The Mysterious Caravan

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “I guess I’ll survive,” he decided. “But I’ve had enough skating. Let’s go inside.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Morton had left to visit friends, having told Iola they would return later in the evening.

  “I’m in charge now,” Iola said, dimpling. “Chet, you lie on the sofa until you feel better.”

  They decided not to tackle the riddle of the mask again until after supper.

  Callie and Iola busied themselves in the kitchen, and even before the meal was ready, Chet walked in, sniffing the aroma.

  “Out!” Iola demanded. “No picking! Dinner’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  The stuffed peppers the girls had made were eagerly devoured by the hungry skaters, and when the dishes had been cleared away, Frank spread the maps and tracings on the table.

  “All right, let’s start all over,” he said. “Chet, you want to help?”

  “I think you could use my expert assistance,” the stout boy replied.

  They worked for several minutes, overlaying the tracings onto the dozen or so ancient maps. Then Chet picked up one of the tracings. “Here, let me try.”

  “You’ve got it wrong-side up, dummy,” his sister said with a chuckle.

  “Hey! Wait! It matches!”

  The young people looked dumbfounded at Chet’s mistake.

  “Good grief, he’s right!” Frank said. “Would you believe it?”

  “Chet, you’re a genius,” Callie exclaimed. “The fall on the ice must have done you some good!”

  The boys reasoned that in order to make the riddle even more difficult to decipher, the person who made the mask had deliberately reversed the lines.

  “See here?” Frank said, as he put the upside-down tracing on several more maps. “The lines correspond. All except one.”

  That one meandered up to the Atlas Mountains. “Today that would be southern Morocco,” Iola said. “Where do you suppose the line stops?”

  “Probably at the end of the route taken by the mysterious caravan,” Joe guessed.

  In high spirits the girls prepared duplicate copies on thin tissue for Frank and Joe, who folded them carefully and put them into secret compartments in their wallets.

  “What about me?” Chet asked, hurt.

  “The fewer of these around the better,” Frank said. “Don’t worry, Chet. We’re giving you credit for the greatest discovery!”

  “I want a dish of ice cream instead. All that brainwork made me hungry.”

  After another dessert for Chet, the friends parted, and Callie drove Frank and Joe home. Mr. Hardy was there when they arrived.

  “Dad! We solved the riddle of the map!” Joe said, bursting into the house.

  “Wait a minute,” Frank said as he shucked his gloves. “You mean Chet solved it.”

  The three adults listened in amazement as the boys told their story.

  “Well, what does all this mean?” Mrs. Hardy asked. “You’re not going to Africa, are you?”

  Frank and Joe looked at each other, and before they had a chance to reply, Aunt Gertrude spoke up.

  “Laura, don’t put such thoughts in their heads! Next thing you’ll know they’ll be off and we’ll never see them again. Oh, dear! Pygmies and poisoned arrows, man-eating crocodiles, snakes—”

  She clapped her hand to her forehead, and Mr. Hardy said, “Gertrude, please don’t subject us to the horrors of your imagination!”

  He turned to the boys. “Look, it’s some time before two o’clock. I suggest we rest so we’ll be fresh for the rendezvous.”

  “Dad, I want to check with the police again,” Frank said.

  “I’ve already done that,” the detective replied. “Chief Collig has received the message from Officer Kennedy. The FBI was notified, too. All we have to do is to be at the designated spot with the duplicate mask at two o’clock.”

  Frank and Joe went to their room and lay down. Overstimulated, they lingered at the edge of sleep for an hour or so, never really dropping off to a deep slumber. They got up at one-thirty, after hearing their father on the floor below. Their mother and Aunt Gertrude were up to see them off.

  Fenton Hardy drove the car, with the two boys seated beside him. Frank held the mask on his lap. The temperature had dipped below freezing again and the air was nippy, with stars shining brightly.

  “Mary’s Quick Stop is just around the next curve,” Joe announced. The detective dimmed his lights and approached the place slowly. No one was in sight.

  “I’ll go around the back and we’ll wait there,” Fenton Hardy decided. A driveway circled the place; and once concealed near the rear entrance, their car could not be seen from the road.

  The detective shut off the engine. They waited tensely. Joe switched on the radio and turned it very low. The dim beat of rock music was the only sound in the stillness.

  Frank kept looking at his watch. Finally he said, “It’s two o’clock exactly, Dad.”

  “They should be here any minute.”

  Just then a flashlight blinked at the side of the restaurant. The detective answered by turning his lights on and off quickly. As the three got out of the car, a voice said, “Put your hands up, all of you!”

  The Hardys did, Frank holding the mask high above his head.

  Now the speaker appeared. He wore a ski jacket and a mask. Behind him stood the tall figure of William Ellis.

  “You’re covered, so don’t make a false move!” the criminal said. “Give me that mask!”

  Frank stepped forward and turned it over. To himself he thought frantically, “Where are the police? When is the trap going to be sprung? Now is the time!”

  In the dim starlight the boy tried to make out the face behind the mask. But there was no chance of recognition.

  Now the Hardys noticed that William was blindfolded, with his hands tied behind his back. The man shoved him in the back, and he stumbled into Frank’s arms.

  “He’s all yours,” the kidnapper grumbled, and William gave a small sigh of relief.

  “Don’t worry, William,” Joe said. “You’re safe now.”

  As the kidnapper retreated along the side of the restaurant and out of sight, Joe said, “Dad, what happened to the police? They should have been here!”

  “Somebody must have goofed,” his father replied. Seconds later a motor sounded, and with its lights switched off, the car drove away from Mary’s Quick Stop.

  “They’re taking off!” Frank shouted and ran to the front.

  CHAPTER XII

  Sign of the Ju-Ju Man

  MR. HARDY waited a few more minutes, then turned on the engine, and was just about to drive away when three sets of headlights zipped down the road. Approaching Mary’s Quick Stop, the lights were turned off and the cars proceeded more slowly.

  “Jumping Catfish!” Joe declared. “It’s the police!”

  The silhouette of their domes became visible as the squad cars blocked the Hardys’ exit. A number of men jumped out with flashlights illuminating the detective and the boys.

  “What happened to you?” Mr. Hardy demanded as he stepped out of his car.

  Chief Collig, who was in the lead, looked embarrassed. “We thought it was Tom and Mary’s Diner down the road about a half mile.”

  “Oh, nuts,” Frank said in disgust. “I wondered whether Kennedy got the message fouled up.”

  “He’s new on the force.” Collig tried to apologize. He turned to the other men, including three agents from the FBI and told them that obviously a mistake had been made in the location.

  “Well, the kidnappers are gone now,” Mr. Hardy said. “That way.” He pointed. “We have the hostage, safe and sound. He’ll be available for questioning later.”

  “Fine. We’ll get a statement from him tomorrow,” Chief Collig said, and the police took off in the direction of the kidnap car.

  On the way back to Bayport, the grateful William described his ordeal. When he had reached New York, two men who claimed to be operatives for Mr. Hardy duped him into thinki
ng that Frank and Joe were waiting in the city.

  “They did not look at all like criminals,” the boy said.

  “Not all of them do,” Mr. Hardy said. “Then what happened?”

  William described how they had entered a small hotel, where he had been seized, bound, and gagged. “They pushed me into a closet near the reception desk. After about an hour, I was taken into a car and driven a long way to what seemed like the country. A quiet place, with not much traffic.”

  “They probably hid you near Bayport,” Mr. Hardy surmised. “Did you overhear anything?”

  “They talked about the mask. The reason why they want it so badly is that according to a legend they heard, the clue to the treasure on the Africanus Rex was on a mask. It seems that it was the secret hidden in the captain’s cabin.”

  “Right!” Joe said. “We arrived at the same conclusion!”

  “They forced Ali to tell them about the inscriptions,” William went on. “Then they tried to figure out what they meant, but could not.”

  “We did!” Joe said. He explained how the lines on the beard actually traced the route of the ancient Sahara caravans.

  “That was very clever!” William said in admiration.

  “Wouldn’t it be great to go treasure hunting in Africa?” asked Joe as they approached Elm Street.

  “You know, that’s a super idea,” Frank said. “We could take William with us. His knowledge of Swahili might come in handy!”

  “You must be jesting,” the Jamaican said. “Aren’t they, Mr. Hardy?”

  “Stranger things have happened,” the detective replied. “We’ll talk more about it later.”

  Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude were still up when they arrived, and the women were delighted to see that William had been released unhurt.

  “You must be starving,” Mrs. Hardy said. “I’ll make you a sandwich. Would you like it toasted?”

  “Yes, ma’am, please.”

  All the while Gertrude Hardy studied their midnight guest. As he ate, she adjusted her spectacles, peered over them, then concentrated her gaze through the lenses.

  Joe nudged her and whispered, “Don’t stare at him like that, Aunty.”

  “He’s a handsome boy,” his aunt replied, “and so polite.”

  “Then you won’t mind if he goes to Africa with us?”

  Aunt Gertrude smiled benignly. “That’s out of the question. School is going to be in session.”

  “But it’s closed. Haven’t you heard? The boiler broke down.”

  “Good heavens! That would be the end of all of you, traipsing around in Africa!”

  When William had finished eating, Mr. Hardy said, “We’d better turn in now. William can talk to the police in the morning and pick up his bag.”

  “Oh, you have it?” the boy asked.

  “It’s at headquarters.”

  “Good. There is something very special in it.”

  “What?” Joe pried.

  “You will see tomorrow.”

  William was shown to the guest room, and soon the Hardy home was quiet. Later that morning everyone was jarred awake by the ring of the telephone. Chet and Iola were on the line, asking about William.

  “He arrived safely,” Frank said. “But the crooks got away.” He briefly sketched what had happened, then said, “We’ve got a lot to do this morning, Chet. See you later.”

  After breakfast the boys took their guest to headquarters. Chief Collig was there to meet them. He apologized for the fiasco, then took a long statement from William about his experience with the kidnappers.

  “And now may I have my suitcase?” the boy asked.

  “We took the liberty of looking through it for clues,” Frank said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. Did you happen to read my note on Dingo?”

  “Sure did,” Joe said, and he told William how Dingo had driven the phony Jamaican envoy in his escape from the Hardy home.

  “And the preserves?” William went on. “You did not open them, did you?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  They drove off with the luggage and as soon as they entered the Hardy home, William gave the jar to Mrs. Hardy. “It is from my mother,” he said, “but there is something in it for Frank and Joe.”

  While the others looked on, Mrs. Hardy unscrewed the cap. Inside were delicious stewed mangoes. She poured them into a serving tureen, and as she did so, an aluminum tube, about three inches long, fell out with the fruit.

  “What’s this?” Mrs. Hardy said, removing it with a spoon.

  William wiped the tube and took off the metal cap. An unusual piece of ivory on a chain fell out.

  “A lion’s tooth,” the Jamaican explained, holding it up for the others to see. “Inlaid with copper. It is the sign, or signature, of a ju-ju man. I hid it in the mangoes for safekeeping.”

  William said that the ancient relic had come from Ghana and was the gift of Ali El Ansari. “He took quite a liking to Frank and Joe.”

  “What’s a ju-ju man?” Joe asked.

  “He is like a medicine man to the American Indians,” William said. “According to the natives, the ju-ju man has magical powers. If one puts a curse on you, it will take another, more powerful, ju-ju man to remove it.”

  “I’d like to put a curse on those crooks!” Joe said with a wry smile.

  Frank took the lion’s tooth from William and examined it closely. “This is beautiful inlay work,” he said.

  “You wear it, Frank,” William said and he placed the relic around the boy’s neck.

  The rest of the morning Frank and Joe drove William around Bayport, but not before he was warmly dressed in one of Joe’s sweaters and Frank’s ski jacket, which fit him snugly. A pair of Mr. Hardy’s gloves completed the outfit.

  Halfway through the sightseeing tour, the boy said, “Man, I am cold. You know, I have never seen winter before!”

  “What about snow?” Joe asked.

  “First time, too.”

  “You wouldn’t object to a little snowball fight to warm up, would you?” Frank asked. He stopped along the side of the road, where a snow plow had formed a mound.

  When the boys got out, the Hardys showed William how to make snowballs. After preparing an arsenal of six apiece, they fired.

  “Hey, he’s got quite an arm,” Frank said, as he ducked a flying snowball. William’s next shot knocked Joe’s hat off, and he laughed gleefully.

  “Look who’s coming!” Frank said suddenly.

  With a triple bang, Chet parked his jalopy behind the Hardys’ car. The stout boy jumped out, tilting his yellow cap down over his eyes. After greeting William, he said, “Listen, this is no time for a snowball fight. I just came from your house. Good thing I found you.”

  “What happened?” Joe asked.

  “Plenty,” Chet said with an air of authority. “Cablegrams, suspects, plans for Africa.” He beamed. “And I think I’m going with you!”

  “Oh yes? Don’t be too sure,” Joe said. “They have enough elephants there already.”

  Chet looked insulted. They got into their cars and he followed the trio back to Elm Street. Mr. and Mrs. Hardy were eating lunch, but Frank knew something exceptional must have happened. His father’s cool demeanor was seldom ruffled by either good news or bad, but now he seemed excited.

  “Tell us what’s going on, Dad!” Frank urged, as the boys joined their parents at the table.

  “Your case and mine seem to be breaking fast,” the detective stated. “I just got a cable from the company in Paris. That leather coat Kenleigh Scott left behind him was custom made at an Arabian shop in the souq of Marrakesh.”

  “In the what?” asked Chet, wrinkling his freckled nose. “What’s a souq?”

  “A marketplace,” William told him. “All kinds of things are sold there.”

  “Then Scott must be an Arab,” Joe said.

  “Not necessarily,” Mr. Hardy said. “Custom-made leather goods are produced in Morocco for custome
rs all over the world. But listen to this. I’ve just been informed that an airline-ticket-theft suspect named Jason Hickson was nearly caught by police in New York. He eluded them, and later it was learned that he had taken a plane to Casablanca.”

  “And was caught there?” Frank asked.

  “No. He got away again,” Mr. Hardy replied. He pulled a picture from his pocket. “See, that’s the fellow.” Hickson was a short man with a broad, pudgy face and a thin mustache on his upper lip.

  “Two good clues. And I know what you’re going to say,” Frank said.

  “Right,” Joe added. “There’s a Morocco connection!”

  “Exactly. Your idea of going to Africa might not be a bad one,” Mr. Hardy said. “In fact, you have the assignment if you’d like it.”

  “You mean it?” Frank asked. He grinned broadly.

  “Yes. Three different airlines have agreed to defray expenses. They’ll pay for two detectives and two assistants.”

  Chet let out a startling yell. “That means I can go! Boy, I’ll be the greatest assistant!”

  Mr. Hardy turned to William. “How would you like to join my sons?”

  “That would be my distinct pleasure,” William replied, excitement shining in his dark eyes.

  Before Frank and Joe had a chance to discuss anything with Chet, they heard the door close, Chet’s engine start, and his jalopy pull away.

  “Wow!” Joe laughed. “He’s off like Paul Revere!”

  For the rest of the day the Hardy home was busy with phone calls, one of them to Marrakesh, where the detective had a friend, Dr. Henri Cellier. Mr. Hardy explained that he had met the doctor, who was now head of the Avenzoar Hospital, in New York years before.

  “Henri was a medical student when I was a rookie in the New York Police Department,” Mr. Hardy said. “He’s a grand fellow, and we became good friends.”

  When the call to Marrakesh went through, Fenton Hardy renewed his old acquaintance and told Dr. Cellier that his sons, with their two friends, would arrive in a day or two. Would he give them a hand in their work? Dr. Cellier said he would do everything in his power to assist the boys and that he would get in touch with them on their arrival in Casablanca.