“Hm, haven’t I heard your name before?” Dobert Humber said.
“Our father’s a private investigator,” Frank replied. “He’s quite well known.”
“Oh yes. And you and your brother run some kind of boyish detective service, I believe.”
“That’s right. We’re trying to find out what happened to Mr. Satoya. That’s why we’d like to talk to you about that stolen sword.”
“I see. Well, if I can be of any help, I shall be glad to spare you a few minutes. It’s quite possible my knowledge and expertise may shed some light on the mystery.”
Joe flashed his brother a questioning glance as Frank hung up the phone a few seconds later.
“Well?”
“He’ll see us tonight,” Frank said with a grimace. “Sounds like a real fathead!”
The boys drove out to see Humber, who lived in a beautiful wooded area outside of town. His home, built of gray stone, looked like a huge old English manor house. As they started up to the front door after parking their car, Frank suddenly put a hand on his brother’s right arm.
Joe guessed at once that Frank had noticed something unusual. “What is it?” he murmured.
“Left side of the house. Thought I saw a movement in the shadows.”
Without any hasty action that might telegraph their intentions, Joe casually returned to the car and got a flashlight. Then he and Frank darted in opposite directions, trying to cut off the intruder’s escape. But the flashlight beam failed to reveal any lurking figures.
“Maybe I was seeing things again,” Frank fretted.
“Maybe and maybe not. Never hurts to check.”
A butler admitted the boys to the drawing room where Humber was waiting. If their host recognized the Hardys as the two youths he had bumped into at Bayshore College, he gave no sign. Instead, he offered them refreshments and insisted on showing them his collection of rare weapons.
Most of them were displayed in glass cases or hung on the walls of his study. Frank and Joe were fascinated as Humber pointed out his treasures. Among them were an ancient Saxon war axe dating back before the Norman Conquest of England, a knobkerry or African throwing club, a two-bladed scissors dagger from the Middle East, and a katar or punch dagger from India. The latter had a handle with twin crossbars, which the user could hold in order to jab an enemy, the same way a boxer punches with his fist.
“And this curious weapon also comes from India,” said Humber, holding up a small but vicious-looking device. “These curved steel blades are called ‘tiger claws.’”
The claws were attached to a steel bar with a little ring at each end. Humber showed the boys how the wearer could slip his first and little fingers through these rings in order to slash an opponent.
“Wow!” Joe muttered. “I’d hate to tangle with anyone wearing those!”
“A very nasty weapon,” Humber agreed. “I’m told these were often used sneakily, to attack an enemy off guard.”
He seemed pleased by the boys’ interest in his collection and answered all their questions. Frank maneuvered the conversation around to the reason for their visit.
“We’re wondering how you knew that stolen samurai sword belonged to Mr. Satoya’s family,” he probed.
Their host said he had been told so. “The fact wasn’t mentioned in the sale catalog for the auction, but I’m a valued customer of the Palmer-Glade Galleries,” Humber said smugly. “I daresay that’s why their Oriental expert confided the information to me.”
Frank threw a glance at Joe. Both boys had the same idea. No doubt this explained why the gallery director believed the anonymous Japanese offer to buy the sword might have come from Satoya. But he had not revealed his reasons to the boys in order to protect his gallery’s reputation for being discreet about its customers’ affairs.
“Matter of fact, that dancer Warlord told us Mr. Satoya was probably interested in purchasing the sword,” Joe said. “I wonder how he found out?”
“Hm! Good question,” Humber sniffed disdainfully. “In my opinion that Warlord fellow’s not to be trusted—especially about anything connected with the Satoya Corporation.”
Frank frowned alertly. “Why not, sir?”
“Because I’ve reason to believe he’s involved in a nasty feud with the company.”
“What sort of feud, Mr. Humber?” Joe asked.
Their host shrugged as if he found the subject too unpleasant to talk about. “It started when Warlord was over in Japan. There was trouble of some kind—actual physical violence, or so I’ve heard. But I wouldn’t know the details.”
Again the Hardys exchanged thoughtful looks.
As they were leaving, Humber said, “By the way, I may need some detective work done myself one of these days.”
Frank politely inquired the reason.
“Because I suspect thieves may have their eye on my collection of weapons,” Humber replied. “Possibly professional burglars.”
“Do you have any definite grounds for your suspicions?” Frank persisted.
“Indeed I do, though you may think I’m worrying about shadows. This evening at twilight, just before it got dark, I’m sure I saw someone spying on the house. It was a man dressed all in black!”
10
Trouble in Tokyo
Joe was about to blurt out that Frank, too, had glimpsed a dark figure, as a result of which they had made a hasty search for any lurking spy just before ringing the door-bell. But he stifled his remark at a slight frown from his brother.
“If it happens again, Mr. Humber, please give us a call,” Frank said. “We’ll come right over and try to trap whoever’s watching your house.”
“Thanks! I’ll certainly do that.” Humber sounded genuinely grateful for the offer of help.
As the boys drove away, Frank explained, “No sense worrying the guy—that’s why I signaled you not to mention what we saw. Or what I saw, anyhow.”
“Guess you’re right,” Joe agreed. “At least we know it wasn’t your imagination.” He added after a pause, “You think it was a ninja?”
Frank nodded thoughtfully. “It’s sure beginning to look that way. What do you make of that trouble Humber mentioned, between Warlord and the Satoya Corporation?”
“Sounded to me like he’s peeved at Warlord, so he’s raking up some old business to make him look bad.”
“I got the same impression. On the other hand, if Warlord really does have a grudge against the company, I’d like to know more about it.”
“Same here. Maybe we ought to have another talk with Warlord.”
It was not yet 9:30, so the Hardys felt there might still be a chance of seeing the dancer before he retired. Frank pulled into a gas station. Leaving Joe to deal with the attendant, he dialed the number of Bayshore College on the pay telephone inside and asked for Warlord’s extension in the dance troupe’s quarters on campus.
Another member of the troupe answered. “Yvor’s not here right now,” he said, using Warlord’s given name. “May I help you?”
Frank told the dancer who was calling and said, “My brother and I would like to ask him about something that happened when he was in Japan.”
“That must’ve been before he formed our troupe, so I wouldn’t know about it, myself,” the dancer replied. “But look, you’re the fellows who were here before, aren’t you, investigating the disappearance of that Japanese businessman?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, the campus is still lit up, and things seem pretty lively around here. Yvor should be back soon—so if you want to take a chance and come on over, I imagine he’ll see you.”
“Great! Thanks,” Frank said. “We’ll be there in about fifteen or twenty minutes.”
The Hardys drove to Bayshore. With many students on vacation during the summer term, two of the dormitories were empty, and the dance troupe had been assigned rooms in one of them. But the boys were in for an unpleasant surprise.
When they knocked on Warlord’s door, it was
opened by another member of the troupe. From his look of instant recognition, Frank guessed that this must be the person he had talked to on the phone.
“We’re Frank and Joe Hardy,” he said. “We’ve come to—”
“I know—I know who you are,” the dancer interrupted hastily, with an embarrassed expression on his face. “But I’m not too sure th—”
He was pushed aside before he could finish speaking, and Warlord himself appeared in the doorway, looking furious.
“I have nothing to say to you two!” he exclaimed. “So kindly leave!”
The Hardys stared in astonishment. Unlike his friendly manner that morning, the dance star was red-faced with anger.
“What’re you upset about?” Frank asked in a reasonable tone, hoping to calm him down. “All we want to do is ask you a few qu—”
But Warlord cut him short and growled, “Get out!” and slammed the door in their faces!
The Hardys returned somewhat glumly to their car.
“Boy, I sure wasn’t expecting anything like that,” Joe remarked.
“Neither was I,” Frank concurred. “Whatever happened in Japan must still be a mighty sore point with him. Maybe Humber was right.”
When the boys arrived back at the Hardys’ house on Elm Street, they found their father home again. They learned that he had gone to the airport to confer with an FBI official, who had flown from Washington expressly to brief him on his new assignment.
“What do they want you to do, Dad?” Joe asked. “I mean if it’s not too secret to tell us.”
“Actually it may well be connected with the Satoya case,” Fenton Hardy replied. “The Road King Motorcycle Company has received certain threats.”
“There’s a chance they may merge with the motorcycle division of the Satoya Corporation,” Frank put in. “That’s what Mr. Satoya came over to discuss.”
Mr. Hardy nodded. “Right—and that’s what the threats are all about. Road King’s been warned to forget the merger, or they’ll regret it.”
“Any leads to go on, Dad?”
“Not really—just suspicions. I have a hunch the threats may have come from another Japanese firm, Gorobei Motors. They’d like to take over the Road King company themselves. In fact they’ve already made an offer. If my suspicions are correct, I may have to fly to Japan to prove them, but so far I’m not sure.”
After hearing about the unpleasant incident with Warlord, Mr. Hardy offered to cable the Japanese police for information. “I know several of the top police officials in Tokyo,” he said. “I’ve even handled a few investigations for them. If Warlord was ever in trouble over there, I’m sure they could check out the facts.”
“Great! Thanks, Dad,” his sons responded.
Next morning, Frank and Joe went to the Bayport Chilton Hotel to see Takashi Satoya’s two senior aides. They noticed his rugged-looking, poker-faced chauffeur sitting in the lobby. He returned their nods politely.
“Looks like he’s keeping an eye out for trouble himself,” Joe remarked in a low voice as they headed for an elevator.
“Yes, backing up the regular security guards,” Frank agreed. “And if any trouble does come up, he sure looks as if he could handle it.”
Mr. Kawanishi and Mr. Oyama received them in the sitting room of the company’s hotel suite.
“We’re wondering if you could tell us anything about an American dancer called Warlord,” Frank began. “It happens he’s in Bayport to perform, and we were told he once had trouble with the Satoya Corporation when he was in Japan.”
Satoya’s aides regarded the Hardy boys with fresh respect.
“You two young men do, indeed, carry out thorough investigations,” Mr. Kawanishi said. “And what you say is correct. I recall our company having trouble of some kind with the dancer called Warlord, although it happened several years ago.”
Mr. Oyama explained, “He had a fight with one of our employees—a grudge fight, I believe, in which our employee was seriously injured and had to go to the hospital. As you may know, in Japan, companies take a keen interest in the private lives of their workers, as well as in how they perform their jobs. Therefore, the Satoya Corporation took legal action against Warlord, on behalf of our injured worker.”
As a result, he went on, the dancer had been forced to leave Japan. However, all this had been handled by company lawyers, and neither Mr. Oyama nor Mr. Kawanishi knew any of the details. Nor, up until now, at least, had they considered it very important.
“Are you suggesting that Warlord may know something about our revered employer’s disappearance?” Kawanishi inquired.
“It’s one possibility we wanted to look into,” said Frank. “We’d also like to know a little more about this samurai sword that was stolen in New York. Mr. Oyama told me on the phone that the sword may have been Mr. Satoya’s main reason for coming to America.”
Both aides nodded seriously as though they had discussed the matter between them, following Frank’s phone call.
“Our employer wore the sword as a young officer during World War II,” Oyama related, “but he lost it when he was taken prisoner by your soldiers, sometime before Japan surrendered. Apparently the sword was ‘liberated,’ as the saying goes, by a GI. At any rate, it disappeared. Perhaps you know how much a Japanese samurai values his blade?”
“We’ve been told,” said Frank.
“This one was especially treasured because it had belonged to the Satoya family for many generations,” Mr. Kawanishi added. “For that reason, our employer has had agents looking for it all over the world, feeling that one day whoever took it might decide to sell it for money.”
“And events proved him right,” said Mr. Oyama. “He was delighted when the sword turned up for sale at the Palmer-Glade Galleries. He was able to identify it from their sale catalog. But, alas, I fear the news of its theft may come as a very unpleasant blow to him—that is, assuming Mr. Satoya himself is still alive and safe.”
“You think he disappeared of his own accord?” Joe asked shrewdly.
Once again, the Hardys saw a troubled glance pass between the two aides.
“I must confess we do think so,” Mr. Kawanishi admitted, “even though we are at a loss to explain how or why it happened.”
“If you’re right, his chauffeur must have been in on it,” Frank pointed out.
Both aides agreed. “But there is no hope of learning anything from him,” said Oyama.
“Why not, sir?”
“Because he is fanatically loyal to his master. You see, he has a small daughter, who was born with a heart defect. Mr. Satoya had her flown to a hospital in Texas and paid for an expensive operation that saved her life. Now that fellow would die before he would betray anything which his master wished to keep secret.”
On a sudden impulse, Frank decided to phone Warlord from the hotel lobby. As he had hoped, the dancer accepted his call.
“We’ve found out about the fight you had with a Satoya worker, and how you were forced to leave Japan,” Frank said. “We’d like to hear your side of it, just out of fairness.”
There was a brief silence. Then Warlord said, “Okay, you win. Come on over to the college and I’ll tell you the whole story.”
11
A Crooked Offer
“We’ll be right over,” Frank promised and hung up.
Joe was excited when he heard the news. “Maybe something’ll break now!”
“Maybe. But we’d better not get our hopes too high. This may turn into another blind alley.”
The boys sped to Bayshore College. After parking their car in the student lot, they found Yvor Killian and his troupe practicing their numbers in the gymnasium again.
The dancer’s manner was somewhat embarrassed as he greeted the Hardys.
“Come over and sit down, please, where we can talk in private,” he said, gesturing toward some folding chairs in one corner of the gym.
When they were all seated, Killian began, “About three years ago, bef
ore I formed my present troupe, I studied the martial arts in Japan.”
“How come?” Joe asked.
“Because I thought they might add an important touch to the kind of dance spectacle I was interested in creating. I enjoyed learning the Japanese fighting skills and the way they were taught, partly because it was all so different from our American self-defense sports like boxing, for example. But there was one student, named Noguchi, with whom I never got along. He hated me—maybe because his father had been killed fighting the Americans during the war.”
Killian said the bad feelings between them erupted one day during a practice match. Noguchi had refused to “pull” his blows. This enraged Killian. They were soon fighting in deadly earnest, and before their instructor could stop them, Killian hit his opponent with a karate chop, seriously injuring him.
The dancer’s head drooped for a moment and his face took on a bleak expression as he recalled the unpleasant situation.
“I instantly regretted it,” he went on, “and I tried to make amends by visiting Noguchi at the hospital and apologizing. But by then the damage was done. Noguchi worked for the Satoya Corporation, and their company lawyers pressed charges against me with the police. As a result, I was asked to leave the country.”
“Tough break,” Frank sympathized.
Warlord shrugged. “Just one of those things, I guess. Noguchi recovered, but I still feel guilty about what happened, so I’ve tried to forget the whole business. If the news ever came out, it probably wouldn’t do my career any good, either.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not going to leak out through us,” said Joe.
“No, I’m sure of that—now. But at the time I got your call and heard what you wanted to see me about, I guess I lost my head. I thought you were going to drag up that old scandal and try to pin something on me. Sorry about that.”
“Forget it,” Frank said. “But we do have another question...”
“Shoot.”
“You told us you thought Satoya intended to bid on that sword at the Palmer-Glade Auction Galleries, and it turns out you were right. How did you know?”
Mystery of the Samurai Sword Page 6
