All further questions about Captain Flont or the Daisy K aroused no response.
Finally Mr. Delhi asked Ragu probing questions about the smuggling of aliens from India into the United States, and more particularly about the kidnapping of Tava Nayyar.
Ragu looked up, eyes flashing, and uttered one brief phrase in his native language. Mr. Delhi nodded, then turned to the others.
“Ragu wishes to talk to me alone,” he said.
The boys and the police chief left the cell and waited at the end of the corridor.
Ten minutes later Mr. Delhi called, “It is settled.”
When the others returned to the cell, Mr. Delhi said, “Ragu has convinced me that he knows little. But he is willing to tell us that much.”
CHAPTER XIII
Attack in the Night
CHIEF Collig called in a police stenographer to take down Ragu’s statement. As Mr. Delhi nodded to Ragu, the Daisy K’s first mate began his story.
“First, I know nothing about any smuggling of my countrymen into the United States. I—I did join the group that was planning a kidnapping. But you must believe me—I did not know until too late who the victim was going to be.”
“But you know that kidnapping is a criminal act!” the police chief said severely. “Just what was your part in it?”
“A very small one,” Ragu insisted. “I ran errands. Once a man that came to our ship gave me a letter. He told me to deliver it to the Bayport Hotel.”
“What was the name of the man who came to the Daisy K?” Chief Collig broke in. “And what did he look like?”
“I do not know his name,” Ragu said emphatically. “He was short, and had brown hair. The man at the hotel was called Mr. Louis.”
Frank and Joe exchanged knowing glances. Mr. Louis probably was the “L” mentioned in the note Chet had found attached to the downed carrier pigeon.
“How did you expect to get paid for the job, if you didn’t know the name of the man who hired you?” Frank asked Ragu.
“He promised to pay me with a ruby ring. It was left in a secret place,” Ragu replied. “The only time I wore it was when I came to your house to take the falcon. After that, I was afraid and sold the ring. You know about that.”
Frank confirmed this, then Joe asked, “Who hired you to steal our falcon?”
“I don’t know that, either,” Ragu replied. “I got a phone call at my rooming house. An unfamiliar voice said if I could steal the falcon, I would receive another ruby in payment.”
“What part do the pigeons play in this racket?” Frank asked the prisoner.
“They carry messages, but I don’t know where they go. And I don’t know what the notes say.”
Chief Collig turned to Mr. Delhi and asked him if he had any further questions. He had none.
Frank spoke up. “Ragu, tell us about Captain Flont and his activities. He’s more than a fishing boat captain, isn’t he?”
Ragu bit his lip. He looked at Mr. Delhi, then settled back on his cot.
“I don’t know much about Captain Flont,” he said. “I’ve only worked for him a short time.”
No amount of persuasion could elicit any further information from the first mate. It was evident, as Kane had learned, that the crew of the Daisy K was afraid of their captain.
“I guess we’ve found out all we can tonight,” said Chief Collig when the visitors left the cell.
On the way back to the Hardy home, Mr. Delhi was silent, but just before they turned into the driveway, he asked, “How will you boys proceed now? When Captain Flont hears of Ragu’s arrest he may make trouble.”
“We’ll have to take that chance,” Joe replied. Then he snapped his fingers. “Frank, how about you and I disguising ourselves and joining a fishing party on the Daisy K for a day?”
“To do some detecting?”
“Right.”
Joe decided to take the falcon indoors for the night. Ragu’s arrest might mean trouble, as Mr. Delhi had said. At any rate, the smugglers would be doubly determined to get the hawk.
Mr. Delhi followed the boys through the kitchen door and into the living room where Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude were reading.
While Joe took the hawk to the boys’ room, Frank introduced their visitor to the women. Mrs. Hardy said, “Mr. Delhi, it’s much too late for you to start back for Washington. We should like to have you spend the night with us.”
“I’m grateful for your thoughtfulness,” the man declared. “Thank you. I will accept.”
By eleven o’clock the boys and their guest found it impossible to keep from yawning, despite the interesting conversation about the differences in customs between India and the United States. Mrs. Hardy suggested that they retire.
“I shall wait for my husband,” she said. “He’ll be back about midnight ”
The boys were pleased to hear that their father was coming and would have liked to talk to him as soon as he arrived. But they were very sleepy, and also they had to rise early for the fishing trip.
They kissed their mother and aunt good night, then escorted their visitor to the guest room. The boys provided him with pajamas, robe, and slippers.
The three said good night and within half an hour Frank and Joe were sound asleep. But some time later Frank awoke with a start. He glanced at the luminous dial of their alarm clock. It was almost two o’clock.
Joe awoke a moment later and called from his bed, “What’s the matter? Is it time to get up?”
“No, it’s only two o’clock. But do you hear someone moving around downstairs?” Frank asked.
“No.”
“An intruder couldn’t be in the house,” Frank mused. “Mother and Dad would have set the burglar alarm before going to bed.”
Joe got up and tiptoed across to the door. He opened it and listened for several seconds.
“Not a sound,” he reported.
“That’s good,” Frank replied, stretching and relaxing again. “Now let’s go back to sleep.”
Joe closed the bedroom door, then walked over to the side window and opened it wider. As he did, he saw something move on the lawn.
“Psst—Frank! Come here quick!” His brother was at his side in a second.
“What’s up?” Frank asked.
“Someone’s down at the edge of the lawn,” Joe said. “Over by the hedge.”
“Let’s throw the spotlights on him,” Frank suggested.
The Hardy home had a bright spotlight under the eaves on each side of the house—a precaution occasioned by too many prowlers interested in the detectives’ work. The lights were controlled from switches in the upper and lower halls.
“Okay,” Joe agreed.
“He’s going to throw something!” Frank whispered
Frank dashed from the room to snap on the second-floor switch. Instantly the front lawn was flooded with light. Outlined against the hedge was a hooded figure with one arm raised above his head. In that position, he froze for a moment, evidently blinded by the glare.
Frank had rejoined his brother at the window. “Looks as if he was going to throw something!” he whispered.
Before Joe could make a reply, the hooded figure hurled a large, round object straight toward them.
Both boys jumped back. The man missed his mark and the object crashed into a side window of the living room directly below them.
Instantly the burglar alarm clanged, then was drowned out in a deafening roar! The spotlights went out and the Hardy home shuddered on its foundation!
Frank and Joe were flung violently to the floor!
CHAPTER XIV
Doubting a Friend
DAZED by the explosion, Joe Hardy picked himself up in the pitch-dark bedroom and groped about.
“Frank, you okay?” he asked.
There was no reply. Fearful, Joe felt around the floor for his brother but could not find him. Bumping into the bureau which had been shifted out of place by the impact of the blast, Joe opened the top drawer and found a flashli
ght.
Its beam revealed Frank’s unconscious form between the beds.
“His head must have hit the bedpost,” Joe decided as he knelt beside his brother.
Frank stirred and opened his eyes.
“Our house was bombed,” Joe told him. “Are you all right?”
“Y-yes,” Frank replied weakly. With Joe’s assistance he stood up.
They opened the door to the hall. A wave of acrid smoke rolled toward them. Through it, they could see their father with a flashlight coming from his room. “I just called the fire department,” he said.
“Is everybody all right?” Joe called.
“Your mother is. I don’t know about the others.”
Behind him, they could now see Mrs. Hardy. A moment later Aunt Gertrude’s door flew open. She began to sneeze and cough.
A police siren shrilled and minutes later two fire trucks arrived. Mr. Delhi appeared and everyone went downstairs to survey the damage.
There was no sign of a blaze, but part of one wall in the living room gaped open and the room was a shambles. The boys told the fire chief what they had seen and he checked the house thoroughly for safety.
Since there was no blaze, the trucks left, and the fire chief followed after taking down all the details. By now a crowd of neighbors had gathered and all offered their sympathy and the accommodations of their homes.
“Thank you,” Mr. Hardy said to each, “but since the damage is so extensive, I think we’d better move to the Bayport Hotel. It looks as though it will be quite a while before our home will be habitable.”
When the neighbors had dispersed, Mr. Delhi addressed the family. “I’m no doubt responsible for what has happened,” he began. “Apparently my identity is known to my enemies, regardless of our precautions last evening. I feel I cannot subject you to further damage and wish to relieve you from the case at once. You have already suffered enough in trying to help me and my country.”
Mr. Hardy looked first at his sons, then at their guest. “Mr. Delhi,” he replied, “we will see this thing through with you. We can’t bow out of a case, especially one that’s so near a solution!”
“And I don’t believe,” Joe put in, “that the bomb was thrown into our house because of you, Mr. Delhi. I saw the fellow aim it directly at Frank and me as we were looking out our bedroom window.”
Frank suggested that he and Joe stay at the house to guard it from looters while the others took rooms in the hotel.
Mr. Hardy grinned. “You’ll be needed for sleuthing elsewhere. I’ll put Jeff Kane here.”
After everyone had dressed, and the Hardys had packed a few clothes, they gathered outdoors.
Chief Collig was at the scene now, having been summoned from his home. He had ordered searchlights set up and had stationed men around the Hardy house.
The chief reported that the hard ground had yielded no footprints and that his men had found no clue to the person who had thrown the bomb. However, in the living room they had found parts of the bomb. The remnants had been collected for the police laboratory to examine.
Satisfied that the situation was under control, Mr. Hardy and the others went to the hotel. It was dawn when they were finally settled in their suite.
By that time all desire for sleep had vanished for everyone except Mr. Hardy. The detective said he had worked late the previous two nights and needed a few hours’ rest before tackling several important problems. Not the least of these was the attempt on the lives of himself, his family, and their visitor.
After he had gone to bed, his sons talked with Mr. Delhi about the mystery bombing incident. One thing was certain. The hooded man certainly was not Ragu, since he was still in the Bayport jail.
When the hotel coffee shop opened at six o’clock, the three went in to have breakfast. Half way through the meal, Mr. Delhi excused himself to make a phone call. He returned, much disturbed.
“Forgive me,” he began nervously. “I have just learned that I must fly to New York at once. Should you want to reach me, call Mr. Ghapur. He will know of my whereabouts. And please make my apologies to your family.”
“Let us drive you to the airport,” Frank offered.
The Indian said quickly, “Thank you, no. You have been most kind to me. I shall take a taxi. Good-by.”
With that, he strode out the door of the coffee shop. The boys followed him to the hotel entrance. As he climbed into a brown-and-white taxi, they waved farewell.
“What do you suppose upset him so?” Joe said as they returned to the coffee shop.
“He sure acted strange,” Frank agreed.
When the boys finished eating, Frank suggested that they drive to their house to search for a clue to the person who had thrown the bomb. Perhaps the police had overlooked something.
It was shortly after seven o’clock when they turned into Elm Street. The story of the explosion had spread all over Bayport, and scores of people had gathered outside the police barricades. One of the officers on guard approached the Hardys and said:
“There’s a young fellow over there by the barrier who says you boys would want to see him.”
Turning, Frank saw Chet waving at them excitedly and urging a police officer to let him through. Chet hurried to the Hardys, his eyes popping as he studied the damage to their home.
“Gosh, fellows, I’m sorry this happened,” he said. “Is everybody all right?” At a nod from Joe, he went on, “How’d Miss Peregrine take it?”
Frank’s and Joe’s mouths dropped open. In the excitement they had completely forgotten the prize bird!
They dashed up the porch steps two at a time and ran pell-mell up the stairway. There was only a slim chance that the falcon would still be alive. The door to their room stood ajar and one glance inside revealed the bird’s perch lying in a corner.
But the falcon was gone!
After the initial shock was over, Joe said, “She couldn’t have flown away, Frank. Her leash was fastened to the ring at the base of the perch stand. It would have to be twisted or broken to free her. Someone took her!”
Frank nodded. “With all the police and bystanders around here, someone must have seen who it was. Let’s ask them.”
By this time Chet had caught up to the boys and was saying, “I asked you about Miss Peregrine and you acted as if you’d been shot.” When the Hardys explained, Chet said, “Maybe the house was bombed so those smugglers could get your bird.”
“That might have been part of the plan,” Frank conceded, but he was convinced there was much more behind it than that.
The three boys headed back downstairs. They checked with Jeff Kane and the policemen guarding the house, but none of them had seen the hawk, nor had any one of them entered the house since the second shift of men had come on duty at seven o’clock.
“Let’s ask some of the people in the crowd if they saw anyone carry off the bird,” Joe suggested.
The boys separated and began questioning the bystanders. Finally a woman neighbor approached Frank and said:
“I saw your falcon. About six-thirty this morning, when I was walking my dog, a man in a taxi came up and spoke to the policeman on duty at the front door. He went upstairs with him and they came down a few minutes later with the falcon. The man drove off in the taxi with it.”
“Which policeman was it?” Frank asked.
“I don’t see him around just now, so I guess he’s gone off duty.”
“Can you tell us the kind of taxicab the man who took the bird came in?” the boy asked.
“It was a brown-and-white one belonging to the Bayport Taxi Company, I think.”
Frank thanked the woman for her information and relayed it to Joe and Chet. Then they got into Chet’s jalopy and drove to police headquarters.
They traced the officer and learned that he was at his home. Frank reached him by phone. The man said that the stranger had told him the Hardys wanted him to get the falcon, and he knew just which room the bird was in.
“No, he did
n’t give his name,” the policeman said. “He was dark-skinned and seemed to be in an awful hurry.”
The Hardys were astonished. Dark-skinned man. Brown-and-white taxi. Taking the falcon during the time they were finishing breakfast. It all seemed to piece together—unfortunately. Could Mr. Delhi have taken the hawk? Had his phone call to New York prompted this? He certainly had been very much disturbed.
As Frank started to ask the policeman for a fuller description of the thief, the connection was broken. He was about to call the officer again when Joe suggested that they get it from the taxi driver, as well as information on his passenger’s destination.
The boys headed for the office of the Bayport Taxi Company, a modem outfit with a fleet of radio-equipped taxis. Convinced of the importance of the Hardys’ request, the dispatcher willingly contacted his various drivers.
The one they sought appeared at the office about ten minutes later. Frank explained about the missing falcon and their desire to apprehend the thief. The taxi driver’s eyebrows went up.
“I remember the guy all right,” he said. “I picked him up in front of the Bayport Hotel at six-thirty this morning.
“After the man collected the falcon from a house on Elm Street,” the driver went on, “he ordered me to drive him down to a wharf on the waterfront. I was curious about why he wanted to go there at that early hour. The guy said that someone was going to pick him up in a boat.”
“Could you give us a description of this man?” Frank asked excitedly.
The taxi driver furrowed his brow for a moment, then replied, “Well, he was young and good-looking and dark-skinned, like one of them Indian rug makers down at Ahmed’s place. And he had a scar on his chin. I mean a scar that really stood out—looked lighter than the rest of his skin.”
Frank exchanged glances with Joe. They both heaved a sigh of relief. The falcon thief was not Mr. Delhi after all! It must have been the Indian who had bought pigeons from Mr. Newton two years before—the impostor who had used Mr. Delhi’s real name of Bhagnav!
The Hooded Hawk Mystery Page 8
