Out in the field Chet Morton and another youth were busy unfolding the envelope of a red-striped balloon. Joe parked beside the clubhouse and the Hardys walked up to their friend.
“Hi, guys,” Chet greeted. “I’d like you to meet Ken Flippen. Just call him Fearless. That’s his nickname.”
Frank and Joe shook hands with a slightly built boy of sixteen. A shock of black hair hung over his eyes and he tossed his head occasionally.
“Sure glad to meet you,” Fearless said with a friendly grin. “Chet’s clued me in on your detective work. Says you’re on another important case. That must be exciting!”
Frank gave Chet a slit-eyed look. “What have you been telling people?”
“Can’t I brag about my friends—a little?”
“Very little,” Joe said, and turned to Fearless. “Don’t believe everything this big panda tells you. By the way, what are you fearless about?”
“Aw, nothing.”
“I know,” Chet said. “When he was a kid, he hung onto a rope and got pulled into the air by a balloon. Hung on for ten minutes until it came down.”
Fearless looked embarrassed, and Frank said, “There you go again, bragging about your friends!”
They all laughed and Chet said, “Fearless knows a lot about balloons. His father and two other men own this one. We’re practicing inflation.”
Fearless was pleased to tell the Hardys about his balloon. It had a two-man aluminum gondola or basket, and was lifted by hot air. Two propane gas tanks lay on the floor of the basket, and from each a stainless-steel tube led to a multiple pilot-light structure mounted on a metal framework above the gondola.
“When the pilot pulls this cord,” Fearless said, “the blast valve releases propane which is ignited by the pilot light.” He demonstrated, and a roaring blast of flame shot upward.
“This goes into the open mouth of the balloon,” the boy went on, “keeping the air inside hot, or heating it more if it’s cooled.”
“Hey, that’s keen!” Joe said. “You can carry your own hot-air furnace with you.”
“Right. This balloon is made of flame-resistant nylon. If by accident the flame melts a hole in the fabric, it will not burn the balloon up.”
Chet and Fearless proceeded to shoot hot air into the huge bag, and Chet said, “If you want to descend gradually, you don’t shoot any more air in and the balloon will come down.”
“There sure is a lot to know about ballooning,” Frank said. “Chet, when will you get your pilot’s license?”
“Maybe in a month,” Chet said proudly.
Joe changed the subject. “Where’s Krassner?”
“He didn’t show up.” Chet said. “That’s unusual. I expected him early this morning. But maybe he doesn’t feel too well. Why don’t you wait a while?”
Frank shook his head. “No, we have some work to do. We’ll catch up with him later.”
“So long, Fearless,” Joe said.
“Come back for a ride someday!”
“We will.”
The Hardys went to their car, looking back once toward the balloon which was now partially inflated.
“Chet sure does latch on to some good hobbies,” Frank said as they drove back to Bayport to investigate Associated Jewelers.
Their office was near the waterfront, and turned out to be a relatively new one-story building. Across the street stood an ancient three-floor wreck of a house bearing a sign: Danger. Building Condemned.
The boys parked and entered the jewelry company. In an anteroom were three chairs and a writing table. The door at the far end opened and a woman appeared.
“Are you answering our ad?” she asked.
Frank hesitated, “Why—er—”
“Then come right in. Mr. Jervis will talk to you.”
The inner office contained four filing cabinets, a number of chairs, and a cluttered desk. Behind it sat a pale, thin man wearing thick-lensed glasses. A nameplate on the desk read: Reginald Jervis.
“Have a seat,” he said with an ingratiating smile. “You’re rather young, but we could use two men right now. What is your experience in door-to-door sales?”
Before either had a chance to reply, Jervis went on, “We have a fine line of jewelry, and if you succeed in selling it, we have another most attractive offer.”
Finally Frank interrupted. “We don’t want a job, Mr. Jervis.”
“What? Then why are you here?”
“To ask some questions.”
“About what?”
“About Smith and Jones. Who are they?”
“Never heard of them!” Jervis snapped.
“And you’ve never heard of Eco Incorporated, either, I suppose,” Joe put in.
Jervis rose from his chair and pointed a finger at the door. “Get out!” he said.
“So you don’t know Smith and Jones?” Frank said coolly. “Well, there are other ways to find out about them.”
The boy’s calm demeanor infuriated Jervis. “I said get outl” he yelled. “Or I’ll throw you out myself!”
CHAPTER III
Tricky Surveillance
THE man pushed back his chair and took a step toward Frank and Joe.
“You don’t have to get physical,” Frank said. “We’ll go.”
Back in their car, Joe said, “We sure touched a sensitive nerve. Something fishy’s going on at Associated Jewelers.”
Frank nodded. “Jervis was really on edge. Now I’m sure Smith and Jones are connected with that outfit.”
Joe suggested they visit the Bayport Better Business Bureau. “Maybe they can shed some light on Jervis’s company.”
The Hardys drove along the waterfront, past a number of Chinese-operated shops known as Little Chinatown. They stopped at a hamburger place for a quick snack, then proceeded to Main Street, where the Better Business Bureau was located.
They were cordially received by the woman in charge of consumer protection. In answer to Frank’s question, she replied that she had heard of Associated Jewelers. The Bureau had received numerous complaints of high-pressure salesmanship and shoddy merchandise.
“The company is on our list,” the woman said. “So far, we haven’t enough solid evidence against them to warrant a lawsuit.”
“Has the public been warned?” Frank asked.
“There was a report in the newspaper,” the woman replied. “But I’m sure that many people did not see it.”
When the boys returned home they found that Mr. Hardy, in response to a tip from Police Chief Collig, had gone off to question several persons who had been cheated by the jewelry peddlers.
“He’ll be home later,” Mrs. Hardy said.
“I wish we could watch one of their salesmen in action,” Frank said.
“Perhaps you can,” Aunt Gertrude spoke up. “But for goodness sake, be careful. If they cheat people, there’s no telling what else they’re capable of.”
Her nephews looked perplexed. “What are you talking about?” Joe asked.
“Mrs. Snyder,” Aunt Gertrude said.
“Well, what about her?”
“Mrs. Snyder—you know, the one who lives on Lincoln Street—has arranged for an Associated Jewelers representative to come to her house. I just spoke to her a few minutes ago. Your father had already left. She told me a very nice man phoned her and offered free earrings for letting him show their products.”
“When will he call?” Joe asked.
“I don’t know exactly when You’ll have to ask her.”
“Gee, thanks, Aunty,” Frank said. “This may be a big help in our case.”
Just then the telephone rang. Frank answered. It was Krassner, inviting the boys to his home in a suburb of Bayport that evening.
“We’ll be there,” Frank said. “How about eight-thirty?”
“Roger. See you then.”
“This sure is a big day for us,” Joe said. “Come on, Frank. We’ve got a lot to do.”
The boys had just stepped out of the house f
or the short walk to Mrs. Snyder’s home when Biff Hooper came along with his hound dog, Sherlock. Biff was a tall, athletic high school pal of the boys.
“Hi, Biff,” Frank said. “Is Sherlock taking you for a stroll?”
“Something like that,” Biff replied with a friendly grin. “Matter of fact, I dropped by to ask you how about some tennis after supper tonight? I’ve got Tony Prito lined up for doubles.”
“Sorry,” Joe said. “We’re busy.”
“Official business?”
“Yes. We’re interviewing one of Chet’s friends. He may have a case for us.”
“You mean Krassner, the balloon guy?”
“How’d you know that?” Frank asked in surprise.
“Chet was in town at noon. He keeps me posted on your doings.”
Frank laughed. “Good old Chet. He’s a balloon buff now.”
“It’s a good sport,” Joe said. “I’m getting interested myself.”
“Where you guys going?” Biff asked.
Frank told him.
“I’ll walk you over,” Biff offered as Sherlock strained at the leash.
The trio turned a corner and proceeded along the block to the fifth house on the right. On the front steps sat a huge, tawny cat. Sherlock lunged, nearly pulling the leash from Biff’s hand.
“Hold it, Sherlock!”
The hound let out a mournful bay and the cat raced up a mimosa tree on the front lawn. The commotion brought an elderly couple to the porch. The man looked over the top of his eyeglasses.
“Get that hound out of here!” he ordered. “He’s scaring Princess!”
“All right. No harm meant,” Biff said politely. “So long, fellows. See you later.”
As he left, Frank addressed the couple. “You’re the Snyders, aren’t you?”
The woman nodded with a prim smile.
“We’re Gertrude Hardy’s nephews Frank and Joe. May we talk to you a minute?”
“Of course.”
Mrs. Snyder preceded the boys into the house while her husband went to retrieve Princess from the tree.
“You see, we love cats,” the woman said. “Not that we don’t like dogs, too, mind you.”
It was then that the boys realized that there were cats all over the house. They seemed to blend into the furniture. Frank counted six in the living room.
“Please be seated,” Mrs. Snyder said. “But be careful of our pets.”
One of them jumped off the sofa where Frank and Joe were sitting. At the same time Mr. Snyder entered, carrying Princess. He dropped down in an overstuffed chair and stroked the animal in his lap.
“We’re sorry about the dog,” Frank said, knowing that it was the wrong time to ask for a favor.
“Don’t worry about it. Tell us what we can do for you,” Mrs. Snyder said.
“We understand you’re expecting a visit from an Associated Jewelers salesman,” Frank began.
“Yes, he’s coming tomorrow.”
“Well, there have been complaints about this company. High-pressure salesmanship and shoddy merchandise. It might have something to do with a case we’re investigating, and we’d like to listen to what this man has to say to you.”
At that moment he felt a terrible tickle in his nose and let out a resounding sneeze. “Excuse me, please.”
Mr. Snyder nodded. “How are you planning to listen in?”
“We could conceal ourselves somewhere.”
“Goodness! Wouldn’t that be dangerous?” Mrs. Snyder asked.
“I doubt it,” Frank said. “Anyway, we’d be here to protect you.”
“I don’t like it,” Mr. Snyder said.
“Don’t be grumpy,” his wife intervened. “What would Gertrude think if we turned her nephews down?”
“Then may we come?” Frank asked hopefully.
“Certainly. The salesman is due at two. Why don’t you stop by at one-thirty?”
Mr. Snyder looked none too pleased but did not object. The boys expressed their thanks and left.
At home, Frank and Joe praised Aunt Gertrude for her aid. “Did you know the Snyders have a houseful of cats?” Joe asked as the family sat down to dinner.
“Oh yes. One named Princess Golden Girl of Bayport is a champion.”
When the meal was over, the boys set out for Krassner’s home. It was located in a wooded area about twenty miles out of town.
The sun was setting as they neared the property. Suddenly they heard a strange hissing noise.
Frank slowed down. It was not from the car, but seemed to come from overhead. Both looked up in amazement to see a weird balloon. Hot air was gently shooting into the envelope with a sound like auto tires on a wet pavement.
“Look at those crazy colors!” Joe exclaimed as the craft drifted over the woodland. It was mottled in shades of green, blue, and yellow, and its central decoration was an evil-looking, twisting serpent of the same hues.
“Someone has an artistic touch,” Frank said admiringly. “Let’s follow it to see where it lands. It was flying pretty low.”
“Okay. We have half an hour to spare, anyway.”
They turned around and a hundred yards farther on found a narrow lane leading into the deep woods.
Overhanging branches brushed past the car as it probed deeper into the forest along the rutted trail. The slow going was maddening. But finally they reached a clearing.
Off to one side was a tumble-down barn, and beside it a stark blackened chimney—all that remained of a burned-out farmhouse.
“Look,” Frank said. “There’s the balloon. And their pickup truck got here ahead of us.”
They could see why. A good blacktop road was no more than a hundred yards away on the opposite side of the clearing.
Frank and Joe parked the car and trotted toward the barn. Perhaps the serpent balloonists were from the Lone Tree Club.
Behind the old building the deflated envelope was being packed up. Three men worked with great rapidity, and the balloon and gondola were loaded onto the truck. The men jumped in.
“Hey, wait a second!” Frank called out as he and Joe ran forward.
The truck started up and the Hardys hailed it again. But instead of slowing down, the driver accelerated. Frank and Joe moved to the side of a gully, because it was coming right at them!
“Holy crow!” Joe exclaimed. “They’re trying to run us down!”
“Jump!” Frank cried out.
CHAPTER IV
A Hissing Blast
DIVING headlong, Frank and Joe cleared the side of the road and landed in a bramble patch as the truck sped by.
Joe rose painfully from the thorny foliage and Frank followed him, pulling thorns from his hair and clothing.
“Did you get the license number by any chance, Joe?”
“Oh, sure, I jotted it down while flying through the air!” he quipped. “Frank, do you think those guys have something to hide or are they just nasty?”
“I’d say both.”
They brushed the weeds from their disheveled clothes and returned to their car.
“It must have taken months to decorate that balloon,” Frank said.
“Right. Maybe they’re entering a contest for the most artistic design. Anyway, whoever was driving deserves an artistic punch in the nose.”
Joe got into the driver’s seat while Frank slipped in beside him.
“Ow!”
“What’s the matter?” Joe asked.
“I didn’t get all those confounded thorns out of my britches!”
They went back by the same route and regained the main road leading toward Krassner’s home.
“I guess this is it,” Joe said finally.
Dusk had settled now and the lights from their car illuminated a bronze plaque set in a huge boulder announcing the residence of Albert Krassner. A pebbled driveway traversed an acre of lawn extending like a green velvet collar around a sumptuous gray stone mansion.
“I’ll say he’s rich,” Frank commented. “This place
must be worth a small fortune.”
As the car approached, an ornamental carriage lamp was turned on, casting a pleasant yellow light over a broad band of marble stairs leading to the front door.
Joe parked and they mounted the steps. Frank pushed a button set in the masonry beside the glass-and-wrought-iron door. When chimes sounded inside, a maid in a dark dress and starched white apron answered.
“You’re the Hardy boys?”
“Yes, we are,” Frank replied.
“Wait a moment, please. I’ll see if Mr. Krassner is ready to receive you.” She led them into a center hall, then mounted a broad stairway.
Frank and Joe looked around. Suddenly Joe whispered, “Frank! Come over here!”
On a table near the door was an Oriental vase. Frank moved closer. “The serpent design! It’s almost like the one on that balloon!”
“Very similar.”
Then something else caught Frank’s eye. He went to examine a beautiful trophy cup. “Here’s something interesting, Joe. Mr. Krassner is a chess champion!”
The inscription stated that the cup had been awarded for the regional chess title.
Just then the maid came down. “Mr. Krassner will see you now,” she said.
She led the boys upstairs and ushered them into the largest bedroom they had ever seen. One side was completely lined with mirrors, reflecting the beautifully appointed interior. At the far side was an immense canopied bed and on it, propped up with large pillows, lay Albert Krassner. He beckoned Frank and Joe to his side.
“First of all,” he said, “I want to thank you for helping me when I had that seizure.”
“Are you better now?” asked Frank.
“Oh yes. I just wanted to take it easy for a couple of days. The old ticker gives me trouble now and then, but I can afford to have the best doctors.”
“You are fortunate,” Joe said.
“In that respect, yes. But money isn’t everything. Learn that while you’re young.”
“That’s the way we feel, sir,” Frank said. “Personally, we prefer mysteries and adventures.”
The Clue of the Hissing Serpent Page 2
