“Okay, let’s make tracks,” Zigurski growled. He blew out the kerosene lamp. Darkness settled over the barn. Footsteps thumped across the floor and a door creaked open.
Frank and Joe hastily pulled away from the window. They ran through the woods intending to reach the car first and make their getaway. Behind them they could hear Zigurski and Chassen crashing through the undergrowth in the same direction.
“There’s the car!” Joe panted. “Hurry up! They’ve heard us. They know we’re here!”
Frank fought for breath. “Where‘s—the—key?” Desperately he rummaged around in his pocket until he felt the metal between his fingers. With a sigh of relief he jerked the key out.
Then, with a gasp, he lost his grip on it. The key fell to the ground, disappearing into a tangle of weeds and small bushes.
“No use searching in the dark,” he grated. “We’ll have to make a run for it!”
Their pursuers pounded after them in a frantic chase down the lane. Frank and Joe heard the roar of an approaching motorcycle. Catching them in the glare of his headlight, the cyclist came hurtling to meet them. His tires squealed as the rider skidded to a halt, removed his crash helmet, and jumped off.
Chet Morton! His round, freckled face broke into a grin. “I found your message! Zoomed right up here on my trusty rented bike! Seems as if I arrived just in the nick of time. What’s up?”
“Douse that light!” Frank hissed.
Chet seemed mystified. “What in the world—?”
“Let’s get out of here,” Joe interrupted, jumping onto the rear seat. Frank squeezed in behind him. Chet, realizing that the situation was serious, frantically tried to start the bike. The engine would not turn over!
“Try again!” Frank urged.
But before Chet could get the engine going, Zigurski and Chassen were on them. Jumped from behind, Frank and Joe were handcuffed before they could defend themselves.
Chet leaped off his motorcycle and charged the assailants. He bowled Chassen over, and was giving a good account of himself when Zigurski’s steel claw clamped around his wrist. It twisted his arm behind his back until he groaned with pain.
Keeping a tight grip on Chet, the ex-con snapped orders. Chassen pulled the motorcycle up on its wheels and rolled it behind a pile of underbrush. Producing the duplicate key, he walked to the car, got in, and started the motor.
“All right, brother,” he called out. “I’m ready for the ride whenever you are.”
“Half brother,” Zigurski snarled. “Don’t make our relationship closer than it is!”
“Well, is this a family quarrel or isn’t it?” Joe needled them.
Chassen glared. “Maybe I should have taken care of you earlier. Like when I drilled a hole in the fuel tank of your plane and made you come down on the beach. Or when you were stone-cold in the boathouse.”
“Why didn’t you?” Frank challenged.
“Our plans called for me to be friendly with you until we were ready to make our move,” Chassen said shortly.
“Which is why you hauled me out of the drink,” Chet stated.
“Right. No harm in letting you know the truth now.”
Zigurski turned to Joe. “You—get in the back.” Then Zodiac Zig forced Chet next to Frank, and wedged himself in last of all.
Chassen started the car. They rode down the lane to the dirt road, and on toward the highway.
Chet broke the silence. “Now I know how a fish feels when a lobster gets a claw on it,” he complained.
Zigurski sneered. “That’s what you get for poking your nose into my affairs. I only brought two pairs of handcuffs, enough to take care of the Hardys. I’ll have to hang on to you myself.”
He tightened his grip as he spoke. Chet winced. “I’d just as soon keep my arm if you don’t mind,” he said ruefully. “I’m quite attached to it.”
Zigurski merely snickered. The boys got a good look at their captor for the first time.
He had a thick shock of blond hair and a deep scar across his forehead. His pale-blue eyes moved constantly as if to indicate he trusted no one.
Zigurski had heavy shoulders and muscular arms. His one good hand opened and closed as he flexed the muscles. He settled back with a pleased expression on his face. “Everything’s going according to the book,” he exulted.
“The book on basic astrology?” Joe asked.
“How did you know about that? Well, it’s all there. The stars are right for me and wrong for you. It’s great to be a Cancerian!”
Chassen turned onto the highway and looked at Zigurski in the front mirror. “Be careful of Morton. He’s a Cancerian too.”
“Oh yeah?” Zigurski was impressed. He considered the point for a moment before relaxing. “You can’t rely on the stars to do everything,” he told Chet. “You gotta work with them. You must have done something stupid to put yourself in this fix.”
Chet assumed a solemn look. “Suppose we go back to Cape Cutlass and consult my horoscope.”
“Is that supposed to be a joke? Cape Cutlass is out. I’ve got the Hardys, and I’ve got you too, for a bonus.”
“Where are we going?” Frank asked.
“To the Flying Express. I have a surprise waiting for you.”
Chassen suddenly speeded up and swerved past a patrol car. Joe could see in the mirror that it was following them.
“Take a chance!” he thought. “It may be the last one!”
Violently he threw himself against the door, reaching for the handle with his manacled hands, desperate to attract the attention of the officers in the patrol car.
Chassen grasped his collar and dragged him back, twisting until Joe gasped for breath.
Had the officers spotted the struggle in the car ahead of them? Apparently not. The mirror showed them turning off the highway.
Joe slumped dejectedly in his seat.
Zigurski chuckled. “See what I mean? The stars are never wrong!”
Everyone in the car fell silent now as Chassen drove north along the coastal highway of eastern Maine. Finally he turned into a lane leading down to the beach. Then he switched off his lights and continued on under a full moon.
“We should be near,” Chassen commented.
“We are,” Zigurski agreed. “That’s it over there.” He pointed to a mound that resembled a huge rock rising out of the water offshore.
Chassen parked the car. The five got out and walked across the sand. As they drew near the mound, the rocklike image dissolved. It was clever camouflage made of painted wood and canvas! Behind the camouflage a hydrofoil rode at anchor.
“So we’ve finally located the Flying Express!” Joe muttered.
“Too bad we can’t pass the word to Mr. Given,” Frank replied.
A launch carried the group to the hydrofoil. Henry Chassen bowed to the three prisoners when they stepped onto the deck. “Welcome aboard,” he mocked them. Several members of the gang were already there, busily preparing for a voyage.
“Before we sail, comes the surprise,” Chassen sneered. “This is on me. I made the identification from the snapshot you so unwisely showed me.”
“Bring out the fuzz Hardy,” Zigurski commanded. “Boys, here’s your famous father!”
A couple of strong-arm men pushed a man out of the pilot house. He looked pale and haggard from ill-treatment, but he raised his head without flinching.
“Hello, Sam,” Frank said quietly.
Zigurski’s jaw dropped. He struggled to say something. Finally words came out.“ Wh-what—?”
“Happy birthday, Mr. Zigurski!” chortled Chet Morton.
CHAPTER XX
End of the Road
Zigurski released Chet and whirled savagely on Chassen. The steel claw flashed out. Chassen cringed as it gripped his arm.
Bellowing like an enraged bull, Zigurski dragged his screaming half brother to the rail and pitched him over the side.
“What’s up, Zig?” someone asked.
“That idiot gra
bbed the wrong man at Shark Island. This isn’t Hardy you’ve been holding! It’s the guy who works for him!”
Water splashed along the hull of the hydrofoil. Chassen was struggling to climb back. His hand slipped and the crew rushed to help him.
The commotion gave Chet a chance to escape. Leaping onto the rail at the opposite side of the Flying Express, he dived in and began to swim underwater toward shore.
Zigurski heard him hit the water. “Stop him!” Zig shouted furiously. “Plug him when he comes up for air!”
Rifles were quickly handed out of the pilot house and three of the. crew began shooting.
“They’re getting too close for Chet’s safety!” Frank whispered to Joe and Sam as the fusillade churned up the water. “Let’s make it a little harder for them!”
Stepping forward, he jarred the elbow of one of the marksmen. “Sorry to spoil your aim,” he murmured sarcastically.
Following Frank’s lead, Joe and Sam bumped into the two other thugs with rifles. Their shots went wild. Cursing their captives, they reloaded their weapons.
Too late! Chet staggered from the surf, rushed ashore, and threw himself behind some driftwood.
Joe taunted Zigurski. “Is this your big surprise? Arranging a get-together with Sam Radley?”
Zig scowled. “I was gonna ship your nosy old man to Siberia. Now Radley’ll be making the trip with the Hardy boys for an escort!”
“You’ll never get away with it,” Frank retorted. “Siberia is quite a distance from Maine!”
Zigurski grinned wickedly. “Yeah, but a trawler from Siberia is fishing just a few miles out in Canadian waters. We’ll make the transfer from the hydrofoil to the trawler tonight. And by morning you’ll be on your way!”
A beam of light stabbed through the darkness.
“Morton’s reached the car!” Zigurski screamed. “He’s turned on the emergency blinker lights! Smash ‘em or we’ll have the Coast Guard on our backs!”
Shots rang out and bullets kicked up puffs of sand near the car. Chet started the engine and drove the vehicle down the beach. He turned sharply and careened to a stop beside a large boulder.
“It’s safer here,” he told himself as slugs car omed off the boulder. “And I can still work these blinker lights. If only the Coast Guard spots them!”
Zigurski raged around the deck of the hydrofoil, cursing Chassen, the crew, and the captives. Then, calming down, he gave orders to start the vessel. Down came the camouflage of canvas and wood. The motor started to purr. The Flying Express moved away from the shore, picking up speed.
Joe nudged Frank and pointed over the stern to a speedboat in the distance. “Rescuers?” he asked.
“Affirmative!” Frank answered. “They can’t miss Chet’s blinkers.”
“But they’ll never catch up!” said a triumphant voice behind them. Zigurski had overheard the conversation. “This boat will run away from anybody!” he bragged.
Poking his head into the pilot house, he snapped an order. “Full speed ahead!” The Flying Express rapidly widened the gap between it and its pursuer. The gang’s attention was centered on making a getaway and the three captives were momentarily forgotten.
Frank motioned to Joe and Sam. “We’ve got to stop the hydrofoil,” he urged. “I have an idea. Let’s bombard the foils with life preservers!”
“I get it!” Joe said excitedly. “We’ll snarl the propellers!”
Sam nodded. “The props are close to the surface since we’re riding so high without cargo. I’ll create a diversion,” he promised, “while you two start pitching!”
Darting to the front deck, Sam tackled one of the crew. The others pounced on him. A battle royal raged near the pilot house.
As quickly as their handcuffs would allow, Frank and Joe pulled life jackets with attached ropes from their niches along the rail. They took aim at the frothy water below and threw—and missed.
Frantically they ripped down more preservers. The next pair missed, and the next. No time left. The crew, realizing what they were up to, came barreling down on them.
Desperately Frank made one last throw. A rope caught in the whirling mechanism of the propeller and the life preserver whipped into the blade. Suddenly the blade snapped!
The hydrofoil lost momentum and the hull settled down in the water. The speedboat rapidly drew near. A helicopter came buzzing overhead, and a voice called through a bullhorn, warning the criminals that men of the Coast Guard were coming aboard.
Zigurski and his gang surrendered without offering any resistance. “No use fighting the stars!” Zigurski complained. “What’s wrong with the Zodiac, anyway?”
“Nothing,” Joe retorted. “But there’s a lot wrong with Zodiac Zig!”
A Coast Guard frogman replaced the broken propeller with a blade from the Flying Express spare-parts locker. Then the officer in charge ordered his pilot to chart a course to Portland.
Meanwhile the prisoners were handcuffed and informed of their legal rights. Seeing that the game was over, Zig readily answered the boys’ questions.
“Yeah,” he said, “I’ve been running the racket along the coast. Skee only pulled off jobs when I gave him orders!”
“How did the hydrofoil fit into your plans?” Joe wanted to know.
“Ask my smart brother!”
Chassen looked completely deflated as he spoke. “Big Malarky wanted the Flying Express out of the way. He asked me to get rid of it.”
“And you took the problem to Zig?” Frank said.
Chassen shrugged. “Zig’s the strong-arm member of the family!”
“I wanted to kill two birds with one stone,” Zigurski spoke up. “I was gonna grab Fenton Hardy, and make him pay for sending me up. When my men stole the Flying Express, I gave them orders to kidnap Hardy.”
“All the loose ends tied up in a neat package,” Sam Radley observed.
After seeing the prisoners locked up in jail the next day, Frank, Joe, Chet, and Sam flew to Cape Cutlass. Mr. Hardy was at the cottage near the Starfish Marina along with Callie and Iola. He was greatly relieved to hear of Radley’s rescue.
Frank and Joe quickly described the recovery of the Flying Express and the capture of Zodiac Zig and his gang.
“Great work,” Mr. Hardy praised them. “Meanwhile, I’ve rounded up Hooks’ group at Shark Island and here, with some ingenious and unexpected help from the girls!”
Frank and Joe were surprised. “How so?” Frank asked.
“We saw Rance Nepo sneaking out of the cellar of the Decor Shop,” Callie explained. “No one in the shop knew he was there. But we blew the whistle on him! The cop on the beat nabbed him when he tried to flee.”
“Nepo put our jackets on the dummies,” Iola added. “He thought we’d all be so mystified that we’d miss the hydrofoil trip back to Bayport. And without the Hardy boys on board, his pals could do in the Flying Express.”
Fenton Hardy took up the account. “Malarky was responsible for the plane that dropped the log in front of the hydrofoil, and for the boat that got cut in two. In fact, you can chalk up a lot of skulduggery to him!”
“Such as the bulldozer that nearly ran us down in the cabin?” Frank inquired.
“And the fire at the dock that threw a scare into Given and his customers?” Joe guessed.
“Right on both counts.”
“What about the disappearing outboard motors in the garage?” Frank continued.
“That was Zigurski’s doing. He laid all the plans for the thievery. Also, it was his idea to plant Chassen in our camp as a spy.”
Joe nodded. “And to think that we trusted that jerk in the beginning!”
Frank got up. “That reminds me. We’d better go over to Mr. Given’s office and tell him the good news about the Flying Express.”
Joe placed a hand on his arm. “There’s one mystery that hasn’t been cleared up. Sam, what’s the story on those twenty-year-old license plates we saw in the boathouse where they held us prisoner?”
The boys gaped. “You’ve got to be kidding!” Joe said.
“No, it’s the truth,” Sam replied.
Mr. Hardy burst out laughing. “Wait till Gertrude finds out she’s involved in this mystery! She won’t believe it!”
“Imagine Aunty being investigated by us!” Frank said. “Boy! That’s funny!”
Mr. Hardy shook his head. “My sister was quite a driver in her day,” he said. “In a ladylike way of course. She had her own car, I remember it clearly. A bright-green sedan. Washed it every other day. Come to think of it, she even got a summons once.”
“For speeding?” Joe asked.
“No. She was driving too slow on the turn-pike!”
When the laughter subsided, Mr. Hardy turned to Sam. “Tell us, Sam, how did you track down the license plates?”
“Well,” Sam Radley began, “first I tried the Bureau of Motor Vehicles. They couldn’t find any record of them. They were destroyed in a fire years ago. Finally, through a friend, I located a man whose hobby is collecting discarded license plates. As a boy, he found Miss Hardy’s plates in a trash can, where she had deposited them.”
“He didn’t by any chance own the boathouse?” Joe prodded.
“Well, he did for a while. That was when he put the plates on the cabinet door where you saw them. He left them when he sold the place, and nobody bothered to take them down after that.”
“That’s a funny twist to the mystery,” Joe said. But their next adventure, The Clue of the Broken Blade, was to be anything but humorous.
Frank had one last query. “You found the boathouse, didn’t you, Sam?”
“Yes I did.”
“Is there a red neon sign near it?”
“Not a neon sign, but one with red incandescent bulbs which road construction companies use. A new highway is being built in that area. The warning sign is large and that’s why you spotted the glow beyond the boathouse,”
“What does it say?”
Sam chuckled. “It says End of Road.”
Mystery of the Flying Express Page 11
