“It must be Chet’s!” Joe thought. Now he had evidence! He slipped the bag into his pocket so Janzig would not see it. Then he made his way through the clutter back into the museum, where Paul and Janzig were having a glaring match.
“You didn’t find anything. I told you you wouldn’t!” the attendant said.
Joe managed a smile. “I guess you were right. I got all worked up about nothing.”
Paul looked at Joe in disbelief. How come this sudden turnabout? Joe threw him a quick wink, turned to the ticket seller again, and said, “Nobody’s perfect. We all make mistakes. Will you accept my apology?”
Janzig tossed his cigarette to the floor, snubbed it out with his foot, and with a pleased look said, “Yeah, yeah, I know. I was young once myself. No hard feelings.”
The boys strolled out to the sidewalk, down the street, and turned the corner which led to the alley.
“What happened to you?” asked Paul. “One minute you’re like a tiger, then you turn into a pussycat.”
“Paul, Chet was really there! He’s the one they took away in the black truck!”
“Are you sure?”
Joe produced the cream cheese and salami sandwich. He theorized that Chet had been held in the back room, and being hungry, had asked for his favorite snack.
“And Janzig probably was the guy who bought it at the deli!”
“Right. Now follow me and be very quiet.”
Keeping close to the wall, Joe made his way quickly to the window of the rear room. He peered through the smudged glass. His hunch was correct. Standing with his back toward the boys, Janzig dialed the phone.
Joe listened intently, glad that the window was open a crack at the bottom. In a low voice the attendant said only two words “They’re here!” Then he hung up.
The young sleuth backed off, motioning to Paul. “Come on. We have to find that truck!” he said.
They were up against a gang of hoods, Joe realized, much more sinister than he had imagined. Chet was being held as a hostage. Now their enemies had been alerted that the Hardys were hot on their trail in Niagara Falls!
The two ran to the car and drove around block by block, looking for the unmarked truck. But no luck!
Finally Joe said, “Paul, let’s stop in and see how Frank is. Besides, I want to tell him what’s going on.”
Frank was sitting up in bed, still weak, but gaining strength rapidly. Their kind hostess had made him a strong broth which he sipped as Joe quickly related what had occurred at the museum.
Frank nearly dropped the cup of broth. “Good night, Joe! We’ve got to work fast!” He put down the nearly finished broth, swung out of bed, and grabbed his clothes.
“Listen, Frank. You’re not well enough yet,” Joe objected.
“I’m going!” was the determined answer. “You ready for the hunt, Paul?”
The Indian grinned and followed the boys outside to his car. Perspiration stood out on Frank’s brow and Joe noticed it. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.
“Getting better every second,” his brother replied firmly.
As the car pulled away from the curb, Frank said, “My advice is to go back to that alley. Maybe we’ll find another clue.”
The Indian guided the car with the skill of a racing veteran. Approaching their destination, he eased the brakes and poked the vehicle slowly around the corner.
Joe sucked in his breath. “Frank! There it is! The same truck!”
The elbow of the driver could be seen protruding through the cab window. Just then Janzig hastened through the rear door, got into the front seat, glanced back and noticed Paul’s car. He gave a cry of alarm and the truck was off!
“We’ve got to get them!” Joe said. “I’ll bet Chet is still in there!”
“Good grief!” said Paul. “I wonder where they’re taking him.”
“We’ll find out,” Frank said. “Cut him off if you can, Paul.”
The twisting, turning chase led through the heart of the city. The truck passed a red light, and Paul, afraid that they would lose their quarry, eased through the intersection with horn blaring.
A policeman on the corner waved his arms frantically and blew his whistle. He put his walkietalkie to his lips.
“That’s all we need!” muttered Joe, who had watched him. “I hope they don’t stop us before we catch that truck!”
They neared the park by the side of the Falls, where a slow car in front of the truck cut down its speed. “Get him, Paul. Get him now!” Joe urged,
The Indian deftly made a right turn, neatly cutting off the truck. It jumped the curb, ran across the narrow park, and hit a tree not far from the churning rapids.
The boys leaped from their car and reached the truck just as the driver and Janzig hopped out the front. Then the back opened up for a second. A big burly fellow jumped out, slammed the door, and came at the boys, his huge fists flailing.
Paul took him on while Joe sailed into the driver. This left Frank to combat Janzig. The fellow, though thin, was wiry. He feinted a left to the head, then whacked Frank on the right side of the jaw.
Weak from the dart poison, Frank reeled back, crashing into the guard rail which protected onlookers from the precipitous drop into the roaring waters of Niagara Falls.
Joe and Paul were having their troubles, too. Their opponents kicked, gouged, elbowed, and fought a hard, mean battle.
Paul turned to help Frank, but the moment he did, the thugs leaped upon them and the four went crashing to the pavement.
“Stop! Don’t do it!” Joe cried out as Janzig did his best to lift Frank up and over the rail. The weakened boy clung to the metal top rail piping with all his might. The world went swimming around.
Frank drew his knees back, lashed out with his feet, and caught his attacker in the chest. Janzig groaned and fell to his knees. But the impetus of Frank’s thrust catapulted the boy to the far side of the railing.
With a supreme effort Joe dealt his foe a sharp karate chop, then leaped for the railing. He got a scissors hold around Frank and pulled him back to safety.
By this time a crowd had gathered. A car screeched to a halt and two young men dashed through it and pitched into the fray. Out of the corner of his eye, Joe recognized Biff Hooper and Tony Prito! He must be dreaming! What were they doing here?
A flurry of well-aimed blows from Joe sent the driver reeling, and Paul put away the big thug with a sledge-hammer blow to the side of his face.
Just then sirens sounded. Two police cars pulled up and a group of officers jumped out. “Break it up! Break it up!” a sergeant shouted.
“They’re broken up all right!” Biff replied as the police ran up.
The trio, sprawled on the ground, rose shakily to their feet.
“These men are kidnappers!” Joe charged.
“What do you mean?” Janzig said. “We were just driving along when these guys cut us off and attacked us!” He glared balefully at Biff and Tony, who had turned the tide of the battle.
“Who are you?” the sergeant asked.
The Bayport reinforcement duo introduced themselves and said they were on their way to the Upper Michigan peninsula to do some fishing.
“Mr. Radley, a friend of ours, alerted us that our buddies here might be in trouble in Niagara Falls,” Tony explained. “So we stopped by and helped.”
Frank and Joe identified themselves, as did Paul. The beaten men, still rubbing their jaws, gave their names too.
“You say they’re kidnappers?” the officer asked Joe. “Whom did they kidnap?”
“Chet Morton from Bayport,” Frank put in. “He’s in that black truck!” He pointed to the vehicle.
The policeman walked over and flung open the back doors. The truck was empty!
“What did I tell you?” Janzig said jubilantly. “These kids are fakes!”
The Hardys and their companions were in a tight predicament. How could they prove their story? And what had happened to Chet? Where had he vanished?
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“And what’s more,” Janzig went on, “I prefer charges against these punks for assault and battery!”
Joe felt as if he had turned to lead. The spinning inside Frank’s head grew unbearable, and Paul looked around helplessly.
“Okay, down to headquarters with you!” the sergeant said sharply, and his men started to lead the boys toward the police cars.
“Wait a minute!” Paul said.
“For what?” the officer behind him asked impatiently.
“Listen!” Above the sound of the traffic and the chatter of the excited onlookers, a sound came from the direction of the truck.
Paul moved over with the policeman on his heels and listened closely. “Somebody is in there, I’ll bet!” he exclaimed.
The sergeant climbed inside the truck.
Another officer crawled beneath it.
“Hey! There’s a false bottom here!” the sergeant called out after a few seconds. He found a panel and pulled it up.
Underneath, squeezed into a narrow space, was Chet Morton!
CHAPTER XVI
Thieves Strike Twice
TAKING the stout boy’s arms, the officer pulled him from the small space where he was wedged under the floor.
Chet looked about, unbelieving at first. “Hi, fellows,” he said with a weak wave of the hand as two policemen helped him out of the black truck. Seeing that he was the central figure in the drama, Chet recovered quickly.
Color came into his pale cheeks. He stood erect and pointed an accusing finger at his abductors. “I charge them with kidnapping!” he declared in a firm voice.
Handcuffs were snapped on the trio and the police herded them into one of the patrol cars. With sirens wailing, they were whisked off while Chet related the high points of his adventure.
“I was waylaid,” he explained, “soon after I got the car out of the repair shop. Three men cut me off. Creepy and another guy jumped out of the car, put a gun on me, and forced me into the back seat of the convertible. Then they took off with it.”
“Didn’t anybody see it happen?” asked Frank.
“I don’t know. It only took a minute,” Chet replied.
The kidnappers had driven him directly to Niagara Falls and had hidden him in the rear of the museum. “I got loose and phoned you once,” Chet said. “They discovered what I was doing and really belted me!”
The crowd had now dispersed and Joe introduced their Bayport pals to Paul.
“You guys came on strong,” the Indian said with a grin. “How did you find us?”
“Sam Radley gave us the Keystone clue,” Tony explained. “We were cruising around looking for the place when we spotted you tearing through town after the truck.”
“It took us a while to catch up,” Biff added, “but traffic was heavy.”
The police requested the boys to come down to headquarters to make their complaint. There the Hardys continued to question Chet. He confirmed Frank’s belief that the gang were involved in big crime operations.
“You’re in their hair,” said Chet and added, “I heard them mention your father.”
Frank and Joe registered surprise. “In what way?” Joe asked.
“Remember when Rod Jimerson got bopped at the motel in Cleveland?”
Frank and Joe nodded while the police stenographer continued to make notes.
“Well, they thought he was your father for some reason.”
“I wonder what—” Joe began.
Frank interrupted by asking the police whether they had come across the Hardys’ car and gave them the license number. The chief put the query on intercom and soon the answer squawked out.
The convertible had been found abandoned. It would be returned to the boys if they would come to the police garage.
A short time later the six were dismissed. They thanked the officers for their help and promised to be on hand for the trial of the three kidnappers.
Outside headquarters, Chet made a wry face and said, “Boy, I’m hungry. I could eat a horse!”
“No need for that,” Joe quipped. “Here’s the lunch you left behind!” With that he pulled the cream cheese and salami sandwich from his pocket and handed it to the astounded Chet.
“Holy Toledo! I dropped that when they pushed me into the truck!” Chet said and wolfed down the food.
They drove to the police garage and claimed the convertible. A quick examination showed it was undamaged.
Frank suggested they all go to Paul’s cousin’s house. Biff and Tony followed in Biff’s car. When they arrived, they found a snack prepared for them.
“Boy, this sandwich hits the spot!” Frank said.
“Well, I guess we’d better be on our way,” Biff declared when he had finished. “Some speckled beauties are waiting for us in those Michigan lakes.”
“I’m ready,” Tony spoke up. “That is, if you fellows don’t need us any longer.”
“Go right ahead,” Frank said. “And thanks for coming along at the right time. Those goons might have thrown us into the drink if you hadn’t.”
“It was a great pleasure to take care of them,” Biff said with a grin. “Nice to meet you, Paul.” They all shook hands, then the two left.
“I’d like to stick around with you for a while, fellows,” Paul decided. “I go for this detective work!”
“You’re welcome to stay with us,” Frank said, then brought the conversation to the missing masks again.
“You know,” Paul said, shaking his head, “my brother Rod thinks Lendo Wallace is involved somehow in this. But I don’t agree with him.”
“Why not?” Frank asked.
Paul said that Lendo had always been an honest person. “When I was a boy, he was awful good to me,” he added, and told that many times Lendo had taken him for walks in the woods and had taught him how to throw the snow snake.
“You say you’d like to be a detective,” Frank said. “Will you help us to get to the bottom of this mask mystery?”
Paul was enthusiastic over the opportunity. “Let’s get started right away,” he said.
First, however, Frank put in a call to Radley in Cleveland. He was out, but had given an alternate number where Frank reached him.
“We found Chet,” Frank reported. “Thanks for sending the back-up troops!”
Radley was relieved when he heard the story that Chet was safe. “I’ve received the photo,” he said when Frank had finished, “and routed it through the FBI. There’s no report on it yet.”
“What about the Cadillac?” Frank inquired.
“That wasn’t hard to trace. It’s owned by John Snedecker.”
“No kidding!” Frank exclaimed. “So he’s the rich uncle of Elmont Chidsee!”
They chatted a while longer, and Radley said that the Magnitude Merchandising Mart was under close investigation by Mr. Hardy.
“They know Dad’s on the case,” Frank said. “Rod Jimerson got a bump on the head by being mistaken for him. By the way, how is Rod?”
“Working. No trouble here.”
“We’re going to the Rideaus’ place tomorrow and will stop by the reservation on the way.”
“Good luck!” Radley said and hung up.
Next morning Frank rode with Paul to keep him company, while Chet went with Joe in the convertible. Once out of the city traffic, the miles flew by and they soon found themselves nearing Yellow Springs.
Paul, who was in the lead, pulled over to the side of the road and Joe stopped behind him. “Let’s drop in on my mother first,” Paul suggested.
“Great!” Chet remarked. “I hope she’s got some corn soup on the back burner.”
The two cars turned into the lane in front of Mrs. Jimerson’s home. Before they had a chance to reach the door, the woman approached them. The look of pleasure on her face soon gave way to agitation, however. “Did you come back on account of Lendo Wallace?” she asked.
“No. What happened?” Paul frowned.
“Come on in, and I’ll tell you.”
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br /> In the living room she hugged her son and motioned the callers to sit down. She cast a sidewise glance at Chet and hastened into the kitchen. Shortly she returned with steaming bowls of corn soup.
As the boys ate, she related the story about Wallace. “He was robbed last night. But not only that, he was severely beaten!”
“Robbed?” asked Frank. “What was stolen?”
The woman ticked off the items on her fingers. “Lacrosse sticks, snow snakes, trinkets, and false faces.”
The Hardys were puzzled over the beating.
“Did Lendo come upon the thieves and catch them red-handed, ransacking his house?” Frank asked.
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Jimerson stated. “The police are investigating.”
“It sounds like more than a plain burglary,” Paul said grimly. “I’d like to get my hands on his attacker!”
Angrily he rose from the table and put an arm about his mother’s shoulders. “Ma, is Lendo home?”
“Yes. But the doctor says he’s hurt pretty bad.”
“Come on, fellows. Let’s go see him!” Paul decided.
Frank, Joe, and Chet finished their soup, thanked Mrs. Jimerson, and hastened out with Paul. They all climbed into his car and drove to Wallace’s place.
Paul pushed open the screen door and they entered. The room, obviously a workshop, was in disarray. The door to the bedroom was ajar. Paul entered and beckoned the boys to follow. Lying on the bed with a wide bandage around his head was Lendo Wallace. One purpled eye was closed shut and his face showed other bruises.
The injured man looked feverishly at Paul, who pulled up a chair and sat close to the bedside. “Who did this to you, Lendo?” he asked.
“A hundred,” Wallace muttered.
“A hundred what?”
The man did not answer, and his friend repeated the question.
“Masks,” Lendo whispered finally.
“He’s too sick to speak,” said Frank. “Maybe we can come back later.”
The four left and got into the car before anyone spoke. Then Frank said, “A hundred masks—what does that mean?”
“Don’t know,” said Joe, “but we’d better find out.”
The Melted Coins Page 9
