The Arctic Patrol Mystery (5 page)

“Gosh, who knows what'll happen to us!” Chet said worriedly.

“Whatever does,” Biff stated with a grim jaw, “nobody will ever learn anything from us!”

Suddenly the radio crackled again, and another message came from Mr. Hardy, saying that the astronaut had disappeared on the lava plain near Reykjavik.

“We'll go there tomorrow,” Frank said. “Maybe we'll find a clue.”

The four companions were up early the next morning, and Frank phoned Gummi. He tried to conceal his excitement. “How would you like to take us around today, Gummi?”

“Sure. Where to?”

“The tour the astronauts made on the lava plain near here sounds interesting.”

“Okay. I'll check the newspapers to find the exact route. It was well publicized.”

An hour later he arrived outside the hotel, beeped his horn, and the Americans climbed into the jeep.

A smooth highway led south out of town, but soon the Icelandic youth turned onto a rugged road leading into a valley of breath-taking desolation. Gaunt, snow-capped mountains rose on either side, and the valley was black with oddly shaped chunks of lava.

“Did the astronauts get out and walk around here?” asked Frank as the jeep bounced along.

“That's what they came for,” Gummi replied. “This place is said to resemble the moon's surface.”

“I can just see moon people hiding out there now,” Biff quipped.

“We have our own hidden people in Iceland,” Gummi replied.

“Hidden people?” Biff asked.

Frank recalled Steina's remark on the plane. “Not to mention ghosts!”

Gummi turned in surprise. “You know about the ghosts?”

“Not much,” Frank admitted.

“I've got my special ghost,” Gummi declared. “He travels with me all the time.”

“Who's he?” Joe asked.

“My grandfather.”

“What superstition!” Chet said, and Gummi did not look pleased.

“It's a fact!”

“No offense,” Chet muttered.

The road meandered to avoid large black masses of lava. Gummi fought the wheel to keep the jeep on course over the rugged terrain.

“This looks as if it leads to nowhere,” Frank commented.

“What about these hidden people?” Joe asked.

Gummi explained the Icelandic belief. “They live in little green hillocks, and if you look carefully, you might see them peering out at you. They wear bright-colored clothes, and their faces are pale and peaceful.”

Chet shuddered a little bit and looked about the eerie valley. Suddenly he leaned forward and gripped Gummi's shoulder.

“Hey-y-y! I just saw one!”

“Saw what?” asked Frank.

“Something moved behind one of those rocks!”

Gummi hit the brakes, and the boys jumped down onto the road.

“Chet, you're letting your imagination run away with you,” Joe said with a grin.

“I'm not kidding!” the stout boy replied. “I really saw someone.”

Frank and Joe exchanged glances. Maybe there was something in Chet's story! They could not afford to take any chances, knowing that the blond man had been trailing them.

“Okay. Let's see where the ghost appeared,” Frank suggested.

The boys followed Chet over the abrasive surface toward a large chunk of lava which looked something like a troll bent over.

Gingerly Chet stepped around it. Nobody was there!

“Maybe he went over that way!” Chet said, pointing to the next hiding place behind another rock fragment.

The boys continued their search, circling half a dozen lava rocks. Suddenly Joe cried out as he stepped into a crevice. Wincing, he pulled his right leg out and danced around in pain.

“Wow! I scraped my shin!”

“You must be careful climbing around here,” Gummi warned.

“All right, Chet, are you satisfied now?” Joe asked, annoyed by the accident.

“Okay, but I really—”

“Baloney!” Joe replied, hobbling back to the jeep.

Gummi smiled to himself as he started off again. As the road wound higher along the mountain, it grew soggier because of the recent melted snow. Soon they passed a broad lake which lay gray and forbidding in a small pass.

“This whole place gives me the creeps,” Biff said. “I wish I could see some trees!”

“That's what I like about Oklahoma—the trees,” Gummi declared. “There were trees in Iceland centuries ago, but the early settlers cut them down.

“Well, here we are,” he said finally as he pulled off the road onto a small trail with several inches of snow.

“Somebody's been here before,” Joe observed, pointing to tire tracks which led in and out.

Soon they came to the place where the other vehicle had stopped. Footprints led from the spot over the brow of a small rise, but they did not come back!

Beyond the rise a jet of steam, hissing like a gigantic snake, rose high into the air.

“That's coming from the sulfur pit over there,” Gummi explained, “and the steam hole, too.”

Joe leaped out first and ran up over the brow of the hill.

“Careful!” Gummî warned. “You don't want to be cooked in sulfur!”

Frank jumped down from the jeep and surveyed the terrain. He lingered behind the others so he could look for clues without being questioned.

Several thoughts ran through his mind, “How could one astronaut have disappeared? No doubt the three were accompanied by government officials. Major McGeorge must have separated from the rest and been waylaid. But how could he have been carried off without anyone noticing it, and by whom and where to?”

Finding no clues, Frank trailed after the other four. When he reached the rise, he looked down at the pit. It was about six feet across, bubbling and burping from the bowels of the earth.

The atmosphere was filled with the smell of sulfur, some of which came from the steam shooting out of a huge pipe with an earsplitting roar.

Frank suddenly noticed that only Gummi, Biff, and Chet were in sight. He raced toward the trio, standing beside the pit. No use shouting, nobody could hear. Frank glanced about wildly. A black leather glove lay close to the edge of the bubbling sulfur. Footprints were nearby.

A chill ran down Frank's spine as he looked from the glove to his friends. Gummi suddenly caught on. His face took on a look of terror. He gestured at Frank and the other boys, and all had the same thought. Where was Joe? Had he fallen into the pit?

FRANTICALLY the boys searched for Joe. Each shouted at the top of his lungs, but the thundering steam bursting out of the pipe like a hundred roaring jet engines muted every other sound.

Frank suddenly gesticulated toward the standpipe, with an expression of utter relief on his face. Joe Hardy emerged from behind it. He hastened over to them as Chet picked up the glove from the snow, and they all moved off to a distance where they could hear each other.

“Holy crow!” Frank sighed. “Joe, you had us scared to death. We thought you'd fallen into the pit.”

“Sorry about that,” Joe replied. He had bent down to examine the rusted bolts at the foot of the standpipe. “The sulfur in that steam is corroding everything,” he said. “Someday the whole pipe is going to blow right up into the air.”

“I wonder whom the glove belongs to,” Gummi mused.

The Hardys and their two friends were thinking the same thought, but did not speak out in front of the Icelander. Did Ken McGeorge drop it while being kidnapped?

The brothers lagged behind to talk in private, while the others returned to look at the sulfur pit. Frank said, “It stands to reason, Joe, that this place has been searched thoroughly by the authorities.”

“That's right. They would have found the glove long before we did.”

“The only answer,” Frank went on, “is that the glove was dropped recently.”

“By Major McGeorge?” Joe asked.

“It's a puzzler,” Frank admitted. He walked over to Gummi and asked when it had snowed last.

“Early yesterday morning,” Gummi replied.

The split-second glance that Frank exchanged with his brother was significant. If it were the astronaut's glove, he must have returned to the pit the night before. But why?

The boys stayed a few minutes longer to look at the sulfur pit and the steam blowhole.

Gummi explained that there were many such phenomena over the entire island. “Iceland probably popped out of the sea just like Surtsey,” he said, referring to the underwater volcano which had boiled up out of the sea a few years ago, causing the formation of a small island off the south coast.

Frank took the leather glove from Chet and put it in his pocket. It was a clue that might prove significant, but they could not give it to the police without tipping their hand.

First thing to do now, Frank thought, was to check the lone set of footmarks, which did not return to the spot where they had started. He and Joe followed them for a way, and realized that they were double prints, leading in a roundabout way to the road about two hundred yards distant. Apparently two men had approached the sulfur pit, one behind the other, the second one stepping in the first one's footprints.

“This is fantastic,” Joe remarked. “Maybe we should tell the police about this right away.”

“No,” Frank replied. “Let's first examine this glove and find out if it's GI.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

“We'll have to get another one from the U.S. base in Keflavik. Then we can compare the leather under a microscope.”

The Hardys trudged back to the jeep, where the others were already waiting. As they drove back over the bumpy road toward the highway south of Reykjavik, fear gnawed at Frank. Had the astronaut's captors disposed of him in the sulfur pit?

Gummi dropped them at their hotel and left for home. At lunch the Hardys talked about their plans with Chet and Biff.

“Listen, fellows,” Frank said. “You two stay here and watch out for any suspicious characters, while Joe and I take a taxi to Keflavik. We'd like to let Gummi in on this, but we'd better not.”

After explaining that they would try to find a glove of similar manufacture, Frank and Joe left.

Arriving at Keflavik, they obtained permission to enter the base. Frank spoke to a captain in charge of general issue and asked if he might borrow a leather glove used by officers. The captain was amazed at the request, but after the Hardys identified themselves as American detectives working on an insurance case, the officer gave them a glove.

“We'll return it,” Frank promised.

“That's all right. You can keep it.”

“Thanks, Captain.”

Back at the hotel, Frank asked the desk clerk if he could direct them to a medical laboratory.

“Anybody sick?” the man asked in surprise.

“No,” Joe replied. “We have another reason.”

The clerk looked at them curiously, riffled through a sheaf of addresses, and came up with one.

Although it was late in the afternoon, Frank and Joe took a chance. They called the lab and found that it was still open. “We would like to borrow a microscope,” Frank explained. He was told that no instruments could be taken from the premises, but was invited to come over and use one.

“We close at six,” the man said in perfect English.

“We'll be right there,” Frank replied.

The Hardys took a taxi to the laboratory, which was located at the center of town, not far from the Foreign Office. A courteous technician greeted them and directed the boys to a small room. A microscope stood on a table to the left. The man asked if they would be examining germ cultures.

“Oh no,” Joe said with a smile. “We're just comparing two pieces of leather.”

“Go ahead,” said the technician and left.

The research did not take long. First they examined the outside leather. Each glove proved to be of the same general quality. The stitching was made by similar machines, and the woolen linings were identical.

“That does it,” Frank said. “This was lost by a military man.”

“Should we tell the police now?” Joe asked.

But Frank was adamant about following their father's instruction. “Not yet, Joe. Not yet.”

The Hardys thanked the lab technician and left. Returning to the hotel, they found Biff and Chet eagerly waiting for them in the lobby. Biff waved a letter in his hand.

“Frank, Joe, you got an answer to your ad!”