The Crisscross Shadow

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Say, why don’t we get out our collection of old Indian books, Chet?” Iola spoke up. “Maybe we’ll find some tribes that begin with R.”

  “And then we’ll check on whether they’re the ones who do leatherwork,” Frank added enthusiastically.

  Iola excused herself and returned a few minutes later with an armload of old volumes.

  Immediately all the young people started thumbing through the books, intently scanning the fine print. The pages were yellowed with age.

  There were dozens of tribes that no longer existed—names that had meant so much in the early days of the country—Abnakis, Shawnees, Narragansetts, and others that reminded the Bayport High students of the exciting days of the early colonists.

  “This tribe we’re looking for is probably so small that it didn’t even make history,” remarked Joe, breaking the silence. Everyone nodded agreement, but kept on leafing the pages determinedly.

  But there was not a single tribe that began with an R!

  Finally it was time for the Hardys to start home, since they did not wish to break football training rules. Frank rode with Callie as far as her house, with Joe following, then transferred to the convertible.

  “Come on! He mustn’t get away!” Joe cried

  “I guess we’re at the end of the Indian trail with that moccasin,” Joe remarked.

  “We may still find the R tribe,” Frank said more hopefully. “I’m not giving up yet.”

  “I’m with you on that score,” Joe agreed as they turned the corner near the Hardy home.

  Suddenly Frank gave a start and sat bolt upright. “Look!” he whispered excitedly. “Coming out of that window!”

  Joe followed his brother’s gaze to the second floor of the Hardy house. In the moonlight they could see a man climbing out!

  Frank cut the engine and stopped at the curb. The boys leaped from the car and dashed up the driveway.

  As they looked up again, the intruder was dropping to the roof of the kitchen porch. Then a cloud passed in front of the moon and hid the scene in darkness.

  “Come on! He mustn’t get away!” Joe cried.

  The boys heard a thud on the ground, and reached the porch just as the moon broke through the clouds.

  They could see no one!

  In the second that the clouds had obscured the moon, the intruder had disappeared as if the earth had swallowed him up!

  CHAPTER VI

  An Elusive Suspect

  WHERE had the man who had climbed out the second-story window gone?

  “Quick!” Joe said to his brother. “I’ll circle this side of the house. You take the other.”

  Finding no one, they searched the neighboring yards. It was no use. The intruder had disappeared.

  “Let’s go inside and see if he took anything,” Frank urged.

  Noticing that several lights had been turned on upstairs, the boys dashed to the second floor.

  “It’s Frank and Joe,” Frank called. “Are you all right, Mother?”

  “Oh, boys, what a relief to see you!” Mrs. Hardy cried as they reached the hall.

  Aunt Gertrude stood menacingly, an umbrella clutched in her hand.

  “We saw a man crawling out of the second-story window,” Frank told them.

  “Then why didn’t you catch him?” Aunt Gertrude bristled.

  “We tried,” Frank confessed, “but he got away.”

  “Did he steal anything?” Joe put in. “Did you see him?”

  “See him?” Aunt Gertrude echoed with indignation. “We saw him, and if I ever get that fellow, I’ll give him the thrashing of his life.”

  “Aunt Gertrude and I came home from the movies. When we got upstairs we heard a noise in your father’s study,” Mrs. Hardy explained. “We looked in and saw a masked man. As soon as he spotted us, he dived for the window and climbed out.”

  “What was he doing?” Frank asked.

  “He was standing in front of the file cabinet with a key in his hand!”

  The boys rushed into Mr. Hardy’s study and examined the file carefully. Apparently it had not been disturbed.

  “Good thing we changed that lock,” Joe said.

  “Right. But the criminal might have forced it open.” Frank turned to his mother and aunt. “I guess you frightened him off in time.”

  “I wonder what he was after,” Joe pondered.

  “It could be almost anything,” Frank replied thoughtfully. “Let’s fine-tooth-comb this room. Maybe the fellow left a clue that may help us track him down.”

  They examined the study from wall to wall but found nothing. As Joe leaned against the cabinet, a disappointed frown on his face, suddenly something caught his eye. Reaching down, he pulled at a bit of wool snagged on the corner of one drawer.

  “We missed this,” he said. “Oh boy! What a clue!”

  Triumphantly he flashed a strand of royal-blue wool! “That man in the house in Southport! Remember? He was wearing a royal-blue sweater!”

  “Correct.” Frank beamed. “Now we’re beginning to get somewhere on this case!”

  “That proves Breck did take the key!” cried Joe. “After he skipped Bayport, either he or his lawyer gave it to the man in the royal-blue sweater and he came here tonight.”

  “Maybe those two guys who slugged us in that Southport tenement house were Breck and Kamp!” Frank reasoned. “They were just arriving to give Mr. Blue Sweater the key.”

  “Everything ties together.” Joe nodded in satisfaction. “But the important question’s still not answered. What did this gang want from Dad’s file?”

  “Let’s go back to Southport tomorrow and call on that blue-sweater guy again,” Frank proposed.

  Since the football squad was excused from practice on Monday, the Hardys were able to start for Southport as soon as classes were over.

  “How about coming along, Chet?” Frank asked as they got ready to leave.

  “Sorry, fellows. I promised Dad I’d help around home. But listen, you two, don’t get yourselves in the hospital. We’ve got a tough game to play on Saturday and—”

  “Where’re you going?” Tony Prito spoke up. “Maybe I can be your bodyguard.”

  “Swell.”

  The three boys drove to the dock where the Hardys’ small powerboat the Sleuth was moored. They would make the trip to Southport by water.

  When they arrived, Frank and Joe asked Tony to guard the Sleuth while they were gone. Then they headed up a steep cobblestoned alley to the street and walked into the main entrance of the tenement where Philip York lived.

  Joe rapped on the apartment door while Frank kept an eye on the dim corridor to avoid another surprise attack.

  The door was opened by the man they had come to see. He was wearing the telltale blue sweater.

  “What do you want?” he asked roughly.

  “To talk to you.”

  The man’s eyes widened when he recognized his callers. “You boys are going to get hurt coming around here,” he said threateningly. “I can’t give you any information.”

  “Oh no?” Joe retorted skeptically, then shot the question, “What were you doing in our house last night?”

  “Your house? I’ve never been near the place in my life,” York replied angrily.

  “That’s your story,” Frank spoke up. “Here, take a look at this,” he said, forcing his way in and suddenly confronting the man with the piece of blue yarn. “It came from that sweater you’re wearing,” he declared, pointing to a tear in the front of it.

  The man looked blank, then recovered. “Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t. Anyway, it ain’t my sweater,” he said defensively. “I borrowed it.”

  “We don’t believe you,” Frank answered firmly. Both boys were in the room now. “You’d better start talking.”

  “Look, fellows,” York said meekly. “Take it easy on a guy that ain’t to blame, will you? I’ll do anything you ask. You’ve got the goods on me.”

  The Hardys had not expected to get a confession
that easily. They looked at each other with satisfaction. At last they were making headway on the case !

  “Come along to the police station with us,” Frank said sternly. “They’ll want to hear what you have to say.”

  “Okay,” the man replied nervously. “I’ll have to get my coat out of the bedroom. Wait here.”

  Before they could object, he turned, went into an adjoining room, and closed the door.

  “We’d better keep a close watch on him,” Frank advised. “He may try to get away.”

  Joe agreed, and called, “Say, you in there!”

  There was no reply.

  “Let’s see what he’s up to!” Joe exclaimed.

  The boys burst through the door. Their eyes took in the shabbily furnished bedroom in a glance.

  No one was in sight!

  “There’s no way out except by the windows and they’re locked from the inside,” Frank stated. “He’s got to be here somewhere!”

  They began a careful search of the room. When Frank crawled under the bed he found a trap door that opened downward.

  “Here’s how he got out!” he exclaimed. “Joe, you guard the hall and I’ll go after him this way.”

  “Okay. Give our whistle if you need me.”

  Frank squeezed through the opening onto a rope ladder which swung down from the edge of the trap door.

  “This must be the basement,” he told himself as he reached the end and stepped onto the floor.

  He whipped out his pocket flashlight and flicked it on. He saw no one.

  Inch by inch Frank went over the cellar. But the man in the royal-blue sweater was not there.

  “How you coming?” Joe called down.

  “He got out of here somehow.” At that moment Frank heard a familiar sound—the put-put of a motorboat.

  “This basement must be very close to the dock!” he shouted up to Joe. “There’s a door. I’ll let you know what happens.”

  He hurried over, twisted the knob, and pushed. The door opened easily.

  Blinking in the bright sunlight, Frank looked around. He was standing alone on a small dock that poked its nose into Eagle Bay.

  Joe was peering from the living-room window. Now he raised the sash and called:

  “See anything?”

  “Nothing but the Sleuth.”

  Joe looked in the direction his brother was pointing.

  “Tony! Hey, Tony!” Frank shouted across to the next dock.

  Their friend’s head appeared over the stern. “Hello. I’ll come and get you.”

  “Did you see anybody walk out of here?” Frank called.

  “Sure. A few minutes ago two men came out.”

  “Where’d they go?”

  “They boarded a speedboat and headed off toward Bayport.”

  “Did one of them have on a blue sweater?”

  “No. But come to think of it, one man had something blue rolled up under his arm.”

  “He’s the guy we’re looking for!” Frank exclaimed. “Joe, come on down! We’re going after them!”

  Tony brought the Sleuth up and the Hardys hopped in. Then the boat shot out into Eagle Bay and headed for Bayport.

  Scanning the bay, his hand shading his eyes from the sun, Tony suddenly shouted, “There they are, Frank. Give ’er the gun!”

  The other motorboat was plowing through the choppy water at a fast clip. Frank turned on full speed and the Sleuth fairly leaped across the waves. Gradually it began to close up the distance that separated them.

  “We’re catching up!” Tony exulted.

  In a few moments the boys could clearly see two figures in the stern and a third at the wheel.

  “There’s the fellow with the blue sweater, all right,” Joe announced. “But he’s masked now!”

  “Say—the other one might be Breck,” guessed Frank, gripping the wheel tensely.

  “Could be,” returned Joe. “He’s got a mask on, too.”

  Relentlessly the Sleuth plowed on, closer and closer to the fleeing craft. Finally Frank narrowed the gap and began to edge in toward the boat ahead.

  “York’s trying to hide!” yelled Joe as he discerned a figure hunched over in the rear seat. Just then the man beside York jerked his head around toward the pursuers and shouted something to the pilot of the fleeing speedboat.

  Instantly the craft swerved sharply to the left. But just as swiftly Frank turned the Sleuth.

  From then on it was a zigzag chase. The fugitive boat veered crazily from side to side. Nevertheless, the Sleuth clung to the course, and Tony shouted encouragingly:

  “Atta boy, Frank! Stick to ’em!”

  York’s companion turned around. Standing up, he shouted back:

  “Scram outta here, you fool kids!”

  The man at the wheel now resumed a straight course, making a beeline for Bayport.

  The Sleuth roared up behind the speedboat. Suddenly York’s companion bent down. As he straightened up, he raised a heavy log of wood and heaved it. The log soared through the air, directly in the path of the onrushing Sleuth.

  “Frank! Look out!” Joe cried.

  Frank swung the wheel with all his might. But it was too late. With a splintering crash the Sleuth rammed the log!

  CHAPTER VII

  A Lucky Break

  THE shock of the collision was so violent that the boys were catapulted into the cold water of Eagle Bay.

  In a few seconds three heads emerged from the waves.

  “Joe! Tony!” Frank shouted out. “Are you all right?”

  “Okay, here!” Joe called.

  “I’m all right, too,” Tony answered.

  To their amazement the Sleuth was still afloat, drifting aimlessly some yards away. As the boys swam to it, they noticed that an immense hole had been torn in her bow at the waterline.

  “She’s going to sink!” Tony cried woefully.

  They clambered aboard and Frank discovered that the impact had switched off the engine. He tried to start it, but it was dead!

  “This is a fine pickle,” he said in disgust.

  “Where did the other boat go?” Tony asked.

  The boys scanned the bay, but could see only a cluster of small craft near the shore. The men had made their escape!

  ‘ There’s one clue, though, that they’ve given us,” Frank put in. “Did you notice that huge scar on the fellow’s hand before he tossed the log at us?”

  “Say—that’s right!” exclaimed Joe. “I did see it. It was W-shaped, too! That means it was probably our friend Breck!”

  “We practically had him!” Frank groaned. “Fine time to be stuck like this.”

  “And we’re drifting with the tide,” Tony pointed out as he noticed the shoreline receding.

  Half an hour later he motioned toward a low-slung cabin cruiser that was bearing down on them.

  “Look, fellows, isn’t that the Coast Guard cutter Mallimuk?”

  The three boys shouted and waved their arms to signal the cutter. The captain saw them and drew alongside. When Frank explained the reason for their predicament, Captain Barnes shook his head in anger.

  “I’ll send out an alarm for those men right away,” he assured them. “Meanwhile, we’ll give you a lift and some dry clothes.”

  While he radioed headquarters, a guardsman threw a line from the cutter. Joe fastened it to the Sleuth, and the craft was towed to its dock.

  The boys thanked the men and went to their car. After dropping Tony off at his house, they made arrangements to have the boat repaired, then drove home. Mrs. Hardy was waiting anxiously.

  “Mother,” Joe asked, “is something the matter?”

  “Yes, there is,” she replied. “It’s Sam Radley. He’s been injured!”

  “What happened, Mother?” Frank asked. “One of the saboteurs get him?”

  “Yes. Sam caught up with a suspect and they had a tussle. The man got away, but Sam was thrown and broke his leg.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “In Baypor
t Hospital.”

  “We’d better go to see him right away,” Frank declared.

  The boys were at the hospital in a few moments. They found their father’s associate with his left leg in a plaster cast.

  “We’re sorry about this,” Joe said. “How do you feel now?”

  “Pretty well, boys. But I sure hated to lose my man.”

  “What happened?” Frank asked.

  Briefly, Sam Radley told them he had received a tip to look along the waterfront for certain characters and had trapped one of the suspects at a boathouse outside Bayport. While he was taking him to his car, the man had made a break for it. In the fracas that followed, the saboteur had pushed Sam into a deep ditch. The detective pointed to his cast.

  “This was the result.”

  “At least you’re making headway on the case,” Joe remarked.

  “I was.” Sam smiled ruefully. “This sets me back. But without question your father and I are getting closer to cracking the case. On the other hand, the saboteurs are becoming bolder. They’re likely to strike anywhere, any time!”

  “Gosh,” Joe said, “I hope you’ll get them soon before they do any real damage.” Then he asked, “Sam, what did the man who escaped look like?”

  “He’s heavy-set,” the assistant detective replied. “Dark-haired and swarthy-complexioned.”

  Frank leaned forward tensely.

  “Were there any distinguishing marks on this man that you tussled with?” he asked.

  “Yes. He has a large W-shaped scar on the back of his right hand.”

  “Scar on the back of his hand!” Frank exclaimed, and told of their recent adventures. “The man who threw the log at our boat had a W-shaped scar on the back of his right hand. And what’s more,” he continued eagerly, “Breck, the phony leather-goods salesman, had the same scar on his hand. I’ll bet that Breck, the man in the boat, and the saboteur are all the same person!”

  “You’re right,” Joe agreed.

  Sam Radley stroked his chin thoughtfully and looked down at his injured leg. “Maybe you’ll catch him before I do. Keep your eyes open and your wits about you. Those fellows are dangerous. The one who got away from me is known as Killer Johnson.”