The Castle Conundrum (Hardy Boys)

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “There is a message from your father on the répondeur,” she announced. “He would like you to call him in Paris.”

  “May we use the office phone?” Frank asked. “We’ll be glad to pay the charges.”

  “Of course,” Sophie said. “The door is open.”

  Fenton answered on the second ring. Frank held the receiver so that Joe could hear, too.

  “I got the information you wanted,” Fenton announced. “I hope it’s what you need. I had to move a couple of mountains to get it.”

  “Great, Dad,” Frank said. He got his pen and notepad ready. “We really appreciate it.”

  “Now then,” Fenton continued. “The license plate number you gave me doesn’t belong to a person. It’s registered to a company here in Paris.”

  Joe’s heart sank. What if it was a rental car? They might never manage to trace the driver.

  “I’ve never heard of the outfit,” Fenton said. “But my friend in the S°reté says it’s got a lot of clout down where you are. Funny name—it’s called Immo-Trust.”

  8

  A Breach of Trust

  Frank replaced the phone receiver. Slowly he turned to face Joe. “Immo-Trust,” he said. “We’ve heard that name before.”

  “Right,” Joe said. “That’s the developer Jean-Claude told us about. The bunch that wants to buy the chateau and village and turn them into a ritzy resort complex.”

  Frank felt a mixture of sadness and anger. He pushed it out of his mind. He needed to stay clearheaded. “One of the kids here has to be working for them,” he said, “trying to destroy the program, so that the Fréhels have to sell.”

  “Looks that way,” Joe agreed. “Those sentences I overheard—what else could they mean? But who?”

  “Not the twins,” Frank said. “No motive. And we eliminated Welly and Luis because they were together the whole time at the market.”

  “Unless they’re both working for Immo-Trust,” Joe pointed out. “But then why would one cover for the other? They’ve got no way of knowing I overheard that conversation.”

  “I guess we cross off Libby, Marina, and Manu, too,” Frank said. “Same argument—they were together.”

  “I wonder,” Joe said slowly. “Let’s say Libby and Marina are doing the market together. Libby stops at one of the stalls, Marina walks on ahead. A few minutes later Libby catches up or Marina comes back.”

  “Okay,” Frank said. He thought he saw where Joe was going with this. “And?”

  “Unless they’re, like, being grilled on a witness stand, they’re both going to say they were together the whole time,” Joe said. “And they’ll think they were. But the fact is, either one could have slipped away long enough for a quick meeting with someone.”

  “Such as the woman from Immo-Trust,” Frank said. “You know what, Joe? I really wish you hadn’t thought of that. We were narrowing it down to a few suspects. Now it’s wide open again. Hey, I could have met with her, after I bought the honey!”

  “We could question people again,” Joe suggested. “And get really picky about their answers.”

  “That’s true,” Frank replied. He thought for a moment. “The thing is, for now nobody knows we’re on the case. The culprit has no idea we’re after him. That may give us a big advantage. But if we start asking a lot of questions …”

  “He’ll get suspicious and start covering his tracks better,” Joe said, finishing Frank’s sentence. “So what do we do? Nothing? Sit back and let this turkey destroy TVI?”

  “For now, we watch and listen,” Frank said. “And we talk with people. How about we each take half of them to concentrate on? Then we can compare notes later.”

  “Good idea,” Joe said. “I’ll take Marie-Laure.”

  Frank interrupted. “I thought you might,” he said with a grin.

  “We’re teammates, that’s all,” Joe said. “Which reminds me—”

  “Ah, you are here!” Gert said from the doorway. “I was sent to find you. It is time for your game.”

  Frank and Joe exchanged a glance. Then they walked up the hill with Gert. The others were all in the square for the tournament.

  The match between Siri and Luis versus Welly and Valentina, the girl from Madrid, was just starting. Valentina drew a line in the dirt, then threw the little wooden ball. It landed thirty feet away, near a clump of bushes.

  Siri stepped up to the line. Scrunching up her face in concentration, she rolled the steel ball. It slowed to a stop less than halfway to the target. “Aie!” Siri exclaimed.

  “Don’t worry,” Luis assured her. “We’ll get better.”

  It was Welly’s turn. Instead of rolling the ball, he lobbed it in a shallow arc. It slammed down only a foot or so from the target ball. Some onlookers started to cheer. But once on the ground, the heavy ball started to roll. By the time it came to rest, it was as far on the other side of the goal as Siri’s was on this side.

  “This looks tricky,” Joe said in an undertone to Frank.

  “Remember, it’s not our game,” Frank replied. “Nobody expects us to be good at it. Just don’t hit anybody with one of those balls.”

  “Or drop one on my foot,” Joe added.

  Marie-Laure came over, carrying a set of steel balls in a red plastic holder. “Are you ready?” she asked. “Manu and Marina are waiting.” She pointed to the opposite side of the square.

  “Sure,” Joe said jauntily. “Let’s do it.”

  Marina tossed the target ball. It landed at the top of a little rise and rolled down the far slope. When it stopped, it was almost hidden from them.

  Joe went first. Should he roll the ball or throw it? He glanced at Marie-Laure.

  “Aim to land halfway there,” she murmured. “Hold the ball with your hand on top. It will not roll as fast.”

  Joe stepped up to the line. He swung his arm back and forth a couple of times. The ball felt like nothing he was used to. It was the size of a baseball, but with almost the heft of a bowling ball. He fixed his eye on a spot halfway to the target and let fly.

  The instant the ball left his hand, he knew he had put too much force into the throw. “Aargh!” he growled.

  The ball landed and rolled off to the left. Gert and Antonio had to jump out of the way. By the time it stopped, it was at least a couple of dozen feet past the target.

  Manu’s turn. He narrowed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and gave the ball a gentle toss. It landed just a few feet from the target and rolled until it was almost touching the little wooden ball. Manu beamed and exchanged a high five with Marina.

  Marie-Laure scowled. This was her game. She clearly did not intend to lose. She held the ball in her palm and tossed it up and down. Then, with no preparation that Joe could see, she threw it. It made a high arc, almost brushing a low tree branch. Joe was sure it would overshoot badly.

  Sprang! The ball came down exactly in the little space between Manu’s ball and the target. It struck both of them. Manu’s ball shot away in one direction, the target in the other.

  Joe felt his jaw drop. So that was how the game was played!

  By the time the game ended, Joe was getting a feel for the ball. More often than not, it ended up somewhere near where he meant it to go. Even so, he knew that it was Marie-Laure alone who carried their side. Time after time, she placed her ball next to the target or struck one of his so that it rolled next to the target. Both Manu and Marina played pretty well—better than Joe—but they didn’t stand a chance against the French girl.

  The morning excursion to Vaisac and the pétanque match during siesta had been fun, but now it was time to get serious. The teens collected their tools and returned to digging the water main trench. After the uncertainties of pétanque, Joe found the work almost comforting. When you stuck your shovel in the dirt, it usually went where you aimed it.

  Marina was working next to Joe. “So far this is a good day,” she remarked. “Nothing has happened.”

  “What do you mean?” Joe asked cautiously.


  “Haven’t you noticed?” Marina continued. “Every day there is something. Falling stones, strange floating lights … do you believe in ghosts?”

  “Not really,” Joe replied. “Do you?”

  Marina considered for a moment. “I believe there is much in the world we do not understand. But spirits who float around going, Woo, woo? I don’t think so.” She lowered her voice. “Is that why you and your brother came here? To find out what is going on?”

  Joe gave her a sharp glance and didn’t speak.

  “It’s all right,” Marina murmured. “I can keep a secret. I won’t ask anything more.”

  Later, as everyone gathered for dinner, Joe kept Frank back. He repeated his conversation with Marina.

  “I was afraid of that,” Frank said. “Her American cousin must have said something about our detective work.”

  “I think she’ll keep it to herself,” Joe offered. He flinched as a sudden strong gust of wind peppered them with sharp grains of sand. Instead of dying down, the wind grew stronger and steadier. “Hey, I can’t believe I’m getting chilly. Let’s go inside.”

  Frank went to the door of the community center and pushed. The force of the wind held it closed. Joe had to help. As they went in, the wind tore the door from their hands and slammed it shut.

  Welly was watching. Over the clamor of the wind whistling past the building, he asked, “Is this your first mistral? That’s what they call this wind.”

  “Does it blow like this a lot?” Frank asked.

  Welly shook his head. “This is just the second time since I’ve been here. But once it gets going, it hangs on. They say it blows either one day, or three days, or five days. If it lasts for seven days, people start going crazy from the noise.”

  “I believe it,” Joe said.

  The talk at dinner was mostly about the wind. “This is just a little taste,” Jean-Claude proclaimed. “In winter the mistral can blow so strong it rips tiles off the roofs. And the noise! People stop trying to talk. Instead they write notes to each other.”

  “The reason the houses are so close together,” Marie-Laure added, “is for protection from the mistral.”

  “The racket it makes is quite spooky,” Welly said. “You can almost hear voices in it.”

  Libby turned pale. “I hear them!” she exclaimed. “Listen! There’s something out there! It’s trying to get inside!”

  Everyone started talking at once, trying to calm Libby. But a moment later, as if on signal, they all became quiet. The howls of the wind filled the silence. Joe cocked his head toward the nearest window. Then he looked at Frank and frowned.

  Libby was right. Among all the noises of the wind, he could pick out cries and moans that sounded human. They were getting louder and clearer, too.

  Kevin sprang up from his chair. “Okay, what’s going on here?” he demanded. “This is not funny!”

  Now all of them were on their feet, looking scared. The noise level rose another notch. Panic was just around the corner.

  Joe raised his arms over his head. “Hold it!” he shouted. “Pipe down, everybody!”

  Everyone turned to stare at him. A silence fell. Joe motioned to Frank. The two of them slowly circled the room in opposite directions, turning their heads from side to side.

  Joe came to a stop in front of the china cabinet. He jerked the doors open. The moans grew louder. He groped around behind the stacked plates. Nothing on the top shelf. On the next one down, he felt something that didn’t belong.

  He pulled it out. It was a portable tape player. He pressed the Stop button. On command, the moans stopped.

  Joe turned and held up the tape player. “Here’s our ghost,” he announced.

  “Hey, that’s mine!” Welly exclaimed. “What’s it doing here?”

  “Trying to scare us,” Kevin replied. “All right, who’s the joker?”

  Nobody spoke. People turned and looked at one another.

  “I must warn whoever is responsible,” Sophie said. “These pranks could threaten all our work. Unless they stop, the person behind them will be told to leave at once.”

  The only sounds were the rattling of the windows and the howl of the mistral.

  Joe woke up abruptly. He opened his eyes. The room was dark. The glowing dial of his watch told him it was a few minutes after one. What had awakened him? Some noise outside? Then he understood. Not a noise, but a silence. The mistral had stopped blowing.

  With a shrug, Joe rolled over to go back to sleep. At that moment he heard furtive footsteps in the street. Who would be sneaking around the village at this hour? He sprang up and went to the window. He was just in time to spot two figures vanish up the path to the chateau.

  Three minutes later Joe and Frank were hurrying up the path. Frank had a pocket flash, but they didn’t need it in the moonlight. They crept across the footbridge and through the entrance tunnel. In the courtyard they paused to look around.

  “There!” Frank whispered. He pointed to a faint gleam of light. It came from one of the windows of the great hall.

  The Hardys slipped across the courtyard and into the building. The corridor was pitch-black, but a faint glimmer outlined the doorway to the great hall. Joe breathed through his mouth as they tiptoed to the door and peered around the jamb.

  The hall was empty. On the floor in the middle of the room was a lit flashlight.

  A trap! Joe started to turn. Suddenly he felt an arm encircle his neck. It tightened in a choke hold.

  9

  Night Birds

  The attacker’s arm closed around Joe’s neck. Joe reached up and grasped the forearm with both hands, then dropped to one knee. As he shifted his weight, preparing to throw the attacker over his shoulder, he caught a whiff of a familiar scent. In that same instant, he heard an alarmed “Aie!” next to his ear.

  “Marie-Laure?” he gasped. “Is that you?”

  “Joe!” Marie-Laure replied. She relaxed her arm and wriggled out of his grip.

  Joe straightened up and took a quick look to his left.

  Frank had a hammerlock on Jean-Claude. He released it and took a cautious step backward. Jean-Claude groaned and slumped to his knees.

  “Oh!” Marie-Laure cried. “You’ve hurt him!” She rushed over to her brother. After a quick whispered exchange, she helped him to his feet.

  Marie-Laure turned to face Joe. Her eyes blazed. “How dare you!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? Why did you follow us? Answer me!”

  Joe took a deep breath. “Does it matter that you tried to jump us?” he asked bitterly.

  “We saw someone sneaking up here,” Frank explained. “After everything that’s happened, we figured they were up to no good. So we came after them.”

  “And all we knew was that somebody was following us,” Jean-Claude said. He rubbed his neck. “So we decided to entrap them. Not a very bright idea, it seems.”

  Marie-Laure was still angry. “Why not?” she demanded. “They are trespassers. We should order them to leave at once!”

  Jean-Claude gave her a quirky look. “And if they refuse? Will you try again to strangle Joe? I think not. And after what just happened, I promise Frank that he is safe from me!”

  Jean-Claude walked into the great hall and switched off the flashlight. Frank, Joe, and Marie-Laure followed. They could still see one another. Moonlight flooded in through the open space where the roof had once been.

  “Look, we’re not your enemies,” Frank said. “We want to stop these dirty tricks and find out who’s in back of them.”

  Marie-Laure gave him a skeptical look. “Why should we believe you?” she asked. “And why do you believe you can do this?”

  Joe met Frank’s eyes. He raised one eyebrow. Should they trust the French brother and sister? Frank hesitated, then nodded.

  “Listen,” Joe said. “The fact is, Frank and I have had a lot of experience solving mysteries. Back home, we’re pretty well known as detectives.”

  “I knew there was someth
ing out of the ordinary about you,” Marie-Laure said.

  “Why did you not say this before?” Jean-Claude asked.

  “It might have sounded too much like bragging,” Frank explained. “And then we saw something was going on here. We didn’t want to alert the bad guys and put them on their guard.”

  “So you are already, as they say, on the case,” Jean-Claude said. “Good. We need whatever help we can get.”

  “Help with what?” Joe asked. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night, anyway?”

  It was Jean-Claude’s and Marie-Laure’s turn to exchange a questioning glance. They quickly reached a decision.

  “We have been searching for our ancestor’s treasure,” Jean-Claude confessed. “Please don’t laugh.”

  “The treasure is real,” Marie-Laure said earnestly. “And we are sure it is still here somewhere. Or we were. We have looked very hard and found nothing.”

  “Do you have any clues?” Joe asked. “A map or something?”

  Jean-Claude shook his head. “Nothing. Only the story you have heard already. The Sieur had no time to pass a message to his family before he died at the hands of the bandits. Someone—a servant perhaps—may have known where it was hidden. If so, he told no one. Perhaps he took it secretly and kept it for himself. He may have thought that, with the Sieur dead, it belonged to whoever found it.”

  “I am sure it is still in the chateau,” Marie-Laure said. She placed her hand at the base of her neck. “I feel it here!”

  Jean-Claude started to speak, but she continued. “And I am not alone. The one who is stalking us, he, too, knows the treasure is here.”

  “What do you mean?” Frank asked. “Who’s stalking you?”

  “We do not know,” Jean-Claude told him. “It may be we are imagining it. But we have both sensed that someone is watching us. And I do not think it is our guardian angel. It is someone who does not wish us well.”

  “The one I overheard at the market!” Joe exclaimed.

  “What is this?” Marie-Laure demanded.

  Joe explained. When he’d finished, Jean-Claude said, “Of course! If we find the treasure, we will be able to save Fréhel from the grasp of Immo-Trust. Their agent will do anything to stop us. Just as he will do anything to wreck the reputation of TVI. But who is he?”