The Bombay Boomerang (6 page)

“No thanks. We'll try for three another time.” The detective turned away from the desk. “Okay, there's nothing more to be gained down here,” he said to the boys. “We'll go back where we came from and start all over again.”

Frank and Joe were completely discouraged as they climbed silently into the car. Suddenly Joe had an idea. “Admiral Rodgers!” he exclaimed. “Why didn't we think of him before? We just saw him at the Pentagon. He could vouch for us!”

“Maybe you know the president, too,” the detective replied sarcastically.

“Look, we're not kidding,” Frank protested. “Will you at least call him?”

“Sure. I've got a hot line to Washington.”

By the time they arrived at police headquarters, they had persuaded the officer to put in a call to the Pentagon. Frank and Joe listened breathlessly to the conversation that followed.

The detective stated his case, then there was a brief pause. “Yes,” he continued. “Let me see now. You say Frank is eighteen years old, dark hair and brown eyes.... And Joe Hardy is seventeen, blond hair and blue eyes.... Yes, the other details check out.... You want to speak to Frank?...Here he is.”

The elder Hardy talked briefly with the admiral. Then he returned the phone to the detective, who thanked Rodgers for his help and hung up.

“You're off the hook,” he said. “Admiral Rodgers gives you a clean bill of health. You can go now. And give your father my regards when you see him. We appreciate the work he's been doing.”

“Dad'll be pleased by your compliment,” Frank replied. “He's a former member of the force himself.”

Leaving headquarters, Joe reflected that they still did not know why L. Marks was not registered at the hotel.

Frank nodded. “But there's a catch to that. We only know what the clerk told us. Remember, he was the only one who looked into the ledger. He never pushed it across the desk so we could see for ourselves. How can we be sure he was telling the truth?”

“I'll bet my money the other way around. He didn't look the type to inspire confidence, anyhow. What's next?”

“A look at the ledger!”

They phoned Jack Wayne at the airport, and asked him to stand by until the next day. “We intend to find out whether Dad is in that hotel or not, but we should be back by the afternoon.”

Returning to the dock area, Frank and Joe staked out the hotel from a small, all-night diner, conveniently situated across the street, hoping for a chance to slip unnoticed into the hotel. It was a long wait.

They could see the desk clerk from where they sat and it seemed he was a permanent fixture. Not once did he move away. Just as they were about to give up, two seamen arrived in search of lodgings for the night.

It was now or never. The Hardys watched the clerk, a different one from their Indian friend, produce the ledger to be signed. Then he reached for keys and escorted the men to their room.

This was the opportunity the boys had been waiting for. They hurried across the street, slipped through the door, and walked to the desk. Frank pulled the ledger over and opened it. Frantically he flipped the pages to the current list of guests.

“Look at this!” he whispered excitedly. He placed his finger on an entry where the name of L. Marks was inscribed in their father's handwriting! A large X was scrawled in the margin beside it!

The sight of the X mark chilled them. But they had found the information they were after and had to get out before they were discovered.

Hastily they replaced the ledger. They had taken only a few steps toward the door when a harsh voice booming across the lobby stopped them short.

“I saw you!”

 

 

 

 

“LOOKS as if we've had it!” Joe muttered. “He probably saw us looking at the ledger!”

“Let's not hit the panic button!” Frank replied guardedly. “Keep cool, and we'll try to talk our way out of it!”

The boys wheeled around and walked back to the desk, feeling uncomfortable under the beady eyes of the clerk, who obviously was determined to question them about their actions.

“I saw you!” he repeated. Then he added reproachfully, “You should have waited a minute or two when you discovered there was no one at the desk. I had to show two men to their room. There's one vacancy at the moment. Do you want it?”

Frank and Joe needed all their self-control to avoid giving themselves away. What a relief! He had not spotted them at the ledger after all! Now to put up a bold front before he became suspicious.

“Yes,” said Frank to the clerk, “we'd like a room for the night. My partner here is Jay Mackin, and I'm Roy Bard.”

They signed the register, paid in advance, and were shown to a room.

Joe sat down on one of the twin beds. “Thank goodness we pulled that off safely!”

Frank nodded. “The thing is, we're really in the lion's den now. This place may very well be the hideout of the gang we're after, and they wouldn't think twice about rubbing us out.”

“I wonder what's become of Dad,” Joe mused.

“For all we know, he's somewhere in this building. Maybe he's being held prisoner!”

“That X opposite the name L. Marks in the ledger convinced me that Dad's not among his greatest admirers,” Joe agreed.

Frank stared out the window into the dimly lighted street. A car horn broke the stillness with a raucous blast. Four tipsy sailors staggered past, bellowing a sea chanty at the top of their lungs.

The elder boy took in the scene before answering. “You won't get any argument from me. This hotel gives me the creeps. And we're cut off from the outside world. There's no telephone in this room, no way to contact the police.”

“Right. We're a couple of sitting ducks wondering when the hunters are going to begin taking potshots at us.”

The boys, tired and worried, put their heads together in the hope of coming up with a plan. Nothing practical suggested itself.

“Let's sleep on it,” Joe proposed. “We can't do much until we find out who's in the hotel, and what kind of shenanigans are going on. These beds will probably give us nightmares,” he concluded, feeling the lumps in the mattress before snapping out the light.

In spite of this prediction, he was soundly asleep when Frank shook him by the arm.

“What's up?” Joe inquired, with closed eyes.

“Wake up. Hurry!”

“What time is it?”

“Four A.M.”

Joe groaned. “That's not a fit hour for man or beast to be up and around!”

“Quiet!” Frank whispered. “Some funny business is going on next door. There was a heavy thump—shook the room and woke me up. Then a sound as though wheels were being rolled over the floor. One of them needed oiling because it squeaked. Listen!”

Low conversation and a scuffing, thumping sound could be heard through the flimsy wall. Obviously something heavy was being moved.

By now Joe was wide awake. “Holy catfish! Sounds as if they're disposing of a body!”

“Maybe yes, maybe no. We'd better find out for sure.”

The two threw on their clothes. Stealthily they opened their door a crack in order to have a clear view down the length of the hall. Moments after they took up their vigil, the door to the other room opened.

A man came out, glanced around to see that the coast was clear, and motioned to someone inside. A second man emerged, pushing a hand truck on which was a large wooden cask.

Gingerly, as quietly as the creaking floorboards would permit, the pair maneuvered it down to the end of the hall, where they squeezed it into a rickety service elevator.

As soon as the sliding doors closed, the boys tumbled out of their room in a headlong dash for the stairs. They went down the steps three at a time. Panting, they pulled up at the bottom.

“Quick!” Frank pointed. “Let's get behind that stack of laundry baskets and see what happens when they get down.”

The elevator indicator moved down to number one. The doors opened. The two men eased their hand truck out, still balancing the cask on it.

One picked up the handles and began to push the burden toward the back entrance of the hotel. The other guided the carrier, while keeping a hand on the cask to prevent it from rolling off.

Silently, carefully, the boys followed. A dusty pickup truck was parked in the back alley. Tilting the hand truck forward, the men raised the cask to an upright position so each could get a grip.

Straining and swearing under their breath, they levered the cask up into the rear of the pickup, bolted the tailboard, then climbed into the front seat. The motor came to life and the truck started to move.

“Come on,” Joe hissed. Rushing forward he managed to get a foot up on the bumper and propelled himself into the back of the vehicle. Frank was right on his heels. They crouched behind the cask, hoping fervently the driver would not see them in his rear-view mirror.

The truck, gathering speed, moved rapidly through empty streets in the direction of the harbor, rattling the cask against the metal it was standing on and jouncing the boys up and down every time the rear wheels hit a bump.

Finally the driver stepped on the brake, slowing the truck on an oil-soaked dock where the water lapped against the pilings ten feet below.

“Come on,” Frank whispered in Joe's ear. “Let's beat it out of here before they get wise to us.”

The boys sneaked one at a time over the tailboard, dropped lightly to the dock, and dashed round the back of a nearby dilapidated shed.

“Wow!” puffed Joe, “that was pretty close. But I don't think they noticed anything.”

Frank was peering cautiously round the corner of the shack. “They're unloading the cask,” he reported. “Now they're rolling it to the edge of the dock.”

There was a loud splash.

“They've dumped it into the water!” Frank said.

This task accomplished, the two men ran back to their truck and roared off without a backward glance.

The Hardys raced to the spot. “There it is,” called Joe, pointing excitedly. “It's sinking fast.”

He was right. As the cask went under, a cloud of air bubbles began to rise to the surface from around the edges of the lid!

“Somebody or something's inside,” Frank said in alarm. “And maybe still alive!”

There was no time to debate the situation. Both boys kicked off their loafers and hit the water in a desperate dive.

Plunging downward, they arched underneath the cask, took hold of the bottom rim on either side, and hoisted it to the surface. With some effort they maneuvered the bulky cylinder so that it lay lengthwise on the water.

“If we can get it over to that boat slip before it sinks we'll be lucky,” gasped Frank. “Let's swim behind it and try to push it and keep it afloat at the same time.”

They soon had the cask bobbing toward shore.

Despite the green slime that covered the slip, they managed to get it out of the water.

“Let's stand it upright now,” Frank said, grunting with effort as he proceeded to do so. “Anything we can use to pry the lid off?”

Joe crawled up the slope from the water's edge and returned triumphantly with an iron bar he had found in a pile of rusty junk on the dock.

“This should do the trick,” he told Frank as he applied the bar to the rim of the cask.

The lid snapped off and clattered on the concrete. Eagerly the boys peered inside.

Slumped in a heap, seemingly unconscious, was a man in a rough tweed jacket, corduroy pants, and battered brogans.

“Dad!” Frank cried out. “Is he still breathing?”

“Yes, he is,” Joe answered quickly. “Look, he's beginning to come round.” He tugged at their father's arms. “Here, help me lift him out.”

As gently as they could they eased Mr. Hardy out of the cask and carried him up to the deserted dock. There they slapped his face and chafed his wrists until his breathing became stronger. The color returned to his cheeks. He began to struggle feebly.

“Dad! It's us!” Frank whispered into his ear. “Don't worry, the thugs are gone!”

It took the detective a few minutes to realize that he had been rescued by his own sons. “In the nick of time, too,” he said weakly. “Good work, boys. However did you know I was here?”

“We didn't,” Frank said. “It was pure luck.” And they told their story.

Then they turned the bulky container on its side and rolled it completely over. One stave bore the legend
Quantico Quicksilver
in heavy black letters.