cold smirk at the Hardys. “Let me put it this way, boys. I’ll just quote you a remark that was made to me several years ago by an artist named Archie Frome. Archie’s dead now, so he won’t mind if I repeat it. He said to me once, confidentially, ‘That guy Rudd’s a real crook!’ End of quote.”

  “Any idea what he was referring to?” Frank probed.

  “I wouldn’t even try to guess, Son. I’m not that interested in Rudd’s business. I merely quote the remark for whatever it’s worth.”

  Before returning to their car, the Hardys stopped at a coffee shop for hamburgers.

  “Look, Frank! Whoever’s impersonating the Apeman must be a real muscle-type,” Joe reasoned. “Right?”

  His brother nodded. “That’s for sure. Nobody’s born with a build like that guy’s got. The only way to get a chest and arms that big is by working out with weights for a long period of time. He looked like a pro to me.”

  “Check! And from what I’ve read, the favorite spot for body-building enthusiasts in this part of the country is the Olympic Gym. Why don’t we go there and see if we can pick up any clues?”