The boys took the oath binding them to secrecy. Then the admiral proceeded.
“We’ve been trying to keep the lid on a very serious situation we’re faced with. A Super S missile has been stolen from the Baltimore arsenal!”
Frank and Joe gasped. “How could anyone make off with a rocket belonging to the U. S. Navy?” Frank exclaimed. “It seems impossible!”
“It happened,” the admiral said dryly. “Now here’s what I want you to do. Tell your father, but under no circumstances anyone else. And you must speak to him personally. Don’t say anything over the telephone.”
Frank nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“I have no opportunity to contact him myself,” Admiral Rodgers went on, “since he is working underground. But I want him to get in touch with me as soon as he can.”
Admiral Rodgers escorted them to the elevator. “Let me know if your father discovers any leads that tie in with this affair. It’s a race against time. If we don’t recover the missile, it might change the balance of power in the world!”
Frank and Joe thanked him, the elevator doors closed, and they were on their way out of the Pentagon.
They hastened back to the airport and put in a call to the Baltimore hotel where Fenton Hardy had been staying. Joe asked if L. Marks had returned.
“Yes, he has,” the clerk replied. “He left a message for two fellows named Fred and Jim. They’re to meet him here. Are you Fred or Jim?”
“Jim. Thanks.” Joe hung up. “We’re in luck!” he exulted.
Frank was not ready to celebrate yet. “I hope you’re right. But this could easily be another phony. Remember what happened to us last time we answered a communication from L. Marks?”
“Do I?” Joe probed the tender spot at the back of his head. “How could I forget, with this bump? What do we do now?”
“We go to Baltimore,” Frank decided. “Only we’ll be more cautious about walking into anybody’s parlor.”
Joe grinned. “The resident might be the spider in this case!”
“Right. The point is, we can’t simply ignore the message. If Dad really left it for us, we’ll have to see him. Besides, he might be in a tight corner.”
Frank and Joe described their plan to Jack Wayne, who offered to help. En route to Baltimore they got down to details. Jack would remain at the airport, ready to take off at a moment’s notice.
Frank said, “We have no idea where this mystery will end. Boston could be our next stop, or Miami!”
“We’ll let you know what’s cooking when we discover what those crooks have on their menu,” Joe added.
When the plane landed in Baltimore, they had a quick bite to eat. Then Jack ensconced himself in a chair with a newspaper, prepared to sit it out until the call to action. The boys gave him the address of the hotel so he could start a search if he did not hear from them within three hours.
“Good luck!” Jack called to them as they left. Frank and Joe hailed a taxi and settled back for the ride into town. The driver guided his vehicle through the streets with a practiced hand, weaving in and out of traffic, swerving around pedestrians, and timing his speed to catch the green lights block by block.
A big black sedan roared up abreast of the cab at top speed. “That guy sure is in a hurry,” Joe observed.
The driver of the car pulled sharply to the right, cutting in front of the taxi. Frantically the cabby twisted the steering wheel to avoid a collision. He lost control as the black car forced him off the highway.
The cab careened wildly into a dead-end street! As it slewed around, the rear end slammed toward a telephone pole with terrific force! The Hardys braced themselves for the crash!
CHAPTER VI
X Marks L. Marks
THE tires of the cab screeched against the curb. Frank hung on grimly, and for one split second he got a look into the black car.
The two thugs from Bayport! Almost subconsciously, his mind registered the license plate number as the sedan shot past. Much good it would do him if the taxi wrapped itself around the telephone pole!
The vehicle bounced off the curb, shook violently, teetered sideways on two wheels, jolted to a stop and fell over just short of the pole.
“Couple of inches more, and we’d have been goners!” gasped the driver, pale with fright. Bracing his feet against the steering wheel for leverage, he forced the front door upward and scrambled out. Frantically he wrenched open the back door.
“You guys all right?” he inquired of his passengers, who had been dumped in a heap on the bottom side of the cab.
“All right would be an exaggeration,” Joe grunted. “Let’s say shaken up, with cuts and bruises, but hopefully no broken bones. How about you, Frank?”
“I’ll live,” Frank predicted.
Just as the boys were climbing out of the taxi, a couple of motorcycle policemen roared to the scene of the accident. The usual formalities of name-taking began.
“H-a-r-d-y,” Frank spelled out.
“Any relation to Fenton Hardy the detective?” the officer asked.
“We’re his sons.”
The cabdriver, turning livid as his indignation mounted, gave a graphic description of what had occurred. He was delighted to hear Frank report the license number of the black sedan.
One of the policemen immediately pulled out a list of stolen vehicles from his pocket and ran a finger down the numbers. “Here it is!” he said.
A little while later another officer arrived in a squad car with the information that he had found the car itself with open doors, abandoned in an alley close by. No sign of the men.
“Something funny about this whole business,” he said slowly, after hearing the boys’ story. “Let’s go over and give this car the once-over before we tow it in.”
While the police examined the sedan, Frank and Joe stood by silently. Finally, just as the tow truck was driving up, Frank inquired if they might have a look inside. The officers nodded permission.
The boys saw nothing of any interest and were turning away in disappointment when Joe caught sight of a white fleck at the edge of the front floor mat.
“Just a minute. There’s something under the mat.” He pulled out the slip of paper.
“Takes an amateur to teach us our business,” snorted one of the policemen and took it.
“Beginner’s luck, Officer,” Frank suggested.
“Beginner’s bad luck, seems to me,” the policeman retorted with obvious satisfaction after examining the paper. “You’re Frank Hardy, aren’t you? Well, this is a driver’s license. Take a look.”
Frank gulped. “It’s mine!”
The boys knew they were on the spot. Since their jackets and wallets had disappeared in Bayport, they lacked any proof of identification. They were unknown to the Baltimore authorities, and all the evidence so far pointed to a connection with a car theft.
“Whatever you’re up to, you’ve got some tall explaining to do,” the officer warned them. “We’ll have to book you if you don’t come up with a believable story fast!”
“Will you believe Fenton Hardy?” Joe put in.
“Sure. If he were here!”
“To begin with,” Joe explained, “we told the truth. He’s our father. Furthermore, he’s working on a case here in Baltimore. If you’ll just take us to his hotel, he’ll vouch for us.”
The tow truck started moving, pulling the stolen car behind. Since there was nothing more to be learned at the scene of the accident, the police decided to take Frank and Joe down to headquarters. There they were placed in the custody of a plainclothes detective for the ride to Mr. Hardy’s hotel.
They drove in an unmarked car. “That’s a rough neighborhood,” the detective explained. “No sense in alerting everybody in sight to the fact that the law is coming.”
The car swung into a heavily industrialized area, past grimy smoke-blackened factories and shoddy businesses. Here and there a delicatessen or a supermarket catered to customers with more money to spend than tho
se who frequented the dingier shops.
The car nosed through the toughest area of all, down near the docks. Waterfront characters loomed in doorways, talking loudly. A rolling gait often betrayed the sailor. The varied accents of the foreign seamen indicated that their home ports ranged all around the world from Singapore and Liverpool, from Marseilles and Calcutta.
They stopped in front of the hotel where Fenton Hardy was supposed to be staying. Joe looked at the tacky, run-down place. “How does such a beat-up establishment stay solvent?” he wondered.
Entering the hotel, they advanced to the desk. The clerk was a handsome fellow, with dark skin and a profile of classic regularity.
He greeted the strangers with his palms together and an ingratiating smile. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
“Looks like a native of India,” Frank thought.
The detective came right to the point. “We’d like to see Fenton Hardy.”
“Fenton Hardy? I don’t recognize the name. He can’t be staying in this hotel unless my memory is playing tricks on me. Let me see what the ledger has to say.” He ran his finger down a page. “No, just as I thought. There’s no such name here.”
Frank and Joe exchanged glances. They had forgotten to tell the officer that their father was not using his real name on this assignment.
Now they were really in a bind. What would the authorities think of Fenton Hardy and L. Marks being one and the same man? What would happen if the oily-mannered clerk put two and two together?
Still the truth was the only way out.
“Have you an L. Marks registered here?” Frank asked anxiously.
As the desk clerk re-examined the ledger, Joe drew the detective aside and gave him a quick account of his father’s alias.
The clerk looked up. “I’m very sorry,” he dedared with a smirk that seemed to contradict his apology. “There’s no L. Marks staying in the hotel either. Shall I search for yet a third name that may be of interest to you?”
“No thanks. We’ll try for three another time.” The detective turned away from the desk. “Okay, there’s nothing more to be gained down here,” he said to the boys. “We’ll go back where we came from and start all over again.”
Frank and Joe were completely discouraged as they climbed silently into the car. Suddenly Joe had an idea. “Admiral Rodgers!” he exclaimed. “Why didn’t we think of him before? We just saw him at the Pentagon. He could vouch for us!”
“Maybe you know the president, too,” the detective replied sarcastically.
“Look, we’re not kidding,” Frank protested. “Will you at least call him?”
“Sure. I’ve got a hot line to Washington.”
By the time they arrived at police headquarters, they had persuaded the officer to put in a call to the Pentagon. Frank and Joe listened breathlessly to the conversation that followed.
The detective stated his case, then there was a brief pause. “Yes,” he continued. “Let me see now. You say Frank is eighteen years old, dark hair and brown eyes.... And Joe Hardy is seventeen, blond hair and blue eyes.... Yes, the other details check out.... You want to speak to Frank?...Here he is.”
The elder Hardy talked briefly with the admiral. Then he returned the phone to the detective, who thanked Rodgers for his help and hung up.
“You’re off the hook,” he said. “Admiral Rodgers gives you a clean bill of health. You can go now. And give your father my regards when you see him. We appreciate the work he’s been doing.”
“Dad’ll be pleased by your compliment,” Frank replied. “He’s a former member of the force himself.”
Leaving headquarters, Joe reflected that they still did not know why L. Marks was not registered at the hotel.
Frank nodded. “But there’s a catch to that. We only know what the clerk told us. Remember, he was the only one who looked into the ledger. He never pushed it across the desk so we could see for ourselves. How can we be sure he was telling the truth?”
“I’ll bet my money the other way around. He didn’t look the type to inspire confidence, anyhow. What’s next?”
“A look at the ledger!”
They phoned Jack Wayne at the airport, and asked him to stand by until the next day. “We intend to find out whether Dad is in that hotel or not, but we should be back by the afternoon.”
Returning to the dock area, Frank and Joe staked out the hotel from a small, all-night diner, conveniently situated across the street, hoping for a chance to slip unnoticed into the hotel. It was a long wait.
“Look at this!” Frank whispered excitedly
They could see the desk clerk from where they sat and it seemed he was a permanent fixture. Not once did he move away. Just as they were about to give up, two seamen arrived in search of lodgings for the night.
It was now or never. The Hardys watched the clerk, a different one from their Indian friend, produce the ledger to be signed. Then he reached for keys and escorted the men to their room.
This was the opportunity the boys had been waiting for. They hurried across the street, slipped through the door, and walked to the desk. Frank pulled the ledger over and opened it. Frantically he flipped the pages to the current list of guests.
“Look at this!” he whispered excitedly. He placed his finger on an entry where the name of L. Marks was inscribed in their father’s handwriting! A large X was scrawled in the margin beside it!
The sight of the X mark chilled them. But they had found the information they were after and had to get out before they were discovered.
Hastily they replaced the ledger. They had taken only a few steps toward the door when a harsh voice booming across the lobby stopped them short.
“I saw you!”
CHAPTER VII
Desperate Dive
“LOOKS as if we’ve had it!” Joe muttered. “He probably saw us looking at the ledger!”
“Let’s not hit the panic button!” Frank replied guardedly. “Keep cool, and we’ll try to talk our way out of it!”
The boys wheeled around and walked back to the desk, feeling uncomfortable under the beady eyes of the clerk, who obviously was determined to question them about their actions.
“I saw you!” he repeated. Then he added reproachfully, “You should have waited a minute or two when you discovered there was no one at the desk. I had to show two men to their room. There’s one vacancy at the moment. Do you want it?”
Frank and Joe needed all their self-control to avoid giving themselves away. What a relief! He had not spotted them at the ledger after all! Now to put up a bold front before he became suspicious.
“Yes,” said Frank to the clerk, “we’d like a room for the night. My partner here is Jay Mackin, and I’m Roy Bard.”
They signed the register, paid in advance, and were shown to a room.
Joe sat down on one of the twin beds. “Thank goodness we pulled that off safely!”
Frank nodded. “The thing is, we’re really in the lion’s den now. This place may very well be the hideout of the gang we’re after, and they wouldn’t think twice about rubbing us out.”
“I wonder what’s become of Dad,” Joe mused.
“For all we know, he’s somewhere in this building. Maybe he’s being held prisoner!”
“That X opposite the name L. Marks in the ledger convinced me that Dad’s not among his greatest admirers,” Joe agreed.
Frank stared out the window into the dimly lighted street. A car horn broke the stillness with a raucous blast. Four tipsy sailors staggered past, bellowing a sea chanty at the top of their lungs.
The elder boy took in the scene before answering. “You won’t get any argument from me. This hotel gives me the creeps. And we’re cut off from the outside world. There’s no telephone in this room, no way to contact the police.”
“Right. We’re a couple of sitting ducks wondering when the hunters are going to begin taking potshots at us.”
The boys, tired and worried, put their heads together in th
e hope of coming up with a plan. Nothing practical suggested itself.
“Let’s sleep on it,” Joe proposed. “We can’t do much until we find out who’s in the hotel, and what kind of shenanigans are going on. These beds will probably give us nightmares,” he concluded, feeling the lumps in the mattress before snapping out the light.
In spite of this prediction, he was soundly asleep when Frank shook him by the arm.
“What’s up?” Joe inquired, with closed eyes.
“Wake up. Hurry!”
“What time is it?”
“Four A.M.”
Joe groaned. “That’s not a fit hour for man or beast to be up and around!”
“Quiet!” Frank whispered. “Some funny business is going on next door. There was a heavy thump—shook the room and woke me up. Then a sound as though wheels were being rolled over the floor. One of them needed oiling because it squeaked. Listen!”
Low conversation and a scuffing, thumping sound could be heard through the flimsy wall. Obviously something heavy was being moved.
By now Joe was wide awake. “Holy catfish! Sounds as if they’re disposing of a body!”
“Maybe yes, maybe no. We’d better find out for sure.”
The two threw on their clothes. Stealthily they opened their door a crack in order to have a clear view down the length of the hall. Moments after they took up their vigil, the door to the other room opened.
A man came out, glanced around to see that the coast was clear, and motioned to someone inside. A second man emerged, pushing a hand truck on which was a large wooden cask.
Gingerly, as quietly as the creaking floorboards would permit, the pair maneuvered it down to the end of the hall, where they squeezed it into a rickety service elevator.
As soon as the sliding doors closed, the boys tumbled out of their room in a headlong dash for the stairs. They went down the steps three at a time. Panting, they pulled up at the bottom.
“Quick!” Frank pointed. “Let’s get behind that stack of laundry baskets and see what happens when they get down.”
The elevator indicator moved down to number one. The doors opened. The two men eased their hand truck out, still balancing the cask on it.
The Bombay Boomerang Page 4
