“What’s up, Mr. Rudd?” Frank asked.
“Plenty! At least, that’s my hunch!” As usual, the editor-publisher’s voice sounded tense and excited, as though the call had caught him in the midst of a comic book crisis. As a matter of fact, Frank reflected, that might be exactly what the Apeman impostor was causing at Star Comix. “I’ve just been promised a tip,” Rudd went on, “as to where we can find the hideout of this nut who’s been posing as the Apeman!”
“Who promised it?”
“How do I know? The tipster didn’t give me his name! What I mean is,” Rudd explained, slowing down his machine-gun style of speaking, “I got this anonymous call shortly after dinnertime. The voice at the other end of the line said if I’d stay close to the phone tonight, he’d call back later and tell me where to find the fake Apeman’s cave hideout. When I asked who was speaking, he just growled, ‘None of your business!’and hung up!”
“Wait a minute!” Frank broke in, picking up some of Rudd’s excitement. “When your caller promised this tip, did he use those exact two words—cave hideout?”
“That’s right. Why?”
“Well, sir, it may be just coincidence, but that ties in with something else that came up tonight.” Frank told him about the drawing found at the Comic Art Museum, which showed the Apeman going into a cave.
Micky Rudd was immediately excited. “Follow that up!” he exclaimed, like a general barking out orders to his troops. “You and your brother better get up there right away!”
“You mean tonight?” Frank gasped, lifting his eyebrows in a startled look at Joe and Aunt Gertrude.
“Sure, while the clue’s fresh! If this anonymous call I got means anything, then there must be some connection! Maybe that drawing’ll give some hint of where the cave’s located. Once you get up there to the museum and take a look at it, give me another ring and I’ll tell you if I’ve had any more news from the tipster!”
Neither Hardy boy was enthusiastic about starting out on such a lengthy trip at so late an hour. However, after checking a map, Joe phoned the Ace Air Service at Bayport airfield and arranged for a charter flight to the Westchester County Airport, which the map showed was not far from the Comic Art Museum. The Ace Air Service was operated by a pilot named Jack Wayne, who also acted as Mr. Hardy’s personal pilot when the detective needed him on his investigations.
Luckily, after landing in Westchester, the boys were able to obtain a car from a twenty-four-hour rental agency. They drove swiftly to the home of Gerald Tappan, whom they had alerted by a telephone call from Bayport and who had promised to wait up for their visit.
With keen interest, Frank and Joe studied the drawing he handed them. It was done in pen and ink on white paper.
“You’re quite sure this is not Frome’s work?” Frank asked the museum director.
“Positive! In fact, the more I look at it, the more I’m inclined to think that it was done by an amateur—or at least the inking was.”
“How come, sir?” Joe asked with a puzzled frown.
“It’s a little hard to explain, but—well, the inked lines aren’t quite true. They’re not done with assurance, whereas the Apeman’s figure itself seems to be drawn with professional skill.”
“You mean, a professional artist might have drawn the picture in pencil, and then it was inked over by an amateur?”
“Right.” Tappan explained that, in comic book work, the penciling and inking were often done by entirely different artists. “It may be,” he added, “that whoever did this picture traced the Apeman from a comic book and then inked the tracing.”
“H‘m, that’s interesting. Another funny thing,” Frank mused aloud, “is that the face of the Apeman in this drawing seems to look like somebody I’ve seen. But I can’t figure out who.”
“Same here!” Joe exclaimed. “He reminds me of somebody, too!”
After asking Mr. Tappan if he might use the phone, Frank called Micky Rudd in New York City. Rudd’s voice was seething with excitement again as he answered the Hardy boy’s query as to whether he had heard any more from the mysterious tipster.
“I sure did! He called back about ten minutes ago,” the comic book editor reported, “and this time he gave me exact directions on where to find that nut’s cave hideout!”
18
The Sleeping Ogre
“Let’s have the directions he gave you, Mr. Rudd.” Whipping out a pencil, Frank jotted them down, then said, “Okay, we’ll check out the tip right away, sir!”
Gerald Tappan was startled by the news, and Joe was almost as excited as Rudd himself had sounded on the telephone. The museum director read over the instructions on how to reach the cave, then brought out a road map and showed the boys that the location was only a ten- or fifteen-minute drive from his house.
Frank stood up. “Of course there is a chance that this is a trap,” he said. “If you don’t hear from us within a couple of hours, Mr. Tappan, will you please notify the police?”
Tappan nodded. “Be careful, will you?”
The boys left and soon were whizzing along the highway through the nighttime darkness.
“Think there’s any chance we’ll find the guy who’s been posing as the Apeman?” Joe asked, shooting a glance at his brother.
Frank, who was at the wheel, responded with a shrug. “Could be. Just from the timing of those calls to Rudd, I have a hunch the tipster knows there’s something in that cave right now. Or someone!”
Both boys felt a twinge of nervousness at the prospect of facing the huge, savage brute who had tried to wreck the Alfresco Disco. He might be a fake as far as impersonating the Apeman was concerned, but there was no doubt about the size of his muscles! And this time there would be just the two of them, alone and unarmed, facing his fury!
Tappan had told them to watch for a certain highway intersection, followed by an expressway turnoff. About a mile and a half beyond this, the ground on the right of the road would rise in a steep hillside, and among a clump of trees near the top, according to Rudd’s telephoned instructions, they would find the cave opening.
“Here we are!” Frank muttered presently. He slowed, turned off the road, and braked to a halt.
The boys got out and started up the hillside, each carrying a flashlight. No sounds of traffic reached their ears from the highway below. At this time of night the silence was intense, broken only by a faint, sleepy chirp of crickets and the scuff of their own footsteps trudging up the slope.
“There’s the cave opening!” Joe whispered as his flashlight beam picked out a yawning recess in the ground just ahead.
Frank put out a hand to caution his brother. Silently they tiptoed to the mouth of the cave. Joe stifled a gasp as Frank shone his flashlight inside.
A huge figure lay sprawled just a few yards from the entrance. The man was clad in a brief fur garment and had his head resting on one crooked arm. His back was turned to the boys, and from the heavy snores issuing over his shoulder, he was obviously fast asleep.
“Stand by for a quick retreat!” Frank whispered to Joe. Then he scooped up a handful of grit and gravel and flung it at the sleeping giant.
The figure briefly twitched and groaned. Then the snoring resumed.
Frank picked up several larger pebbles and tried again, this time with explosive results! The man grunted and sat bolt upright. Then as his sleep-dulled eyes became aware of the flashlight glow, he bellowed and leaped to his feet, whirling around as he did so.
He blinked in the dazzling glare, and his jaw dropped open in a stupid gape.
“Gallopin’ grasshoppers!” Joe gasped. “It’s Zack Amboy!”
“And all of a sudden I know who that Apeman in the drawing reminds me of!” Frank murmured.
“You’re right! His face looks like Zack‘s!”
“Who’s out there?” Amboy demanded. “What’s going on?”
The two young sleuths shifted their flashlight beams so he could see them, and Frank said, “We’re the Hardy
boys, Zack, Frank and Joe. Remember us?”
“Sure! You bet I do! B-B-But ... where am I? ... How did I get here?”
“That’s just what we were going to ask you,” said Joe.
The muscular giant seemed dazed and utterly bewildered. He shambled forward and peered out at the tree-covered slope, then glanced back at the spot where he had been lying. “This is a cave!” he mumbled, as if he were just becoming aware of the fact.
“That’s right,” Frank said evenly, his tone expressing neither belief nor disbelief in Zack’s amazement.
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!” Amboy blurted.
“You sure could be in that getup,” Joe said with a hint of amusement. “Some people might think that’s the Apeman’s costume you’re wearing!” 155
“The Apeman?” Zack Amboy echoed in a troubled voice. “Now wait a minute! You guys don’t think I’m that nut who’s been going around posing as the Apeman, do you?”
“Why don’t you tell us?” said Frank. “Are you or aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m not!”
“Then what’re you doing in that fur getup?” Joe asked.
“How do I know?” Zack put one hand to the top of his head and added, “Look! Do I have a big mop of hair like the Apeman’s got? Does my jaw stick way out like his does?”
“All that’s just a matter of makeup. You’re still wearing the right costume for the role.”
“Wait a minute!” Frank broke in. “If you don’t know how you happen to be wearing that fur suit, can you at least tell us how you got here?”
“I don’t know that, either!” Zack’s voice came out as a strange mixture of a wail and a bellow. It might have sounded comical coming from so large and powerful a man, had the look on his face not been dead serious.
“What do you remember? Anything at all?”
“Not much.” Zack paused, rubbing his head again and scowling. “Say, what day is this?” he exclaimed suddenly.
When Frank told him, the muscle man nodded.
“That’s what I thought... Well, let’s see. I—I seem to remember leaving the house this morning ... and I’ve got a hunch I worked out at the gym ... but it’s all pretty hazy.”
The Hardy boys exchanged doubtful glances.
“You’ve gotta believe me!” Zack pleaded. “I’m not that loony who goes around acting like the Apeman and busting things up! I swear I’m not! Somebody’s trying to frame me! They just planted me here in this getup!”
Again Frank and Joe looked at each other. “It’s possible that someone slipped him some knockout drops,” Joe theorized, “or maybe a drug that wiped out his memory.”
“Okay,” Frank said. “I suppose it could have happened that way. But you’ll have to admit, Zack, the way things stand right now you look pretty suspicious.”
“How did you guys find me?”
“A telephone tip,” Frank said tersely, not wanting to give away anything more than necessary.
Zack not only made no effort to get away, he meekly promised to hold himself available for questioning by the police. He even asked the Hardys to give him a lift to some place where he might get a ride back to his home in Brooklyn.
“We’re headed for the Westchester County Airport,” said Joe.
“That’ll do fine!” Zack said gratefully. “Maybe I can get some mechanic’s duds there to cover up with.”
On the way to the airport, Zack kept trying to convince the boys of his innocence. “Would I strand myself way out here in the boondocks,” he argued, “without a car or a bike? Or even any street clothes!”
“For all we know, you might’ve been expecting someone to pick you up,” Joe pointed out.
“But why should I even want to go around posing as the Apeman and getting everyone sore at me? I’ve got nothing to do with that Apeman television program! All I know about it is what I’ve heard from Rollo Eckert!”
The Hardys were immediately intrigued by Zack’s mention of the weight lifter with the broken leg whom they had met at the Olympic Gymnasium. Both remembered him saying that he was from California.
“What does Rollo Eckert know about ‘The Apeman’ TV show?” Frank asked as they drove along.
“Plenty! At least he knows a lot more than I do!” Zack replied. “He was hoping to land the starring role on that program. In fact, he was one of the two finalists for the part.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Sure, I’m sure! He only lost out to Dante Mazzola at the last minute. The casting of the show was big news among top body builders all over the country.”
Jack Wayne, who had evidently been on the lookout for the Hardy boys, waved excitedly as they pulled up at the airport. “I just got a flash from your dad about ten minutes ago over my plane radio!” he reported.
“What’s up, Jack?” Frank inquired anxiously. “Anything wrong?”
“He said to tell you that Noah Norvel’s mansion was raided by the Apeman impostor a little more than an hour ago.”
The Hardy boys were startled by the news. From the stricken look on Zack Amboy’s face, it was clear that the fur-clad strong man realized that this development placed him under even deeper suspicion than before.
The airport lay about midway between the Comic Art Museum and Noah’s mansion, which meant they could drive to the latter in about fifteen minutes.
Frank said, “Do you mind waiting around for us awhile longer, Jack, while we check out what happened at Noah Norvel’s?”
“No problem. From what your dad said, I expected you’d want to go there.” With a grin, the pilot jerked his thumb toward Zack Amboy and added, “While you’re gone, I’ll see if I can rustle up a suit of coveralls to fit this bruiser.”
“Great! Thanks, Jack. Also, please call Mr. Tappan for us and tell him we’re okay. Here’s the number.”
The Hardys were soon on their way to the cult leader’s mansion. They found several scout cars drawn up in the long driveway while policemen searched the grounds for clues. The house was ablaze with lights. Frank and Joe had no difficulty gaining entrance, and they learned that their father had asked the FBI to notify the local police of their probable arrival.
Noah, however, was in a towering rage and glared at the Hardy boys suspiciously.
“How many people were here with you at the time of the raid?” Frank asked him.
“Six of my children, if it’s any of your business!”
“You mean your own children or members of your cult?”
“Children of Noah!” Norvel snapped.
“What about servants?” put in Joe.
“The children act as my aides and also do whatever household work is necessary.”
The bearded cult leader’s response drew scornful looks from both the Hardys, who realized this meant, in effect, that Noah used the teenage culties as his personal slaves.
Under prodding from Lieutenant Allen, the policeman in charge of the case, Norvel repeated his story of what had happened. He said that the fake Apeman had broken open the front door and come bursting into the mansion. He had knocked out the three male culties when they tried to resist him and had gassed two of the girls unconscious with a chloroform-soaked rag.
Noah himself had been roughed up and tied. “I couldn’t even call the police till I managed to pull one of my wrists free and got loose from the ropes,” he related angrily. “Meanwhile, that maniac rampaged around, smashing furniture as you see, and ransacked my private study!”
When Frank asked to interview the cultie servants, the three youths who had been knocked out and the two girls who had been chloroformed were brought in. The sixth cultie, who was another teenage girl, the Hardys were now told, had been dragged off by the fake Apeman as a hostage.
“What was her name?” Joe exclaimed suddenly.
“Sue Linwood, as if you didn’t know!” Norvel ranted.
Frank responded with a hard look of his own. “How come none of your outside guards were able to stop the intr
uder?” he demanded.
“Because they were decoyed away and kayoed, one by one, which I’m sure is no news to you!”
“Just what is that supposed to mean?” Frank exploded.
Instead of answering, Noah flung up his arms in a melodramatic gesture of disgust and turned to the police captain. “I’ve had enough of this farce!” he exploded. “I’m willing to bet these two and their father were behind tonight’s raid—as cover-up for a plot to snatch the Linwood girl away from my control!”
“You’re crazy!” Joe blazed at the cult leader.
“Am I? Then how does it happen you were seen less than an hour ago in company with the fake Apeman?”
19
Hidden Duo
The Hardy boys were caught off guard by Noah Norvel’s sudden accusing question.
Frank recovered first. “How would you know where we were or whom we were seen with, if you were tied up here at your house?”
“For your information,” the cult leader gloated, “I was tipped off by an anonymous phone call just before the police arrived.”
“Very convenient,” Joe needled. “If you don’t even know who called, there’s no way anyone can check up on your story, is there?”
Noah’s face flushed angrily. “You two are the ones who’d better start worrying about having your story checked up on!” he rasped.
Police Lieutenant Allen eyed the Hardy boys keenly. “Is this true, what Mr. Norvel says,” he cut in, “about you fellows being with this phony Apeman?”
“Not exactly, sir,” Frank replied. “We were with someone who was dressed in a costume like the Apeman‘s, and being a weight lifter, he also happens to be muscled like the Apeman. But that doesn’t prove he’s the vandal who’s been posing as the Apeman—in fact, I’m convinced he’s not. Don’t you agree, Joe?”
“Definitely. What’s more, we have reason to believe he may have been drugged tonight, Lieutenant. It looks as though someone deliberately tried to frame him.”
“What’s this muscle man’s name?” Allen asked.
The Apeman's Secret Page 10
