The Secret Warning

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Well, he’d better earn his board and keep,” Aunt Gertrude commented tartly.

  With that, she marched upstairs to the kitchen. Joe glanced at his brother and rolled his eyes expressively.

  “Well, let’s bring in our visitor,” Frank said, grinning.

  When the boys returned to the car, they found Tivoli comfortably lolling on the back seat, fast asleep. Joe jerked the ring on the end of his training collar. “Come on, boy. We’re going to introduce you to Aunt Gertrude.”

  Tivoli preferred not to be disturbed. Only the combined physical persuasion of Joe and Frank succeeded in dislodging him, and even then he proved skittish. Moments later, as they were hauling him in the door, the boys heard a shriek from their aunt.

  “What’s wrong?” Frank called out. Tivoli now lunged for the kitchen, tugging the boys behind him.

  “That prowler—he’s back again!” Miss Hardy’s eyes widened in fright at the sight of the Great Dane, but she went on, “I heard a noise out back and saw a man dask across the yard!”

  “It’s your big chance, Tivolil Go get him!” Joe commanded.

  The two boys and the dog dashed out the back door. But the prowler had vanished in the gathering dusk. Now Tivoli strained toward the house and the boys were forced to follow.

  “Maybe the fellow dropped something or left a clue, and Tivoli’s spotted it by scent!” Joe said hopefully.

  The real reason soon became evident as the Great Dane headed for the kitchen. Once inside, he strode toward the refrigerator and began sniffing at the door.

  Aunt Gertrude gave the boys a withering glance. “A fine watchdog he’ll make!” Resolutely she advanced on Tivoli. “Outside this instant!”

  The dog regarded her with its pale-yellow eyes. He made no move to obey, but a faint rumble sounded in his throat. Miss Hardy stood her ground. “Frank and Joe,” she said, “take this creature out of the housel Immediately!”

  Her nephews complied, and coaxed Tivoli into the back yard once more.

  Joe laughed. “He’s as iron-willed as Aunt Gertrude.”

  Aunt Gertrude’s eyes widened in fright at sight of the

  Great Dane

  “Time will tell,” Frank said philosophically. He got a length of chain from the garage and secured one end to Tivoli’s collar and the other to a tree.

  Back in the kitchen, the boys had just fixed a snack for themselves and Aunt Gertrude when a mournful howl assailed their ears. They looked at each other, then glanced at Miss Hardy. Her face spoke volumes but she said nothing.

  Tivoli continued to bay at the rising moon. Aunt Gertrude winced. The baying persisted without letup. After several minutes she pursed her lips and got up from the table.

  “Very well. You’d better bring that so-called watchdog inside before the neighbors complain. But put him in the cellar, mind you!”

  Frank and Joe did so. As they came back upstairs, Aunt Gertrude gave an indignant sniff. “Now perhaps we’ll be able to get some rest. I, for one, am retiring.”

  She swept out of the room.

  The boys finished eating, then tried several times to reach their father. No luck. They were just about to go upstairs when Tivoli came trotting into the hallway!

  Joe burst out laughing. “He must be able to turn the doorknob with his jaws!”

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Frank said hastily. He caught Tivoli just in time to deter the huge dog from settling himself comfortably on a newly upholstered sofa in the living room.

  “You know, I’m beginning to think Aunt Gertrade is right about this pooch! He may be more hindrance than help.”

  “Let’s give him a chance.” Joe grinned. “It’s only his first day here.”

  Frank took the Great Dane back to the cellar.

  Yawning, the boys switched off the lights, turned on the burglar alarm, and went to their room.

  Some time later came the sound of paws padding up the staircase. Joe raised his head from the pillow incredulously. “Good grief! Tivoli again!”

  Apparently sniffing out his two protectors, the dog stalked into the boys’ room. He leaped onto Joe’s bed with a single bound and draped himself across the middle.

  Joe groaned. “Oh great! Well, I guess you might as well stay here so we can get some sleep. But at least give me a little room, you big lummox.”

  Frank shook with stifled laughter.

  It was past midnight when the boys were suddenly awakened by the loud barking noise of Tivoli from downstairs. They heard the dog snarl —then the sounds of a violent struggle.

  “Come on!” Frank exclaimed, jumping out of bed. “Let’s find out what’s going on!”

  CHAPTER XI

  A Clever Dodge

  THE boys sped downstairs in their pajamas to investigate the commotion. As Frank switched on the light, Joe let out a gasp. “Look! Tivoli!”

  The Great Dane lay sprawled across the threshold of the guest room! The brothers ran to the dog.

  Frank and Joe experienced pangs of fear upon seeing that Tivoli was motionless. But closer examination showed the Dane was breathing. Then Joe’s eyes fell on Captain Early’s carved cane lying on the floor nearby. “Someone beaned him with that stick!”

  “And got away!” Frank said, pointing to the open window of the guest room. Both boys dashed toward it and Frank thrust out his head.

  The stillness was unbroken except for the thrum of crickets. There was no sign of the intruder.

  As the boys turned back to the unconscious dog, Aunt Gertrude arrived on the scene, wearing a bathrobe and hair net. “Mercy! What on earth has happened?”

  Frank said, “Someone broke in. Tivoli went for him, but got conked.”

  Miss Hardy drew in her breath sharply. “The nasty brute!”

  “Tivoli?”

  “No, the dreadful person who struck him!”

  “Poor old fellow!” Joe squatted down beside the Great Dane. “Wonder what you do for an unconscious dog. Give him smelling salts?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Aunt Gertrude said tartly. “I’ll attend to this brave creature.”

  Joe rose to his feet and exchanged amused glances with his brother. Aunt Gertrude’s change of attitude toward Tivoli was a pleasant surprise.

  “What I’d like to know,” Frank said thoughtfully, “is how the prowler got inside without touching off the burglar alarm.”

  “It’s still on!” Joe reported, after glancing at the wall switch in the hallway. “That must mean the alarm system is dead!”

  The boys rushed to the cellar to inspect the master control panel. When Frank opened the switch box, the answer was immediately evident. A wire had been disconnected!

  “Who did that?” Joe exclaimed.

  “It sure didn’t come loose by itself.” Frank frowned. “Remember that fellow Aunt Gertrude saw running across the back yard? He may have been coming from the cellar, after having yanked this wire loose so he’d have a clear field tonight.”

  “Hmm. Could be, if one of the cellar windows isn’t fastened.”

  The boys examined each of the four windows. The catch on one in the rear was unhooked!

  “This is the way somebody got out,” Frank said. “But how did he get in? I checked all these windows when you were telephoning Philadelphia—and they were locked.”

  Joe looked baffled and leaned against the crate. “Maybe he just oozed through the walls.”

  Frank had to admit he couldn’t figure out an answer, but added, “There is a way, and we’re going to find out.”

  The young sleuths went back upstairs. In the kitchen they halted in astonishment. Tivoli was devouring a pan of stew. Aunt Gertrude occasionally would bathe the bruise on his head with a damp cloth. The dog stopped eating long enough to give the boys a brief look of content.

  “Poor thing,” Aunt Gertrude murmured. “Such a stouthearted protector deserves a good meal.”

  Tivoli happily continued gulping the stew.

  As the boys went back to the guest room to sear
ch for clues, Joe said with a chuckle, “Boy, what a change! Aunt Gertrude can’t do enough for him.”

  Frank smiled. “I guess she’s convinced his heart’s in the right place.”

  Neither the room nor the carved cane yielded any fingerprints, nor had the intruder left any trace of his identity. Presently the boys and Aunt Gertrude returned to their rooms. Frank and Joe noticed with amusement that their aunt had said nothing further about putting the Great Dane back in the cellar.

  Early the next morning while Miss Hardy was preparing breakfast the telephone rang. Fenton Hardy was calling from Philadelphia. “Sam and I didn’t get back to the hotel until one this morning,” he explained, “so I decided to wait till later to phone you fellows back. What’s up?”

  Joe hastily reported the midnight break-in and the delivery, earlier, of the mysterious crate.

  Mr. Hardy was perplexed. “I’ve no idea what’s in it,” he said. “You and Frank had better open it right away. Then call me back.”

  Eagerly the boys went down to the basement, where they got a claw hammer and pry bar to rip open the crate. To their amazement, one side of the box suddenly dropped like a trap door! Empty!

  The Hardys stared at each other, speechless; then at the crate. “Are you thinking what I am?” Joe asked.

  “There must have been a man hiding in here!” Frank exclaimed, indicating the hinged side of the crate, which had an inner hook. “After he got out, he wedged the side in place.”

  “Then he was all set to rob the house!”

  “Sure,” agreed Frank. “But when he heard you telling Aunt Gertrude the dog could stay down here, he decided to scram before Tivoli could detect him. So he ducked out the cellar window.”

  “You’re right!” Joe said, snapping his fingers. “But first he disconnected the burglar alarm so he could get back in later.”

  With a puzzled look, Joe added, “This crate gag seems like an awfully elaborate dodge for a house-breaker.”

  “It was an ingenious way to sneak past our alarm system,” Frank pointed out. “He learned about that when he tried to break in while we were away on Whalebone Island.”

  Frank promptly telephoned his father to report the boys’ discovery.

  “You’re sure nothing was taken last night?” Mr. Hardy asked.

  “Not as far as we could find out, Dad,” Frank replied. “I think Tivoli jumped the fellow too fast. Then he heard us coming and had to scram.”

  “Hmm. So we’re still in the dark about what he was after.”

  The detective was keenly interested when Frank went on to describe Mehmet Zufar’s visit. “I’d certainly like to know more about this alleged defamation of character he complains of,” Mr. Hardy mused. “It might open up some new angles on the Pharaoh’s head mystery.”

  “Then why not take the case for Zufar?” Frank proposed. “He’s eager to engage a top-flight detective.”

  “That wouldn’t be ethical, son. I could hardly go to work for Zufar when he’s already under suspicion in the matter I’m investigating for Transmarine Underwriters. From what you say, he evidently doesn’t know about my assignment.”

  Joe, who was listening with one ear close to the phone, broke in. “But, Dad, why should there be any conflict? If Zufar is on the level, he wants the Pharaoh’s head mystery cleared up as much as you do.”

  Mr. Hardy was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Tell you what. Suppose you fellows go to New York and talk to Zufar again. Tell him I’m not at liberty to take his case just now, but I’ll try to help as soon as possible if he’ll give you fellows all the facts.”

  “Swell idea!” Frank agreed. “Maybe we can pick up some good leads!”

  “Incidentally,” Mr. Hardy added, “I think Sam should be free this afternoon. He’ll fly to Bayport and the three of you can go to Whalebone Island as we planned.”

  “Great!”

  Both Frank and Joe were eager for the trip to New York. After a hasty breakfast they drove to the railroad station and caught an early train. By ten minutes after eleven they were stepping out of a taxi at Zufar’s address in Lower Manhattan.

  The address proved to be a grimy loft building. On the card Zufar had given them he had also written the name “Fritz Bogdan, Curio Dealer.” The same name was lettered on the windows of a ground-floor shop.

  Frank and Joe entered the shop and found themselves in a long, dimly lighted room filled with Oriental carpets, statuary, paintings, and curios.

  A tall, hawk-faced man with iron-gray hair eyed them curiously.

  “May I help you?”

  “Are you Mr. Bogdan?” Frank asked. When the man nodded, he went on, “We’re looking for Mr. Mehmet Zufar.”

  “Oh, yes. I’m his American agent. He occupies office space here on his visits to this country.”

  Bogdan led the boys past a huge green Buddha figure to an inner corridor and pointed to an office doorway bearing Zufar’s name. Frank thanked Bogdan and rapped on the door.

  “Come in!”

  Zufar looked up startled from his desk as the Hardys entered. He listened with obvious impatience as Frank repeated what Mr. Hardy had said. Then he pounded a fist on the desk.

  “Now listen! Something has come up that changes everything. Your father must help me!”

  CHAPTER XII

  Key 273

  THE mustached art dealer’s reaction took the Hardys by surprise.

  “Do you have some kind of clue?” Frank asked.

  Zufar’s eyes narrowed. “A good deduction.” His fingers nervously plucked an envelope from his desk. “This letter came in the morning mail,” he said, handing it over. “See for yourself.”

  Frank took the envelope, which bore a typewritten address and was postmarked New York, N. Y. Inside was a note and a small key stamped with the number 273.

  The note, which also was typed, read:We have the gold head of Rhamaton IV.

  We will sell it back to you for $100,000.

  Be ready with your answer. SHOW THIS

  NOTE TO NO ONE IF YOU VALUE

  YOUR LIFE!

  The Hardys exchanged baffled glances.

  “If the gang who sent this have the Pharaoh’s head, Mr. Zufar,” said Joe, “why should they offer to sell it back to you?”

  The dealer mopped his brow with a lavender silk handkerchief. “Who knows? Maybe the thieves have been unable to find a private buyer willing to pay such a price for a stolen art object. Do not forget—the deal would entail great risk on both sides, and the buyer would never be able to display his acquisition.”

  “Maybe,” Frank suggested, “the thieves think you’re aiming to collect from the insurance company, then sell the head secretly for much more than a hundred thousand.”

  Zufar shot him a sharp glance. “It is possible,” he admitted grudgingly.

  “Do you think it’s likely that the persons who sent the note really have the authentic head?” Joe inquired.

  The dealer threw up his hands in despair. “Alas, I fear so. The head may have been salvaged from the Katawa’s strong room, or stolen or switched by some trickery before the ship left port.”

  “Would there have been time for anyone to do either?” Frank asked.

  “Of course. I purposely arranged to have the head brought aboard several hours before any passengers embarked, in order not to attract attention. That was in Beirut. Again there was a chance for trickery when we stopped at Le Havre. If the purser was dishonest—who knows?”

  Zufar shrugged unhappily. The purser, he added, had been lost in the sinking.

  Frank replaced the note in its envelope, then said, “Personally, I think you should take this note to the police, Mr. Zufar.”

  The art dealer’s eyes bulged fearfully. “You think I am a fool?” he said shrilly. “If I did, my life would be in danger!”

  “But you’ve showed the note to us,” Frank pointed out.

  “That is different. Your father is not the police. If these—these thieves contact me, I can say
simply that I have hired him to act as my go-between.”

  Dabbing his face with the handkerchief, Zufar went on, “Furthermore, once this became an official matter for the police, the news might leak out. I cannot afford to endanger my reputation any further!”

  The telephone on Zufar’s desk rang. “Excuse me.”

  He scooped it up. “Hello? ... Yes, this is Mehmet Zufar speaking.”

  Suddenly the dealer’s face grew pale. He beckoned frantically to the Hardys and held the telephone away from his ear so they could listen in.

  “You heard me! Speak up!” a harsh voice was saying on the other end of the line. “I asked if you’re ready to make a deal.”

  Zufar looked pleadingly at the boys.

  Frank and Joe hesitated. Then, with a glance of mutual understanding, reached a quick decision. Frank nodded emphatically.

  Zufar gave a sigh of relief. “Very well,” he said into the receiver. “What do you wish me to do?”

  “Listen carefully. Have the money ready in small bills. Take that key to the Philadelphia Airport. Use it to open a public-storage locker there and stand by.”

  There was a sudden click as the caller hung up. Zufar, too, put down the phone and turned his eyes to the Hardys. “You keep the note and the key, and you will inform your father immediately?”

  “We’ll get in touch with him,” Frank promised, pocketing the envelope. “Good-by.”

  Frank and Joe left the office. In the corridor they almost bumped into Fritz Bogdan. The proprietor gave them a thin smile and walked on quickly down the hall to a rear storage room.

  As the boys went through the display area, their gaze swept over the exotic assortment of merchandise. A tigerskin rug hung on one wall between dusty carpets and tapestries. Near the green Buddha, the painted face of an Egyptian mummy case stared back at them sightlessly. Both boys felt there was something sinister about the dingy place.

  An employee was moving a large, murky-col ored landscape painting in a gold frame. The Hardys recognized him as Zufar’s granite-faced chauffeur.

  When they reached the street, Joe muttered, “Do you suppose that fellow Bogdan was eavesdropping?”