The Bayporters stood there, uncomfortable. Stribling had a way of putting them down. What if he had not taken the mask? Frank and Joe knew that without solid proof of burglary it would be useless to press the issue.
“I think you know all about the particulars,” Frank declared.
“Anything you say,” the man retorted mockingly.
Then Aker added, “Any more of this physical stuff and you’ll regret it!”
Frank turned to his companions. “Okay. Let’s break it up.” They walked back toward their cottage.
“What’ll we do now?” Phil asked as they strode along.
“There are several things we could do,” Frank said, his brow furrowed. “Number one, go to the police. They might listen, since these men have shady reputations. But there’s a problem. Do we own Bwana Brutus or don’t we?”
“That’s debatable,” Phil said.
“Number two. We could put a tail on the gang. If they have the mask they’ll probably do something with it. But we’re stymied here, too. Our plane leaves tomorrow, so that doesn’t give us much time.”
“Kind of hopeless, isn’t it?” Biff said.
Nobody answered, and they walked on in silence. Chet and William had not yet returned when they reached the beach house.
“So who’s for a swim?” Tony said brightly, trying to dispel the pall of defeat.
Joe managed a smile. “Okay, maybe it’ll cool Biff off.”
Minutes later all were in the sea. Tony and Frank wore snorkel gear and splashed along in shallow water, enjoying the myriad colors of marine life.
After a while Joe tapped his shoulder and Frank looked up. “What’s the matter?”
“Here come Chet and William.”
Far down the beach they could make out the pair. William, tall and lithe; Chet, block-solid, with a rocking gait. Between the boys and supporting himself with a cane, walked an elderly, gray-haired black man.
The Hardys called to their friends and all swam ashore. It was then that they noticed that William was carrying a brown paper bag.
“I’m glad you brought lunch!” Phil joked.
William looked at Chet and smiled. Then he introduced his grandfather. The boys shook his hand, rough-skinned and firm from a lifetime of hard work.
“Glad to meet you, Granddad,” Frank said. “We’re having a lot of fun with William. Wish we could stay longer on your island.” Then he turned to the Jamaican boy and Chet.
“The mask is gone! Those devils stole it while we were in town!”
“No, man,” William replied. “Bwana Brutus is right here—in this bag!”
“What?”
The Americans crowded around as he opened the top of the sack. “See? You did not have to worry.”
“Worry!” Joe blurted. “When we saw it was gone we set off after Stribling and company like the Marines! What happened?”
“It is quite simple,” William said. “After you left this morning, Chet and I noticed Stribling and his friends heading this way.”
“They were walking very slowly,” Chet added, “and they kept looking around.”
“So we guessed that they were coming to search for Bwana Brutus,” William concluded.
“What did you do?”
“We got him out from under the floor, slipped out the back door, and took off!”
“I wanted to fight them,” Chet said.
“But I dislike violence,” William commented. “So we did it the easy way.”
“That’s using your head,” Biff said with a chuckle. “Good thing you weren’t with us,” and he briefly related the details of the brush with the gang.
“Which proves what Dad has told us many times,” Frank said. “Never jump to conclusions.”
“Yes,” William agreed. “A wise course of action.”
While they spoke, the old man listened intently and smiled, evidently pleased with his grandson’s new friends.
“Let’s go inside for some chow,” Joe finally suggested.
“I’m all for it,” Chet added. “We have fixin’s for sandwiches in the cottage.”
While they lingered over lunch, conversation eddied about the strange mask. How long had it lain in the sand? What did the cryptic writing say? Why were the treasure hunters so interested in it?
“Grandfather may have a clue,” William said. “Babu, tell them what you told Chet and me.”
The old man, who had finished eating, pushed his chair back from the table and rested his hands on the crook of the cane. His voice, high-pitched with age, was clear and expressive. He spoke slowly.
“There is a legend, passed down many years from my grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather.”
“Is it a true story?” asked Phil.
“Maybe not.”
“Go ahead,” William coaxed.
“It is about a ship called the Africanus Rex. My ancestors were on it. It had a treasure. It was neither gold, nor silver, nor gems, but a secret kept in the captain’s cabin. Anyone who dared look was——” He moved a forefinger across his throat.
“Life was cheap then,” William said.
“Say, do you suppose the mask has something to do with that treasure?” Frank asked.
The old man shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“I’ll bet the galleon the treasure hunters were looking for was the Africanus Rex!” Biff declared.
Frank turned to William. “Do you or your grandfather know anybody in town who can read Arabic?”
“Oh, yes,” William replied. “Ali El Ansari does.”
“Who’s he?”
The boys were told that Ali El Ansari was a merchant, originally from Cairo. He ran a curio shop that contained a large collection of African objects.
“I visit him often,” William said. “He might be able to help us.”
The grandfather excused himself and said good-by. He went home while the boys hastened to town.
Ali El Ansari’s shop, they found, was only several doors down from the restaurant where Phil had spoken gibberish to gain entrance.
“Behave yourself now and speak nicely,” Frank said, nudging his friend.
“Okay, Dad,” Phil quipped.
The store interior was postage-stamp size. A single counter faced the door, and glass cases extended from floor to ceiling on either side. When William tapped a hand bell on the counter, footsteps sounded from inside, and a slender man in his thirties appeared. He had high cheek bones, black curly hair, and a tan complexion, which, with his neat dark business suit, gave him a somber appearance.
When he saw William, he greeted him with a subdued smile. “Good afternoon, my friend. What can I do for you today?”
“I have something to show you, sir,” William said, pulling the mask out of the brown bag. The man leaned on the counter on his elbows and held the metal object, turning it from one side to the other. Then he looked up.
“This is a rare find. Where did you get it?”
“On the beach,” Joe said.
“It is very old and valuable,” El Ansari said.
“Is it a death mask?” Phil asked.
“I believe so.”
“What we would like to know about,” Frank said, “is the writing on the inside. Is it Arabic?”
“Indeed, yes. Let me get my magnifier.” The man went into the back and returned with a thick lens, which he put to his eye.
After studying the inscription for a while, he translated, “‘He who does not travel will not know the value of men.’ That is a Moorish proverb. The person who owned this probably was educated and well-traveled.”
Then Ali El Ansari said, “There is more here. It is visible only under my glass.”
“What is it?” Frank asked eagerly.
“A compass. This is curious.”
The man concentrated on the new discovery. Finally he said, “At the South point of the compass is the word ‘gold,’ at the North, the word ‘salt.’ And beneath the compass it says, ‘Mysterious Caravan!’”
CHAPTER V
An Ominous Telegram
JOE Hardy let out a low whistle. “Mysterious caravan! What could that possibly mean?”
“It means you’re into another mystery. What else?” Chet said. “Anything unusual about that?”
The others laughed while Frank jotted down the words on a piece of paper, and put it in his wallet.
The Arab said, “Would you consider selling this piece?”
“You know we can’t,” Frank said. “It belongs to the government of Jamaica.”
The man stroked his chin thoughtfully and replied, “Not necessarily. Who is to say it came from the sea? Perhaps somebody lost it in the sand years ago.”
“You should have seen the moss and barnacles we scraped off it,” William said. “It came from that old wreck all right.”
“In that case,” Ali said with a bow, “I abide by your decision.”
The Hardys thanked the shopkeeper and the boys returned to the beach house for their last full day of sun and fun on the island. But the cottage was never left unattended. One of them remained there at all times, guarding the treasure, while the others enjoyed snorkeling and skin-diving.
William left for his own home shortly after supper. The night was starlit, with tropical softness in the air. Much to the surprise of the Hardys, they were not disturbed by prowlers. The next morning Tony Prito said, “How do you like that for a peaceful sleep? Stribling and his boys must have given up.”
But they found out soon that this was not the case. William raced up the beach and burst in to greet his friends. He was breathing hard from the long run.
“Did you hear about Ali?” he asked.
“No. What happened?” Frank said.
“They got to him last night. Three men wearing stocking masks beat him up. He is in the hospital now.”
“Did they rob his place?” Phil asked.
“That is the strange part of it. The shop was thoroughly ransacked, but nothing was taken. They were looking for Bwana Brutus!”
“How do you know?” Joe asked.
“Ali reported to the police that the men demanded the mask the Hardy boys had ‘sold him.’”
“You mean he got beaten up on our account?” Frank said. “What a shame! Stribling’s goons must have seen us enter the shop.”
“We owe him something,” Tony Prito stated. “Let’s all go to the hospital and visit him.”
The boys readily agreed and decided to take him a present.
“We’ll stop in town and buy something,” Joe said.
“What about the mask?” Phil wanted to know. “We shouldn’t leave it here.”
“Don’t worry. I’m taking care of that right now,” Joe replied. He removed the equipment from his camera case and inserted the death mask.
“Old Brutus is going with us,” he declared.
On the way to the hospital they stopped at a florist’s to get a bouquet for the injured man. When they entered the Arab’s room, they were stunned by his condition. Ali’s head was swathed in a broad bandage. His right eye was blackened, and his left arm, immobile and in a cast, lay on the sheet. A nurse had cautioned the boys not to stay long.
After conveying their regrets, they prepared to leave. Ali smiled wanly and whispered, “Be very careful. That mask must be of fabulous value. Do you still have it?”
Joe patted the leather camera case.
“Get rid of it as soon as you can. Your lives are in danger!”
The boys said good-by and returned to the cottage, where the chore of packing began.
“Listen, Joe,” Frank said. “I was about to ask you the other day. What happened to my other pair of shorts?”
“Don’t look at me!” Joe said with mock hurt. “I wear only one pair at a time.”
“Chet?”
“They wouldn’t fit me,” the chubby boy said, and Tony, Phil, and Biff claimed they had not seen them either.
When the suitcases were filled, Frank threw his sport jacket over his arm. The thought flashed through his mind that he had not worn it once since removing it from his bag the day they arrived.
“Everyone ready to go?” he asked.
They all were. William would accompany his friends to the airport for the final good-by. Before they left, he removed the trinket from around his neck and handed it to Joe.
“Here, this is a gift to you,” he said. “A keepsake of friendship.”
“But I can’t accept that,” Joe said, embarrassed by the generous offer. “It’s some kind of an heirloom, isn’t it?”
“Please,” William said. “I know we’ll always be good friends.”
Their eyes met for a few silent seconds, then Joe smiled. He took the gift and put the chain over his head. “William, you’re a great guy!”
Carrying their bags, the boys trekked into town.
“We’ll drop the mask off at police headquarters,” Frank said.
“Take this silver coin, too,” Biff said.
“There is a cab,” William spoke up. “Shall I hold it? It is already late and we need two.”
“Tell you what,” Frank said. “Why don’t you go ahead, while Joe and I take care of the mask. That’ll give you more time to check in. Take our bags, too, and we’ll meet you at the airport later.”
“Okay,” Phil said, and the four piled into the taxi. Joe and Frank walked toward the municipal buildings. They were halfway down the block when they heard rapid footsteps behind them. Whirling around, they saw Sam Brown, George Aker, and another man.
“Wait a minute,” Aker called out. “What’s your hurry?”
The men’s ploy was obvious. “Let’s split and run,” Frank said. “We’ll meet at the airport.”
“Roger.”
The boys dashed off, Frank running across the street, Joe straight ahead toward police headquarters.
There shouldn’t be any problem, Joe thought, of reaching the police before the pursuers, one of whom had followed Frank.
But he had taken no more than twenty steps when Stribling and an unkempt-looking fellow approached him from the opposite direction, trying to block his path!
Joe raced into the street, just missing a car that screeched to a halt to avoid him. As he gained the other side, he tripped on the curb and fell, sprawled out on the sidewalk. Quickly he picked himself up, grabbed the camera case, and dashed away while onlookers stared at the chase. “Not a cop in sight!” Joe thought desperately. “What’ll I do?”
As the men gained on him, he saw the restaurant where Phil had eavesdropped. He ducked into an alley, went around behind the place, and burst into the kitchen, nearly bowling over the big chef.
“Help me!” Joe gasped. “Please!”
The Jamaican grabbed his shirt front. At the same time his eyes fell on the African trinket around Joe’s neck.
“Where did you get this?”
“William Ellis gave it to me.”
Without another word the chef shoved him into the pantry and barred the back door with arms akimbo.
Joe’s pursuers were now looking behind garbage cans, peering into every doorway.
“Did you see a white kid hanging around here?” Stribling asked the cook.
“We’ll meet at the airport!” Frank said.
He looked impassively at the questioner. “Listen, man, I mind my own business. But if you spill one of those cans, I’ll put it on your head like an Easter bonnet.”
The men hurried off, cursing their bad luck. When they were safely out of sight, the chef opened the pantry door. “What they want with you, man?”
“They’re thieves. Tried to take my camera case.”
“Well, they’re gone now.”
“Could you call a taxi for me, please?” Joe said.
The big man went to the telephone in the restaurant and a few minutes later a cab appeared in front of the place. Joe said good-by with a look of gratitude on his face.
“If you’re a friend of William’s, you’re a friend of mine,”
the Jamaican said, with a big grin.
The taxi sped toward the airport.
In the meantime, Frank had already arrived and told the others what had happened.
“I figured I could make them run after me instead of Joe,” he said. “But I guessed wrong.”
“I hope nothing happened to him,” Phil said. “We shouldn’t have left you the way we did.”
Their flight was called and passengers filed from the waiting room through the final gate.
“Please don’t leave till my brother Joe arrives,” Frank said to the agent who checked the boarding passes.
“We’ll hold it as long as we can,” the man replied.
Soon the plane was filled. “I’ll have to close the gate now,” the official said. “Do you want to take another flight?”
“I think we’ll have to—oh, there he is!” Joe hurried up to them, the camera case swinging in his right hand.
“Just in time,” Frank said.
“Kwa heri,” William said. “Good-by to all of you!”
The boys shook hands and invited William to visit them in Bayport whenever he could. Then they hurried through the gate and onto the plane.
Once aboard, Frank handed his sport jacket to a stewardess, asking her to hang it up. Something white fluttered to the floor. She picked it up.
“Does this underwear belong to you?” she asked.
A dozen heads turned and the boys laughed out loud.
“Your missing shorts!” Joe snorted, sliding into his seat. “And you blamed me! Some nerve!”
“They must have gotten stuck inside my jacket in the suitcase,” Frank said lamely. “But now tell us. What happened to you?”
Joe described his escape. “William’s trinket saved me,” he concluded. “It must have a special meaning.”
“And you still have the mask?”
“Right here in my camera case.”
“Now you’re carrying contraband,” Phil declared.
“We’ll just have to take it along,” Frank said. “Nothing we can do about it.”
The flight north was smooth and they enjoyed a good lunch. In New York they changed planes and arrived in Bayport without further excitement. Their parents were on hand to meet them, and they went their separate ways.
At the Hardy home, after their aunt greeted them, she handed them a telegram. Frank ripped it open.
The Mysterious Caravan Page 3
