The Masked Monkey

by Franklin W. Dixon

  After the waitress had served them, Frank sipped his coke. “How’s business, Chet? Last we knew Phil and Tony were joining forces with you in the golf ball project.”

  “Anvone drown in a water hazard yet?” Joe needled their rotund pal.

  Chet downed a bite of doughnut. “You guys don’t take scavenging seriously enough,” he said. “Business is booming. We’ve recovered about a thousand balls. At least a hundred bucks apiece for each of us.”

  Frank brought the conversation around to the mystery. “Chet, what’s going on in Whisperwood? Everything quiet out there?”

  “Quiet!” Chet exclaimed. “Are you kidding? Mrs. Retson has disappeared!”

  Frank drew a sharp breath. “Disappeared!” he repeated incredulously.

  “Gone! Scrammed! Vamoosed!” Chet replied.

  “Give us the facts,” Joe said grimly.

  “First I learned about it was when I went up to the house the day after you left. Mr. Retson blew his top. Told me his wife had vanished from her room.”

  “What about Hopkins the nurse?” Frank put in. “She must have been on duty.”

  “Says she heard nothing. She was eating her lunch in another room. When she returned, she found the bed empty. She’s been having hysterics. Claims you two upset Mrs. Retson so much she just up and ran away.”

  “So we have two mysteries,” Frank said. “First it was Graham, now it’s his mother.”

  “There must be some connection,” Joe observed. “I’ll bet San Marten is behind this too.”

  “Maybe Mrs. Retson received a secret message from Graham,” Chet ventured. “He might have let her know somehow where she could find him.”

  “It’s possible,” Frank replied. “Joe and I failed to locate Graham in Brazil.” He told Chet about their trip.

  Suddenly Chet said, “Do you know a guy who wears a Panama hat?”

  Frank shook his head. “I can’t think of anyone.”

  “Me either,” Joe chimed in. “Why?”

  “There’s a man standing in the doorway who seems awfully interested in you!”

  CHAPTER XI

  Dangerous Stranger

  JOE casually turned around for a look. The doorway was empty!

  “Whoever it was, he’s gone,” Joe said.

  “Well, he sure gave you fellows the once-over,” Chet stated. “Kept staring at you as if you were his long-lost cousins.”

  A sudden thought caused Joe to sit bolt upright. “What if this character followed us from Belem, Frank! Maybe it was San Marten!”

  “What did the man in the Panama hat look like?” Frank asked.

  “Small, scrawny. Has blond sideburns. Wears steel-rimmed spectacles.”

  Joe breathed a sigh of relief. “It wasn’t San Marten, thank goodness.”

  “Could be one of his gang,” Frank stated. “On the other hand, maybe the man thought we were somebody else and realized his mistake.”

  “Well, I watched him for a while to make sure,” Chet said. “He never took his eyes off this booth till Joe turned around.”

  “Listen, they’re announcing Dad’s plane,” Frank said.

  Joe nodded. “Let’s go outside and meet him.”

  The boys quickly paid their check and went to the gate. The detective came through shortly and shook hands with all of them.

  “How much time do we have before our flight leaves for Bayport?” he asked.

  “An hour, Dad,” Joe replied.

  “Then let’s park ourselves somewhere and compare notes about our investigations.”

  “Okay, Dad,” Frank said.

  They went to the airline waiting room, where they settled themselves in easy chairs around a low table. Mr. Hardy kept a firm grip on his black briefcase.

  “This is loaded with vital documents,” he said in an undertone. “I’d be in big trouble if a thief grabbed it and got away.”

  “Have you had any breaks in your investigation of the passport gang?” Joe asked.

  “Yes. A man carrying one of the stolen and doctored passports was apprehended at Kennedy Airport.”

  Chet looked glum. “Then there’s nothing for us to do, Mr. Hardy. You solved the case without us.”

  The Bayport detective smiled. “Not quite, Chet. Our suspect clammed up. I’ll have to run down more clues before I collar the ringleader. You fellows and your pals may come in handy before we round up the gang. By the way,” he continued, “how’s your own case progressing? Have you found Graham Retson?”

  Frank described their fruitless quest for Graham in Brazil and Joe told about San Marten’s attempts to eliminate them, including an account of the hideous Diabo.

  Mr. Hardy frowned. “I didn’t think the Retson case was going to be that dangerous,” he said, sounding worried.

  “That isn’t all, Dad,” Joe went on. “We haven’t found Graham, and now Mrs. Retson is missing.”

  “Come again?”

  “Chet can explain. He was there.”

  Chet repeated the story of how Mrs. Retson had vanished from her room.

  “As I understand it, Chet, you, Phil and Tony were supposed to keep Whisperwood under surveillance,” Mr. Hardy said mildly.

  “Correct, sir,” Chet said. “But we were out golf ball scavenging when Mrs. Retson got away.”

  A voice over the loudspeaker announced that the plane for Bayport was ready to board. Gripping his briefcase firmly under his left arm, Mr. Hardy led the way to the ramp. Once on board, he retired to the back of the lightly loaded plane to examine some papers. Frank and Chet took two seats together, while Joe sat in the same row across the aisle. There was nobody behind them. Only a few passengers were scattered around the rest of the cabin, and several went to sleep as soon as the plane became airborne.

  Chet unbuckled his seat belt and returned to the subject of golf balls. “You want to know the system I’ve worked out so we don’t miss any?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Frank said.

  “Well, Phil and Tony work as my divers.”

  “What do you need them for? I thought the suction pump did the trick,” Joe said.

  “It does, in most cases. But some of the water holes and lakes are too deep and my hose doesn’t reach down. So I hold a bushel basket on a long rope and let Phil and Tony fill it up. We’ve brought back quite a haul every time.”

  “And that way you don’t get wet,” Frank noted.

  Chet assumed a hurt look. “You guys know me better than that. I’m the brains of the operation. I’ve got to direct traffic topside.”

  Frank and Joe kept needling their pal. Suddenly he jarred them by saying, “Something mysterious is going on at the Olympic Health Club!”

  “I thought you couldn’t get a contract there,” Joe said. “How did you get in?”

  “Oh, I didn’t,” Chet admitted. “But I have an agreement with the golf course next door. During the night I saw strange things over at the Olympic. So did Phil and Tony. They’ll back me up.”

  “What kind of strange things, Chet?” Frank asked.

  “Flickering lights on the roof. They flashed on and off, then went out for good. We never saw that happen before. Couldn’t figure out what it meant.”

  “Was that all?” Joe inquired.

  “No. There were peculiar noises, too. Like someone shouting. At first I thought I was hearing things. But when Phil and Tony came up from their dive, they heard it too.”

  “Did you investigate?”

  “We climbed over the fence and sneaked into the golf course. But whoever was there had gone by the time we made it.”

  As the boys talked, Fenton Hardy looked up from his papers. He noticed a man rise and walk slowly down the aisle. The passenger then eased himself into a seat behind Frank and Chet, who never noticed him.

  Sensing something sinister about the man, Mr. Hardy strode down the aisle and paused to observe the stranger a few steps to the rear.

  Covertly the man drew something from his pocket. Shielding his hands with his
body, he fiddled with the object until a metallic clicking sound occurred. He hunched over, feeling for the space between the seats in front of him, where Frank and Chet sat. With the other hand he guided a long slender tube into the space.

  “Just a minute!” Fenton Hardy said sternly. He grabbed the man by the collar and hauled him out into the aisle. As he did, the plane hit some turbulence, jostling the passengers. Fenton Hardy was thrown to one side. The other man fell to the floor heavily, with the tube under his hand. He lost consciousness!

  A stewardess ran up to inquire what was wrong. “This!” said the detective. He picked up the tube, which had a sharp needle projecting from one end. “It punctured his wrist,” Mr. Hardy went on. “It might be poison. He needs a doctor.”

  The pilot radioed ahead, then made an emergency landing at an airport near a small town. An ambulance rushed the stricken man to a hospital while Fenton Hardy and the three boys followed behind in a police car.

  In the emergency room an intern examined the stricken passenger and the tube, then administered an injection.

  “Was it poison?” Fenton Hardy asked.

  “Tes. Definitely. The antidote seems to be working, although he nearly died. Who is this man?”

  The police officer went through the victim’s pockets. When he pulled out a United States passport, Mr. Hardy asked to examine it. It was issued to Harold Solomon.

  “It’s not genuine,” the detective said.

  “How do you know?” the officer asked.

  “It’s my business to know,” Mr. Hardy replied, and showed his credentials to the policeman.

  “Then we’ll hold Solomon on several charges,” the officer said. “Attempted murder and carrying a false passport.”

  Frank, Joe and Chet, meanwhile, discussed the bizarre case. “A poisoned needle!” Frank shuddered. “And it was meant for us!”

  Chet walked over and looked at the ashen face of the stranger, who was still unconscious. “You want to know something!” he said suddenly. “That’s the guy who was watching you in New York!”

  CHAPTER XII

  The Monkey Mask

  THE boys peered down at Solomon, whose eyelids began to flutter.

  “He must belong to San Marten’s gang,” Joe said. “Probably a professional killer.”

  “That’s a good theory,” Fenton Hardy agreed. “I’ve checked his clothing. No identification marks. But his suit, shoes, and hat are all South American style. I’d say he’s from Brazil. But here’s the clincher.”

  The detective held a ticket between his fingers.

  “What’s that?” Joe asked.

  “A baggage claim check for a crate back at Kennedy Airport. Guess what’s in the crate!”

  Joe gasped as the truth suddenly dawned on him. “A monkey!”

  “Right. The claim check is clipped to a health certificate declaring the animal has had all its shots and can be brought into the United States.”

  Two more policemen, one a captain, entered the hospital as he was speaking. Introductions were made. “Good to meet you, Mr. Hardy,” the captain said. “We can always use an assist from America’s number one private eye.”

  “Thanks for the compliment,” the detective replied. “But the praise actually belongs to these young men. They can tell you what happened.”

  Frank described the trip to Brazil. Then Chet reported how the man in the Panama hat had kept them under surveillance at Kennedy Airport. Joe explained his theory that the man belonged to San Marten’s gang.

  “That seems to make sense,” the captain said. “We’re here to take Solomon into custody—if that’s really who he is. He’s conscious now. All of you can come along and hear what he has to say for himself. We’ve examined the plane, by the way. It’s clean.”

  The doctor said the patient was well enough to leave the hospital. Two squad cars took the group to headquarters.

  After the prisoner was seated and given a drink of water, he was advised of his rights to consult a lawyer before answering questions. He nodded and even refused to divulge his name.

  “It really isn’t Solomon, is it?” the captain asked. “And what’s your nationality?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Where did you get the metal tube with the poisoned needle?”

  “It isn’t mine. I happened to fall on it in the aisle, that’s all. And I won’t have any more to say until I see a lawyer.”

  “That’s your privilege,” the officer replied.

  The prisoner was taken to a cell. Fenton Hardy summoned the three youths aside for a conference on their next move.

  “I’ll stay here to press charges against Solomon,” he said. “What plans do you have?”

  Frank made a quick decision. “I think we should go back to New York with that baggage claim check. The crate calls for a look-see.”

  “That’s what I had in mind, too,” Joe agreed.

  The police provided photographs of the ticket claim check and the health certificate and kept the originals for evidence.

  “I’ll continue on to Bayport,” Chet remarked. “I’ll brief the folks back home on the latest news from the Hardys, and then hit the road for Granite City.”

  The group broke up. Frank and Joe returned to the airfield with Chet, and soon everyone was airborne.

  Frank and Joe had lunch aboard. Upon landing at Kennedy they hastened to the warehouse where the animals in transit were kept. They told the attendant that a friend had supplied them with the photographs and asked them to take a look at the monkey. He would pick the animal up later. The man told the boys to follow him and led the way through the building.

  It was an enormous structure lined with cages of many sizes.

  “This must be how Noah’s Ark looked,” Joe said as they walked along. “I’ve already counted a baby hippo, a pair of lions, a sackful of snakes, and a wild assortment of zebras, tapirs, and antelopes.”

  “Not to mention plain old cats and dogs,” Frank said with a grin. “Who owns these animals?” he asked the attendant.

  “Well,” the man replied, “the domestic animals are mostly pets belonging to passengers. The rest are bound for zoos, menageries, and circuses.”

  “San Marten’s line,” Joe muttered to Frank. “He told us he was a wild animal trader. Remember?”

  “Yes. But that obviously was a cover-up.”

  Suddenly another attendant came dashing through the warehouse. “A snake has gotten loose!” he yelled. “A king cobra!”

  The Hardys knew that cobra venom was among the deadliest of all. And the king cobra was the biggest of the poisonous serpents, ranging up to eighteen feet in length!

  “Where is it now?” asked the first attendant.

  “I don’t know. I found the lid to its box ajar. It slipped out unnoticed. Goodness knows where it is!”

  “Okay, everybody be careful,” the other man warned. “Don’t step into a dark patch on the floor without looking to see if it moves. And don’t feel around the tops of the cages with your hand. This cobra could be lurking anywhere. And it strikes like greased lightning.”

  “We’d like to help capture the cobra,” Frank offered. “We’ve had experience with them.”

  “Fine. Let’s spread out and go over this warehouse yard by yard. First one to spot it, sing out loud and clear.”

  Joe moved to the area housing the birds. In one cage an Andes condor flapped its wings. A dozen brilliantly hued parrots lent a splash of color to the dim interior of the place. Some jungle fowl began to cluck and scold.

  Joe edged toward them. A slithering movement behind him caused him to turn. Around the corner of the cage whipped a king cobra at least twelve feet long!

  It reared three feet off the floor. The hood spread wide open, and the reptile began to sway slowly from side to side. Its eyes locked onto Joe’s with a malevolent stare.

  Sweat poured down the boy’s face. His hands felt clammy. “It’s too close to miss me,” he thought.

  For
what seemed like an eternity, Joe stood as immobile as a statue. If he turned to run, the cobra would strike. The fangs would pierce his leg, pumping venom into his blood stream that would cause him to die in agony. Joe’s nerves started to give way. He would have to move!

  Suddenly a cord dropped over the serpent’s head, pulling it to one side. Frank stood there holding the creature securely in the loop of a snake hunter’s rod. The cobra writhed and twisted, hissing ferociously, but it could not break the hold of the loop. Skillfully Frank maneuvered the snake over to its box, dropped it in, and slammed the lid.

  Trembling from head to foot, Joe sat down on the next cage. He was too shaken to speak.

  “Take it easy,” Frank advised. “When I heard the jungle fowl clucking, I figured they were scared of something. So I hustled over for a look. But I didn’t expect to see you cornered by the runaway snake.”

  Frank gave Joe several minutes more to rest. Then they went to the cage corresponding to the number on the baggage claim check. Inside sat a howler monkey. He looked like the one they had seen at the Belem airport!

  He chattered and gazed at them with a gentle demeanor, holding out one paw appealingly as if to shake hands.

  Frank rubbed his chin. “We thought this critter was too nice to be Diabo. We were right, weren’t we?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll never forget the way Diabo snapped at us. This is an amiable monkey. Must be from a better jungle family.”

  The boys turned to leave. As they neared the door on their way out, two men walked in. One was dressed in a whipcord jacket and corduroy pants. The other had on a trench coat and a snap-brim hat. Their faces were hard. They beckoned to the attendant, who was walking a few steps ahead of the Hardys.

  “We came to get a monkey you have here,” Corduroy Pants said.

  “May I see your claim check?”

  “Forget it, buddy,” Snap-brim growled. “We lost it. But we know the number. That’s good enough for us. It’s good enough for you.”

  As the attendant eyed the intruders nervously, Frank pulled Joe behind a cage with baby hippos.