The Clue of the Hissing Serpent

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Sorry to disturb your symphony,” Joe said, “but do you have time for a surveillance job?”

  “I think so. What is it?”

  “Follow Chet. See if he goes to that Chinese laundry again. He may be headed for trouble.”

  “Will do,” Phil agreed. “I’ll phone Iola. She can tell me when Chet’s coming into town again.”

  “Thanks, pal,” Frank said.

  As Frank and Joe drove off, they heard Phil picking on the piano keys again. An hour later he called them at home.

  “I spoke to Iola, and guess what? Chet’s on his way to town!” he reported. “I’m going to Mully Street right away.”

  “Good. Keep out of sight and let us know what’s happening.”

  While the Hardys ate lunch, Phil hurried off to Mully Street. He stationed himself in a doorway where he had Paul Goo’s shop in a clear line of sight. And he did not have to wait long.

  Down the street strolled Chet, his lips moving as if he were mumbling to himself.

  “The poor guy’s gone bananas,” Phil thought. He left his hiding place and quietly fell in behind Chet, who seemed oblivious to the whole world.

  When he stepped into the laundry, Phil flattened himself against the building and listened. He could not make out any words, but Chet and Goo conversed for about ten minutes in low tones. Then another customer entered. The mumbling ceased and Chet came out, a piece of paper in his hand.

  His eyes were so intent upon it that he bumped squarely into Phil. “Oh, hello there,” he said.

  “Getting more nuts?” Phil asked.

  Chet was not the least shaken by the point-blank query. “No. Not today. Well, I have to go now.”

  Phil watched Chet walk away. Suddenly he noticed the piece of paper fall to the ground. Unaware of it, Chet got into his jalopy and drove off.

  Phil ran to the spot and picked it up. His eyes widened in surprise. “Wait till the Hardys see this!” he said to himself. Minutes later he drove up to their home.

  “Hey, Frank, Joe!” he called out as he rushed to the door.

  “What’s the matter?” Frank let him in. “You’re all out of breath.”

  “Look at this!” Phil handed him the paper.

  On it were lines of Chinese characters, delicately brush-stroked. Alongside each were phonetic pronunciations written in English.

  Joe said, “Maybe Chet’s some kind of go-between. It could be a message!”

  “And he might have to deliver it orally, hence the mumbling,” Phil remarked, and relayed the information he had gleaned on his surveillance.

  “We’ll have to take this to an Oriental language expert,” Frank said.

  “You do that,” Phil said. “I’ll get back to my song.”

  He left, and while Frank and Joe were studying the mysterious paper, the telephone rang. Joe answered. It was Conrad Greene’s father.

  Phil flattened himself against the building and listened.

  “I have some information for you,” he said in a quavering voice.

  “What is it?”

  “I can’t tell you on the phone. Come over here as soon as you can!”

  “What a day,” Joe said to Frank with a sigh. “Mr. Greene wants to see us pronto. Do you suppose he received a ransom demand?”

  “We’ll find out soon. Come on.”

  The boys went to their car after quickly telling their mother where they were headed. Forty-five minutes later they parked in front of the house on the cliff. They hastened to the door and were flabbergasted when it was opened by the grandmaster himself!

  “Conrad Greene!” Frank exclaimed. “How did you get loose? Where were you held? Who kidnapped you?”

  “Come in and I’ll answer your questions one at a time,” Greene said with a grin.

  In the living room his story unfolded. He had not seen his captors, because a hood had been clapped over his head. Where he was held was a mystery, too, but the why was perfectly clear.

  “My captors warned me not to win the international championship!” he said. “They didn’t hurt me, but guaranteed that I would be if I made an attempt to win. They drove me back just a little while ago.”

  “Have you notified the police?” Frank asked.

  “Not yet. I wanted to tell you first.”

  Frank grabbed the phone and spoke to Chief Collig. Then he said, “Come on, Joe. We’ll disconnect that phone tap. I don’t think the gang is being fooled by it any longer, if they ever were.”

  The job was quickly accomplished, and as Joe climbed down from the pole, a police car drove up. It was Lieutenant Skillman from the Ocean Bluffs force.

  “Chief Collig notified me,” he said. “He also got in touch with the FBI. I’m sure they’ll have a lot of questions for Mr. Greene.”

  The boys left as Conrad beckoned Skillman into the house. On the way home, Frank said, “I think this whole caper was done to unnerve Conrad.”

  “No doubt,” Joe agreed.

  They mulled over the latest developments. The serpent gang had carried off the Ruby King, and it seemed logical that they also had been the ones who had kidnapped Greene. But why did they want him to lose the championship, now that he could not receive the valuable prize, anyway?

  “It just doesn’t make sense,” Frank said.

  “Well, what do we do next?” Joe asked.

  Frank looked at his watch. “It’s too late to have that Chinese note deciphered now. We’ll just be in time for dinner. And the party starts at eight.”

  When the Hardys reached the Morton farm, the barn behind the house was vibrating with music. Frank and Joe entered to find the place festooned with colorful crepe paper and balloons. They recognized many of their friends from high school and the Bayport area. Couples were dancing to the rhythmic tunes produced by a three-piece combo.

  “Wow, what a blast!” Joe said.

  When Callie and Iola noticed the boys, they came over, took them by the hand, and led them to a long table. On it stood a punch bowl and a variety of sandwiches.

  “Now tell us what this is all about, Iola,” Joe urged. “You said the party was for a benefit?”

  “Right. Yours, to be exact.”

  “Wait a minute. What—?”

  Iola interrupted him by putting a hand on his arm. At the same time she tapped a spoon on the punch bowl and called out, “Silence, please!”

  Everyone became quiet.

  “As you all know,” Iola began, “our two private eyes are going to Hong Kong on a most dangerous mission. We, their friends, felt they needed a bodyguard—a big one. We are holding this party to raise extra money for that bodyguard.”

  The Hardys were dumfounded. “Who is he?” Joe finally asked.

  “Who else?” Chet declared, a grin on his face.

  Everyone cheered.

  “We should have guessed,” Joe said. “He is the biggest one of our friends—or rather the fattest!”

  “But size alone is not enough,” Chet said. “I have made myself indispensable in other ways!”

  “Such as?” Frank had a hard time keeping a straight face.

  “I learned Chinese! Listen: Ho-La-Ma, Mmm Goy, Ngor But Duck Lew Ah-h-h, Gau Miang Ah-h-h, Mau Sot Ah-h-h-h!”

  “Those were the words on the paper!” Frank said.

  Chet’s lips curled in a supercilious smile. “Of course. My gag worked. I dropped it on purpose.”

  Frank and Joe slapped Chet on the back. “Now tell us what all that means!” Joe asked.

  Chet took a deep breath. “Hello—please, I’m in trouble—help—murder!”

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Kim-Kim

  AT a signal from Phil Cohen, the combo broke out in a catchy tune. Everyone started to sing:Frank, Joe, and Chet, farewell to thee,

  Sock ‘em, rock ’em

  Till the Ruby King is free.

  Hello, Hong Kong,

  You can’t hide Fong

  or the slippery Eggleby.

  Joe laughed at the serenade, and Frank reco
gnized the tune Phil had been composing on his piano. Then came a rousing refrain:For the Hardys will get you

  Sooner or later,

  So surrender right now while you can.

  They’ll give you fits

  With their uncanny wits.

  They always come up with their man!

  The merrymaking still rang in the minds of Frank, Joe, and sleepy-eyed Chet when they set off from Bayport at six o’clock the next morning. After the first two transfers the flight became monotonous and the boys were weary by the time the big plane landed in heavy rain at Kai Tak Airport the following evening. They retrieved their baggage, then went through customs.

  “Before we leave the airport,” Frank said, “let’s check on the rug.”

  They made their way to the freight terminal and inquired about the shipment. The clerk told them he did not know the name of the man who had picked up the rug but would check it out and call them at the hotel.

  “Thank you,” Frank said and they left. Outside the terminal they hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address of their hotel, the Star Termi nal, in Kowloon.

  As they approached the city, Chet said, “Wow, this is a big place!”

  “What did you expect?” Frank needled. “A dreamy little fishing village? Take a look across the bay!”

  Part way up the Hong Kong hill, white high-rise apartments rose like sentinels, looking down on modern glass-and-steel office buildings in the harbor area.

  Finally they arrived at their destination. “Boy, I’m beat,” Chet complained.

  “We’ll hit the sack as soon as we get upstairs,” Joe said.

  They checked in and half an hour later were sound asleep.

  The next morning they woke up refreshed and excited by prospects of adventure in the Orient. Joe pulled open the curtains. “Hey, take in that view!” he said, pointing to ferryboats plying their way back and forth in the harbor among the many junks, sampans, and small fishing boats.

  “Give me breakfast before any view,” Chet said.

  “Not a bad idea,” Frank agreed. “After we eat we’ll go to visit Mrs. Krassner’s parents. I’ll call them right now and tell them we’re coming.”

  An hour later the boys hastened down to the ferry slip to await the next boat to Hong Kong. They joined the good-natured, jostling crowd that elbowed onto the craft like a colony of ants.

  Frank, Joe, and Chet sat on the upper deck and watched as the teeming shore of Hong Kong came closer and closer. The ferry glided smoothly into its slip and the three debarked.

  Frank hailed a taxi and told the Chinese driver to take them to Moy Chen-Chin’s house.

  “Ah, so.” The man nodded and smiled, obviously impressed with the importance of his riders.

  The higher the road snaked up the hill, the more luxurious the homes became. Finally they reached the estate of Moy Chen-Chin and were amazed by its opulence.

  Formal gardens bordered both sides of the drive and gave the grounds the appearance of a royal park. Men were trimming, pruning, and tending the flower beds.

  The taxi stopped in front of a beautiful house with a wide terrace. An elderly couple came out to meet them and introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Moy.

  As they led the boys to the veranda, Chet whispered to Frank, “I thought their name was Chin.”

  “In Chinese the last name always comes first,” Frank replied.

  As soon as tea was served, the Moys plied the boys with questions about their daughter Mrs. Krassner and her husband.

  After the Americans had told them all about Bayport and their life at home, Mr. Moy said seriously, “We know you have come for the Ruby King. Will you take some advice from a wise old man?”

  “What is it?” Frank asked.

  “Drop your case. It will bring you only misery, even death!”

  The awkward silence that followed was broken by Chet, who said “Daw Jer” which meant “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Moy smiled. “Oh, you speak our language. Where did you learn it?”

  “At Paul Goo’s laundry,” Chet said and told his story, which the Chinese couple found very amusing.

  “You must see all the sights,” Mr. Moy said. “Spend a week or two and have a good vacation. Then return home.”

  “We’ll tour the area to get our bearings,” Frank said. “But really, Mr. Moy, we can’t take your advice. We have an obligation to Mr. Krassner and the insurance company which is paying for our trip.”

  Mr. Moy shrugged slightly. Then he said, “Our chauffeur Daniel will take you on a tour. Shall I send him to the hotel tomorrow, say, at ten o’clock?”

  “That would be great!” Joe said.

  A few minutes later the boys thanked the cordial couple and went back to their hotel. On the way Frank said, “I wonder why Mr. Moy made that remark about the Ruby King. He sounds like Conrad Greene’s father!”

  “He must know about the curse, too,” Joe said.

  At the hotel they found a message from the airport. The name of the man who had picked up the rug was Choy Bok. But there was no address.

  “Let’s look in the telephone book,” Joe suggested.

  After thumbing through the directory he was perplexed. “Six people are listed under that name,” he said.

  “We’d better check out each one,” Frank said.

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Joe countered. “We may tip off the real Choy Bok in the process.”

  “I’m aware of that,” his brother replied. “But we have to start somewhere. If any of these men react to the password Shah mat, at least it will give us a lead.”

  The boys left the hotel again, hired a taxi, and were on their way. The first two Choy Boks lived in the poorest section of town, and neither spoke English. The driver acted as an interpreter while Frank talked to the men. They looked blank when he mentioned the password, and the Hardys were convinced that they were not involved with the serpent gang.

  The young detectives were no luckier with the next three, who were also poor, elderly men. The last Choy Bok lived in a high-rise apartment, seemed reasonably well-to-do, and spoke good English.

  He greeted the boys affably, and when Frank mentioned the password, he said, “Oh, you play chess?”

  Frank nodded. “We have a chess club in Bayport, where we come from. One of the members is Chinese. Told us to visit his friend Choy Bok in Hong Kong.”

  “Oh? What’s your friend’s name?”

  “Fong,” Frank said. He watched the man intently.

  Choy Bok raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think I know him.”

  “Well, he forgot to give us the address. We looked in the phone book, but must have made a mistake.”

  “I think you did. But have a cup of tea, anyway.”

  Mr. Choy called his wife and the friendly couple served them a snack. They talked amiably to the Americans for quite some time, then Frank rose. The boys thanked the Choys and left.

  Tired and discouraged from the long day’s sleuthing, they returned to their hotel.

  As they trudged up to their room, Joe said, “I’m afraid the whole thing was for the birds. I’m sure none of the men we talked to is a member of the Serpents.”

  Frank nodded. “I’m inclined to agree. Whoever comes up with a good idea on what to do next gets a prize.”

  “Let’s have dinner and call it a day,” Chet said. “And I’ll take the prize.”

  “That kind of idea doesn’t qualify,” Frank said. “But we’ll follow your advice.”

  The next morning at ten o’clock sharp Mr. Moy’s chauffeur arrived. “I’ll take you through town and out to Aberdeen,” he said. “Then if we have time, to the New Territories, which overlook the Peoples’ Republic of China.”

  For many miles the road led along a barren shoreline. Then they came to a bay with hundreds of sampans lying side by side.

  “Do people live on the water like this?” Chet asked.

  Daniel, the driver, nodded. “This is Aberdeen. The government
is trying to get the sampan dwellers to move into new developments, but their way of life is hard to change.” He stopped for a few minutes while the boys took photographs with a palm-size camera Frank and Joe had brought along.

  As they clicked away, a small boy climbed up a steep embankment to the road. “Me Kim-Kim. I help you,” he said.

  “I don’t think we need you,” Frank replied, but the ten-year-old was not to be deterred.

  He attached himself to Chet. “I help you!” he said. “You big man. I carry your camera.”

  Kim-Kim wore tattered shorts and a discarded army jacket, its long sleeves hanging down over his hands. As the Americans returned to the car, he slipped in beside Chet before anyone could stop him.

  “Out!” Daniel commanded.

  But Kim-Kim refused. He kicked and struggled, and clung to Chet’s neck.

  “Okay,” Frank said. “We’ll take him back with us, give him a square meal, and turn him over to the police.”

  The little fellow grinned. “I bring you good luck!” he promised.

  After Daniel had been driving a while, Frank noticed a semicircular wall built into a hillside. He asked about it.

  “It’s an armchair grave,” Daniel replied. He explained that the deceased were buried in such graves for one year. Then their bones were disinterred and placed in earthen jars. He pointed. “There’s one now.”

  In a farm field stood a mud-colored container about three feet high.

  “It looks like my mother’s cookie jar,” Chet commented.

  “A little gruesome, isn’t it?” Joe said.

  Then suddenly the monsoon rains hit. Water came down in torrents and the road ahead of them turned into a river.

  “This could be dangerous,” Daniel said, and turned the car around.

  Traffic moved along slowly. As they edged past the hillside, a wall of mud slid down, nearly blocking the road. But Daniel drove skillfully over the sheet of yellow slime, finally guiding the car safely back to Kowloon.

  “So that’s a monsoon!” Chet said as they entered the hotel.

  “Well, Kim-Kim, you got us through that,” Joe said, opening the door to their room. “And now into the shower with you!”