The Mysterious Caravan

by Franklin W. Dixon

“Look, guys, something’s going on out there!” Frank said as the others rose from their slumber. They dressed quickly and hurried outside.

  “Don’t you want breakfast first?” Chet asked. “I’m starved.”

  “You stay and make it,” Joe said.

  “Okay. How many want eggs, sunny-side up, and bacon?”

  All the boys accepted with a good-natured cheer, and Chet padded around the kitchen, searching for the skillet. The others ran to the spectators, who appeared to be looking for something along the shore.

  William spoke to a group of Jamaicans, while the Americans mingled with vacationers. Fifteen minutes later they met to exchange information.

  “This is the story,” William began. “A treasure-hunting ship was wrecked offshore last night. It had found the site of a sunken galleon by radar, and the men were about to dive when the storm struck.”

  “Were they drowned?” Biff asked.

  William shook his head. “That is the miracle. All three survived.”

  “Pretty rugged, I’d say,” Phil commented.

  “Their boat is a total loss,” William went on. “It broke like matchwood.”

  “Are the people looking for the pieces?” Tony asked.

  “No. Jamaicans who understand the sea think part of the old galleon may have been washed in. They are looking for treasure!”

  “Come on, let’s join them,” Phil said. The boys walked back and forth, eyes glued to the strip where the shiny sand met the lapping surf. Seaweed and odd pieces of debris dotted the sand. Farther down the shore, a girl cried out in surprise and held up an old coin.

  “No doubt it is from the galleon,” William said.

  Minutes later Biff bent down to retrieve another. “Hey, I’ve got something!” he cried.

  His companions crowded around for a look, and others joined them to gaze curiously at the blackened coin, which probably had been buried for centuries.

  Three men pushed through to Biff. The oldest, handsome and in his middle thirties, asked to see the find. He turned it over and over, studying it carefully.

  “It’s authentic,” he said. “A Spanish silver piece.”

  The two other men examined it next. They were younger and rough looking.

  “How do you know it’s authentic?” Tony asked.

  “I’m Tiffany Stribling. These are my assistants, Sam Brown and George Aker. That was our boat that sank last night.”

  “Oh, you’re the treasure hunters,” Phil said.

  Aker nodded with a one-sided smile. “You know, big boy, you can’t keep this. It belongs to the Jamaican government.”

  “We’ll turn it in,” Frank said, and added, “What kind of galleon were you looking for?”

  This time Brown spoke, his voice edged with condescension. “That’s our secret. Why should we tell you amateurs?”

  Joe bristled and was about to respond when Chet trotted up to say that breakfast was ready. He caught part of the conversation and blurted, “Amateurs, eh? We’ve found a——”

  Joe stepped on his foot.

  “Oh, you found something else?” Stribling said. “What was it?”

  CHAPTER III

  Three Bad Eggs

  TIFFANY’S question went unanswered, and his friendly demeanor disappeared suddenly.

  “Why all the secrecy?” he demanded. “We’re experts and can tell you whether the item you found is worth anything or not.”

  Frank shook his head. “We prefer to keep it to ourselves.”

  Aker put on his lopsided smile again. “We can turn you in for concealing Jamaican property!”

  “Who says we’re concealing anything?” Phil said. “Maybe it was just an old log.”

  “Don’t get smart,” Sam Brown said.

  Finally Chet pleaded, “Listen guys. Breakfast is ready. If you don’t come now, those eggs will taste like scuba flippers!”

  They hurried back into the beach house to find their meal still warm enough for total enjoyment. Nothing was said to Chet until they had finished, and he kept looking from one boy to the other until the question finally came.

  “Why did you spill the beans, Chet?” Biff demanded. “You didn’t have to tell those guys we found the mask.”

  “I didn’t say anything about the mask,” Chet protested.

  “You indicated we found something.”

  “Don’t scold him,” Frank said. “Remember, he was asleep when we decided to keep this a secret”.

  “Thanks,” Chet said. “Frank, you want some more eggs?”

  The boys laughed and Joe said, “Don’t forget, Chet, button your lip from now on, okay?”

  William had been silent for a while, but when he finished his coffee he put down the cup and said, “I think there may be trouble ahead.”

  “You mean those men?” Tony asked.

  “They looked like ruffians to me! Jamaicans do not like that kind of treasure hunter working off our shores.”

  “They were pretty high-handed,” Phil agreed.

  “Let’s find out everything we can about the mask today,” Frank suggested. “I noticed a museum next to the post office.”

  “It is a good one, too,” William said. “The museum has a fine collection of shipwreck relics and old records.”

  “Will you go with us?” Joe asked.

  “I wish to be excused,” the Jamaican said. “I promised my grandfather to visit him today. He lives a way up the beach from here.”

  “Okay. Will we see you later?”

  “Of course. Since you are leaving for home tomorrow, I would like to spend as much time with you as possible.”

  “William, can I go with you?” Chet asked. You told me about your grandfather and I’d like to meet him.”

  “Certainly. He will be delighted. But I suggest that we find a better hiding place for that mask before we all leave.”

  They looked around until Tony located two loose floorboards in the kitchenette near the sink. Frank and Joe pried them up enough to slip the mask underneath.

  Chet and William lingered to finish the chores while the others walked along the beach. Half a mile farther on, they headed inland until they reached the center of town. The streets were narrow and lined with shops catering to the tourist trade.

  Main Street gave onto a small park dominated at one end by an ancient cannon. To the right were the municipal buildings. The Bayporters went straight to the museum. After they explained their mission to the curator, an intense middle-aged woman, she took a great interest in the Americans.

  “So many ships were sunk off Jamaica,” she said. “English, Spanish, Dutch. And many lives were lost.”

  “Were there any Arab ships?” asked Joe.

  The woman thought for a moment. “No. But I do recall that a Portuguese slave ship, the Africanus Rex, was lost some time in the early seventeenth century. It carried an Arab Barbary crew.”

  The curator added with a smile, “It’s interesting that you should mention this, because some of the slaves escaped to shore and became free men.” She glanced over Frank’s shoulder. “Is that man looking for you?”

  The Hardys whirled to see George Aker’s back as he tried to slip out unobserved.

  “Quick, keep a tail on him, Phil,” Frank said. “Biff, Tony, you help out, too.”

  The boys dashed out while the Hardys thanked the curator for her assistance.

  “You’ve really given us quite a bit of help,” Joe said. “By the way, is anything known about a death mask lost on one of your beaches?”

  “I never heard of anything like that.”

  Frank and Joe hurried from the museum. Partway down the block they noticed Biff stationed at the corner. When they caught up with him, he said, “Come on. Tony’s down the next street. I think he knows where Phil went.”

  They turned right and passed a number of shops. Then they saw Tony beckoning. “Phil’s on Aker’s trail. He’s standing in that doorway. See?”

  The boys turned left this time and walked in sing
le file close to the store fronts. They arrived at the spot where Phil had concealed himself.

  “Aker met the other two guys,” Phil reported, “and they went into that restaurant two doors down.”

  “Stribling and his boys are very much interested in us,” Joe said. “Too interested to suit me.”

  “I wonder what their game is.” Phil said.

  “If we could eavesdrop, we might find out,” said Frank.

  “But how?” Phil asked.

  “You stay here while Joe and I reconnoiter.”

  Just then a boy about ten years old walked past, and Frank reached out to touch his arm. When he stopped, Frank asked, “Would you like to earn a dollar?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Frank took a single from his wallet. “Here’s what you have to do. Walk to that restaurant and look through the window. See if three men are sitting together, and tell me just where their table is located.”

  “That’s easy,” the boy said. He took the money and skipped down the street. He peered into the window, shading his eyes against the reflection of the glass. Then he turned and hurried back. “There are no men that I could see.”

  “None at all?”

  “No. But there are booths in the back,” their young spy went on, “and the waiter was serving somebody. I could not see who it was.”

  “Wait a minute,” Frank said. “Did the waiter serve the food to the booth closest to the window or farther back?”

  “The first one,” the boy said.

  “Okay. You did a good job.”

  The Jamaican smiled brightly and hurried off.

  Biff said, “Now what?”

  Frank mulled his strategy for a moment. “If we walk in the front door and try to listen, they’ll spot us.”

  “What about the back way?” Joe suggested.

  “That’ll have to be it. But we’d better not all go in. Just one.”

  The Hardys looked at Phil.

  “You mean I’m elected?” the boy asked.

  “Unanimously,” Frank said. “You’re good at this kind of thing. Find the back door; then slip into the booth next to Stribling and his crew.”

  “Will do, skipper. Where shall we meet?”

  “In the park,” Frank replied.

  Phil started off. He turned into an alley until he reached a narrow lane behind the buildings. He found the back of the eating place easily enough. Garbage cans stood filled to the brim, and, as he passed them, a cat jumped out of one and scampered off.

  Phil entered the kitchen through the screen door, but a huge black man with a chef’s cap blocked his way. “You can’t come in this way, man! Go around front!”

  Phil looked at him pleadingly and spoke several sentences of gibberish.

  A smile crossed the cook’s face. “You don’t speak English?”

  Phil pointed to his mouth, indicating that he was hungry.

  “I never heard any language like that,” the Jamaican said.

  Phil uttered more gibberish, and the man pointed to the swinging door leading into the restaurant.

  Phil went in quietly, staying close to the right wall, and slid into the second booth. He could hear the men talking. Just then a waiter appeared with the menu.

  “Cook says you don’t speak English,” the man said, and ran his finger down the day’s offering. Phil pointed to chicken soup and grinned. It was brought to him immediately, along with some biscuits.

  Phil remained quiet, listening carefully for tell-tale information. The men spoke in low voices, and the hum of an air conditioner nearly drowned out their words. Finally Phil heard something.

  “Rex,” Tiffany was saying.

  “Yes, Tip,” came Brown’s voice. “That’s right.”

  There was some mumbling, then Stribling again, “What do you think, George?”

  Aker said, “The Hardys. They rented the place. Later on——”

  Phil could not make out the rest. The men stood up and walked out of the restaurant.

  The boy left his soup, beckoned to the waiter for the check, paid, and hurried through the kitchen again.

  The chef’s eyes grew large with surprise. “I don’t know what country you come from,” he muttered, “but they have funny customs, man!”

  Phil dodged between the garbage cans, ran up the alley, and hurried to the park. The others were waiting, and he quickly repeated everything he had heard. When he gave a sample of his “foreign language,” the boys laughed.

  “That was a good trick,” Joe said.

  “I want to learn more about this gang,” Frank said. “There must be a newspaper in town that can help us.”

  By asking a policeman for directions, the boys found the small office of the Gazette without any difficulty. It smelled of ink and paper.

  Frank asked for the city editor and was directed to a cubicle along one wall. A black man was typing. The nameplate on his desk read, “James Douglas.”

  “Hi, Mr. Douglas,” Frank said. He then introduced himself.

  The newsman swiveled around. “What can I do for you?”

  Frank told him about the treasure hunters and explained that he and his friends would like some additional information, if possible.

  Douglas smiled. “Those three have quite a history. They’ve looked for treasure in several parts of the world.” He named various places, including Africa.

  “Do they have a good reputation?” Phil inquired.

  “I won’t speak against any man,” the editor said. “But I would advise you not to associate with them.”

  “You mean they’re criminals?” Tony prodded.

  “They have not been in jail in Jamaica. But in your country—you might call them bad eggs.”

  “We get the picture. Thanks, Mr. Douglas.”

  The boys stepped outside. “I’ve got the uncomfortable feeling that our mask is in jeopardy,” Phil said. “Let’s go back to the cottage.”

  “Can we stop at the post office on the way?” Joe asked. “Maybe we’ve got some mail from home.”

  Their family had promised to write in care of General Delivery, and much to their delight several letters were waiting for the Hardys.

  One of them was in Aunt Gertrude’s hand-writing. Frank opened the letter. “Listen to this, Joe,” he said. “‘Nothing good can come of going so far from home. Keep your hands on your wallets. You never can tell when foreigners pick your pockets!’”

  Frank rocked with laughter, then continued. “‘Beware of strangers. They can only lead to trouble.’”

  “Good old Aunty,” Joe said. “She’s always worried about us.”

  “She may be right, warning about strangers,” Phil said with a grin.

  As they walked on, Frank opened a letter from his father. After scanning it, he said, “Dad’s on a new case. A multimillion-dollar racket involving the theft of airline tickets.”

  “I read something about that,” Tony said. “Now you’ll probably go back and dig into a brand-new mystery.”

  “I think we have one right here,” Biff said, as the boys jogged to the waterfront.

  “Boy, could I go for a swim,” Tony said.

  “You can, as soon as we get back,” Phil told him.

  When the Bayporters reached their beach house and stepped through the door, Joe emitted a cry of despair. The place was a mess. Everything had been ransacked!

  “Good grief!” Frank exclaimed. He ran to the kitchenette and pried up the floorboards.

  The mask was gone!

  CHAPTER IV

  An Ancient Legend

  “OH, nuts!” Biff said. “We should have taken Bwana Brutus with us, or left Chet to guard the place.”

  “It’s too late to moan over it now,” Joe said, “and perfectly obvious who the thieves are. We have to find them!”

  The area was quickly scouted for footprints. Besides their own tracks in the sand, the boys discovered evidence that the beach house had been circled several times. There were deep depressions in the sand beneath t
he windows, indicating that the prowlers might have stood on their toes to look inside.

  “See. Here the tracks lead along the beach,” Tony said. “They shouldn’t be hard to follow.”

  “Tip and his gang are too smart for that,” Frank said. “But let’s check ‘em.”

  The trail was clear for several hundred yards. Then, abruptly, it took a right-angle turn and disappeared into the surf.

  “You were right, Frank,” Phil said. “Who knows how far these crooks walked in the water?”

  They scanned the shore for another quarter mile with no success. Then Joe shifted his gaze inland to a grove of palms, where a darting movement had caught his eye.

  “Look!” he said. “I think somebody’s hiding behind those trees!”

  Biff’s long legs carried him across the sand first to the fringe of palms. The others were close on his heels, when a man stepped out from behind a triple clump.

  “Sam Brown!” Biff exploded. He leaped forward and grasped the surprised Brown by the shirt front.

  “Wait!” Frank cautioned.

  But Biff was in no mood for prudence. He shook Sam, whose head bobbed back and forth as he protested with curses.

  “Give back that mask!” Biff boomed.

  By this time Frank and Joe had pried Sam loose from their buddy’s clutches.

  “Cool it,” Frank advised, “before you snap his head off.”

  Sam stepped back and scowled. “Oh, so that’s what you found on the beach! Thanks for telling me. But I don’t have your mask. Keep your hands off me and go play Halloween somewhere else!”

  As he spoke, Stribling and Aker appeared from a tangle of sea grapes. The latter rushed up to Biff and swung a right-hand punch.

  Biff blocked it and countered with a stiff blow to the chest that sent the man sprawling. At once a free-for-all ensued. It lasted several minutes before Stribling yelled out, “Hey! What are we fighting about?”

  “I’ll tell you!” Joe stormed. “You ransacked our place and stole something!”

  “Stole what?”

  “A mask of some sort,” Brown said.

  “Well, now. That’s interesting.” Stribling flashed his smile again. “Can you be more specific, please? If we’re charged with theft, it’s only fair that we know the particulars.”