The Clue of the Screeching Owl

by Franklin W. Dixon

  A moment later Frank and Joe were seated in the back room. Articles to be mended lay in a heap on the floor. Snippets of cloth were everywhere. Taking Frank’s trousers, the man sat down at his worktable and examined the rip.

  A bolt of handsome, untouched flannel drew Frank’s attention. “Do you have many orders for custom-made suits?” he asked the tailor curiously.

  The little man sighed. “In this country, no,” he answered. “Now it is all factory-made suits. There is no real work for a tailor any more, only patching holes, altering pants.

  “Forty years I’ve had this shop,” the man went on reminiscently as he mended. “Now my main business is dry cleaning. But twenty, thirty years ago, we had people that liked fine clothes, custom clothes! The Blackwells, Altgelts, Donners. Many fine suits I have made for them!”

  “Donner?” repeated Frank.

  “Yes, the Donners. A fine old family when I first came here. A family with style, distinction—they knew good clothes. There was old Mr. Donner, a tall, handsome man. And his wife, oh, she was stylish. And a beautiful daughter there was, and twin boys—tall, good-looking fellows like the father. Looked so much alike you couldn’t tell them apart.”

  “Twins!” Joe exclaimed. But instantly he suppressed his excitement, and asked casually, “Must have been quite a family. What became of them?”

  The tailor shook his head. “Scattered. Old folks gone, of course....The young lady? I don’t know. Mr. William, one of the twins—he’s left town too. Only Mr. Walter I see once in a while.” The man sighed. “He doesn’t dress up like he used to. Just wears sport clothes and doesn’t come in here any more.”

  In high excitement, Frank put on his mended slacks. “By the way,” he asked the tailor, “do you know where Klatch’s Carnival is now? We’ve seen it once, but my brother here would like to see the show again.”

  Silently the man rummaged in a wastebasket, and then handed Frank an old poster with the carnival’s schedule printed on it. Elated, the boys hurried from the shop. On their way to the car Frank stopped at an outdoor telephone booth to call his mother.

  “Everything’s well here, Frank,” came Mrs. Hardy’s familiar musical voice from Bayport. “The latest word from Dad is that the men he’s after are very clever, and he hasn’t made much headway on the case.”

  Laughingly, his mother added, “Iola sends her love to her brother Chet.”

  “How about Joe?” asked Frank, grinning through the glass of the booth at his brother outside. Lively Iola Morton was Joe’s date. “And, Mother, have you heard from Callie lately?” Callie Shaw was Frank’s own favorite girl.

  “Not a word. You boys had better not stay away too long, or both girls will find other escorts.”

  When Frank left the booth he found his brother staring across the street. Directly opposite the boys was a house with a doctor’s sign.

  “Look who’s coming down the walk!” Joe whispered. “Walter Donner!”

  Frank’s eyes followed the tall man, who evidently had not seen them. Donner wore a white bandage wrapped around his head.

  “Guess Simon really did hit him with a rock,” said Joe.

  “Sure looks like it,” Frank replied. “Come on! Let’s see if we can find Klatch’s Carnival for a talk with Donner’s double. Colonel Bill Thunder may tell us something interesting!”

  CHAPTER XII

  Chet’s Ruse

  BACK at the old car Chet was still asleep, but Mystery greeted Frank and Joe with excited yapping.

  “What ... ? Who ... ?” grunted the fat boy, starting up and blinking. “Are we still in Forestburg?”

  While he sat rubbing his eyes, Frank and Joe, grinning, climbed into the front seat of the car.

  “Are we in Forestburg?” repeated Joe with mock disgust. “We’ve only been here two hours, that’s all. And listen to this!” He related what the brothers had learned.

  Chet was astounded—and also disappointed not to have been there to hear his friends’ discovery firsthand. Meanwhile, Frank had been poring over a road map. Now he started the car and headed out of town in a westerly direction.

  “Say!” Chet exclaimed. “Where are we off to now?”

  “Riverville,” Frank replied, and explained that Klatch’s Carnival was there. “This back road should get us to the place in half the time the highway would take.”

  With an injured look on his broad face, the stout boy sat back and folded his arms. “So you walked out on me. You two just wait. I’ll show you who’s the detective around here!”

  “We’ll wait!” Joe chuckled.

  Captain Maguire’s old car seemed well suited to the narrow, badly rutted road. Maneuvering carefully to avoid holes, Frank drove past dense woods that lined both sides. Sometimes the road followed a stream, at others it ran along ridges. There were no buildings in this area.

  “We must be getting close,” observed Frank, looking at the speedometer. “But what a place to run out of gas!”

  No sooner had the youth spoken than the three friends, rounding a turn, came upon a station wagon parked on the left side of the road. The hood pointed skyward. Across each fender leaned a man in blue dungarees, his head almost invisible under the hood as both peered at the motor.

  “Let’s see what we can do,” said Frank, pulling over. “We have plenty of time.”

  As the boys stepped from their car a huge dog bounded swiftly toward them.

  “Oh, oh!” said Chet hastily. “Better stay inside, Mystery!” The big dog gave a curious but not unfriendly sniff at Frank’s outstretched hand.

  At the same moment one of the men raised up. He was bony and had red hair. “Here, Blue!” he called and turned to greet the boys. “Don’t you fellows worry about Blue. He won’t bother nobody.”

  “What’s the trouble?” Frank asked.

  “She conked out, somehow,” the man answered with a perplexed grin. “Just won’t go!”

  Joe was already peering at the engine. “Mind if we have a look? My brother and I have done a good bit of work on motors.”

  “Help yourself,” invited the other man, who wore a loud print shirt. “Got to do something —can’t stay here all morning!”

  Somewhat puzzled at the helplessness of the two men, Frank and Joe rolled up their sleeves.

  “Got any tools?” Joe asked the man.

  “Nope,” the red-haired one answered. “Wouldn’t you just know it?”

  “Have much trouble with her?” Frank inquired.

  The man scratched his head and grinned. “Well, now, I can’t say, ‘cause she’s not mine. Just borrowed her, y’see, to deliver all these apples.”

  “Apples?” Chet beamed, and he strolled around to the back of the station wagon, which was open. There, under a tarpaulin, were several bushel baskets of big red apples. “Mind if I try one, mister?”

  “Go ahead,” the bony man called.

  Thinking that the second basket held juicier fruit than one near the tailboard, Chet chose his apple from there. But as he brought his hand away he noticed there was no fruit underneath—just something wrapped in brown paper!

  Instantly a wave of suspicion flooded Chet’s mind. What could the two men be hiding under their apples? The stout boy pondered a moment, remembering the hijacking near the state line.

  Munching loudly, he strolled back toward the others. A sign, KENDRICK SCHOOL FOR Boys, caught his eye on the station-wagon door. Continuing to munch idly, Chet managed to bump into Joe, who was bringing a wrench over from Captain Maguire’s car.

  “Oof—look where you’re going!” he said loudly. In an undertone he added quickly, “Pretend you need a part and send me to town for the police.”

  Joe gave no sign, but went back to work. Still chewing, Chet strolled near.

  “What’s the pitch here, fellows?” he complained. “I’m dying of starvation!”

  Joe’s calm voice replied from under the hood. “Well, pal, you’ll just have to starve a little longer. We need a new condenser for this mo
tor. How about running into town to get it?”

  “Me!” Chet feigned indignation. “Why should I run the errands?”

  “Okay, forget it. But you could get yourself some lunch in town.”

  As Chet ran toward the car, the red-haired man and his partner chuckled heartily. Fifteen minutes’ fast, bumpy driving brought the stout boy back to Forestburg. Entering the familiar wooden courthouse, Chet made straight for Sheriff Ecker’s office.

  “Not you boys again,” said the sheriff, who seemed even busier and more weary than before. “Look, son, I just don’t have time for you now.”

  “You will when you hear this, Sheriff,” was Chet’s quick answer. “I think we’ve found a couple of your hijackers. Better come and look at them, anyway.”

  “What? Where?” The sheriff stood up so fast his swivel chair rolled rapidly backward.

  “Stalled about two miles out on the old Riverville Road. My buddies are keeping them there!”

  While the amazed lawman listened, Chet told his suspicions. Even as he was speaking, the sheriff picked up his telephone. “Give me the headmaster at the Kendrick School for Boys!”

  Shooting fast, direct questions, the sheriff got his answers and relayed them to the waiting Chet.

  “He says they never lend their station wagon —it’s the only one they have.... See if it’s there now, will you?” he asked the headmaster.

  In a few minutes he had his answer. “Gone! Stolen!” he told Chet, hanging up. “They just noticed it. Looks as if you’re on to something, boy. Are they armed? Notice any weapons?”

  Chet shook his head. “Nothing but a big dog that could be pretty mean if it wanted to.”

  After calling two regular deputies into his office, Sheriff Ecker explained his plan. “We’ll wear our street clothes, boys. No badges. I’ll take my personal car. We’ll approach from the direction of Riverville. This boy here will be standing in the middle of the road, so we’ll have to stop. Then we’ll arrest those men.”

  Meanwhile, Frank and Joe had continued to tinker industriously at the motor of the station wagon. The red-haired man and his helper seemed to grow less friendly as time passed. They continually looked up and down the road.

  At last Captain Maguire’s old car came into sight. Chet got out with a gleaming bunch of yellow bananas in one hand and a box containing an automotive part in the other.

  “About time!” shouted Joe, who was feeling the tension.

  Unconcernedly, Chet handed over the part, peeled himself a banana, and then planted himself in the middle of the road, munching, to watch the work go on. The two men watched now with worried faces.

  “Of all the dunderheads!” Frank suddenly exclaimed in disgust. “This condenser isn’t even for this make of car! Can’t you ever think what you’re doing? It’s too small.”

  “No good?” demanded the men in chorus.

  “We’ll try to make it do,” Frank grumbled.

  Beep! Beep! Beep! A brown, weather-beaten sedan, with three men seated together in the front, had approached quietly from the direction of Riverville and was now honking impatiently for Chet to get out of the road.

  “Okay, hold your horses,” he said. “I’ll move.”

  Chet sauntered back to the stalled auto. But unnoticed by Frank, Joe, and the suspects, two men had stepped from the sedan and come over. With drawn pistols, the deputies moved into position behind the red-haired man and his partner.

  “Raise your hands!” ordered one quietly. “Turn around and don’t try anything. You’re under arrest!”

  Caught completely off guard, the men did as they were told. Meanwhile the third man, Sheriff Ecker, who carried a large net under one arm, went swiftly to the back of the stolen station wagon. He ripped off the tarpaulin, and heaving out apples, shouted:

  “Furs! You were right, son. Look at these!”

  The excited sheriff carried an armload of rich, expensive furs.

  Frank and Joe, with greasy hands and faces, merely stared from Chet to the sheriff to the captives in amazement.

  “You’d better talk,” Ecker warned the men as he checked a notebook. “These furs were stolen three months ago from a truck in Jersey. You’ve been hiding them until you thought the ‘heat’ was off. They’re concrete evidence against you!”

  For answer, the bony man suddenly uttered a sharp command. “Blue! At ’em, boy!”

  At once the huge hound bared its teeth and advanced ferociously upon the two officers. But at that moment the sheriff raced up and hurled the big net over the raging animal. In a moment, with the Hardys’ help, the dog was helpless.

  “Why, you fat ...” began the rawboned, red-haired man in a rage.

  Chet Morton, however, merely looked at Frank and Joe with a satisfied grin on his face.

  “All right, fellows, who’s the detective now?” he demanded.

  After handcuffing the prisoners securely, the officers led them to the sheriff’s car.

  “Nice work, boys,” Ecker said. “I’ll get back to town. Have to report the recovery of these furs and the capture of these men to the FBI!”

  The sheriff and one of the officers put the prisoners in their car, while the third officer drove the station wagon. The boys said good-by and continued on toward Riverville.

  “You get all the credit this time, Chet,” Joe praised his friend. “You’re getting places as a detective!”

  On the outskirts of town Frank stopped at a telephone booth and called Fenton Hardy at a State Police barracks just over the New Jersey line. He told of Captain Maguire’s disappearance and the hijackers’ capture, then continued:

  “No news of Captain Maguire yet, Dad, but we’re following a new lead right now.”

  “Good work,” he said. “And give Chet my congratulations.”

  The boys started up once more. “The carnival’s on the far edge of town,” said Frank.

  “Not so fast,” Chet spoke up. “Lunch first. Who’s the detective around here, anyhow?”

  “Okay.” It was more than an hour before Frank, Joe, and Chet entered the midway of Klatch’s Carnival for the third time. A friendly ticket taker directed them to a small, blue house trailer parked behind the tents where Colonel Thunder performed his act.

  Frank knocked. As the man looked at them inquiringly, Frank put the question:

  “Pardon me, sir, but aren’t you William Donner?”

  CHAPTER XIII

  Worrisome Watching

  STARTLED, the animal trainer fidgeted uneasily with the door handle.

  “What gave you the idea I’m William Donner?” he asked.

  Frank, seeing the man’s embarrassment, chose his words carefully.

  “Well, sir, we’ve met a man named Walter Donner, who looks exactly like you. When we found out that he had an identical twin brother, we put two and two together. And then, the names ‘William Donner’ and ‘Bill Thunder’ are the same-donner is the word for thunder in German.”

  In spite of himself, the man gave an approving smile at this last deduction.

  “All right, boys,” he said as he faced them once more. “I’m William Donner, and I don’t suppose it matters if anybody knows it. You see, we Donners used to be a fine, close-knit family. But when my parents died, my brother and sister and I couldn’t agree on dividing the estate. So far as I know, the properties are still vacant, and the lawyers are still arguing.

  “I had to make a living, so I took this job. I’ve always been able to train animals. I didn’t want to embarrass my brother and sister—they were always touchy about their social position—so I just translated the family name to Thunder.”

  Pausing for a moment, the tall man seemed to reflect. “So, you saw Walter! I didn’t even realize he was still in this part of the country. Haven’t heard from him in years. What’s he doing with himself now?”

  “Not much,” Frank answered. “He lives in a little cabin down in Black Hollow, and raises a few sheep.”

  At this, the colonel raised his promin
ent eyebrows in disbelief. “Walter? Living in that old shack? Why, that’s impossible. Walter always loved luxury—couldn’t do without it.”

  “He seems pretty comfortable, Mr. Donner,” Chet put in.

  “Maybe.” Colonel Thunder went on. “But you don’t understand what a comedown this is for my brother! I’m sorry to hear it. He’s raising sheep, you say?”

  “Yes,” Frank answered. “In fact, we saw him buying one at an auction. We thought it was you.”

  The colonel nodded, still reflecting on the strange news. “Funny both of us should be making a living, even a poor one, from animals,” he mused. “You see, we all loved animals. Walter was different, though. He could be cruel to them, too—couldn’t stand it when they disobeyed him.”

  “Cruel to them?” Joe Hardy picked up the words. “Would it surprise you to know, Mr. Donner, that your brother is suspected of kidnaping dogs?”

  The man who called himself Colonel Thunder looked at the boys in the commanding way that seemed to be a trait of the Donner family. “Yes, it would!” he snapped, as though he himself had been insulted.

  “Not only that,” Frank continued with determination. “We have reason to believe that your brother is involved in the disappearance of a friend of ours, Captain Thomas Maguire.”

  “See here! What are you trying to pull on me?” Colonel Thunder demanded indignantly. “My twin has some strange ideas, but he wouldn’t harm anybody. What are you prying around here for, anyway? Get out! And take your ridiculous accusations with you!”

  With that, he closed the blue metal door of the trailer in their faces. Frank, Joe, and Chet were obliged to turn away.

  “Boy, was he angry!” said Chet as the three walked to their car. “Do you suppose he’s in cahoots with his brother?”

  Frank shook his head thoughtfully. “No. He was genuinely shocked at our story, that’s all. Colonel Thunder still seems to be touchy about his family’s honor. Say, maybe our news will make him pay a call on his long-lost brother!”

  “Yes, and maybe warn him of our suspicions,” added Joe. “I suggest we sneak down into the hollow tonight and see what goes on.”