The Short-Wave Mystery

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Swell idea!” Joe said. “That brown color didn’t look as if it were the original shade.”

  Not until after supper were the Hardys able to drive out to the Batter estate. The high, gabled mansion loomed starkly against the sky, silvered by moonlight. A broken porch rail and dark, blank windows gave it a sinister look.

  “Spooky-looking layout,” Joe muttered. “It’s a cinch no one’s taking care of the place.”

  Beaming flashlights, the boys carefully examined the tree which had been hit by the thieves’ car. To their disappointment, the only mark was low on the trunk, about two feet from the ground.

  Frank sighed. “I guess we’re out of luck.”

  “Looks that way,” Joe agreed. “They must have just grazed it with their front bumper. And their tire tracks don’t—” He broke off as Frank suddenly clutched his arm. “What’s the matter?”

  “Take a look!” Frank pointed to the house.

  A faint glow of light could be seen moving about inside the front windows!

  CHAPTER IV

  Irate Stranger

  JOE was as startled as his brother by the eerie light in the mansion. “Oh, oh! Maybe this trip wasn’t so useless after all!” he whispered.

  “Come on! Let’s find out what gives!” Frank urged.

  Switching off their flashlights, the young sleuths darted across the lawn.

  “Watch it!” Joe warned suddenly. “Whoever’s in there may be coming out!”

  The light was moving toward the front door. Both boys dived for cover among the bushes surrounding the porch. A moment later the door creaked open. A small figure stepped out and clicked the lock shut behind him.

  Frank and Joe peered cautiously from the bushes. To their amazement, the mansion’s mysterious visitor was a boy, about eleven or twelve years old!

  “Just a kid,” Joe muttered. Feeling a bit foolish, the Hardys rose from their hiding place.

  The boy gave a screech of fright and leaped down the porch steps in a wild dash for safety. Frank and Joe grabbed him before he had gone more than a few yards.

  “Sorry if we scared you,” Frank said. “We just want to know what you were doing in there.”

  Joe switched on his flashlight for a better look at their captive. The boy was freckle-faced, thin, and shivering, clad in a threadbare sweater, dirty jeans, and tennis shoes.

  “What’s it to you what I was doing?” he retorted defiantly. “And stop blinding me with that light, wise guy!”

  “Okay. Simmer down, pal.” The chuckle left Joe’s voice as he went on, “We could call the police, you know, if you’d rather—Oof!”

  Lowering his head suddenly, the boy had butted Joe in the midriff! As Joe staggered back, the youngster made another break for freedom, but again Frank seized him. The boy flailed his fists, punching wildly, but the Hardys managed to pinion his arms.

  “Wow! You pack a mean wallop in those knuckles!” Frank said, smiling.

  Joe added soothingly, “Just take it easy now. We’re not going to hurt you.”

  “Then stop talking about calling the cops!”

  “All right. Fair enough.” Frank relaxed his hold. “I’m Frank Hardy, by the way, and this is my brother Joe. What’s your name?”

  The boy hesitated, then muttered, “Jimmy.”

  “Jimmy what?”

  “Jimmy Batter.”

  “Batter?” exclaimed Joe. “You mean you’re related to the man who owned this house?”

  “Sure. He was my uncle-Uncle Elly.”

  Frank and Joe exchanged thoughtful glances in the moonlit darkness. “What were you doing here, Jimmy?”

  The boy shrugged. “Just looking around.”

  “What for?”

  “For nothing!” Jimmy flared. “Does there have to be a reason? Uncle Elly was good to me, that’s all. I—I just wanted to get another look at the place before it’s sold.”

  “Did Mrs. Batter know you were coming?” Frank persisted. “I mean your aunt.”

  “Naw. Neither does my ma. She wouldn’t have anything to do with Uncle Elly, and she didn’t like me seeing him, either. That’s why I had to sneak over after dark.”

  “How did you get in?” asked Joe.

  Jimmy produced a key. “Uncle Elly gave it to me. He liked to have me come and visit him, especially after he got laid up in bed.”

  Frank rubbed his jaw, considering. The boy’s story sounded plausible, but Frank was not altogether convinced. Nor was Joe. Both felt Jimmy might be holding back something.

  “How much longer are you guys going to keep me here?” the boy complained. “I answered your questions, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did,” Frank admitted. There was something appealing about the small, undernourished youngster, shivering in the autumn darkness. “Look, Jimmy! How’d you like to come home with us for some sandwiches and cocoa?”

  Jimmy stared in surprise. “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch,” Joe said. “We’re kind of hungry, after that workout you gave us. How about you?”

  “Guess I wouldn’t mind. Where do you live?”

  “Elm Street. That’s our convertible parked down there on the drive.”

  Jimmy gave an admiring whistle. “Hey! Pretty keen!”

  “We have a ham radio setup, too,” Frank added persuasively. “You can listen in, if you like.”

  “All right. I’ll come along.” Jimmy’s bored, casual tone of voice made both Hardys grin.

  When they reached home, Frank and Joe found that Aunt Gertrude had retired early. “Guess we’ll have to rustle up our own snack,” Frank said. He heated cups of cocoa while Joe made man-sized ham sandwiches.

  Jimmy ate so ravenously that the Hardys wondered when he last had had a decent meal. “Boy, this is a swell house!” the youngster said, looking around the cheerful kitchen.

  When the snack was finished and Jimmy had stuffed his pocket with cookies, Frank and Joe asked if he would like to see their short-wave rig. The youngster’s thin face lit up. “Sure!”

  They climbed the stairs to the attic radio shack. Jimmy watched, wide-eyed, as the older boys warmed up their set, then picked up and responded to a couple of distant hams. Feeling they had won the youngster’s confidence, Joe began questioning him again about his visit to Elias Batter’s mansion.

  At once Jimmy’s expression changed. “None of your business!” he blurted. “Don’t think you can con me with any free handout—I knew all along there was some catch to it!” He darted for the stairway. Joe sprang up to follow.

  Frank had been turning the dial. He was about to join Joe in pursuit of the youngster when both boys froze as a voice crackled from the radio:

  “Aardvark bulldog... Aardvark bulldog...”

  “Aardvark!” Frank echoed with a startled glance at Joe.

  “The code name Dad told us about!” As Joe spoke, a loud volley of barks came over the speaker.

  Then the voice resumed, droning out a strange flow of words and numbers. Grabbing a pencil, Frank jotted them down:

  After a pause, the voice repeated the message. Again came a sound of barking. Then silence.

  “Jumpin’ catfish!” Joe gasped. “Do you suppose that was the gang?”

  “Could be. It certainly was a code of some kind —and that means whoever sent it must have some reason for keeping the message secret.”

  “If only Dad were home!” said Joe. “Think he’ll be in tonight?”

  Frank shook his head. “When we shoved off for school this morning, he told me he was flying to New York and wouldn’t be home until tomorrow.”

  “Try calling him at his usual hotel,” Joe suggested. “I’ll check on Jimmy.”

  The boys hurried downstairs. There was no sign of their freckle-faced guest, but Joe found the front door ajar. Evidently Jimmy had failed to slam it tight when he stormed out.

  Frank, meanwhile, put through a long-distance call to New York and succeeded in contacting their father. Mr. Hardy received the report on th
e code message with keen interest.

  “The ’aardvark bulldog’ part must represent the thieves’ call signs,” he said thoughtfully.

  “Right, Dad. And the barking could be the response, indicating that contact has been made or the message has been received,” Frank declared.

  “It may take a good bit of work to crack the message itself,” the detective went on. “See what you fellows can do with it, and we’ll talk more tomorrow when I get home.”

  The Hardy boys pored over the message a while, then belatedly tackled their homework. Finally, as a swelling patter of rain outside caused them both to yawn drowsily, they went to bed.

  Next day when they arrived home from school, Frank said, “I’ve been thinking, Joe—maybe we ought to check that story Jimmy told us.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt. What do you have in mind?”

  “Well, for one thing, I’d like to know if he really is Elias Batter’s nephew.”

  The Hardys checked the Bayport telephone directory. The only Batter listed was the late Elias Batter. Frank dialed the attorney, J. Sylvester Crowell, and asked if Elias had had a nephew.

  “Why, yes—a boy named Gordon, Jimmy Gordon,” Crowell replied. “His mother is Elias Batter’s sister. She’s a widow. Why do you ask?”

  “We met Jimmy and just wanted to be sure who he is,” Frank said guardedly. “Could you give me Mrs. Gordon’s full name and address?”

  After jotting down the information, Frank hung up with a frown. “So we know Jimmy lied to us about his last name, at least.”

  “That’s not surprising,” Joe said. “He was probably worried we might get in touch with his mother and tell on him.”

  Aunt Gertrude had gone out to visit a neighbor. The boys raided the cookie jar, then went up to their room, intending to resume work on the code message. Joe saw his brother glance sharply out the window.

  “What’s the matter?” Joe inquired.

  “There’s a man down in the yard. We’d better go see what he wants.”

  The brothers hurried downstairs again and out the back door. A tall, gaunt man, rather seedily dressed in a snap-brim hat and checked topcoat, was peering into the garage.

  “Want something?” Frank asked.

  The man seemed startled, but he spoke truculently. “You two are the Hardy boys?” Frank nodded. “And you killed a deer the other day?”

  “We didn’t kill it,” Joe said. “We found it dead on the road. Someone else—”

  “Don’t give me that!” The gaunt man glowered at them. “I got evidence you punks ran it down. That was my pet deer—”

  “Your deer!” Frank exclaimed, astonished.

  “That’s right. I raised it from a fawn. You two even took the head and pelt.” The man’s narrow eyes roved around the yard and squinted at the house windows. “I aim to find them.”

  “Just a minute!” Frank blocked the intruder’s path. “I haven’t heard of any ’pet’ deer running loose in Barmet Woods.”

  “Well, you’re hearing about it now! That deer was worth at least sixty dollars to me, but if you’ll pay for it, I won’t make any trouble.”

  “We’re not paying anything,” Joe said firmly.

  The man hesitated. “Make it thirty, then. I wouldn’t want to see you fellows go to jail. But if I have to call the police—”

  “We’ll call them ourselves,” Frank broke in. “What’s your name, mister?”

  “Now hold on. Let’s cool down, buddy. No sense asking for a lot of bad publicity.” The man’s voice became frankly wheedling. “Make it twenty and we’ll call it quits. You kids can afford that. Do you work after school?” Again the stranger peered around inquisitively.

  “Never mind about us,” Frank said. “We didn’t kill the deer and we won’t pay a cent. What’s more, you’d better tell us who you are and what you’re doing here.”

  “Smart alecks, eh?” The man’s bony, long-nosed face twisted with anger. Shaking his fist, he turned down the driveway. “You haven’t heard the last of this. I gave you a chance to stay out of trouble. Now you’ll have to settle the hard way!”

  CHAPTER V

  Alley Escape

  FRANK and Joe stared after the gaunt stranger as he strode off down the driveway.

  “You don’t suppose he can really make any trouble for us, do you?” Joe muttered.

  “Of course not,” Frank scoffed. “Our front end isn’t dented and we reported the accident. That guy’s just a phony!”

  “Sure, but if it comes to a showdown, we can’t prove it wasn’t our car that hit the deer.”

  “I think the game warden knows us well enough to take our word. But let’s find out.”

  The boys hurried back into the house. Mr. Dorsey, the game warden, snorted angrily when Frank telephoned and told of their caller. “If that fellow’s story were true, he’d be in trouble with the law. Around here it’s illegal for a private owner to keep a wild deer as a pet. Just send the man to me if he bothers you again.”

  “We sure will,” Frank said gratefully. “What I’d like to know is how he got our names.”

  Dorsey explained that he had had a call about the deer on Saturday night. “I thought it was some indignant wildlife lover, but it could’ve been this same fellow. Said he’d seen the dead deer earlier and wondered if some poacher had got it. I told him you boys had reported the accident, and I’d given you and your chum the head and pelt.” The warden added, “Sorry it led to you two being annoyed.”

  “That’s all right,” Frank said. “We just wanted to check up on the guy.”

  Joe chuckled in relief after hearing what the warden said. “Just a shakedown artist, eh?”

  At that moment the boys heard their names shouted from the back yard. “There’s Chet,” said Frank. “Wonder what’s up.”

  The Hardys went through the kitchen and out the door to meet their friend.

  Chet, who was carrying his stuffed squirrel, greeted them with an embarrassed look. “Say, fellows, we really goofed on that deer. He belonged to somebody!”

  “What do you mean?” Joe blurted.

  “I just met the owner out front. Seems the deer was his pet. He was pretty mad but I—”

  Frank grabbed Chet’s shoulder. “You didn’t give him any money?”

  “Ten dollars,” Chet said, shrugging. “The head was worth that much to me. He wanted more, but I talked him down to ten.”

  Joe groaned. “Chet, you’ve been swindled!”

  “Swindled?” Chet’s jaw dropped and he stared at the Hardys. “How come?”

  “That guy didn’t own the deer—he’s just a con man,” Frank explained. “He tried to shake us down, too, but we called his bluff.”

  “Why, that low-down cheat!” Chet’s moonface turned beet-red with anger. Dropping his stuffed squirrel, he bounded off down the driveway. “He’s not getting away with my ten bucks!”

  Half startled, half amused, Frank and Joe ran after their chum. Far ahead on Elm Street, more than a block away, they could make out a tall, shuffling figure.

  “That’s the man!” Chet yelled. Spurred by anger, he and the Hardys sprinted in pursuit.

  The clatter of their leather-soled shoes reached the stranger’s ears. He glanced back, then broke into a run. The chase was on!

  Frank and Joe quickly drew ahead of their puffing, chunky pal, but the gaunt swindler’s long-legged strides kept him a safe distance from his pursuers.

  Reaching Oak Avenue, which was lined with stores, he turned right and disappeared from view. The three boys rounded the corner moments later, straining for a glimpse of their quarry. Oak Avenue led into Bayport’s business district and the sidewalk was dotted with pedestrians.

  “There he goes!” Frank yelled, pointing down the street.

  Three blocks later, after a maddening halt by traffic en route, the boys saw the swindler dart into an alleyway between two rows of buildings.

  “Now we’ve got him!” Chet panted.

  Weaving their way throu
gh the sidewalk throng, the trio reached the alley opening. But as they plunged into the narrow passage, they collided full tilt with three small boys who were running out.

  The swindler got away!

  “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, fatso!” one of the boys yelled at Chet.

  “Jimmy Gordon!” Joe exclaimed, catching the boy’s arm. Jimmy angrily threw off his grasp.

  “Hold ’em! Hold those kids!” came a shout from somewhere farther along the alley. The Hardys saw Policeman Con Riley, an old acquaintance, lumbering toward them through the passage.

  “What’s the matter?” Frank asked impatiently as he and Joe restrained the three urchins.

  “I’m running those brats in!” Riley roared. “They’ve been marking windows, and racing carts in the supermarket. Now they’re going to the station house!”

  “Never mind all that. We’ll be responsible for them,” Joe said. “Help us catch a real crook!”

  “Real crook?” Riley looked startled. “What’re you talking about?”

  “A swindler—he gypped me out of ten bucks,” Chet complained. “He’s a tall, bony guy in a checked coat. We saw him run down this alley.”

  “No one came out of this alley. I’d have seen him,” Riley declared.

  “Then he must’ve gone into one of these stores —through the back way,” Frank said.

  “That’s right, he did,” piped up one of Jimmy Gordon’s companions. “We saw a guy like that go in the back door of the five-and-ten.”

  Riley glowered at the three urchins, then looked up at the Hardys and Chet. “All right, let’s find him. But hang onto those little brats—I’m not through with ’em!”

  “Okay, Jimmy—you and your pals come along and help us,” Frank ordered. “And no tricks! We know your name’s Jimmy Gordon and we have your address, if you try giving us the slip.”

  Jimmy gaped in dismay, then sullenly motioned his companions to do as Frank said. The Hardys and Chet each kept a hand on one of the smaller boys as the whole group crowded into the five-and-ten and spread out through the aisles. The gaunt swindler, however, had vanished. Policeman Riley questioned several clerks as well as pedestrians outside, and other stores in the block were also combed, but their quarry was nowhere in sight.