“Right, sir.”
“Splendid idea, my boy! By jove, how clever. I wish I’d thought of that!”
At quarter after eleven that night, Humber’s expensive limousine was driven out of the garage and away from the estate. Humber was at the wheel, the only visible person in the car. A flight bag filled with newspaper sat on the passenger seat next to him. Frank and Joe were huddled on the floor of the back seat compartment.
Meanwhile, two boyish figures could be seen in silhouette through one lighted window of the wealthy collector’s mansion. They appeared to be watching the late TV news. Actually they were dummies which Humber had helped the boys rig with great glee. They consisted of stuffed suits of clothes with marble statuary busts fitted in place to serve as heads.
The hill on which Lookout Rock was situated had been the site of the middle cloverleaf in the motorcycle race. A narrow dirt lane ran along the foot of the slope.
Humber parked in a secluded spot and got out without saying a word. Frank and Joe crawled out the other side, which was concealed from view by the surrounding shrubbery. Earlier they had disconnected the courtesy light switch, so that no glow would be visible to give them away when the back door was opened.
Humber started up the hillside first and settled himself to wait at a convenient spot about halfway up the slope. The Hardy boys followed cautiously, keeping low and squirming through the underbrush. Rather than risk going too high and giving themselves away, they picked a hiding place which would afford them an equally clear view of Humber and the massive rocky outcrop on the brow of the hill.
“Got the time?” Joe whispered after a lengthy wait.
“About one minute to twelve,” Frank responded softly. “It won’t be long now!”
Seconds crept by.
“Now!” Frank hissed as the illuminated dial of his watch showed twelve o‘clock.
The Hardys saw Humber rise to his feet, clutching the flight bag, and start slowly up the slope. Both boys braced themselves to make a sprint toward the rock and try to seize the thief once the exchange was underway.
Suddenly a siren shrieked somewhere below them! Frank and Joe glimpsed Humber’s startled reaction, but their eyes were mainly fixed on Lookout Rock.
In the moonlit darkness they saw a figure bolt from cover and dart toward a motorcycle. Its engine roared to life and the rider sped off!
The Hardys raced up the hillside. It was too late to catch the thief, but Frank whipped out a flashlight, playing its beam on the ground. Then he stopped short. “Joe! Take a look at this!” he cried.
15
Police Tip
Joe gasped as he saw the object revealed by the flashlight beam—a sheathed, long-bladed sword lying near the base of Lookout Rock! Its scabbard was of plain, leather-covered metal, but its hilt was beautifully inlaid with mother-of-pearl!
“Just like the photo they showed us at the gallery!” Joe exclaimed, kneeling down for a closer look. “This must be it, all right!”
“Watch out for prints!” Frank warned.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to handle it,” Joe replied. “Got some twine here that should do for a carrying handle.”
He fished in his pocket and brought out some stout string salvaged from a package, then tied one end to the hilt and the other to the sheath. By gripping the string, the sword could now be picked up without danger of smudging any possible fingerprints.
“Hey! What happened to Humber?” Frank blurted.
His brother glanced down the slope but could see no one. “The car’s gone, too!” Joe noted. “He must have taken off the same time as the guy on the motorcycle—that’s why we didn’t hear him go!”
Frank chuckled dryly. “That siren must’ve scared him out of his wits. He was probably afraid the police might nab him for buying stolen goods!”
“Speaking of the police—where are they?” Joe wondered aloud.
The boys hurried down the hillside to obtain a better view, unobstructed by trees. After surveying the moonlit lane in both directions, they could see no car of any kind, either police or civilian.
Joe frowned and scratched his head. “Boy, that’s funny. Maybe the siren noise we heard was just a police car going by on the main highway.”
“Sounded closer than that,” Frank said doubtfully.
“Next question. What do we do for transportation? Looks like we’re stuck out here with no car.”
After a hasty conference, the Hardys decided that one of them would go back to Humber’s house to retrieve their car, while the other kept watch on the ransom site, in case the thief or thieves returned to look for their abandoned loot. The boys flipped a coin, and Joe got the job of staying.
“Don’t take any chance of being seen,” Frank warned his brother. “Pick a spot where you’ll be out of sight, and stay there till I get back!”
“Will do,” Joe promised.
His wait was shorter than expected. In less than an hour, their yellow car appeared on the dirt lane that bordered the foot of the hillside. Joe scrambled down from his hiding place to join his brother, bringing the samurai sword with him.
“You made good time,” he commented, climbing into the car.
“Yes, I had a lucky break,” Frank said as he maneuvered to turn the car around. “Phil Cohen tooled along shortly after I made it out to the highway. He was on his way home from a date and gave me a lift to Humber’s house.”
“Was Humber there?” Joe queried.
“Probably. But the garage was closed and the place was dark, as if everyone had turned in.” Frank grinned. “Guess he was trying to give himself an alibi in case the law did come around.”
“That guy’s a real nitwit,” Joe declared. “I wonder what he thought we’d say if that police car had picked us up?”
“No telling. He didn’t stick around to find out! I guess Warlord had him sized up right,” Frank reflected. “Humber’s only interest is looking out for Number One. The rest of the human race isn’t all that important.”
Joe was silent for a minute or two as they drove through the residential suburbs on their way to the downtown area of Bayport. Finally he said, “Now that we’ve got the sword, do you think it had anything to do with Satoya’s disappearance?”
“My hunch is yes,” the older Hardy boy mused thoughtfully. “But I can’t prove it. Before we’ll know the answer to that, we’ve got to find out whether he disappeared on his own accord or was kidnapped.”
“Right! I was thinking about that while I was waiting for you,” Joe said. “I’ve got an idea how Satoya could have pulled his vanishing act.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“It’s so simple,” Joe explained. “Say the chauffeur is as loyal to his boss as Oyama claims. When he turned into the underground parking garage, he could have stopped the limousine halfway down the ramp, just long enough to let Satoya pop out of the secret compartment. Then he could have continued on and pretended he knew nothing when Oyama searched the car. Meanwhile, all Satoya had to do was turn up his coat collar and slip away through the crowd. At that time, there was a mob of people around the hotel. None of them knew what was going on.”
Frank was impressed by his brother’s theory. “When you put it that way, it sure sounds obvious, Joe! That’s so simple, it’s got to be the right answer!”
“But where’s Satoya hiding?”
“If your deductions are right, he must have arranged for a place before he ever flew over here. Perhaps a house in an out-of-the-way spot!”
“That figures, with no nosy neighbors to wonder who he is. He could have had somebody rent it for him under a phony name before he arrived.”
Frank nodded, keeping a watchful eye out for late-hour traffic as they slowed and crossed an intersection with a blinking yellow light. He looked as though he were already turning over another idea in his mind.
“Joe, suppose Satoya knew beforehand that something was going to happen to the sword—”
“You mean, that
someone might try to steal it?”
“Could be. Anyhow, say he went into hiding so he could try to get hold of it himself without anyone knowing what he was up to.”
“I’d buy that,” said Joe, “especially if the sword had belonged to the Satoya family. Remember what Mr. Shimada told us about how much the samurai class prizes their swords.”
“Right! But now that we’re turning the sword over to the police, the whole thing’s out of his hands. I mean, now there’s no possible way Satoya can latch onto it secretly, and nobody else can, either.”
The younger Hardy boy shot his brother a keen glance. “What are you getting at, Frank?”
“Just this. If our reasoning is correct, Satoya will no longer have any motive for staying undercover.”
“You’re right!” Joe snapped his fingers. “Once he hears the news on television, or reads it in the papers, maybe Satoya will turn up again!”
“Suppose the police decide not to release the news for a while, in order to keep the thieves in the dark.”
“Hm. Then how would he find out?”
“We could tip him off.”
Joe looked startled. “Are you kidding? How could we do that?”
“Look,” Frank replied. “If Satoya disappeared on his own accord, the chauffeur must have helped him. Right?”
“Sure, but how does th—” Joe broke off suddenly as he caught on. “Oh, oh! I get it. If our theory is correct, the chauffeur probably knows where his boss is hiding, so if we tip him off, he’ll pass the word on to Satoya!”
“Check. But we’d have to do it very casually and naturally. Otherwise the chauffeur might get the notion that we’re just trying to trap his master.”
“Any ideas?”
“We’ll use the sword itself,” said Frank. “I just hope we can find him this late at night.”
Joe pointed out that every time they had gone to the Bayport Chilton, the chauffeur had been seated in the hotel lobby. “Come to think of it,” the younger Hardy boy mused, “maybe Satoya posted him there to report what goes on.”
“You could be right,” Frank agreed. “If you are, we’ve got a good chance of finding him there now.”
When the boys entered the lobby after parking outside the hotel, the granite-faced chauffeur was sitting in his usual spot. The Hardys hurried toward him. Frank noticed his eyes widen in surprise when he saw the samurai sword that Joe was carrying by the twine handle.
“Do you speak English?” Frank asked.
The chauffeur nodded. “A little.”
“Do you know if Mr. Kawanishi or Mr. Oyama is still awake?”
The reply was a shrug. “I do not know. Maybe so.”
“Well, look,” Frank went on smoothly, “we just recovered this sword that belonged to Mr. Satoya, the one that was stolen in New York. We’re taking it to police headquarters, but we thought his company officials might want to know. Only it’s late and we’re in a hurry, so could you please give them the news?”
The chauffeur looked eager for more information, but seemed at a loss for words. Perhaps, the boys thought, it was because he did not speak English very well.
Instead, the man merely rose from his chair and bowed to the young detectives. “Thank you. I will tell them.”
The Hardys strode toward the door.
“Pretty neat, the way you handled that, Frank!” Joe murmured out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ll bet he gets on the phone to Satoya as soon as we’re out of the lobby!”
As the boys emerged from the hotel, they turned and headed toward their parked car. The downtown area of Bayport looked almost deserted at this late hour. A policeman who was coming along the street eyed them with interest.
Suddenly the young officer’s face took on an expression of excitement. He quickened his pace so as to intercept the Hardys before they reached their car.
“Hold it, you two!”
Frank and Joe halted in surprise.
“What’s wrong?” Frank inquired.
“Hand over that sword!” the policeman snapped.
Joe started to explain. “We’re just taking it to police headquarters.”
But the officer cut him short. “Don’t give me that! Just hand it over! You’re both under arrest for possessing stolen goods!”
Frank guessed that the policeman was probably new to the force and had never heard of the Hardy boys or their famous father. Calmly he advised his brother, “Do as he says, Joe. We’ll straighten things out at the station.”
The policeman summoned a patrol car by radio, and within a few minutes the Hardys found themselves at police headquarters. Here, after exchanging friendly remarks with the surprised desk sergeant, they were ushered into the office of Police Chief Ezra Collig. The sword was already lying on his desk.
“Sorry about this, fellows!” Looking slightly red-faced, Chief Collig rose to shake hands with the boys. “The whole thing’s a mix-up!”
The chief explained that the police had received an anonymous phone call shortly after midnight. The unknown caller reported spotting two teenage youths in the Bayport area in possession of the valuable Japanese sword that had been stolen from the Palmer-Glade Galleries in New York.
“We put out a radio bulletin telling all officers to be on the lookout,” Collig continued, “and I came to the office on purpose to supervise the search, because the tipster knew what he was talking about. But I certainly never expected that you Hardys would be caught in the dragnet!”
“Neither did we,” Frank said wryly. “Matter of fact we were on our way here when we got nabbed.” He filled the chief in on the night’s events and added, “We were hoping the lab might turn up some prints, either on the sword hilt or the sheath.”
“Good idea. I’ll have them both dusted,” the chief promised. “But first, there’s someone I want you to meet. He just walked into the station tonight, literally out of the blue sky!”
Collig picked up the phone and gave a brief order. A few moments later, a young Japanese man was escorted into his office. The newcomer, who had glasses and long, dark hair, was well dressed in a gray silk business suit and looked studious but athletic. The police chief introduced him as Toshiro Muramoto.
“Mr. Muramoto has flown over here from Japan, at his own expense, I might add,” Collig continued. “I think you fellows ought to hear what he has to say.”
Muramoto bowed politely to the Hardys, who returned his gesture. “I understand you two are attempting to solve the disappearance of the man who calls himself Takashi Satoya.”
“That’s right.” Frank frowned. “But why do you say the man who calls himself Takashi Satoya?”
“Because that person who landed here in America three nights ago was an impostor!”
16
A Startling Challenger
The Hardys stared in amazement at the Japanese.
“That’s a pretty drastic statement,” Frank said, “especially if you’re asking us to believe that he could fool Satoya’s two top senior aides!”
“You raise a good point,” Muramoto acknowledged. “One would have to draw one’s own conclusions as to whether the two gentlemen were truly deceived.”
The young detectives exchanged quick glances.
“Can you prove what you’re saying,” Joe asked, “about the missing man being an impostor?”
Muramoto nodded firmly. “I can, indeed. What is more, I shall do so, using that sword on the police chief’s desk as the main evidence.”
He declared he would give the man who called himself Satoya until ten o‘clock the next morning to come to police headquarters and answer his accusation. “If he fails to appear,” Muramoto added, “I shall then be forced to expose him to the press as a fraud!”
After leaving police headquarters, the Hardys sped back to the Bayport Chilton Hotel to report this startling development to Mr. Kawanishi and Mr. Oyama.
On the way, Joe muttered suspiciously, “Does the timing of all this strike you as a bit fishy, Frank?”<
br />
“I’ll say it does! If Muramoto needed that samurai sword to prove his accusation, how did he know we’d get it back tonight?”
“Right! That’s exactly what I’m wondering. What would he have used as proof without it? Did he just fly over here on the chance that the sword would turn up by the time he landed in Bayport?”
Frank puckered his forehead thoughtfully. “When you come right down to it, it almost sounds like a put-up job, doesn’t it?”
“You think Muramoto could have been mixed up in the theft of the sword, and that ransom deal tonight?”
“You’ve got me, Joe. But I’d like to know the answer. To quote that word you used a minute ago, there must be something fishy somewhere!”
However, when the Hardys reached the hotel and expressed their suspicions to the two senior aides, neither Japanese agreed.
“It is most unlikely that Muramoto would take part in any criminal plot to have our employer branded as an impostor,” Kawanishi pointed out. “To do so would harm his own financial interest.”
“How come?” Frank inquired.
The aide explained that the value of a company’s stock partly depended on how well the company was managed. If news came out that the Satoya Corporation was run by some fraudulent mystery man posing as the real Takashi Satoya, many investors would lose confidence in the company and would try to sell off whatever shares they owned. This would cause the value of the stock to fall sharply.
“It so happens that young Muramoto owns a large block of stock in the Satoya Corporation,” Mr. Kawanishi continued. “So he would suffer a heavy loss. His stock would be worth many millions of yen less than it is worth now, perhaps several hundred thousand dollars in your own money.”
“Wow!” Joe whistled softly. “That’s a lot of money to lose, just for spilling some bad news!”
Mr. Oyama nodded, confirming what his associate had just told the boys. “You see, young Muramoto’s uncle, Akira Muramoto, was an army general in the Second World War. He was also a good friend of our employer. After the war, he became head of a Tokyo bank and lent Mr. Satoya enough money to start his company. In return, he was given a large block of stock in the Satoya Corporation.”
Mystery of the Samurai Sword Page 9
