“Tighten your seat belt, Tony.”
The air heaved and rocked the plane. Joe had to hang onto the wheel with all his might to keep it from tearing from his grasp.
Then came a rattle of hail, followed by sheets of rain. It seemed as if they were flying under a waterfall.
“Joe, do you think we’ll make it?” Tony asked.
“Start praying, old buddy.”
The plane shuddered.
“Mama mia!” Tony cried out. “The wings are coming off!”
CHAPTER X
A Strange Hope
WHILE Joe and Tony struggled for survival in the aerial maelstrom, Frank and Biff drove toward Ocean Bluffs. Halfway there, the same storm which had engulfed the Hardy’s plane burst with sudden fury on Biff’s car.
First there was a machine-gun rattle of hail, followed by a torrent of rain. The windshield wipers were of little use.
Biff pulled off to the side of the road for a few minutes. “I hope Joe and Tony got back before this storm,” he said.
“I wouldn’t worry,” Frank said. “Joe’s a careful pilot.”
The thunder and lightning finally subsided and after ten minutes the downpour let up suf ficiently for Biff to continue on.
Ocean Bluffs was a small community located on a rocky cove and got its name from cliffs which dropped off quite steeply toward the water. It might have been a popular recreation area if not for the narrow beach. At high tide it was barely more than five feet wide, stony and uneven.
The boys found the home of Conrad Greene close to the ocean, midway between a desolated road and the cliffs. With some difficulty Biff negotiated the muddy driveway and pulled up in front of the house, a low ranch type which sat squat and undistinctive in the driving downpour.
“What an isolated place,” Biff said. “It would give me the creeps to live here.”
“I guess Conrad likes privacy,” Frank said as they made their way over the soggy ground to the front door. There was no bell, so Frank rapped loudly. No answer!
The boy banged again.
“Maybe nobody’s home,” Biff suggested, turning up his collar to keep the rain from running down his neck.
They were about to leave when the door opened a crack. An elderly man stood behind it.
Frank smiled. “Are you Mr. Greene, Senior?”
“Go away. I don’t want to buy anything.”
“We’re not salesmen. I’m Frank Hardy, and this is my friend Biff Hooper. We’d like to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Look, Mr. Greene, I can’t explain while we’re drowning. Please let us in!”
“Okay,” the man replied grudgingly. “But I’m telling you, I’ve got nothing to talk about.”
By this time Frank and Biff were dripping wet. At the end of a vestibule which led to a large living room, Greene said, “You can dry off, but then you’ve got to go.”
He shuffled into the living room, with the boys following behind him.
“What I want to talk about concerns your son Conrad,” said Frank.
“What about him?”
Just then a medium-sized thin man with jet-black hair and a gaunt face appeared from a door on the opposite side of the room.
“Who are these people?” he demanded. “I told you not to let anybody in!”
“They’re only going to dry off,” the older man said.
“We’d like to talk to you, Mr. Greene,” Frank spoke up.
“And we don’t want any autograph, either,” Biff added, irked by the unfriendly treatment.
“Somebody wants to tap your telephone,” Frank began. “Perhaps it’s bugged already.”
“What?” Conrad Greene now seemed willing to listen.
Frank told about Fenton Hardy’s experience with Fong and Eggleby. “Of course my father wouldn’t consider doing such a job,” he said, “but someone else might not be so ethical.”
Color rose to Conrad Greene’s pale face. “The Ruby King!” he muttered. “They don’t want me to win it!”
“What was that?” Frank asked. “Did you say Ruby King?”
“Forget it,” Conrad said curtly. “Can you tell me whether my phone is tapped now?”
Frank, who knew a lot about detection equipment, checked around the house, taking apart the telephone and the single extension. The other three looked on, fascinated by his expertise.
“Seems you’re clean,” Frank said finally.
By this time the chess master’s frigid manner had relaxed somewhat. “I’m glad you came to tell me,” he said. “And I hope you’ll understand how I feel in regard to strangers—their interminable questions about chess. I lecture, but I don’t give individual instruction.”
Frank nodded. “By the way, do you ever pass confidential information over the telephone?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” the man replied. “Being a grandmaster, I often discuss chess with other masters all over the United States.”
Frank suggested that perhaps Fong was trying to get some of Greene’s strategy on behalf of the opposition. “Or maybe he just wants to snoop into your personal business to psyche you out,” he added.
Greene’s lips curled in a sly smile. “Nobody will psyche me. I’m pretty good at that myself.” With that, he said good-by and left the room. His father escorted the boys to the door.
“I hope my son loses the championship,” he said. “I don’t want him to win the Ruby King.”
“Why not?” asked Frank.
Mr. Greene did not answer and shut the door quietly behind the boys. They made their way to the car. Starting down the driveway, Biff asked, “Why do you think old Greene doesn’t want his son to win the Ruby King?”
Frank shrugged. “All I can say is that Joe and I intend to find out about the King pretty soon.” He told Biff about developments in their case and the husky six-footer was much impressed.
As the boys drove back to Bayport, lacy patterns of lightning were still flickering in the sky far to the west, indicating that the storm had not completely passed.
At that very moment Tony Prito was crossing himself. The Hardys’ plane shuddered with teeth-chattering violence. It lifted like an express elevator, then plunged with a velocity that seemed to turn Joe’s stomach inside out. The wheel was wrenched from his hands.
“This is the end,” he thought.
Suddenly the miracle happened. The plane dropped down out of the heavy clouds and visibility increased. It was in a spin, heading toward the hazy green earth below. Joe shook his head to dispel the feeling of dizziness. He grasped the wheel and it responded sluggishly.
Glancing over at Tony, whose eyes were shut tight, Joe said, “You can open them now, pal. We’re not going to heaven yet.”
But Tony was not ready for quips. Glassy-eyed, he looked straight ahead for several minutes, while Joe brought the craft down even lower, skimming above the dark forest land. Finally Tony said, “That was great handling, Joe.”
“Thanks. We were lucky.”
Joe nursed the damaged controls, hoping they would stay intact until they reached the airport. It was then that Tony’s sharp eyes spied a crude cabin in the woods.
“Hey, look down, Joe! Isn’t that a flatbed trailer behind the shack over there?”
“Sure is.”
“Can you fly lower for a better look? Maybe it’s the hideout of the serpent balloon gang!”
“Sorry, I can’t,” Joe replied. “The plane’s not handling very well. I’ll need all the altitude I can get if we have to make an emergency landing.”
The shack slid from view and Joe made a beeline for Bayport Airport. He radioed ahead telling the control people he was in trouble.
“Emergency equipment will stand by,” came the reply from the tower.
“Hold your hat, Tony,” Joe said as they came in for the landing. “I hope this crate sets down in one piece!”
A fire truck and ambulance stood beside the runway, but his skilled handling brought the plane d
own safely.
Joe and Tony reached the Hardy home minutes before Frank and Biff pulled into the driveway.
Excited conversation ensued for the next hour over sandwiches, then Biff and Tony left and the Hardys arrived at Krassner’s place an hour and a half later. They locked the car and walked up to the door.
Krassner met them in the sumptuous foyer, and shook their hands warmly. “Glad you came,” he said. “I’ve taken the Ruby King out of the safe. It’s in the library.”
Hearing that the valuable antique stood unguarded, Joe frowned.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Krassner said. “Don’t worry. We’re alone. I can assure you of that.”
He led the way to a wing of the mansion and entered a plush library. Bookstacks extended from the floor to the ceiling, and a dim light filtered through heavy curtains on half-open French doors at the far end of the room.
Suddenly Frank and Joe noticed a shadowy figure standing near the doors!
CHAPTER XI
Over the Cliff
SUDDEN fear gripped Frank. Had the intruder already raided Krassner’s safe? And was he making off with the Ruby King?
Joe’s reaction was to dash across the room, but Krassner held him back. “Joe, what are you doing?” he asked. “The King won’t run away!”
“Is that the King?” Joe asked in disbelief.
With Frank at his side, he approached the figure cautiously. Now they saw that the chess piece was life-size, intricately carved, and bejeweled with bits of ruby.
“Why—we thought—”
“Yes, that should have occurred to me,” Krassner said and chuckled. He parted the curtains, throwing more light on the unusual antique. “You probably assumed the Ruby King was small.”
“We did,” Frank admitted.
“And made from a solid piece of ruby,” Joe added.
The boys walked around the figure, amazed by the subtlety of its carving and the placement of the precious gems. Two of the larger pieces made up the eyes, giving the King a crafty appearance.
“I never knew there were life-size chess pieces,” Frank said.
“Oh yes,” Krassner told him. “The ancient nobility prized them highly. In several instances the warlords battled over possession of these figures.” He went on to explain that the ancients were known even to use people as chess pieces. “Courtyards were laid out as boards,” he said, “and the living pieces, usually slaves, moved from one place to another at the master’s bidding.”
“You know what threw us off,” Frank said. “You mentioned keeping the Ruby King in your safe. It must be quite a large one.”
Krassner went to the opposite wall, pulled a tapestry aside, and revealed a steel door. The dial was the size of a kitchen plate, and the handle so bulky that it required two strong hands to turn it.
“That’s built like a fortress,” Joe remarked.
Krassner nodded and pulled the door open. A light sprang on inside and the Hardys looked into the cavernous vault.
“I’d say this is a safe place, wouldn’t you?” Krassner said with a self-satisfied smile.
“Where’d you get the design?” Frank quipped. “From Fort Knox?”
Krassner shrugged. “In my business I need a good vault. Now let’s put the King in again. Here, Joe, give me a hand.”
The boy helped him carry the prize into the safe and Krassner locked the door. Then he put the tapestry back into place and motioned the boys to sit down.
“Well, now you’ve seen it,” he said. “It would be almost impossible to steal, and equally difficult to cart off.”
Mr. Hardy had told his sons that no safe ever made was impervious to clever thieves, but Frank and Joe had to admit that Krassner’s setup looked pretty tight.
“Matter of fact,” the banker went on, “the consortium trusted me with the piece because of my unique vault.”
“Mr. Krassner,” Frank asked, “how did you acquire the chess piece?”
“It was purchased in China and shipped to this country via Hong Kong.”
“Probably smuggled out,” Frank thought to himself. He did not quite trust Krassner, and still suspected that the chess piece might have been stolen.
On the way home the boys mused about the Ruby King.
“That was a real shockeroo, wasn’t it, Frank?” Joe asked.
“I’ll say. Were you going to tackle that wooden dummy?”
“Okay, don’t rub it in. I’ll bet you thought it was a thief, too.”
Frank nodded. “Hey, we’re not far from the Morton farm and Chet’s home from the hospital. Let’s stop in and say hello.”
Joe agreed and soon they arrived at the farmhouse. Chet was sitting in the living room watching television.
“Look at this!” Joe quipped. “He’s watching kiddie shows!”
Chet was unhappy. “What else can I do? The doctor told me to take it easy for a few days.” He sighed. “What’s up? Are you breezing around the countryside looking for trouble?”
“Not exactly,” Frank said. “We were looking at a life-size chess king.”
Iola had come in and overheard the last sentence. “What?” she said in surprise. “Is there really such a thing?”
“Yes. And it came all the way from China.”
“Tell me more.”
“Unfortunately that’s all we know.”
Iola looked thoughtful. “I might be able to find out more about ancient chess pieces. Would that be of any help to you?”
“Sure. How are you going to do it?”
“Oh, leave it to me,” Iola said coyly.
On the way home, Frank said, “I wonder what Iola has in mind.”
“She’s pretty smart,” Joe said. “Don’t worry about it.”
As they pulled into the driveway, Frank said, “Joe, I’ve been thinking.”
“About what?”
“Conrad Greene’s place. Maybe the wiretap is on the outside of the house!”
“You only checked indoors?”
“Yes. It didn’t occur to me until just now.”
“Then let’s take a look tomorrow morning.”
“Okay. We’ll phone him tonight.”
After dinner Frank called the Greene residence. Conrad’s father answered, saying it was all right to come the next day and check the outside.
“This time you won’t get wet, either.” He chuckled. “The weather bureau predicted sunshine.”
When Frank asked about Conrad, he learned that the champion was out of town conducting an exhibition tour.
“He plays ten games simultaneously—and blindfolded!” Mr. Greene said proudly.
Frank thanked him and hung up. When he told Joe about the grandmaster’s exhibition, the boy whistled. “Wow! I’ve trouble playing one opponent with my eyes open!”
“You’re not a genius, Joe. I keep telling you that.”
Joe gave his brother a good-natured poke in the ribs. “Well, let’s see what kind of a genius you are in solving our new mystery.”
The boys waited until ten-thirty the next morning, thinking their father might call from New York, but finally Frank said, “We’d better be on our way. I wanted to tell Dad about the Ruby King, but it’ll have to wait.”
The day was bright and clear. On the highway a black sedan kept behind them for a while, and Joe became suspicious. A man and a woman were in the car. But it turned off onto a side road before they reached Ocean Bluffs.
The elder Mr. Greene let them in and Frank introduced his brother.
“How’s that big fellow who was with you. What’s his name? Boff?”
“Oh, you mean Biff. He’s fine. Mr. Greene, may we check in the house again for any bugs? Then we’ll investigate outside. It could be they have tapped your line by the pole near the road.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
The boys went to work with speedy efficiency. “Nothing here,” Joe said finally. As they moved toward the front door, a shrill scream pierced the stillness.
The bo
ys ran outside, followed by the old man. They saw a woman running frantically toward the steeply sloping cliff. A man was chasing her!
Suddenly she whirled about and in a high-pitched voice shouted, “I’ll throw myself into the sea if you come one step further!”
The man hesitated, then started his pursuit again.
“Do you think it’s a lovers’ quarrel?” Joe asked.
“Whatever it is, it could have serious consequences. That woman might kill herself!”
The Hardys raced up to the man. “Hold it!” Frank called out. “Leave her alone!”
“You take care of him,” Joe said to his brother. “I’ll try to keep the woman from jumping off.” He rushed toward the cliff.
“What’s going on?” Frank asked the man.
“Don’t let her do it!” he panted, throwing up his arms in despair. “She’s crazy enough to do anything!”
Joe, meanwhile, had reached the woman, who stood precariously close to the edge of the cliff. He put both arms around her waist and began pulling her back. Suddenly she spun around. Now Joe was at the lip of the cliff himself! The woman tried to shove him over, and in her efforts a wig fell off her head!
“Holy crow!” Joe thought. “It’s a man!”
Frank was having his troubles, too. The man, who had pleaded for help a moment before, set upon him and wrestled him toward the cliff. In the distance, Mr. Greene wrung his hands in despair. “They’re trying to shove you overl” he cried out.
This was painfully evident to the Hardy boys, who had a tough fight on their hands. Frank got the better of his adversary with a karate chop. The man staggered, then ran back toward the driveway.
Frank rushed forward to help his brother. Both Joe and his adversary were still wrestling at the lip of the cliff. Suddenly, to Frank’s horror, both fell over and rolled down the steep embankment, locked together in a bear hug!
As they tumbled down the sandy, rocky slope, Frank saw that the other man was getting the worst of it. His head crashed against one rock, then another. By the time both hit the narrow beach a hundred feet below, they rolled apart and lay motionless.
Frank’s adversary had reached his car which was parked down the road and drove off. It was a black sedan! “We were followed after all,” Frank thought to himself.
The Clue of the Hissing Serpent Page 6
