Chet, running pell-mell, neatly cut off the third guard who had started to the aid of the fellow Frank had attacked.
Again the secret defensive play had worked!
With the assistance of Ted’s strong arms and lightninglike movements, they soon brought the fight to a close and disarmed the criminals. The captors were now the captives!
As soon as he dared leave, Frank hurried to the edge of the cliff and quickly pulled up the rope, to keep Breck and York below. Coming back to the others, he said tersely:
“Give me a hand tying these fellows up.”
“We ought to take them to your father, Ted,” Joe suggested.
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll summon help,” the Indian youth answered.
Cupping his hands to his mouth, he gave a weird cry. “Ee-ooo-ay! Ee-ooo-ay! Ee-ooo-ay! That’s the Ramapans’ war cry,” he explained. “Listen!”
From the valley below came an answer. “Ee-ooo-ay! Ee-ooo-ay! Ee-ooo-ay!”
“Help will be here in a few minutes,” Ted told them.
The captives, fearful of what the Indians might mete out in the form of punishment, fought like wildcats in a desperate battle to gain their freedom. But although they loosened their bonds, the boys quickly subdued them and wound the rope tighter about them.
“Well, Chet,” Joe said as they dropped to the ground to rest, “tell us who captured you and how you got away.”
Chet pointed to the roped-up men, then told the story of his capture.
“Ted rescued me from the tree,” he concluded. “I managed to get the gag out of my mouth and then started hollering.”
Ted grinned. “You certainly can yell, fellow!”
A few minutes later a band of eight Ramapans burst into view, ready for battle. They looked disappointed upon learning that their enemies already were prisoners. Ted asked six of the Indians to take the men to their village to await the police.
“You two stay here,” he directed the others. “There are more of the gang below.” He pointed over the cliff wall.
When the rope was removed from the prisoners, who were marched off, Frank lowered it over the rim.
“I forgot to tell you, Ted,” he said, “that Breck and York will be bringing the dagger and the deed up with them.”
“What!”
Frank explained the desperate chance he had taken, but there was only praise from the Indians for his action.
Joe, meanwhile, had been inching forward on his stomach until he came to the edge of the precipice. He peered over.
“They’re coming!” he reported in a hoarse whisper. “Breck has the box tied to his belt!”
The impatient boys got set to grab York, who was in the lead. As his head appeared over the rim, they grasped him under the arms and yanked him up.
“They’re coming!” Joe reported
“Okay,” he said cheerfully before he realized who his assistants were. Then, seeing them, he yelled, “Breck, they’re loose!”
Breck’s head jerked upward. Catching sight of the boys, he instantly started climbing down the rope.
“Stop!” Ted cried.
“You’ll never get me!” screamed Breck from ten feet below them.
Frank and Joe grabbed the rope and began pulling it up. The movement caused Breck to sway out into space. He glanced downward, and a sickened look crossed his face. Then his courage returned.
“Cut it out!” he shouted. “You’ve got me but you’ll never use these papers!”
Holding on with one hand, he began unfastening the box from his belt.
“You can’t do that!” Ted cried.
“Oh no!” Breck sneered. “Watch me!”
At that instant the Hardys gave a powerful yank on the rope. With Chet guarding York to avoid a slip-up, the three Indians, holding hands, made a human chain. With one man grasping the tree, they strained forward. Ted leaned out over the cliff and snatched the box from Breck just as he was about to drop it.
“You fiends!” he screamed.
A moment later he reached the top of the cliff, too wrathful to speak further. He looked around wildly for his confederates. Not seeing them, he turned to York. But York remained silent.
“Thanks for getting the treasure for us,” Chet said, relieving the tension.
The men looked on sullenly as Ted opened the box. Nothing had been disturbed, and everyone gasped upon seeing the jeweled dagger.
“And the deed—it’s here!” Ted exclaimed jubilantly. “Frank and Joe, you’ve saved the Ramapans’ home for them!”
“We couldn’t have done it without you and Chet,” Frank replied.
“No, indeed,” Joe agreed. “We sure were in a tight spot a few minutes ago.”
“Let’s get started for your home with these prisoners, Ted,” Frank urged. “Joe and I still have work to do.”
“You mean you haven’t solved the whole mystery?” Ted asked, amazed.
“There’s a friend of these men I’d like to talk to.”
“Who’s that?”
“Miles Kamp, the lawyer,” Frank replied.
The boys’ prisoners flinched. Breck broke his silence.
“He’s too slick for you!” he boasted. “Kamp’s one of this country’s cleverest lawyers.”
“For certain characters,” Frank shot at him. “Get moving!”
The prisoners were marched off, surrounded by their bodyguard. When they reached Ted’s house, Chief Whitestone was overwhelmed. After meeting his erstwhile enemies, and being presented with the box, he fervently shook hands with the Hardys and Chet.
“My gratitude can never be adequately expressed,” he said. “The Ramapans will always remember your fine and courageous work to help them. By adoption I pronounce you Hardys members of the Ramapan tribe! I understand you, Chet, already have inherited an Indian title.”
“That’s right,” Chet replied.
“This is a great honor,” the brothers said in unison and accepted their adoption with a bow.
State troopers, who had been summoned by Chief Whitestone, arrived soon afterward and took the five captives away. Then Joe went to the telephone and called Chief Collig in Bayport. He briefly told of the recent arrests and the officer shouted his congratulations into the phone.
“That’s great work, boys.”
“We want you to arrest Miles Kamp at once,” Joe said.
There was a snort on the other end of the wire, followed by a long throat-clearing sound.
“Joe, I’m sorry to say Kamp gave us the slip,” Collig confessed.
“What!”
“My men were covering him day and night. Then, one evening, he just disappeared from his office like a puff of smoke.”
“No clues?”
“None.”
Disappointed, Joe hung up and reported the conversation to Frank.
“Maybe we can find out something from Breck and York!” Frank cried.
Calling a hasty good-by to the Whitestones, they dashed for the door.
“If you don’t need me,” Chet spoke up, “I think I’ll stay here a little longer. I want to find out some more about Chief Wallapatookunk.”
Joe laughed. “Enjoy yourself!”
Frank and Joe raced after the troopers and their prisoners and twenty minutes later caught up with them. The group paused while the boys questioned Breck and York. At first the men refused to give any help as to where the wily lawyer might be found.
“You want Kamp to defend you, don’t you?” Frank asked. “How are you going to find him? He’s not at his home or his office any more.”
“The skunk! Why not?” York shouted.
“Well, where can we locate him?” Joe prodded.
Without stopping to analyze the situation, York burst out, “He’d better come across! I’m not going to take this rap without a fight! Tell him to come here! Look for him at his boathouse.”
“Where is it?” Frank asked.
“He never told me. He said it was his special hideout when he wan
ted to get away from people and work on a case. But I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere in Southport.”
The Hardys waited no longer. They hurried to Lantern Junction, where they learned that a plane for Bayport would stop in an hour at the nearby airport.
The boys spent most of the interim at the hotel, satisfying their appetites which had been neglected for too many hours. Then they rode to the airport and boarded the plane.
Reaching Bayport, they taxied home to pick up their car. Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude greeted them in surprise. The women were thrilled to hear that Breck, York, and their henchmen had been captured but were dismayed to hear the boys were about to go after Kamp at his boathouse.
“Why don’t you let the police do it?” Aunt Gertrude said. “I’ll bet that waterfront is full of all sorts of wicked people.”
“We’ll dodge ’em all,” Joe said, grinning.
The young detectives drove off, going as fast as the speed limit allowed. Reaching the Southport waterfront, they parked and started walking. The first quarter mile contained only large piers; the second quarter, the tenement district the boys had visited before.
“I guess the private boathouses are all up farther,” Frank remarked.
They plodded on. As they reached the area where private boats were kept, he and Joe began questioning all the fishermen and craft owners they met. First, they would ask them if they knew where Miles Kamp’s boathouse was, then inquire if they had ever seen a short, heavy-jowled man who was very nearsighted. At last they were rewarded. One workman said that although he did not know the man’s name, he had seen a person who fitted the description.
“I’ve noticed him going in and out of that green boathouse with the apartment over the water,” he said, pointing down the shore a short distance.
“Thanks.”
The boys hurried along the dirt roadway back of the boathouses. Coming to the green one, they paused.
“Look!” Joe whispered. “On the window sill.”
Frank turned. On it lay a pair of thick-lensed glasses.
“I guess this is it, all right!”
Suddenly a burly man appeared from a board-walk running along the side of the apartment.
“What do you want?” he asked in a gruff voice.
“We want to see Miles Kamp,” Frank said boldly.
“A message from Breck,” Joe added in a confidential whisper.
The other’s eyes widened. “Okay. Didn’t know you were friends of his.” He stood aside to let them pass and indicated the door. “Go right in.”
As Frank slowly turned the knob, he and Joe exchanged glances.
This was the big test! Would they win or lose?
CHAPTER XX
A Victory Feast
THE boys entered the room and found Kamp lying on a sofa. A quick glance around the grimy shack convinced them that the bombastic lawyer was alone.
“Who is it?” the man asked, rising to peer at them nearsightedly. He blinked several times, then reached for his glasses on the window sill, but Joe moved them out of his reach.
“Your game is up,” Frank declared grimly. “Your gang has been taken prisoner!”
“What are you talking about?” Kamp cried.
“You’d better confess,” Joe said as he bound the lawyer’s wrists and ankles with ropes they had carried in their pockets. The boys were running no risks that Kamp might slip through their clutches.
“Help! Help!” he cried loudly.
The guard outside heard it and rushed in.
“What are you guys up to—?” he began. Then, catching sight of Kamp’s bound wrists, he roared with anger. “You tricked me.”
The Hardys leaped at him. In a moment he was their captive along with his boss.
Frank now picked up Kamp’s horn-rimmed glasses and adjusted them over his ears.
“The Hardy boys!” the lawyer screamed. “How did you—? What—?” He turned pale.
“Tell us your story,” Frank prodded. “What was your connection with Breck and York?”
Having recovered from the shock at seeing the Hardys, he said blandly, “I don’t know what you’re after,” he said.
“What’s your connection with York?” Joe countered.
“York?” Kamp asked. “You want to know about him? Well, why didn’t you say so? I’ll tell you what little I know. Take this rope off.”
“Not yet. You talk.”
“York came to me with a story about having been cheated out of some property rights by an illegal sale to the Ramapans. I thought he had a legitimate case, so I took it. There’s nothing wrong with a lawyer taking a case, is there?”
“It depends on the client,” Frank replied skeptically. “What’s Breck’s part in the case?”
“Breck? Why, he works for me. Kind of an errand boy. I had him on this case. That’s all.”
“That’s all, eh? We’ll see about that!” A familiar voice came from the doorway.
All eyes turned to see who the speaker was, although the boys recognized the voice instantly.
“Dad!”
“Sam Radley!”
They rushed over to greet their father and his assistant, who was using crutches.
“What a relief to see you two!” cried Joe. “Dad, you don’t look beat up. We were worried about you.”
“I know you were, but I couldn’t tell you anything.” The famous detective smiled warmly at his sons. “I’m in pretty good health,” he added, winking broadly.
“How’d you know where to find us?” Frank asked.
“We stopped off at the house, and your mother told us where you’d be, so we traced you here. And not a minute too soon, I see.” He surveyed the two prisoners, who glared at him.
Joe turned to Sam. “Say, why did you leave the hospital so quickly?” he asked.
“Because,” Sam answered with a meaningful look at Kamp, “I had a little visit from a so-called bone surgeon. These crooks sure thought of every angle, all right!”
“You mean,” Frank said, amazed, “that someone from the gang came to see you, disguised as a physician?”
“Exactly,” Sam declared. “In that way he gained entrance to the hospital, having persuaded the authorities there that my doctor had asked him to examine my leg.
“It was a clever attempt at worming information from me,” the assistant detective went on. “But from his conversation, I soon knew he was no doctor. I managed to evade his questions so that he wouldn’t suspect I was on to his game.”
“No wonder you made such a fast exit,” Frank put in.
“I had to get out of there before the gang sent someone back to try more desperate means to make me talk,” Sam continued. “With the help of my own doctor I was able to get some crutches and hobble away in time.”
“Kamp was lying to you boys,” Mr. Hardy said as all eyes focused again on the glum-faced lawyer. “Want to tell the truth, Kamp, or shall I?”
The man looked sullen and did not reply.
“Don’t believe a word of that fairy tale Kamp was telling you,” Fenton Hardy began. “He’s no small-city attorney. He’s the legal brains of a gang of saboteurs that has been terrorizing the country! But no longer. They’ve been rounded up.”
Frank and Joe grinned triumphantly. They had been right about the connection between their case and the one on which their father had been working.
“The gang wanted the Ramapans’ property,” the detective continued, “to carry out a great plan. It’s so secluded it would have made a wonderful hiding place for big-time saboteurs.
“Kamp, you hired a man named York to help you, but his real name is Philip Varry. He’s a small-time crook.” Mr. Hardy paused to let this sink in. Then he went on:
“You got Varry to pose as Philip York, a missing heir to the Ramapan land.”
Kamp studied the floor for a moment, then he raised his eyes.
“I might as well tell you everything. We planned to have Varry force a sale of the property,” he said. “
Whitestone refused to sell, so we had to take stronger measures.
“When we learned that the records had been burned and the Ramapans’ deed was missing, I sent Varry up there to try to find it. Then you Hardy boys got involved in the case.”
“Did you send us the threatening note?” Frank asked.
“Yes.”
“And your men pushed us onto the railroad track?”
“That was our work. I had a friend of mine yell from the street to distract everyone’s attention.”
“How did you know where we were going?” Frank asked the lawyer.
“I had someone shadowing you,” Kamp replied. “The morning you found the school closed he heard you talking about it. But we couldn’t win.
“While Phil was in the Lantern Junction station, he stole a suitcase full of leather articles. He gave them to me, and when Breck came to make his report, I turned them over to him to use as a ruse to get into your house.”
“So he did steal the key and hand it over to you,” Joe said. “Where’d he hide it—in his mouth?”
“Yes, he gave it to me at police headquarters.”
“Why did you want to get into our house?” Frank asked.
“There were letters and other documents in your father’s file cabinet that the saboteurs wanted. We could have broken in, of course, but that would have set the police on us at once.”
Frank told his father about the trick that had been played on them, and how puzzled they were by the voice.
“I can explain that,” Mr. Hardy said. “I was on the West Coast making an anticrime movie. Part of the recording was stolen.”
“Did the record say something about ‘You can’t beat these men. Give up!’ ” Joe asked excitedly.
His father smiled. “Yes, it did. The whole record went like this: ‘The American law enforcement agencies are the best in the world. You can’t beat these men. Give up. Go home to your local communities and forget the idea that crime pays!’
“I didn’t know who had stolen the recording, but you’ve solved that mystery too, boys. They played a vital part of the record to make you believe I was a captive. Thank goodness they didn’t succeed in scaring you off the case!”
The Crisscross Shadow Page 11
