The Mummy Case

by Franklin W. Dixon

  The driver nodded and stuck to the road, which finally led past the cliff into an area of broad fields with grass on both sides.

  In front of the car, the leader of the motorcycle gang gestured angrily to his cohorts, then careened down a side road followed by the rest. The sound of their engines died away.

  “They gave up!” Joe exclaimed in relief. Then he looked straight at Major Martin. “Friends of yours?”

  “Hardly,” the major snapped.

  Frank felt even more uneasy than before. “What is this, a gang war? And if so, what are we doing here? We’re not involved in your problems!”

  “You’re more involved than you realize,” Major Martin said with a low chuckle. “Or you will be very shortly.”

  A tense silence fell again and no one spoke until they had reached the outskirts of Loma. The driver parked in a side street in front of a third-rate hotel. Paint was flaking from its boards, and several windows were broken.

  Frank and Joe had no choice but to get out of the car when the men told them to. Reluctantly they followed the strangers into the hotel.

  The major flashed his identification at the desk clerk, then they all mounted creaky stairs, went down a dark hall, and paused before a door. Martin knocked.

  Footsteps approached, then the door swung open. Frank and Joe gasped in surprise. In the doorway stood Fenton Hardy!

  “Hello, boys,” he greeted them. “I’m glad to see you!” Then he turned to Major Martin. “Thank you for escorting my sons,” he said. “And of course you haven’t revealed anything about our mission?”

  “Not a word, Mr. Hardy,” the major assured him. “But Frank and Joe got an introduction to the conspirators.”

  Quickly he described how the motorcycle gang had tried to force their car over the cliff.

  The detective listened grimly. “They’re the conspirators, all right,” he declared. “They recognized our unmarked car as an embassy vehicle. No doubt they have a spy in the embassy who alerted them.”

  Mr. Hardy closed the door as the men departed and ushered Frank and Joe into the room. Two men got up from a battered couch. The detective introduced them as Craig Compton, the American ambassador, and Colonel George Palos, chief of the Rubassa Secret Service.

  “I’m glad you could come,” Compton stated, shaking hands with the boys. “I thought you might have to stay on that freighter and guard the mummy.”

  “The mummy’s okay,” Joe replied. “Captain Baker allowed two pals of ours, who are members of the crew, to watch the crate for us.” As they all sat down, he told his father how Chet and Biff had gotten jobs on the freighter.

  “Sorry we couldn’t let you know what was happening,” Compton began, “but spies are everywhere on Rubassa.”

  Fenton Hardy took up the account. “This is the conspiracy I mentioned over the phone when you were still in Bayport. Rubassa is the country I was working for at the United Nations. I’ve come here because the conspirators now have the weapons they need. A disloyal member of the Rubassa Mission at the United Nations was involved.”

  “We have him under arrest,” Palos put in. “But he refuses to talk.”

  “U.S. Intelligence learned that the arms were taken to the nearby island of Milbin,” Compton added. “From Milbin, they were transported to Rubassa. When I heard that, I alerted your father.”

  “And that’s when he flew here from New York?” Joe asked.

  “Right. The revolutionaries are a small band of conspirators, but they could stage a coup and overthrow the democratic government. We know they plan to ask a foreign power for troops to hold down the people of Rubassa. That would lead to a grave international crisis, and must be prevented at all costs!”

  “Where do we come in?” Joe asked curiously. “I’m sure you called us here for a reason.”

  “You’ll be of service to us because you’re not known on the island,” Palos stated.

  “You see,” Fenton Hardy explained, “our countermeasures have to be carried out under cover. In order to prevent a panic, the population must not know the danger. That’s why we’re meeting in this hotel. As you can see, it’s not the best in Loma. But we’re hoping the conspirators won’t suspect us of being here.”

  “If that motorcycle gang is part of the conspirators, they might have seen us in the car,” Frank pointed out.

  “I doubt it,” Joe said. “They were concentrating on pushing the driver off the road. Besides, it would be hard for anyone to recognize people in the back seat.”

  “‘That’s true,” Fenton Hardy agreed. “What we had in mind, boys, was for you to go to a place where our other agents can’t because they might be known.”

  “Such as?” Frank inquired.

  “A house in Loma,” Palos replied. “We suspect it’s the communications headquarters of the conspirators. We believe the tenant, who is an En glishman, by the way, receives and sends messages for them.”

  “How do we get in?” Joe asked. “He isn’t going to invite us to go through his house.”

  “Your father has thought of a plan,” Compton replied. “You boys will be plumbers.”

  “Plumbers?” Frank asked. “You mean we’ll have to fix leaky pipes?”

  Fenton Hardy smiled. “Not quite, although you’ll have all the equipment that plumbers use, including overalls and hats. You’ll find everything in a van in the parking lot behind the hotel. You’ll look like members of the Plumbers Union when you drive into Loma.”

  Frank grinned. “As long as it’s only a cover it’s okay. Because we don’t really know how to fix leaks! We’d have to learn first.”

  “No need for a crash course,” Palos assured them and chuckled. “Now, here’s what you do. Go to the address on this card. Tell the tenant, Reggie Watson, that Mr. Baldwin has written to you. He’s the owner of the house but hasn’t lived here for many years. You are to check all the pipes and replace any that look old enough to give him trouble.”

  “Got it,” Joe said.

  “When you get in, split up,” Palos continued. “That way, if Watson is alone, he won’t be able to watch you both. Go though the house inspecting the pipes, and keeping your eyes open for anything that ties him to the gang.”

  “What do we do after we leave the place?” Frank inquired.

  “Call the embassy. We’ve all agreed that for safety’s sake, you won’t talk to anyone but me or your father. And be careful. This gang plays for keeps!”

  “That’s it, then,” Compton stood up. “We can break up and—”

  “Help!” A sudden scream rang through the hotel. “Help me, help me!”

  “Something’s happening downstairs!” Frank cried out. “Come on!”

  The Hardys raced across the room, wrenched the door open, and shot out into the hall. Then they took the stairs down two at a time.

  A man in a leather jacket and crash helmet had the desk clerk by the throat!

  9

  An Unpredicted Flood

  The assailant heard the Hardys bound down the stairs. Glancing over his shoulder, he released his victim and ran out the door before the boys had reached the lobby.

  Frank and Joe rushed to the clerk’s aid. He was beginning to get his breath back and opened his eyes. Realizing he was all right, the Hardys dashed out of the hotel. The street was empty!

  They turned the corner, but still saw nothing. “Leather jacket put on a good disappearing act,” Joe complained. “There’s no way of telling where he went!”

  “I don’t know about that, Joe! Listen!”

  From the other side of the hotel came the cough of a motorcycle engine. It was repeated several times.

  “He’s trying to start his bike!” Frank cried. “Come on!”

  The boys ran around the building at top speed and saw the cyclist tramping on his starter. Frank noticed that the left handlebar of his bike was twisted. It was the same machine they had spotted on the cliff road!

  Seeing the Hardys, the cyclist kicked his starter desperately
. Just then the motor came to life with a roar, and the cyclist varoomed down the street, kicking up a cloud of dust behind him.

  Angrily Joe socked his fist into the palm of his other hand. “He got away! Can you identify him, Frank? Colonel Palos might have a mug shot of him.”

  “No way. That helmet’s as good as a mask.”

  The young detectives returned to the hotel and found Fenton Hardy, the ambassador, and Colonel Palos with the desk clerk, who was on his feet again, rubbing his throat.

  “I almost lost my Adam’s apple!” he croaked. “I was away from the desk for a moment, and when I came back, that guy was at the safe. When I asked what he was doing, he jumped me. Said he knew Secret Service plans were in the safe and he’d strangle me if I didn’t give them to him.”

  “He made a mistake,” Palos commented. “We keep no Secret Service plans in that safe. Still, it means the conspirators know this hotel is our meeting place. We’ll have to find another one. I’ll send an agent to guard you,” he assured the clerk, “until we catch the gang.”

  “Good idea, Colonel,” Compton agreed. “And now we’d better get going. I think Frank and Joe know what to do.”

  “Yes,” Frank admitted. “But what about the fact that one of the conspirators now knows what Joe and I look like?”

  “You boys are our best shot at finding this gang before it’s too late,” responded Compton. “Just be careful, and if you see anyone eyeing you suspiciously, get out fast. He only caught a fleeting glimpse of you anyway, and you’ll both look different when you put on your Plumbers Union outfits.”

  The group left and walked to the hotel parking lot. An unmarked car stood next to a blue van with the wording LOMA PLUMBING COMPANY on both sides.

  “You’ll find everything you need in there,” Mr. Hardy said to his sons, “including the key. And here’s something else that might come in handy.”

  He handed each boy a tiny detective kit. “All the officers in Colonel Palos’s command carry one of these,” he said. “It contains a screwdriver, a tiny knife, a file, and a couple of explosive pellets. If you throw them far enough away from you, they won’t harm you but can create a disturbance long enough for you to get out of a tight spot.”

  Frank grinned. “Thanks, Dad. I hope we don’t get into any tight spots.”

  “So do I. I’m taking your bags to the embassy with me. See you later.” He got into the car with the other two men and they drove off while Frank and Joe donned the overalls they found in the back of the van. They equipped themselves with wrenches and screwdrivers and a map, then Joe drove to the address on the card their father had given them.

  Before getting out of the van, they agreed that Joe would inspect the basement while Frank would go upstairs.

  A genial young man answered the door.

  “Mr. Watson?” Frank asked.

  “Yes. What can I do for you?”

  “The owner of this house has called us and asked us to check the pipes,” Frank replied. “Some of them apparently are quite old, and Mr. Baldwin wants them replaced before they give you any trouble.”

  “Come in,” Reggie Watson replied. “I live here with my mother, who is out visiting. I don’t mind if you check the basement and the bathrooms, but don’t go into any of the other rooms. Mother wouldn’t like it.”

  “Understood,” Frank said.

  When they entered the house, Joe said he would inspect the basement, while Frank went upstairs. Reggie accompanied Joe, who walked around banging on the pipes with a wrench. “I wish I looked more like a plumbing pro,” the boy thought, “but there’s nothing I can do except stick to the act.”

  Circling the basement, he came to a small room that had been erected in one corner of the large cellar. He turned the doorknob. It did not budge!

  “No need to go in there,” Reggie said hastily. “No pipes in that room. Here, let me show you the washing machine.”

  Joe felt there was something Reggie did not want him to see in the locked room, but he had no reason to insist on going in. Pretending to examine the washing machine connections, he resumed banging on the pipes at random.

  Meanwhile, Frank checked out the rooms upstairs. Suspicious of Reggie’s warning that his mother did not want anyone in the bedrooms, he went in anyway.

  The first two produced no clues, and there was no evidence that Reggie’s mother was living in the house. As Frank was about to leave the second bedroom, he heard a muffled sound in the hall. He stood stock-still. “Somebody’s sneaking up on me!” he thought.

  Gripping a wrench for self-defense, he hid behind the door and waited. Seconds passed and nothing happened. As the sound continued, Frank peered into the hall. A cat was sharpening its claws on the wall!

  He grinned, relaxed, and stealthily entered the master bedroom. There was still no sign of a woman living in the house. But a slip of paper under the bedside lamp caught Frank’s eye. Leaning over, he read a telephone number.

  Beneath it was a notation: Hide arms pending further orders from Luxor.

  Frank’s heart pounded. The message was clearly a reference to the illegal weapons shipment. But why Luxor? What had the Egyptian city to do with the Rubassa conspiracy?

  Unable to figure out the answer, Frank banged the pipes in the bathroom a few times to make them echo in the basement and give Reggie the impression that he was doing his work upstairs. Then he descended to the kitchen and slipped under the sink. He was lying flat on his back when Joe and Reggie came up from the cellar.

  “How are the pipes on the second floor?” Reggie inquired.

  “Okay,” Frank replied. “But I think you may have trouble with the sink. Joe, take a look at this!”

  When Joe got down on his hands and knees and poked his head under the sink, Frank whispered, “I found something. Let’s wrestle with this pipe to make it look good, and then get out of here.”

  “There’s something suspicious in the basement, too,” Joe whispered back.

  Frank clamped his wrench around the bolt at the point where the pipe curved down from the wall and then up into the sink. It seemed stuck, so Frank got a firm grip on the wrench and twisted it. Suddenly the bolt came off!

  Whoosh! Water gushed out of the pipe, deluging Frank and throwing spray into Joe’s face!

  “Put the bolt back on!” Joe cried.

  “I can‘t! I dropped it but I can’t move!”

  Joe felt around on the soggy floor.

  “Hurry up. I’m drowning!” Frank cried out and pressed one hand against the leak and held the other over his face.

  At last Joe’s fingers closed around the bolt. Frantically he thrust it into position against the force of water gushing out of the pipe. As he screwed it back on, the deluge subsided to a trickle and then stopped.

  Wet and bedraggled, the Hardys crawled out from underneath the sink. Water covered the floor around them.

  “I wasn’t planning to start a flood,” Frank said in embarrassment. “I was just testing the bolt. I didn’t expect it to come off so easily!”

  “Forget it,” Reggie said cheerfully. “I’ll mop up.”

  Frank and Joe went back to the van feeling like fools. “I hope Reggie didn’t catch on to the fact that we aren’t plumbers,” Frank said worriedly.

  Joe shrugged. “He didn’t seem to. But we sure got wet.”

  The boys drove to a vacant lot where they took off their overalls and tossed them into the back of the van. They discussed the secret room in the basement of Reggie’s house and the message on the slip of paper in the bedroom. Deciding they should report to their father, they phoned the American Embassy, but were told that neither Mr. Hardy nor Colonel Palos was in at the time.

  “What do you think we should do?” Joe asked.

  “Let’s call that phone number I found in the bedroom,” Frank suggested.

  “Good idea. It must be a number the gang uses. Why don’t you imitate Reggie’s voice and see what happens?”

  Frank nodded and dialed the nu
mber. A man answered. “Who is this?”

  “Reggie,” Frank replied, hoping that his imitation would get by. “I need confirmation of our plans.”

  “You know we don’t discuss that over the phone,” the man said impatiently. “Come to the Beacon.” He hung up.

  “Did you hear what he said?” Frank asked. “The Beacon. I wonder what that is.”

  “Let’s ask a policeman,” his brother suggested.

  Frank drove to the main square of Loma, where an officer directing traffic supplied the answer.

  “The Beacon is an abandoned lighthouse. Take this road, turn right when the pavement ends, and follow the dirt lane straight up. It’s near the top of Beacon Mountain.”

  Frank, at the wheel of the van, drove as directed. He took the steep mountain trail, and kept going until they spotted the lighthouse about a hundred yards to the right. Since the area below was too open to afford cover for the van, he drove to a point higher up the mountain and parked in the woods.

  Then the boys sneaked down to the lighthouse, which was only two stories high since it stood on a plateau overlooking the Mediterranean. The trees and bushes surrounding it indicated that it had been abandoned for years. The sea was no longer visible from where it stood.

  Frank pointed to five motorcycles lined up along the base of the structure, half-hidden in the bushes. One of the machines had a twisted left handlebar.

  “The guy who tried to strangle the desk clerk must be inside!” the young detective whispered to his brother. “The same one who tried to push us over the cliff.”

  “And he’s got some of his friends with him,” Joe responded in the same undertone. “We’d better be careful. ”

  The thick underbrush gave the Hardys all the cover they needed to sneak up to the lighthouse. Carefully parting a bush with their fingers, they peered through the open window into the single lower room of the building.

  Five men were seated in wooden chairs around a table. All were wearing leather jackets, rough pants, and heavy boots. Their crash helmets lay on the table in front of them.

  “Only a few more days,” one of the men said admiringly to a tall, dark-haired companion, “and you’ll be Michael Linos, dictator of Rubassa!”