The Clue of the Hissing Serpent

by Franklin W. Dixon

  He turned to Mr. Greene, who had come up alongside him. “They’re hurt,” the boy said. “Is there a way to the beach?”

  The elderly man pointed to a narrow, rutted lane some distance away, which twisted steeply to the water’s edge. “It hasn’t been used in years,” he said. “Part of it’s been washed away by rain.”

  “I’m going down,” Frank said. “Better call an ambulance.”

  When Frank reached the bottom he raced over to his brother. Joe was just opening his eyes.

  “You all right?” Frank asked, his throat dry.

  Joe stood up cautiously and moved his arms and legs. “I guess so. Don’t think I broke anything. But this other character might not be so well off.”

  The boys walked over to Joe’s adversary. He was lying on his side.

  “Better not touch him,” Frank warned. “He might be in serious trouble.”

  They bent down to get a look at the man’s face.

  “Good grief!” Frank said. “It’s Gerard Henry!”

  “The jewelry salesman?”

  “That’s right.”

  Frank and Joe splashed water on Henry’s face, but the man did not revive.

  Just then two policemen carrying a stretcher came down the narrow trail.

  “I’m Lieutenant Skillman,” one of them introduced himself. “And this is Officer Gray. What happened?”

  Frank told him quickly. “He’s still unconscious,” the young detective concluded.

  The officers carefully moved the man and put him on the stretcher. Then they carried him up the cliff, while Frank helped Joe, who was still shaky and hurting.

  A police ambulance stood at the Greenes’ house, and Gerard Henry was lifted into it. Joe noticed that one of his ladies’ shoes was missing.

  “The wig got lost, too,” he commented wryly.

  Just then the “phony lady” came to. He rolled his eyes and sat up, looking ludicrous in his dress. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs.

  Lieutenant Skillman advised the man of his rights and began questioning him, but Henry’s jaw was set tight and he refused to say anything. Frank and Joe, who had already told what had happened, filled the officers in on Henry’s part in the jewelry racket.

  “Will you press charges for assault and battery?” Skillman asked the boys.

  “With intent to kill!” Frank declared.

  “All right. You’ll be called as witnesses.” Skillman handcuffed Gerard Henry and made him lie down in the ambulance.

  “We only have a small jail in Ocean Bluffs,” he said, “but I think it’ll be adequate. As soon as you’re released from the hospital, that’s where you’ll go.”

  Mr. Greene shook his head in disbelief as they walked back toward the house. “You boys sure got into a lot of trouble on our account,” he said. “Why do you suppose those men were trying to throw you over the cliff?”

  “To get us out of the way for some reason,” Joe said.

  “Let’s take a look at that telephone pole,” Frank said. When they reached the end of the drive he climbed partly up the base of the pole. It was covered with creosote and tar.

  “What a mess,” he grumbled as he climbed higher. At the junction he examined the wires and called down: “Here’s the tap, Joe. What’ll we do with it?”

  “Listen, Frank, I’ve got an idea,” Joe called up. “Why don’t we leave it and tell Conrad to pass on false information as to how he would tackle different problems in chess? He can get in touch with his partners on a public telephone and clue them in.”

  “Not bad,” Frank agreed. “It would confuse his enemies.”

  When he came down, Mr. Greene chuckled. “Hey, this is like reading a detective story,” he said. “I’m sure Conrad will go along with your strategy.”

  It was early afternoon when the Hardys arrived home. They were met at the kitchen door by Aunt Gertrude. A look of horror crossed her face when she saw them.

  “Oh, Frank, Joe!” she shrieked.

  CHAPTER XII

  The King’s Curse

  FRANK felt the blood drain from his face. “What’s happened? Is Dad all right?”

  “Nothing’s happened to your father,” Aunt Gertrude said tartly. “But look at you—you’re a mess! Filthy, and your face is scratched, and Joe’s clothes are torn and he’s bruised all over—”

  “Is that all?” Frank interrupted, heaving a sigh of relief. “We thought the sky had fallen in.”

  Hearing the commotion, Mrs. Hardy entered the kitchen. Worriedly she scrutinized the boys, then said, “You do look pretty bad. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

  “Frank’s dirty because he climbed a telephone pole,” Joe said, “and I’m a little sore from fighting a lady that was no lady. But everything’s okay, Mother.”

  “Have crooks been chasing you?” Aunt Gertrude demanded. Without waiting for an answer, she said. “Of course they have. Where were you?”

  Frank told their story and finally managed to calm his excited aunt. “Did you hear from Dad?” he asked.

  “Yes, we did,” Mrs. Hardy replied.

  “Has he had any luck?”

  “He said he was making good headway, that’s all.”

  The boys went up to their room and soon returned with clean clothes. They handed the dirty ones to their mother.

  “Let me put some antiseptic on your scratches,” Mrs. Hardy said.

  She went to the bathroom to deposit the clothes in the hamper and returned with the liquid. While she pressed soaked cotton swabs against the boys’ injuries, Frank dialed police headquarters.

  “Hi, Chief. Frank Hardy. I’ve got some good news. The Ocean Bluffs police captured Gerard Henry.”

  “He’s a slick operator,” the chief replied. “How’d they do it?”

  Frank told of their adventure and how they had left the wiretap in place in order to mislead Conrad Greene’s enemies.

  Collig thanked him for his information. “I’ll get in touch with Lieutenant Skillman,” he said. “We can tack a few more charges onto that hoodlum.”

  “Like fraud, you mean?”

  “That’s right. Let me know if anything further develops, Frank.”

  The hungry boys had just finished a snack when a youth about eighteen came to the door. He had an envelope marked Bayport Museum for the Hardys.

  Frank took it and the messenger hurried off.

  “Hey, Joe. I wonder what this is all about,” Frank said and slit open the envelope. On a piece of museum stationery was typed:

  Frank and Joe Hardy:May have some information to help you.

  Ruby King

  “Is this some kind of a gag?” Joe asked.

  “It may be a trap,” Frank said. “We’re pretty good at falling into those lately, you know.”

  “Not this time,” Joe said. “Let’s call the museum and ask about this Ruby King.”

  Frank did not like the idea. “It might be like phoning the zoo and asking for Mr. Fox,” he said. “We’ll go over ourselves tomorrow morning.”

  “But not without bodyguards!”

  The Hardys decided to phone their backup team of Biff Hooper, Tony Prito, and Phil Cohen. The latter was a slight, intense boy with a razor-sharp mind.

  The three friends readily agreed to meet the boys next morning and serve as lookouts around the museum.

  When they rendezvoused at nine o’clock, Joe looked at the austere stone building without windows and said, “Not a very inviting place. When I was a little kid, I used to think this was a mausoleum.”

  Biff, Tony, and Phil stationed themselves on the outside. They would go in if the Hardys were not back in fifteen minutes.

  Frank and Joe bounded up the marble steps and opened the heavy bronze door. Inside sat a blond young woman behind the information desk.

  “We’re here to see Ruby King,” Frank said.

  “You’ll find Mrs. King down the hall in the room marked Ancient Art.”

  “You mean there really is a Ruby King?” Joe asked
.

  The receptionist cocked her head and looked at the Hardys quizzically. “What made you think there wasn’t?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Joe muttered. The boys found the proper door and entered a large high-ceilinged room. In it were plaster facades of ancient buildings, glass cases filled with artifacts, tapestries, and a few paintings.

  Their eyes swept the room, finally coming to rest on a small desk in one corner. Behind it sat a buxom, dark-haired woman. She wore a blue dress and eyeglasses. Her hair was piled high on her head. She smiled as the boys approached.

  “You must be Frank and Joe Hardy.”

  “Yes,” Joe said, surprised, as the woman continued, “You’re detectives, interested in an ancient Chinese chess piece.”

  Frank laughed. “I think you’re the detective, Mrs. King. By the way, is that really your name?”

  “Of course it is. I was born Ruby Smith, but when I married Mr. King, I got the name of the famous chess piece.”

  Mrs. King explained that she had been hired recently from the Museum of Natural History in New York City to become a curator in Bayport. “Oriental art is my field, and I understand you’d like to know more about this particular antique.”

  Suddenly an idea occurred to Frank. “Did Iola Morton tell you?”

  “That’s right. She was in yesterday.”

  “You’re very kind to take such an interest,” Joe said.

  The curator said that the piece had been made in India and carried by caravan to China during the Ming Dynasty. “Of course, it was part of a complete set,” she explained.

  “So we heard,” Frank said.

  “But did you hear about the curse?”

  “A curse, really?” asked Joe.

  “Every person who has come into possession of the Ruby King has died under unusual and tragic circumstances,” Mrs. King went on. “The first warlord who owned the piece was struck by lightning the day after he acquired it. Another owner died from poison a week after he bought the King, a third drowned in a flood which carried the Ruby King all the way down the Yangtze River.”

  “Then what happened to it?” asked Frank.

  “It was found by a poor peasant who was gored to death by a bull the next day.”

  “Then Mr. Krassner better look out,” Joe said. “Do you really believe these fairy tales, Mrs. King?”

  “Maybe they’re only legends,” the woman replied. “But I thought you’d like to know about them.” She went on to tell the boys about the game of chess, which originated in India. “Shah mat means The king is dead,” she said. “That’s where we get the word checkmate. The German word for it is Schach matt.”

  While the boys listened intently, Tony, Biff, and Phil waited impatiently outside.

  “Wonder what’s taking them so long,” said Biff.

  “Maybe they got conked,” Tony said.

  “Let’s go in and take a look,” Phil suggested. “The fifteen minutes are almost up.”

  The three went inside and were greeted with the same hospitality as the Hardys. When they asked about their friends, they were directed to the room of Ancient Art.

  “Let’s enter one at a time,” Biff said. “Phil, you go first. If there’s any trouble, whistle.”

  Phil went in. As he approached the group, Mrs. King was saying, “The curse can be lifted, according to an old story.”

  “How?” asked Frank, waving to Phil.

  “If it’s buried.”

  Joe let out a low whistle. Biff and Tony burst into the room, glancing wildly about. But Phil motioned with his hands. “Calm down, fellows, everything’s all right.”

  “What’s going on?” Mrs. King asked, surprised.

  The three boys were introduced and the whole thing explained. She laughed, and they resumed their conversation.

  “If the curse can be lifted, why didn’t one of the previous owners bury the King?” Joe asked.

  “That’s the point,” the curator went on. “It must not be buried by the owner, or anyone who knows him.”

  “How is that possible?” Frank asked.

  Mrs. King shrugged. “That’s all I can tell you about the Ruby King. Has it been of any help?”

  “Very much so,” Frank said.

  They thanked the woman and left, their footsteps echoing along the marble corridor.

  Outside, the Hardys discussed what they had just heard, then Frank said, “Are you fellows busy this afternoon? I’d like to check out that cabin in the woods. Want to help?”

  The answer was an enthusiastic Yes.

  “Good idea,” Joe said. “But first, how about some chow at our house?”

  After lunch of roast-beef sandwiches, topped off with wedges of Aunt Gertrude’s apple pie, the boys drove off to look for the shack which Joe and Tony had discovered in their horrendous aerial search.

  It took more than an hour before they found the small country road which led to the old cabin. Biff parked and they proceeded on foot, peering out from the trees to observe the solitary building.

  “It looks deserted,” Joe whispered.

  The windows were boarded up. Weeds grew high around the walls, and the cabin gave the appearance of having been abandoned long ago.

  As the boys were about to go closer, Phil whispered, “Duck!”

  Everyone dropped to the ground, and five pairs of prying eyes watched a man sneak out of the woods.

  “He looks like Eggleby,” Joe whispered.

  The man knocked on the door and said, “Shah mat!”

  A bolt clicked and he was let in.

  The boys conversed in low tones about what to do next.

  “If that was really Eggleby, he might know us,” Frank said. “Tony, you and Phil go up and knock at the door. Give the password. We’ll back you up in case of trouble.”

  “Okay. Here goes,” Tony said. He and Phil crept from their hiding place, walked across a small open area, and knocked on the door. “Shah mat!” Phil said.

  The door opened and they were admitted into the dark interior. All became quiet—ominously quiet, Frank thought. After ten minutes, neither of the two boys had returned.

  “Something fishy’s going on in there,” Joe said. “I think we’d better take a look-see.”

  “All right,” Frank agreed. “Come on.”

  The Hardys and Biff went to the door, knocked, and Frank said in a loud voice, “Shah mat!”

  There was no answer. Joe tried the doorknob. It was locked.

  “Stand back,” Biff said. He leaped forward and banged his shoulder against the door. It gave way with a cracking sound, and the boys dashed inside. It took a few seconds for their eyes to become adjusted to the dark interior.

  “Good night!” Frank said. “They’re all gone!”

  CHAPTER XIII

  The Third Man

  “THEY’VE vanished!” Biff exclaimed. “Disappeared into thin air!”

  “There must be another way out,” Frank declared, moving around.

  “All the windows are barred and there’s no back door,” Joe observed.

  “Maybe there’s a trap door,” Biff suggested.

  The three got on their hands and knees, probing along the wooden floor with their fingers.

  “Here’s something,” Frank said as he felt a small, countersunk hinge.

  In the shaft of light coming through the door, the boys made out the thin outline of a small trap door, barely large enough to admit a broad-shouldered person. Biff pried it open with his pocketknife and lowered himself into the hole, which was about five feet deep.

  He groped about, finally locating an opening into the hard-packed earth. “Hey, guys, it’s a tunnel!” Biff said.

  “Can you get through?” Frank asked.

  “Just about.”

  “Okay, go ahead. I’ll follow you. Joe, better stay topside, just in case.”

  “Okay,” Joe said.

  Frank dropped down into the hole, found the opening, and proceeded to wriggle through behind Biff. Bits of dirt fell
on top of the boys as they inched forward. The air grew heavy, redolent of musty soil.

  Biff stopped momentarily. “Are you coming, Frank?” His muffled words sounded like a voice from a tomb.

  “Yes. Go ahead. But don’t press against the roof too hard.”

  While the two continued to mole their way through the dank tunnel, Joe stepped outside the cabin and listened. Except for birds twittering, no sound came from the surrounding woods.

  “I wonder where they’ll finally exit,” the boy mused.

  Ten minutes later Biff called back to Frank again, “I see the light up ahead.”

  “Okay, Biff. I’m right behind you.”

  Now the tunnel widened considerably and the boys scrambled side by side toward the end. Just before they reached it, they came upon Phil and Tony. They were tied hand and foot and gagged, and trussed up in such a way that the least movement would choke them.

  Frank and Biff tore off their gags and cut the ropes. “You okay?” Frank asked anxiously.

  Tony nodded, sat up, and said weakly, “They’re getting away. Outside—look!”

  Frank and Biff rushed from the exit, which proved to be the mouth of a cave, and found themselves in a wide clearing. Suddenly they heard the engine of a car. Through the leafy branches of low-hanging trees they could make out a black sedan as it started along a rutted trail. Three men were in it!

  Phil and Tony had followed the boys and staggered toward them.

  “Were those the three guys who conked you?” Frank asked, pointing to the car.

  “Only two did,” Phil said.

  “Then the third man must have been a lookout at the end of the tunnel,” Frank conjectured.

  “Where’s Joe?” Tony asked.

  “Back at the cabin. I’ll have to give him the signal.” Frank imitated the cry of a bird.

  Joe heard it faintly and repeated it. He started out across the woods, reaching the clearing a few minutes later.

  “Those two had weapons,” Phil said. “They made us crawl through the tunnel, and when we neared the end, they gagged us and tied us up.”

  The boys walked back through the woods to make a thorough search of the cabin.

  “I guess they cleaned it out completely,” Frank said. “Joe, did you look around outside?”