“How do we get there?” Frank asked.
“Take the highway south from Granite City for ten miles. Look for the big Milten sign on the right-hand side. I’ll dispatch a car as soon as I can.
Frank and Radley, who carried a small suitcase, hurried out, slid into the convertible, and zoomed down the highway. At the Milten Dairy sign Frank turned off, and the convertible bounced along a rutted dirt road. It led to a complex of barns and sheds.
“Slow down, Frank,” Radley said. “There’s a car in that big thicket over there.”
“It’s San Marten’s!” Frank replied. He parked behind the thicket, and they got out.
“Look—footprints!” Radley said in a low voice.
The trail led to a run-down house. Carefully the two sleuths edged up to it and peered over a window sill into a dingy room.
Through the dim light Frank and Sam saw Joe sitting in a chair with his hands tied behind him. San Marten and two other men were taunting the captive with threats.
“You’d be wise to answer my questions,” San Marten was saying. “Or I’ll let Belkin and Moreno go to work on you. They have ways of making people talk!” He turned to one of the men. “Right, Belkin?”
“You’d better believe it,” said Belkin. He pulled out a switchblade knife and tested the edge with his finger. At the same time Moreno turned his face and Frank recognized him. He was the driver of the car the boys had sideswiped alongside the golf course when the sprinkler had obscured their view! Harry Grimsel had been with him.
Joe tugged frantically at the ropes and San Marten clouted him across the face.
As Joe moaned, the door splintered open. Frank and Sam Radley barreled in. San Marten and his men spun around, mouths agape.
Frank floored Belkin with a swinging right and fell on top of him. Radley bowled over San Marten and tripped Moreno at the same time!
CHAPTER XVII
Golf Ball Artillery
THE criminals bounded to their feet and a wild melee ensued. Punches, karate chops, grunts, and curses filled the room as Joe sat helplessly looking on.
Frank decked San Marten and Radley staggered Moreno with a forearm smash. Belkin laid Frank and Sam low with a two-by-four, but was nearly exhausted. San Marten pulled himself up shakily.
“Let’s go!” he yelled and raced out, followed by his two confederates.
Frank and Sam rose slowly, shaking their heads to clear the cobwebs.
“Thanks,” Joe said. “You did a great job.”
Frank quickly untied his brother and they dashed toward the big thicket. Radley was the first to spot San Marten’s car moving out. It gained speed and disappeared.
The Hardys and Sam jumped into the convertible, eager to take up the pursuit. To Frank’s horror the car keys were gone.
“Oh, no! I shouldn’t have left them here!” Frank chided himself.
“Don’t fret,” Sam said. He pulled a pad from his pocket and wrote something. “I got the license number. We can phone it to the police.”
“Hey, what’s that?” Joe said. A glint in the sun had caught his attention. He walked over to it. Nearby in the grass lay the car keys, wet with dew and reflecting the sun’s rays.
Frank started the engine and they sped away. At the first public phone booth they stopped and Joe reported to Chief Carton. After a short conversation he told the others that the getaway car had been stolen the day before. “The chief checked the license number right away. They’re on the lookout for it. And another thing—the shoe we found in the water hole was not Mrs. Retson’s. Wrong size!”
Frank grinned. “I’m glad about that. Otherwise they might have started dredging the water hole.” As he started the car again, Radley asked Joe:
“What kind of information was San Marten trying to pry out of you?”
“He wanted to know about Dad’s investigation of the bogus passport ring.”
“So he knows Dad’s on the case,” Frank remarked.
“He sure does. He kept asking where Dad is right now.”
“This proves what we suspected,” Frank said. “He’s in on the passport racket.”
“What else did he want to find out?” Radley went on.
“All about Graham Retson. Where is he now? What’s he doing? When is he coming home? Things like that.”
Frank whistled. “Those were trick questions. We know that he knows where Graham is. He was on a fishing expedition to see how much we’ve learned.”
“Well, it didn’t do him any good. I refused to bite.”
“That reminds me,” Radley said. “How about a bite to eat? There’s a diner ahead.”
“Great idea,” Frank agreed. “I’m starved.”
Over ham and eggs, they continued to analyze the Retson case.
“We forgot to tell Sam about this,” Joe said suddenly and pulled a piece of folded rubber from his pocket.
“The monkey mask!” Frank exclaimed. “How could that have slipped our minds!”
Radley was amazed at Joe’s account of Diabo. “This could be very important,” he said. “I’d like to take this mask with me. Something tells me it might come in handy before the mystery is solved.”
“Where are you going, Sam?”
“To the Olympic Health Club. I called and told them I had arthritis and signed up for the two weeks’ treatment they advertise.”
“How come you’re zooming in on Olympic, too?” Joe wanted to know.
“Mrs. Retson is convinced Graham’s being held there,” Radley revealed. “As a patient, I can do some snooping. See if I can find any trace of him.”
“Olympic seems to be San Marten’s headquarters,” Frank pointed out. “Won’t he recognize you?”
“Unlikely,” Radley said. “It was pretty dim in that building and he didn’t get a chance to see my face. Anyway, it’s worth a try.”
They got up. “I’d better call a taxi,” Sam said. “It would look suspicious if you dropped me off.”
When the taxi arrived, Radley got in and waved good-by.
“Good luck,” Frank said, then the Hardys drove on to Whisperwood. Chet was waiting in the guesthouse. He looked worried.
“The guy who played that monkey trick on us called again,” he said.
“What did he want this time?” Joe asked.
“His offer of a thousand bucks still stands,” Chet replied. “He only wants the pistol.”
“What did you say to that?” Frank asked.
“I told him I didn’t have it,” Chet replied. “But he wouldn’t believe me. Said I’ll end up in the water hole myself if I don’t deliver the gun.”
Frank and Joe agreed it would be safer for Chet if he returned to Bayport right away. They hid behind the suction pump in the back of his pickup, so they would be on hand if the anonymous caller tried to ambush the truck. They intended to see Chet safely beyond Granite City, planning to return to Whisperwood by bus while their pal continued on home.
Chet was freewheeling the pickup down a side road toward the highway when a car with two men came racing up behind. He steered to the right, but the other car refused to pass. Instead, the driver cut diagonally into Chet’s lane, forcing him off the road into a ditch.
The pickup bucked over a couple of boulders, tilted precariously, and jarred to a halt.
Chet leaped from the cab and ran to the rear of the truck. The two men came after him.
Frank and Joe peered out from their hiding place. San Marten and Grimsel!
“Let’s see how good my pitching arm is,” Frank muttered. Plucking a golf ball from the suction pump container, he took aim and bounced it off San Marten’s head.
Joe promptly grabbed a couple of balls and fired away. Chet quickly leaped on the truck and joined the artillery.
San Marten and Grimsel tried to ward off the barrage
San Marten and Grimsel tried to ward off the barrage with their hands, but the boys kept pitching too fast. Their targets bent over, shielding their heads with their arms.
Frank and Joe raced after San Marten and subdued him. Quickly they bound his hands with rope from the truck, then tied up Grimsel.
“You’ll pay for this!” San Marten snarled.
“Save it for the judge,” Frank advised him.
“What’ll we do with them now?” Chet asked.
“Take them down to headquarters. Chief Carton will be delighted to see them, no doubt.”
The men were lifted into the truck. Frank and Joe stood guard over them, while Chet drove to headquarters. When they arrived, the Hardys announced a citizen’s arrest and turned the pair over to be booked.
San Marten and Grimsel were told that it was their constitutional right to consult with a lawyer before making any statements. Then Chief Carton ordered both to be fingerprinted.
At this point San Marten panicked. He resisted the procedure so furiously that it took two officers to hold him while a third cleaned his fingertips preparatory to rolling them in the ink.
The Hardys watched intently. Why would San Marten lose his nerve like this?
“I’ll bet he has a record,” Frank said to Joe.
San Marten scowled savagely at the Hardys, but he saw that further resistance was futile. He stood stolidly as his fingertips were rolled in the ink and recorded on the FBI standard fingerprint card.
“Send the prints to the FBI,” Chief Carton said. “But first check our files to see if we have anything on him.”
“Give me a few minutes, Chief,” said the officer, who had taken the impressions. He left the room.
Carton was discussing the Retson case with the Hardys in his office when the man returned and placed a report on the chief’s desk. Carton picked it up, read it, and dropped it with a puzzled frown.
“This is unbelievable!” he said.
CHAPTER XVIII
Bad News
FRANK and Joe looked curiously at the police chief. “What’s the matter?” Frank asked.
“It doesn’t add up,” Chief Carton replied. “Here, take a look. Who would you say this is?” He pushed a photograph across the desk. Frank, Joe, and Chet studied it.
“It’s Matthews,” Joe said. “We saw his picture before.”
“That’s right,” Carton replied.
“What are you getting at?” Frank asked.
“San Marten’s fingerprints match those of Roscoe Matthews!”
The boys looked dumbfounded.
“It can’t be!” Joe exclaimed. “No two people have exactly the same fingerprints.”
“It follows that Matthews and San Marten are the same person!” Frank declared.
He reexamined the photograph of Matthews. “San Marten seems to have a narrower face,” he commented.
“And his nose is much shorter,” Joe observed.
“Also, no squint,” Chet said.
Carton nodded. “San Marten’s hair is black, not blond. Of course that’s easy to do with dye. But the other features are so different!”
“Plastic surgery,” Frank surmised.
“That’s possible,” Carton agreed. “It’s an old dodge among the criminal elements. Sometimes a crook’s mother wouldn’t recognize him after the operation.” The police chief stared off into space.
“The thing that doesn’t fit into this theory is the difference between the behavior of Matthews and San Marten. Your Brazilian buddy appears to be quite sophisticated and tricky. Matthews wasn’t like that at all, according to our records.”
“Matthews must have changed his personality along with his face!” Joe said. “It’s been done by other criminals.”
An idea struck Frank. “Remember Graham Retson’s poem, Joe?”
“I sure do.”
“What poem?” Carton asked.
“We found it in Graham’s room and weren’t sure what it meant,” Frank said. “It goes like this:
‘My life is a walled city
From which I must flee,
This must my prison be
So long as I am me.
There is a way,
But what it is I cannot say.’”
Carton was thoughtful. “Are you implying Graham Retson wanted to change his identity?”
Frank got up and paced around excitedly. “It sounds far-fetched, but we know San Marten changed his, and Graham is mixed up with San Marten. Isn’t it possible that both did the same thing?”
“I don’t know,” Carton said. “If Graham decided to do this voluntarily, why would San Marten have kidnapped him?”
“I doubt that San Marten would tell us,” Joe said. “But maybe Grimsel will volunteer some information.”
“Good idea,” Carton said and had the caddy brought in.
He looked frightened. Carton advised him of his constitutional rights, then began to ask him questions. Grimsel answered most of them. Gradually his confidence returned. He even became boastful.
“I know something that could blow the Olympic Health Club wide open,” he bragged.
“All right, give us the facts,” the chief said.
The caddy smirked. “I’m not that dumb. I know what happens to informers. They end up in the water. Very dead.”
“You mean the water hazard on the golf course?” Frank asked in a nonchalant manner.
“Never mind what I mean,” Grimsel said surlily. “I’m not talking any more.”
Grimsel was taken back to his cell.
“Here’s what we do next,” Carton said. “We’ll get a search warrant for the Olympic Health Club and investigate the place, based on the discovery of the gun.”
“We’d like to go along,” Frank said.
“Why not? You boys collected most of the evidence so far.”
After the warrant was obtained, Chief Carton and two detectives drove to the health club. Frank, Joe, and Chet followed in the pickup. The manager met them as they entered.
“Search warrant, Mr. Portner,” Chief Carton said and presented the document.
Portner turned pale. He examined the warrant briefly, then said, “Go right ahead. We have nothing to hide.”
The officers went to inspect the manager’s office. Meanwhile, Frank, Joe, and Chet made a tour of the facilities. First they visited the swimming pool, where about twenty members were splashing around. Next they paused in the doorway of the exercise room. Several men were lifting dumbbells and pedaling stationary bikes.
“Nothing suspicious here,” Joe said.
Then they went to the gym. Two teams were playing basketball. Another group of four was tossing a medicine ball.
Suddenly Frank felt a thump between his shoulders and pitched forward on his face. The medicine ball had flattened him!
Joe helped him up. Frank was gasping for air.
“Sorry, fellow,” a balding man apologized. “My aim isn’t usually that bad. I hope you’re not hurt.”
“Just shaken up,” Frank said, and moved on to the steam room with his pals.
Three men were sitting around in thick bath towels, soaking up the heat.
The boys immediately recognized the figure nearest them—Radley! But neither they nor Sam gave a sign that they knew one another.
“Whew!” Radley said to no one in particular. “I could use some ventilation in here!”
Was he trying to give them a hint?
“It’s rather hot,” Frank agreed. “I don’t think I’d like to stay very long.”
Sam did not continue the conversation, however, so the boys left. Outside, Frank said in a low voice, “Sam meant to tell us something with that remark. There was no other reason for him to speak.”
Joe nodded. “But what did he mean?”
Frank shrugged. “I wish I knew. Just keep it in mind, maybe it’ll make sense later.”
“Okay. Let’s get back and see if the police discovered anything.”
They found Portner talking to
Carton about Grimsel. “I fired the caddy,” said the general manager. “His record here was bad. He broke the rules many times. That’s why he’s no longer with us.”
“Know anything about a man named San Marten?” Carton inquired.
“No.”
“A fellow named Matthews?”
“Never heard of him. Really I’m quite unfamiliar with the people you mention. We have so many members and patients who come here for treatment just for short periods that it’s impossible to know everyone’s name.”
The two policemen came back from their search. Carton asked, “Any results?”
“No,” one of them replied. “The place appears clean.”
Portner looked from one to the other. “At least you could tell me what you were expecting to find?”
“Oh, nothing in particular,” the chief replied. “It just so happened that a gun was found in your water hazard which belonged to a fugitive from justice.”
“Well, I do hope you’re satisfied. I don’t want our members disturbed by all this!” The general manager seemed genuinely distressed by the police visit.
“All right, Mr. Portner,” Carton said. “We’ll clear out and let you—”
The phone rang on the desk. Portner answered, then said to Carton, “It’s for you.”
The officer took the phone. After a brief conversation, he hung up. “Back to headquarters on the double!” he said, his face tense.
As they hurried out to the cars, Frank asked, “What’s up?”
“San Marten staged a jailbreak!”
“How did he get away?” Joe asked.
“He had a confederate spring him,” the chief replied grimly. He climbed into the squad car.
“You mean another member of his gang?” Frank asked.
“Not on your life!” Carton said. “It wasn’t a person at all. San Marten was helped by a monkey!”
CHAPTER XIX
A Telltale Bug
THE news of San Marten’s accomplice stunned the Hardys and Chet.
The Masked Monkey Page 10
