“Continuous or Carrier Wave,” Frank explained. “It’s the modulation of these waves that make it possible to transmit.”
“Quite right.”
“What it amounts to, Dad,” Joe put in, “is that Ellis will be transmitting a continuous signal on which we can take a directional bearing or home in with an aircraft radio compass.”
“And ‘Should pick up at Cambrian,’ ” Mr. Hardy concluded, “must mean that you can begin receiving the signal in the vicinity of that island.”
“Exactly,” agreed Frank.
“Then there’s no time to lose,” his father decided. “We must go there as soon as possible.”
“Shall we use your plane?” Joe asked.
“I’ve another idea,” Frank said. “Dan Tiller’s amphibian is better suited for an over-the-water search. We can offer to hire his services when we get to Cambrian. If he’s not available, there’ll be other amphibians for charter.”
“Good,” Mr. Hardy said. “Right now, I’d better telephone the airline and make reservations. By the way, ask Chet if he wants to come along. We’re going to need all the help we can get. I’ll get a seat for him too.”
“Great!” Frank said. “I’ll call him as soon as you’re finished.”
Chet was still a bit miffed at the way they had laughed about the sugar bowl. But his attitude quickly changed when he heard of the proposed trip to Cambrian Island.
“When do we leave?” he shouted excitedly.
“We’ll let you know just as soon as Dad has our reservations confirmed. It’ll be tomorrow morning some time.”
Soon the phone rang and the boys hurried to Mr. Hardy’s study. He was just putting down the phone. “Everything’s set,” he said. “We’ll depart tomorrow at eight A.M. from La Guardia. Jack can fly us there.”
The atmosphere at breakfast the next morning was charged with suspense. Although Mrs. Hardy did not share her family’s excitement regarding the trip, she gallantly took it in stride.
Aunt Gertrude, however, could not restrain herself. “Mark my words!” she exclaimed brusquely. “Don’t press your luck too far. Nothing good can come of this foolish trip!”
“Where’s your spirit, Aunty?” Frank teased.
“Humph!” was her only answer.
After urging the two women not to worry, Fenton Hardy and his sons drove off to pick up Chet at the Morton farm, then hastened to Bayport Airport. Jack Wayne was already waiting, and soon they were in the air, heading for New York.
“There will be a slight delay because of heavy air traffic,” Jack announced as they neared their destination.
Upon landing, the Hardys and Chet hurried to the terminal building. Their flight to Miami was being announced over the public-address system. They checked in their luggage and boarded the jet.
“I didn’t think we’d be seeing Cambrian again so soon,” Joe remarked as the aircraft lifted off the ground.
“Let’s hope we’ll find Tiller there,” Frank added.
In Miami, the four changed planes as scheduled and departed on the last leg of their journey.
It was midafternoon when the plane touched down on the runway at Cambrian. By telephone Mr. Hardy made arrangements for them to stay at a new hotel located near the airport.
“Dad,” Frank said, “Joe and I would like to go to the other side of the field to see if we can locate Tiller. We’ll meet you at the hotel later.”
“Certainly. Go ahead. Chet can stay with me and help with the luggage.”
The boys dashed out of the terminal building and headed toward the south side of the field. It was in that area that Tiller had parked his amphibian after they had returned from Tambio.
“There he is!” Joe yelled, pointing.
“Boy, am I glad we found him,” Frank said and called hello to the pilot.
Tiller was surprised to see the Hardys.
“What are you fellows doing here?” he asked with a wide grin. “I thought you were back in Bayport hunting criminals!”
“We were,” Joe replied.
“Have any trouble repairing the engine?” Frank inquired.
“None at all,” the pilot assured him. “Spare crankcases are one thing I’m not short of. It was just a matter of replacing it.”
“That’s great,” Joe put in, “because we’d like to hire your services.”
“I’m available. What is it you want me to do?”
The boys told him about Ellis’s message and of the possibility of using his signal to locate the Yellow Parrot.
“And you say he’ll be transmitting on CW between the hours of 1700 and 2100 Greenwich Time?” Tiller queried.
“Right,” Frank answered. “What’s the time zone difference here?”
“Cambrian is three hours earlier than Greenwich,” Tiller replied. “So that would make it two P.M. to six P.M. local time.” He glanced at his watch. “If your friend is keeping to his schedule, he should still be transmitting. Want to take a trial hop in my plane and see if we can pick up the signal?”
“Sure. That’s a good idea,” Frank said.
“I’ll go and give Dad a ring at the hotel,” Joe volunteered. “Be right back.”
Ten minutes later they were streaking down the runway on take-off in the amphibian.
Tiller climbed to five thousand feet, leveled off, then tuned his radio compass receiver to two hundred kilocycles. There was no response.
“If the ship’s a great distance away,” Frank remarked, “the signal will be very weak.”
Tiller increased power and eased the nose of the plane upwards. “I’ll climb to a higher altitude,” he said.
The amphibian was approaching ten thousand feet when the indicator needle on the radio compass began to flicker. A low, steady humming sound came from the speaker of the receiver.
“We’re getting something!” Joe exclaimed.
“It must be the signal from the Yellow Parrot,” Frank said.
The pilot watched the instrument. “The needle is reacting sluggishly,” he observed. “The ship’s quite a distance away. But we can determine the direction.”
“Have any idea about how far?” asked Joe.
“No. But I’ll fly a time-distance problem. It will only give us a rough estimate. However, that’s better than nothing.”
As Tiller began the maneuver, he explained that the procedure involved flying in a direction which would be exactly at right angles to that of the ship. “The heading is then maintained until the radio compass shows at least a 10-degree change in relative bearing,” he said.
The boys listened eagerly as Tiller went on, “This change in bearing, together with the time flown in order to obtain it, is used in a very simple mathematical formula to get the distance to the source of the signal, or in this case, the Yellow Parrot.”
Several minutes passed. Then the pilot jotted down some figures.
“According to my calculation,” he announced finally, “the ship is from three hundred and fifty to four hundred miles away.”
Joe let out a low whistle. “Does your plane have enough fuel to make it there and back?” he queried.
“Barely,” Tiller replied. “But I have a long-range tank I can install in the cabin. It’ll give us plenty of reserve.”
“There’s one snag,” Joe interjected. “Won’t the tank cut down the number of passengers you can carry?”
“Yes,” the pilot agreed. “I’ll be limited to two.”
“Dad and Chet won’t be happy to hear that,” Frank muttered.
Tiller returned to the airport. After parking his airplane, he asked, “When do you want to make this flight?”
“Tomorrow, if possible,” Frank said. “But I want to be sure you realize the danger. The crewmen aboard the Yellow Parrot are rough customers. If we should run into trouble and get caught—”
“Don’t worry about me,” Tiller interrupted.
The boys rejoined their father and Chet at the hotel and told them about their flight.
Chet let out a whoop and patted Mr. Hardy on the back.
“Well, not exactly,” Joe said.
“We know the Yellow Parrot,” Frank explained. “It’s better that we go.”
Chet sat down, looking disappointed.
“If you locate the ship, you must promise to be careful,” Mr. Hardy told his sons. “Don’t try boarding the freighter. Get what information Ellis has and return here as soon as possible.”
“We will,” Joe promised.
It was late the following morning when Tiller telephoned the boys to tell them that he had just finished installing the long-range tank.
“That’s great,” Frank said. “Let’s plan to take off a few minutes before Ellis is scheduled to begin sending his signal.”
“Okay.”
Mr. Hardy and Chet accompanied Frank and Joe to the airport. As departure time neared, Tiller started the engines and his two passengers climbed aboard the plane.
“Good luck!” Mr. Hardy shouted above the noise of the propellers. “And remember what I told you!”
His sons waved from side window as Tiller taxied toward the active runway.
Soon the amphibian was climbing out to sea. Then it turned on a southerly heading.
“It’s exactly two o’clock,” Joe announced, glancing at his watch. “Ellis should be transmitting.”
The pilot switched on his radio compass receiver and tuned to the proper frequency. A low, humming sound crackled from the speaker. Gradually the needle of the instrument started to seek out the source of the signal.
“A course of 165 degrees should take us in the right direction for the moment,” Tiller said. “The indication will become more accurate as we get closer to the ship.”
Three hours went by. The boys watched the radio compass as it grew more and more sensitive to Ellis’s signal.
“I’m going to work another time-distance problem,” the pilot declared.
He swung the plane onto a new heading, and within a few minutes, completed his calculation. “We’ve got about eighty miles to go,” he concluded.
The boys tingled with excitement. Less than half an hour had gone by when Frank pointed directly ahead.
“Cumulus clouds!” he exclaimed. “That could mean an island or a group of islands.”
“Right,” Tiller agreed. “And according to our radio compass, we’re headed toward them.”
As they continued, small rocky islets began to slide beneath them. Ahead, a mass of somewhat larger islands came into view.
“We’re getting a strong signal,” the pilot said. “We must be very near the ship.”
“Stay on your present course and keep going,” Frank said. “If the crew spots our plane, we don’t want them to know we’re searching for the Yellow Parrot.”
An instant later the needle of the radio compass whirled around and pointed toward the tail of the aircraft.
“We’ve just passed over the ship!” Tiller shouted.
The boys quickly scanned the islands below. They saw no sign of the freighter, but noticed an odd-shaped island with a narrow inlet that was heavily covered with vegetation.
“I’ve a hunch the Yellow Parrot is hidden down there,” Joe said.
“So do I,” Frank agreed. “Let’s land and take a look.”
Tiller continued on his original course for a few more minutes, then descended to within a few feet of the water and turned back toward the islands.
“We’ll stay down low to avoid being spotted,” he told them. “Then I’ll land about a mile out and taxi the rest of the way.”
“Okay,” Frank said. “The island we want is in the center of the group. After dark, Joe and I will use your rubber raft and paddle to the inlet we saw.”
After a smooth water landing, Tiller and the boys settled down to await sunset.
Tiller reached behind his seat. “Here’s some chow I brought,” he said. “And over there are cans of soda.”
“Am I glad you thought of food,” Joe replied with a chuckle. “This flight sure stimulated my appetite!”
After they had eaten, they talked until it was dark. Then the pilot inflated the raft and eased it over the side.
“Lots of luck,” he said in a hushed voice as Frank and Joe started toward their objective.
The next hour was spent weaving in and out of a series of small islands. Finally the Hardys had the inlet in sight. They could make out the vague image of a ship anchored beneath a camouflage net covered with vegetation.
“It’s the Yellow Parrot!” Joe said excitedly.
“Let’s paddle closer,” Frank whispered. “But we’d better stay near the shore for cover.”
They came within a hundred yards of the ship and Frank’s right hand, gripping the paddle, dipped deep into the water. Their eyes were strained at the figures moving about the deck.
“We can’t make a sound,” Frank whispered. “Feather your paddle in the water, Joe, don’t lift it out!”
“Roger. I see they have guards posted near the rail.”
Just then a sharp whack hit the side of the raft. There was a swishing sound in the water, and something grabbed Frank’s paddle just below his fingers.
“A shark!” he cried out. He had hardly uttered the warning when a huge dorsal fin knifed under the bottom of the raft, half-lifting it out of the water. The boys tried to hang on, but were hurled over the lip and into the briny sea.
Silence was now out of the question. Frank and Joe knew that they must kick, scream, and flail their arms in an effort to scare the shark away.
“Swim for it!” Joe shrieked.
The shark made another pass, brushing past him with a tail slap which made Joe feel as if the end of the world had come.
The Hardys were too terror-stricken to notice what was going on at the ship’s deck. The noise had alerted the crew. Bright beams of light pierced the darkness and swept toward the raft.
“Do you hear something?” yelled a crewman aboard the freighter.
“Someone’s out there!” shouted another. “And a shark’s after him!”
“Get a rifle!” came a third voice.
As Frank and Joe struggled frantically to reach the shore, a shot whizzed past Frank and hit the shark with a thud.
Joe, who was behind his brother, saw the monster roll belly up and stain the sea with red, in the glare of the spotlight.
An instant later the boys reached a patch of sandy beach. They scrambled ashore and glanced around for a place to hide.
“Head for cover!” Frank whispered, pointing to a clump of rocks nearby.
Before they could make a run for it, a group of bronze-skinned natives seemed to appear from nowhere. They quickly surrounded the youths. There was no escape!
CHAPTER XIX
The Pirate King
THE Hardys were seized and marched off. The group walked along the beach for a short distance, then turned onto a trail leading inland.
“Where are you taking us?” Joe demanded.
The natives did not speak. Instead, they gestured to the boys to keep moving.
After traveling about a mile, they came to a village tucked in a valley ahead. The community was comprised of small stone buildings, boxlike in shape. Coconut palms dotted the area.
In the center of the village was a medieval-looking structure. The boys were led toward it.
“Look!” Joe exclaimed in disbelief.
Two guards flanked a set of heavy wooden, arch-shaped doors with massive iron hinges. They wore conquistador-type helmets and breastplates, which bore the bright-red symbol of the twisted claw!
At a signal from one of the natives, the guards pushed open the doors and ordered the prisoners inside.
The interior of the building was magnificent. The walls soared upwards and met in a series of gentle arc
hes. These, combined with towering columns and polished stone floors, gave the area a palatial appearance.
“Amazing!” Joe whispered.
“I could do without it!” Frank muttered.
They were marched toward another set of wooden doors flanked by helmeted guards. On the wall above were carved the letters ETC.
“Empire of the Twisted Claw!” Frank muttered, recalling the rare volume they had seen in the New York bookstore.
The doors were pushed open to reveal a large room which looked much like a medieval banquet hall. Seated on the far side on a throne was a man wearing a fur-collared red robe. His aquiline nose jutted out from between a set of dark, glacial eyes. Standing to his right was Rawlin, first mate of the Yellow Parrot!
The man rose and stared at the boys menacingly. “What have we here?” he shouted. “Prisoners?”
Rawlin gazed at Frank and Joe as if he were seeing ghosts. “I know those kids!” he yelled. “They’re the Hardy boys!”
“Sons of Fenton Hardy the detective?” asked the man in the robe.
“Yeah!” Rawlin answered. “They sailed aboard our ship once. I didn’t know who they were at the time. Then we got the message from the Black Parrot saying that the loot from the State Museum heist had been found by the Hardys.”
“Tell me more!” the man in the robe said in an ice-cold voice.
“Well, I put two and two together. I asked for their descriptions and, sure enough, it checked with the kids who jumped ship at Tambio.”
“News travels fast, doesn’t it!” snapped Joe.
The red-robed man seated himself again in chilly composure. “I am Cartoll, king of this island,” he announced. “I demand to know how you got here!”
“You don’t really expect us to tell you!” Frank shot back.
“We were sightseeing,” Joe wisecracked. “It’s a nice island.”
Rawlin fumed. “Let me take care of these guys!”
“Calm yourself,” Cartoll ordered with a smirk. “I admire audacity. However, I’ve no time to question them now.” He clapped his hands.
Two guards responded. “Take the prisoners to the east tower room!” Cartoll commanded.
The Twisted Claw Page 10
