The Apeman's Secret

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Buzz said that his interest was aroused by the oddness of the conversation. “They seemed to be talking partly in code. For instance, two or three times I heard them say something that sounded like Cara-Vojjo, whatever that means. And they also kept referring to the ‘Flower Basket Scene.’ Whatever they were talking about, it seemed to have something to do with the cult agent’s houseboat in Bayport.”

  “What cult agent?” asked Joe.

  “The guy who drums up odd jobs for the culties—I mean the ones who come ashore during the day to work.”

  Frank and Joe exchanged puzzled glances. Neither could imagine what the conversation might have been about nor what the code words might mean.

  But suddenly Tony Prito spoke up. “That first one sounds like an Italian name—Caravaggio.” He spelled it for the others.

  Frank frowned, then snapped his fingers. “I’ve got a hunch I’ve heard that name before!” he exclaimed. “And I bet I know just where to find out for sure!”

  As soon as they had tied up at the boat landing, Tony led the boys a little ways along the waterfront. “I think that’s the houseboat Buzz heard them talking about,” he said, pointing to a craft that was moored to a dock nearby.

  “You’re right!” cried Joe. “Look at that design stenciled on the side, Frank!”

  The design portrayed a bird in flight with a leafy branch in its mouth, the same as the dove and olive-branch symbol on the amulet!

  Frank asked the others to keep an eye on the houseboat. Meanwhile he hurried to the Hardy boys’ car and drove to the Howard Museum, where he spoke to the art curator, a slender, wispy-haired man with rimless, pinch-nose glasses.

  “Mr. Scath, am I mistaken in thinking there was an Italian painter named Caravaggio?”

  “No, indeed, Frank, you’re quite right. In fact there were two painters by that name. You’re probably thinking of the more famous one, Michelan gelo da Caravaggio, who lived during the late fifteen hundreds—had a very melodramatic style with lots of light and shadow.”

  Frank socked his fist into the palm of his other hand. “I knew I’d heard that name somewhere!”

  “Most likely in the news,” the curator said. “A painting by Caravaggio was sold at auction just a few days ago for an exceptionally high price. It was titled Girl with Flower Basket.”

  Frank sped back to the harbor excitedly. Joe and his two companions reported that the cult agent had left the houseboat and driven off in his car fifteen minutes earlier.

  “Wow!” Joe exclaimed on hearing his brother’s news. “If that conversation Buzz overheard means what it sounds like, there may be evidence on the houseboat that would help Dad get the goods on Noah Norvel!”

  “And now’s our chance to find out!” said Frank.

  Buzz and Tony had no intention of being left out of the adventure. They tagged along eagerly as the Hardys boldly went aboard the craft. The agent, apparently unworried about any risk of a burglary, had left the houseboat unlocked.

  “There it is!” Joe gasped. In the main room of the houseboat hung a large painting. It showed a bare-foot young peasant girl in the marketplace, holding a basketful of flowers!

  Then a voice snapped: “You thieves!”

  16

  A Baited Trap

  The Hardy boys and their two friends whirled around as they heard the voice behind them. An angry looking, red-faced man was standing in the doorway.

  “It’s the cult agent!” Tony hissed out of the corner of his mouth to Frank. The older Hardy boy had already guessed as much.

  The agent glared at them furiously. He seemed to be almost trembling with rage. Frank thought he detected a trace of alarm in the man’s expression as well.

  “How dare you young punks break into my houseboat!” the agent ranted.

  “We didn’t break in, we walked in,” Joe said coolly.

  “You realize I could have you all arrested for attempted burglary?”

  “I doubt that,” said Frank.

  His remark seemed to provoke the agent still further. “Get off my boat,” the red-faced man stormed, “before I call the police!”

  Like his brother, Frank had decided that their best tactic was bluffing. “Sure, we’ll leave,” he replied calmly. “But don’t let that stop you. Go right ahead and call the police if you think you’ve got a case against us.”

  The Hardys led the way across the deck of the houseboat and back onto the pier, followed by Tony and Buzz. They heard the door slam behind them.

  The four youths paused at a safe distance from the houseboat, in case the cult agent might still be watching them furtively.

  “Looks like we’ve got Noah and his stooges dead to rights!” Joe exulted.

  “It sure does,” Frank agreed. “Remember what Dad told us about that stolen-art racket?”

  “Every time something’s taken, a fake or forgery is left in its place.”

  “Right! So if that picture we saw just now is the Caravaggio painting called Girl with Flower Basket, then the one sold at auction must have been a forgery. The two were probably switched just before the auction!”

  “I’d say you guys are the ones who ought to be calling the police,” put in Tony with a dry chuckle. “You might even get a reward for finding the real painting!”

  “If we did, we’d split it four ways, with you and Buzz,” Frank declared. “But I think we should check with Dad first. We sure wouldn’t want to go spoiling any plan of action he may have for dealing with Noah.”

  Joe was of the same opinion. Nevertheless, after managing to contact their father by a long-distance phone call, both brothers were somewhat surprised when he advised extreme caution.

  “Sit tight until Sam Radley gets there,” Fenton Hardy told his sons. “He’ll bring you instructions on just what to do.”

  Frank and Joe and their two companions settled down to wait in the Hardy boys’ car. It was parked in a spot that enabled them to keep watch on the houseboat, in case any attempt was made to sneak the painting away.

  After an hour’s wait, Tony Prito reluctantly announced that he had to go. He was due at work at an excavation site where his father’s construction company was pouring the foundations for a new building. “Be sure and let me know how things come out!” he said.

  “We will,” Frank promised. “And thanks a lot for taking us out to the Ark in the Napoli.”

  Almost another hour went by before Sam Radley finally drove up and parked alongside the Hardy boys’ car. He brought with him a short, stout man with a bristling reddish mustache. “This is Mr. Hacker of the art auction gallery that sold the Caravaggio picture,” Sam introduced him to the boys.

  “He’s an expert on Italian painting of that period, so he can tell us whether that picture on the houseboat is the real McCoy.”

  “How are you going to get a look at it?” Joe asked, after shaking hands with Hacker. “That employment agent for the cult is still aboard.”

  “Your dad’s got that all figured out,” Radley said, “and he’s also talked to Police Chief Collig, who’s promised to cooperate. But we’ll need one of your high-school gang to pose as a new recruit for the cult.”

  Joe glanced at his brother. “How about Biff Hooper? He even shaved his head so he could go to the comic book party as Cue Ball, remember?”

  Frank grinned. “Perfect! That’ll make him look all the more convincing. He can pretend he shaved himself bald on purpose, just so he could join the Children of Noah!”

  Biff readily agreed to help out when the Hardys called him. Then they stood by while Sam Radley transmitted exact instructions over the phone.

  Twenty minutes later, the Hardys’ tall, rangy chum arrived on the dock. Walking straight up to where the houseboat was moored, he knocked loudly on the door. The cult agent opened up.

  “I want to find out how to join the Children of Noah,” Biff announced and started to shoulder his way inside.

  “Hold it, kid!” the agent retorted suspiciously. “Nobody comes barging
in here uninvited! I don’t even know who you are!”

  “My name’s Biff Hooper, if that makes any difference. You think I’d have shaved my hair off already if I weren’t serious about joining? Come on, let me in! How soon can we go out to the Ark?”

  “I’ve already told you, nobody comes barging aboard uninvited!” the agent growled. “Just stay put on the dock till the Children of Noah decide whether or not they want to accept you!”

  His face was turning red again, and as he spoke, the agent tried to push Biff back out of the doorway.

  “Don’t go shoving me around!” Biff protested. As if to emphasize his words, the husky footballer pushed back with a strong, stiff-armed shove of his own.

  The angry agent responded in kind. His temper seemed to grow shorter with each exchange. Before long, the two were engaged in a noisy scuffle, which soon threatened to turn into an out-and-out fistfight.

  In their angry confrontation, neither noticed the policeman who came striding toward them. “All right, enough, you two! What’s going on here?” he demanded.

  “This punk’s trying to force his way onto my houseboat!” the cult agent charged loudly.

  “I came to join the Children of Noah, and he started shoving me around!” Biff retorted.

  Soon he and the agent were hurling accusations back and forth and arguing as furiously as they had been scuffling a few moments before.

  “You’re both under arrest for disturbing the peace!” the policeman broke in, shouting to make himself heard. “So pipe down, both of you, and come along with me!”

  After summoning help by walkie-talkie, the officer herded his two charges into a squad car, which then drove off to the police station.

  The three boys, who had watched the whole episode from the car, burst out laughing at Biff’s highly convincing performance.

  “Never mind all that,” grinned Sam Radley. “Now’s our chance to slip aboard so Mr. Hacker can get a good look at that painting.”

  The Hardy boys and Buzz Barton waited on the dock while Fenton Hardy’s operative escorted the art expert aboard the houseboat. Ten minutes went by, then fifteen.

  “Boy, that guy from the gallery must really be giving the picture a good going-over!” Joe said some time later, with a glance at his watch.

  Frank nodded anxiously. “They’d better hurry, or Noah’s stooge might get back in time to catch them!”

  Actually, Police Chief Collig himself was dealing with the two disturbers of the peace and was doing so in somewhat leisurely fashion. At first he had let them cool their heels in a waiting room at the police station before he found time to interview them personally. Then he questioned each of them at length about their quarrel on the dock.

  “Well now, I don’t think this incident is serious enough to warrant an arrest,” he announced finally. “Seems to me both of you had reason to get a little huffy, but that’s no excuse to start beating each other up. If you’ll both shake hands, I’m prepared to dismiss the charges.”

  Grumpily the cult agent and Biff obeyed. By the time the agent returned to the dock there was no sign that anyone had entered the houseboat in his absence.

  Meanwhile, Sam Radley and Mr. Hacker were informing the three boys about the results of the art expert’s inspection of the painting.

  “It’s definitely not a Caravaggio,” said Hacker. “I’d rate it as a pretty fair copy of the picture we sold at auction, but it would never stand up to close examination.”

  Frank and Joe looked at each other in chagrin and then at Sam Radley.

  “I’ll bet Noah and his stooges didn’t have that made overnight,” said Frank. “It would take some time to make that good a copy, wouldn’t it, Mr. Hacker?”

  The art expert nodded. “Yes, I would say a few days, anyhow, although some forgers work pretty fast.”

  “Which means they may have been planning to heist the original,” said Radley, “if that’s what you’re getting at, Frank.”

  “Right, Sam. But that doesn’t alter the fact that they sure fooled me and Joe. I’ll bet the whole thing was a carefully planned setup, just to trick us into making a false accustion, and then later on, they could sue us for plenty!”

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” the operative agreed. “Not only that, but if your dad did bring other charges against them later on, a false arrest now would badly weaken his case.”

  “Thank goodness Dad kept us from falling into their trap!” said Joe, trying to look at the bright side.

  The Hardy boys drove Buzz Barton home to Shoreham, then headed back rather glumly to their own house in Bayport. A plump figure bounced down from the porch to greet them as they pulled into the driveway on Elm Street. It was Chet Morton.

  “Guess what!” the chubby youth exclaimed.

  “We gave up already,” said Joe, “so tell us. What’s the big news?”

  “Star Comix just bought my cartoon story!”

  17

  Night Flight

  “Hey, that’s great, Chet! Congratulations!” Joe cried, getting out of the car and greeting the fat boy with a hearty handshake. “When did you find out?”

  “I just got a call from New York this afternoon!”

  “Looks like you’re on your way to fame and fortune!” said Frank, adding a congratulatory handshake of his own.

  Both the Hardy boys were tickled over Chet’s good luck. Besides being pleased for their friend’s sake, the news helped to cheer them up after the somewhat discouraging outcome of their houseboat adventure.

  “Say, I think this deserves a celebration!” Frank went on. He told Chet briefly about the flower-basket painting and explained that they had promised to take Biff Hooper to a steak-and-chips dinner and an early movie, in reward for his help in making it possible for the art expert to inspect the painting on the houseboat. “Why don’t you come with us, Chet? The treat’s on us!”

  “In that case, how can I refuse?” chortled the budding cartoonist.

  Because of his summer job as a milkman’s helper, Biff had to be in bed promptly every evening. So it was only a few minutes after nine-thirty when the Hardy boys returned home that night.

  Aunt Gertrude met them as they walked in the door. “You had two calls while you were out!”

  “From whom, Aunt Gertrude?” Frank asked.

  “One was from the director of the Comic Art Museum, and the other was from that fellow in the comic book business, Micky Rudd. They sounded urgent. I think you’d better call them back right now!”

  Frank and Joe shot a quick glance at each other, both boys smothering grins as they did so. From Miss Hardy’s somewhat nagging, peckish manner, they could tell that she was eaten up with curiosity over the cause of the unusual nighttime calls. As usual with their detective cases, she was keeping in close touch with their work on the Apeman mystery and the disappearance of Sue Linwood.

  “Okay, Aunty,” Frank replied. “We’ll call them back right now. Did you get their numbers?”

  “Naturally!” From her severe tone of voice, the tall, bony woman sounded almost insulted at the very idea that she might be guilty of such an oversight.

  Frank chuckled silently as he dialed the museum director’s number on the telephone in the front hall. Both he and Joe were aware that their aunt was hovering close by, listening with sharp ears and keeping an eye on developments through her gold-rimmed spectacles.

  “This is Frank Hardy, returning your call, Mr. Tappan,” said the elder Hardy boy as the director’s voice came on the line.

  “Oh, yes. I thought you fellows might be interested in something we discovered just before closing time this evening.”

  “We certainly are, sir, if it has anything to do with this Apeman impostor.”

  “I suspect it may. If you recall, you were inquiring about some work by an artist named Archie Frome, which was donated to the museum, and we found that some of it was missing.”

  “Yes, sir,” Frank responded. “What about it?”

  “Well
, the damage caused by the vandal was cleaned up first thing this morning. But this evening we found a very odd drawing lying on the floor in the main display room.”

  “What sort of drawing? And what’s so odd about it?”

  “For one thing, it’s signed by Archie Frome, at least it bears the usual signature that appears on all his artwork. But I’m sure the drawing’s a fake!”

  “How come?”

  “I know Frome’s stuff very well,” Mr. Tappan said, “and this doesn’t look like his work at all. It’s nothing like his usual style.”

  “What’s it a drawing of?” Frank asked. “I mean, what sort of a sketch is it?”

  “It’s a drawing of the Apeman, just like the comic book Apeman or the character on TV. It shows him going into a cave.”

  Joe, who was listening in on the conversation at Frank’s elbow, gave a low whistle.

  Frank, too, was keenly intrigued by the museum director’s strange discovery. “That may be important, Mr. Tappan! Joe and I had better drive up and take a look at it tomorrow.”

  “Fine! I’ll expect you.”

  “How’s that for a weird twist,” Frank said as he hung up.

  “How can I offer an opinion when I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” Miss Hardy cut in. Her rather sharply pointed nose seemed to be twitching with curiosity.

  Frank grinned and relayed the odd news he had received from Mr. Tappan.

  “Hmph! Sounds to me like a planted clue!” his aunt opined shrewdly.

  Frank was startled and impressed. The thought, which had also flickered through his own mind, certainly fitted in with the fact that the damage from the vandal’s raid had already been cleaned up. “You know, you could be right, at that, Aunt Gertrude,” he mused.

  “Of course I could be right!” she snapped. “What’s so unusual about that?”

  “Er, nothing, Aunty.” He smiled. “I was just thinking.”

  “Good! I’m glad to hear it. In my opinion, the secret of successful crime detection is always good, clear thinking.”

  “Yes, ma‘am.”

  Frank’s next call was to Micky Rudd, who answered so promptly that he gave the impression he was sitting by the telephone, waiting for it to ring.