Frank nodded, kneading the fibers of the bill. “I know—that’s what I want it to do. Gus, unless I’m off-base, this money’s counterfeit, probably manufactured by the Nazis themselves.”
“What!” Bock seemed on the verge of apoplexy.
Joe inspected the bill. “I think Frank’s right,” he said. “We once helped our dad in a case involving counterfeit money and learned a few pointers about detecting phony currency. One way is from the paper itself. I’ll bet anything this isn’t the same composition as paper used for American money.”
Bock stared glassy-eyed at his companions. At first the Hardys thought he might put his fist through the bulkhead in sheer rage. But suddenly the big diver tossed his head back and burst into bellows of laughter.
“What a bunch of saps we are! All that trouble we went to, and the dough turns out to be fake!”
Kraus could only shake his head and mutter, “Ach du lieber Himmel!”
“We could be wrong,” Frank said.
“Somehow I got a feeling you ain’t.” Bock slapped him on the back. “But never mind, we’ll all hang onto this funny money till we find out for sure.”
A little later the Hardys contacted Sam Radley. They were overjoyed to learn their father had fully recuperated and would be out of the hospital the next day. Sam assured the boys he would give Mr. Hardy full details of their sleuthing success.
“Splendid work, fellows,” the operative added.
Two days later Fenton Hardy confirmed his sons’ verdict about the money when he and Sam Radley boarded the Petrel at its pier in New York.
“Bock and Kraus aren’t the only ones who were misled,” Mr. Hardy added. “That goldsmith Van Hoek is now under arrest.”
“No kidding!” Joe exclaimed. “Where’d they nail him, Dad?”
“In Amsterdam, on several counts of art forg. ery. He stepped off the plane from Cairo and walked straight into the arms of the Dutch police.”
Chet flashed a wise look at his two chums. “When you received the secret warning I had a hunch the Pharaoh’s curse was no laughing matter. It sure caught up with Zufar and his gang.” He hooked his thumbs into his belt. “Now that this case is closed,” he said with an air of satisfaction, “we can relax a little. Hey! How about going to Captain Early’s place and—”
“Eating more juicy lamb chops, I suppose,” Joe put in with a quick smile.
“Aw! Quit reading my mind!”
“Wait! I Chet has a point,” Frank concluded. “I think Captain Early should get a firsthand report of the final salvo.”
“And I’ll present the cane,” Chet said.
With a victory whoop, the boys set off, unaware at the moment that The Twisted Claw, their next mystery, soon would plunge them into another harrowing adventure.
The Secret Warning Page 12
