The Yellow Feather Mystery

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Did you give him the book?” Frank asked.

  “Why, certainly! Would you want your father’s name omitted from a story like that?”

  Frank had to agree on that point but added, “I’m not sure Benny gave you the real reason he wanted to get his hands on Dad’s yearbook.”

  Aunt Gertrude bristled. “You mean he wasn’t telling the truth?”

  The boys told her of their search to make the strange cutout sheets fit various book pages to reveal an important message.

  “Kurt probably sent Benny here,” Frank said. “We don’t trust those two. Kurt may have found out that the message is in Dad’s yearbook!”

  “Well get going,” Aunt Gertrude cried, “and bring that yearbook back before your father comes home!”

  As the boys ran toward the garage for Mr. Hardy’s car, Joe said, “Now I’m sure it was Benny who drained the gas out of our car. He didn’t want us to get here before he did!”

  “Right.”

  A few seconds later the motor purred to life and the boys started off. Frank drove as fast as he dared on the snow-packed roads.

  Minutes later Joe cried excitedly, “There’s a car up ahead! It might be Benny’s!”

  Foot by foot, they gained on the other vehicle. Obviously its driver did not realize that he was being pursued, otherwise he might have put on more speed.

  “It’s Tass, all right!” Joe said gleefully as they neared the car ahead.

  “I’m going to force him to the side and make him stop,” Frank said.

  He pulled up in back of Benny and then swung alongside him. When the bully saw the Hardys, he made a desperate effort to get away, giving his motor full power. But the acceleration was fatal on the snowy road, and as his wheels spun wildly, Frank edged in front of him, forcing the youth to stop.

  “What’s the big idea?” Benny yelled angrily as the Hardys hopped out and strode over to him.

  “You have Dad’s yearbook,” Joe answered. “We want it back.”

  “Your aunt lent it to me,” Benny snapped. “Isn’t that good enough for you?”

  “No, it’s not,” Frank said coldly. “Hand it over, Benny—right now.”

  “Wait a second, will you?” The bully dropped his blustering tone a little. “We just want to get some material out of it, that’s all.”

  “Who’s we?” Frank inquired.

  “Why, Kurt. He’s going to read it.”

  “Nothing doing,” Joe insisted. “Give it to me, Benny.”

  For a moment the bully fumed, his face red with anger. Then he decided there was nothing he could do with the odds against him but return the borrowed annual.

  “Okay, if that’s the way you feel about it,” he said in a surly tone.

  With that he picked up the book from the seat and started to hand it over. But as Joe reached through the window to take it, Benny’s other hand flashed to the dashboard. In one movement he yanked out the ashtray full of cigarette refuse and emptied it into Joe’s face! With a yelp of pain the boy fell back, trying to wipe the ashes from his eyes.

  Benny, with a clashing of gears, gunned his motor.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Frank cried and dived through the window to take control.

  One twist of the steering wheel and the car was off the road and on the soft shoulder in deep snow. Then Frank snapped off the ignition.

  “Listen, you wise guy—” Benny growled as he pushed open the door. “I’ve taken about enough of your meddling. You’re going to get it now!”

  He drove a vicious right to Frank’s jaw, but the boy dodged and the blow whistled through the air! He stepped inside a wild swing from Benny’s left so that it carried harmlessly over his shoulder.

  Then Frank staggered his adversary with a smashing right jab to the solar plexus. As Benny doubled over, Frank caught him with a well-timed left hook to the chin! Dazed, the bully fell to the snow.

  “Attaboy, Frank!” Joe cried as he took in the short-lived battle through blinking, watering eyes. “That’s the way to handle a sneak!”

  “Now get the book, Joe,” Frank said as he stood over the beaten Benny.

  Tass said nothing as he watched Joe retrieve the yearbook. Then, using some sand from their trunk, the Hardys put Benny’s car back on the road. He still glowered at them as they drove off.

  Eager to get started on the processing of the burnt record book, Frank and Joe returned home, ate a quick lunch, and then hurried into the workshop over the garage. After several hours the boys had failed to find a chemical combination which would restore the printing on the charred pages. Disappointed, they were roused from their work by heavy footsteps on the stairs. Chet and Callie appeared in the doorway.

  “We forgot all about the sleigh ride,” Joe groaned as he looked around at the half-completed work. “It must be six o’clock.”

  “Frank Hardy”—Callie shook her finger in mock anger—“you have a date!”

  Frank winked at his brother. “What do you think, Joe? Can we give up our sleuthing for a few hours?”

  “Let’s go!” Joe grinned. “This problem will still be here for us tomorrow!”

  In a few minutes the boys had cleaned up the lab and put on their jackets and boots. Then, with Chet and Callie, they hurried out to the waiting sleigh. Climbing aboard, the Hardys were greeted heartily by Iola and half a dozen other friends who made up the party.

  “That’s the way to handle a sneak!” Joe cried

  With the happy group snuggled in the deep straw, old Mr. Kemper flicked the reins and the two horses broke into a trot. Smoothly the sleigh glided along and for half an hour the crisp night air echoed with the laughter and joking of the young people.

  Suddenly Frank and Joe noticed that Mr. Kemper was heading the sleigh toward Woodson Academy.

  “Say,” Joe whispered excitedly to his brother, “we’re not far from the camping hut. Wonder if there’s any activity there tonight?”

  “You mean—by the Yellow Feather?”

  “Yes. We could take a swing over that way and investigate,” Joe suggested eagerly.

  “What is this about investigating yellow feathers?” Callie demanded.

  “It’s the Yellow Feather,” Joe said. “Somebody we’d like to catch—and he might be right around here, too.”

  By this time everyone in the party was listening to the conversation with avid interest.

  “Of course we might not find anything at all,” Frank murmured to Joe as they neared the place.

  For answer, Joe gripped his brother’s arm and pointed as the hut came into view.

  “Frank! There’s a light inside. Someone is there!”

  CHAPTER XV

  A Frightened Bully

  “WE’D better stop here,” Frank called to Mr. Kemper. “I don’t want to get so close to the hut that we’ll be heard.”

  When the driver had reined in, Frank vaulted from the sleigh, landing noiselessly in the snow.

  “Joe! Chet! We’d better go the remainder of the way on foot,” he whispered. “The rest of you stay here, and please be as quiet as possible.”

  Thrilled to see the Hardys in action, their friends promised to remain still. They sat in the sleigh and watched in the moonlight as Frank, Joe, and Chet moved off among the trees in the direction of the light.

  Soundlessly the trio crept up to the building. Flattening themselves against the stonework below one of the windows, they listened. Two people were evidently arguing.

  Henry Kurt and Benny Tass!

  “Listen here,” Kurt ordered. “You go back and get that book or there’ll be trouble. And this time no excuses!”

  “But how?” Benny whined. “The Hardy boys have probably warned their family not to give it to me.”

  “How dumb can you be?” Kurt snorted in disgust. “I said, get that yearbook!”

  “You mean you want me to break into their house?” Benny asked in disbelief.

  “All I’m telling you,” Kurt said in a chilling tone, “is to get that
book back before the Yellow Feather catches up with you!”

  There were footsteps across the floor and the squeaking of a door.

  “Step back!” Frank warned Joe and Chet.

  The door opened and Benny Tass came out, his head hanging, his shoulders slumped. In the doorway stood Kurt.

  “Remember what I told you,” he said in a cold, impersonal voice. “It’ll make a difference in your school marks and your scholarship!”

  Then the door slammed, and Benny dragged himself off.

  “Go after him!” Frank whispered to Joe and Chet. “I’ll keep an eye on Kurt.”

  Stealthily the two followed the bully into the woods. When Joe and Chet were out of earshot of the cabin, Joe called out:

  “Benny! Wait for us!”

  Tass whirled around. “Wh-what are you guys doing here?” he gasped.

  “We happened to be going by with some friends,” Joe told him. “When we saw a light in the cabin, we thought we’d do a little investigating.”

  Benny was frightened. “Did you hear what Kurt said in there?” he asked.

  “Part of it.”

  “The part about the Yellow Feather—and getting the yearbook back?”

  The boys nodded, and Joe asked, “Can’t you see Kurt’s just using you? And you’re taking a chance on going to jail!”

  “Oh, no,” Benny cried in alarm.

  “How’d you get mixed up with Kurt?” Joe demanded.

  “I wanted to solve the case,” came the startling answer. “I thought I could beat you fellows.”

  Now Benny spilled the whole story, eager to confide in someone.

  “Kurt told me about the mystery before you guys ever showed up. He said that I could help in return for the scholarship. I thought I was going to catch the Yellow Feather myself, until you Hardys came along. When I heard that Greg Woodson asked you up to his room, I fixed that wire in the hallway so I could listen without being caught.”

  Joe clenched his fists and flushed with anger, but realized he must remain calm to get more information out of Benny.

  “Were you the one who was using the ladder to climb into our room?”

  “Yes. I planned to play a gag on you that would scare you off the case,” Benny admitted sheepishly. “But something happened to the ladder, and I took a mean flop. I got in your room later, but because I was seen by one of the fellows I couldn’t do what I planned. So I just took your brother’s pants and threw them on the tower.”

  “Someone pulled the ladder away,” Joe said. “You don’t know who it was?”

  “No.”

  Chet looked at him sternly. “Did you have anything to do with knocking me out in the tool house and painting a yellow feather on the side of it?”

  Benny looked frightened. “No! Outside of what I’ve told you, the only thing I did was try to shove the Hardys off the road one night. Kurt was with me and suggested it.”

  “Well, are you going to wise up now and quit being a stooge for Kurt?” Joe asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m getting sick and tired of having Kurt push me around.”

  “How would you like to help us instead of him?” Joe suggested. “First of all, have you any idea who the Yellow Feather is?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but he’s somebody under twenty-one years of age, I guess, from what Kurt once said about him. At least, Kurt once made a crack about the Yellow Feather being a minor.

  “Anyway,” Benny went on, “the Yellow Feather’s someone who has it in for the Woodson family.”

  “Go ahead,” Joe prodded. “What else can you tell us?”

  The youth declared that he had told everything he knew about the mysterious enemy. Finally, at the urging of Joe and Chet, Benny agreed to work with them, and if Kurt became too tough on him, to come to them for assistance. He promised to go back to the Academy at once and retire for the night. After he was out of sight, Chet remarked:

  “I really think Benny will be all right from now on, Joe.”

  “If so, it’ll be a relief,” Joe answered. “And there’ll be one less obstacle to overcome.”

  “Say,” said Chet, “what did you think about his information on the Yellow Feather? Could this mysterious guy be a former student at the Academy? A crank who’s been holding a grudge?”

  “Could be,” Joe agreed as both boys cautiously headed for the hut.

  Frank, meanwhile, had been spying on the headmaster. When Kurt had closed the door, the young detective had crawled under one of the windows. Now his eyes were on a level with the sill.

  The hut was lit by a kerosene lantern. Kurt stood at the table in the center of the room, his back to the boy. He seemed to be studying some papers. Suddenly he turned halfway, holding one up so he could see better.

  It was a sheet of white letter paper with rectangular cutouts!

  As Frank watched, his heart pounding, Kurt placed the cutout sheet on the table. Then, with a sweep of his hands, he collected all of the other papers into one batch and dropped them into the fireplace. A flick of a match, and they were ablaze.

  “What is he up to?” Frank asked himself as Kurt again picked up the cutout sheet and approached the fireplace.

  Would he burn it, too?

  CHAPTER XVI

  An Unexpected Twist

  BUT burning the cutout sheet was not Kurt’s intention.

  As Frank watched, breathless with excitement, the headmaster raised the top of the mantelpiece with one hand. With the other he carefully tucked the paper beneath the lid and closed it. Then he turned out the kerosene lantern.

  Backing away from the window, Frank nearly ran into Joe and Chet as they came up behind him. With a motion of his hand, he stilled the questions on their lips. A second later Henry Kurt emerged from the hut and strode off into the darkness.

  “Stand guard, will you?” Frank hissed to the others as he moved forward. “I’m going in!”

  He opened the door and raced across the room to the fireplace. Stomping with his heavy snow boots on what remained of the flames, he snuffed them out, then recovered what he could of the papers. Relighting the lantern, he studied the scraps.

  Apparently they had been torn from many kinds of large-page books, covering a variety of subjects with no significant relationships. There was only one similarity in the sheets-they were all exactly the same size.

  “Kurt was probably trying to fit that cutout page over them,” the young sleuth deduced. “And since he tossed them all into the fire, none of them could have been the one he was looking for.”

  Nevertheless, Frank spread the salvaged papers on the table. Then he reached into the space under the movable mantelshelf and pulled out the sheet Kurt had hidden there. The name Hardy was printed in the top left corner.

  Was this the original sheet Greg had lost? There was no telling. Only Greg could answer that question.

  But as Frank studied it, he noted that the size of the rectangular cutouts and the spacing between them were different from those in the other two sheets he had worked on with Greg.

  “All that time spent in the Academy library for nothing,” the boy thought ruefully.

  At that moment Joe burst impatiently through the hut doorway. “What’s going on?” he cried.

  Learning that Chet was still on guard, Frank quickly explained all that he had seen through the window and what he had just found. Joe carefully examined the cutout paper. Then he held it up to the light.

  “Say, here’s a mark that wasn’t on the copy Kurt gave Dad,” Joe said.

  Scratched on the paper, evidently with a fingernail, and visible only when looked at against the light were two letters: EW.

  Elias Woodson!

  “This is the real thing!” Frank exclaimed excitedly. “Kurt must have found it the night Greg lost it.”

  “He has done us a great favor without meaning to,” Joe said with a grin. “We’ll take this along.”

  “And leave a fake copy here,” said Frank, “so Kurt won’t be suspicious.�
��

  The Hardys examined the papers Frank had rescued from the fireplace and found an undamaged blank page.

  Joe took out his pocketknife and carefully marked small rectangles, then gently punched them out. In a few minutes the job was done. He added the name Hardy and rubbed his hands back and forth over it several times to give the paper a slightly mussed-up appearance, then handed it to Frank.

  “Perfect!” his brother said.

  He folded the sheet in exactly the same way that the original had been creased. Lifting the top of the mantelshelf, he inserted the fake document.

  Then Frank threw the rest of the odd papers into the fireplace and burned them. “Kurt will never know anyone was here,” he said.

  “Unless Benny Tass tells him!” Joe remarked. He reported the talk with the bully.

  “Maybe Benny will reform,” Frank said hopefully. “Well, we’ll soon know. In any case, we have the lost paper.”

  After putting the precious sheet into an inside pocket of his jacket, he led the way outside.

  When Chet was told of the discovery he whistled gleefully.

  “Looks like things are closing in on our friend Kurt,” he chortled.

  The three boys trudged through the snow to where their friends still waited in Mr. Kemper’a sleigh.

  “Why, we expected to see you leading a gang of handcuffed prisoners!” Iola teased them.

  “You didn’t even bring one little crook?” Callie sighed as the sleigh ride got under way again.

  Mr. Kemper, as previously arranged, drove to an old inn owned by relatives of one of the girls.

  The young people spent a fun-filled evening, relishing the fine food for which the place was famous and singing and dancing to the latest records.

  The Hardys thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it, but as soon as they returned to Bayport and the quiet of their room, they again discussed the subject foremost in their minds.

  “I meant to tell you,” Joe reported, “that Benny says Kurt knows who the Yellow Feather is.”

  “What!”

  Joe repeated Tass’s theory that the Yellow Feather must be under twenty-one years of age, because Kurt had once spoken of him as being a minor.