“I want you to take a case for me,” said Peterson. “Please don't refuse.”
Frank and Joe were startled at the request. There was silence for a moment, then Frank spoke up. “What kind of case?”
Peterson spoke in a hushed voice. He repeated the story about the crash at sea in which Clint Hill had been lost.
“I was copilot on that trip, and the only survivor,” he said.
“We know all that,” Joe said impatiently.
Peterson's voice dropped almost to a whisper. The boys had difficulty hearing him.
“As pilot in command,” he saidâalmost plead ingly, the boys thoughtâ“Hill was responsible for the accident.”
Peterson grew even more tense. Perspiration began to show on his face.
“But for some reason”âhe went on in a quavering voice, then paused as he got up and came to stand directly in front of the boysâ“Clint Hill has started to haunt me!”
“Haunt you?” Frank exclaimed. “In what way could a dead man haunt you?”
“Clint used to whistle a lot,” said Peterson. “His favorite tune was âHigh Journey.' Now I keep hearing him whistle itâhere, at home, over my plane radio. Sometimes he breaks off and laughs!”
“Are you sure somebody isn't just playing a joke on you?” Joe suggested.
“No!” the pilot answered. “A few days ago I heard him radio the tower for landing instructions. Then he flew off, saying, âThe dead can tell no tales.' It all came in clearly on my office radio receiver over there,” he said, pointing to a box-shaped unit which stood on a table across the room. “I realize now you boys weren't joking.”
“This is very unusual,” said Frank. “But what can Joe and I do for you?”
“I know I'm not hearing things,” Peterson stated. “Somebody is trying to drive me out of my mind, probably to get my job. I want you boys to find out who it is!”
“Chasing ghosts is a bit out of our line,” Frank said. “We'll have to think it over.”
Peterson appeared desperate. “I wish you would start on the case now,” he said. “But if you must think it over, let me know as soon as you decide.”
The Hardys left Peterson's office and started back to the Ace Air Service parking ramp. As they walked, the brothers discussed this new and puzzling development.
“I'd say he was off his rocker,” commented Joe, “if it weren't for the fact that we too heard the voice of Clint Hill's ghost.”
“Could be,” said Frank. “But I don't go along with Peterson's idea that someone is trying to drive him out of his mind in order to get his job.”
Joe agreed and asked Frank if he thought they should take the case. Frank replied that it would be best to discuss the matter with their father before making any decision.
As they arrived at the parking ramp, the young sleuths saw Randy Watson standing near the airplane with a mechanic.
“Find the trouble?” Frank called.
“It
was
the fuel pump that caused the engine to fail!” Randy replied.
“Thanks to your skill,” Frank said with a smile, “we avoided becoming a permanent part of the landscape!”
Randy said he hoped the trip had not been a waste of time.
“Oh, no. We managed to get plenty of pictures before the engine quit,” Frank answered. “Incidentally, we'd better get the films developed just as soon as possible,” he said to Joe.
The young detectives climbed into the cabin of the plane. They were puzzled not to find the camera and containers of film where they had left them.
Frank shouted to Randy, who was standing on the ramp, “Did you take the camera and films into the operations building?”
“No,” the pilot responded with a startled air. “Are you certain they're not in the cabin?”
The boys searched again, becoming more frantic with each second.
“Were you away from the plane at any time?” Frank asked Randy.
“Only for a few minutes when I went to get a mechanic.”
The Hardys stared into the empty cabin.
“Those valuable pictures!” Frank burst out. “Our films! They've been stolen!”
CHAPTER VIII
Masked Attacker
THERE was a moment of thunderstruck silence. Who had stolen the Hardys' camera and films and why?
Randy was apologetic, saying he felt responsible for leaving the plane unattended. “I'll pay for the loss,” he declared.
“We wouldn't consider it,” Frank said, shaking his head. “Besides, it's not so much the camera we're worried about.”
“The films?”
“Right,” Joe added quickly. He cast a glance at his brother. “You probably have the same suspicion I do, Frank. The thief might have wanted to prevent us from developing those pictures.”
“Then why did he take the camera too?” was Randy's next query.
“Because he figured there was more exposed film in it,” Frank explained.
“Good reasoning,” Randy agreed.
The boys recalled the small crowd that had collected on the ramp when their plane taxied in. Jerry Madden had been among them. Perhaps, Frank thought, he might know who some of the other onlookers were. The young detectives returned to the Stanwide hangar to question Jerry.
“I recognized only two faces in the crowd,” said Jerry, after the boys told him about the theft. “Mike Zimm, the mechanic, and Aaron Lieber, a copilot mechanic, who seems to be a special pal of Lance Peterson's.”
“Zimm again.” Frank's eyes narrowed. “Odd, the way he keeps popping up in our case.”
“Sure is,” said Joe. “I'll bet that snoopy mechanic is somehow mixed up in the platinum business, but why would he want our films?”
The Hardys finally decided to trail Zimm and Lieber when the two men quit work for the day. Frank asked Jerry for a description of Lieber, then requested the pilot to check the men's lockers for the stolen camera.
“They keep them locked,” Jerry said. “Everyone around here does. But the doors have slats a little wider than is usual. Maybe I can peer in through the openings. I'll try after Zimm and Lieber leave.”
The Hardys hurried from the hangar. Frank hid behind some engine crates a short distance away. Joe, at his brother's direction, went to the airport terminal building to telephone Chet Morton and another friend, Biff Hooper. Their pals' help might come in handy if the Hardys ran into trouble while tailing Zimm and Lieber.
It was not long before Joe returned. “We're in luck,” he said. “Chet can use his father's produce delivery truck, which will be a good cover-up. He's starting for the airport immediately, and will pick up Biff on the way. I told Chet to wait for us near our car in the visitors' parking lot.”
Nearly half an hour passed before Zimm and a thin, bony-faced man with beady eyes emerged from the Stanwide hangar. “Aaron Lieber,” muttered Frank. The young sleuths watched the men carefully. Neither of them carried anything, and the aerial camera was too bulky to be hidden beneath their coats. The pair stopped for a few minutes and talked in low tones, then got into separate cars and drove off.
Frank and Joe dashed to the visitors' parking lot. There they recognized the Mortons' farm truck and ran to it. Behind the wheel was the Hardys' stout chum, and seated next to him, was tall, lanky Biff Hooper. Biff was an energetic boy, who prided himself on his boxing ability.
“There's no time to lose!” Frank declared. “Joe, you go with Chet in the truck and follow Lieber. I'll take Biff with me in our car and tail Zimm!”
The two vehicles drove off and headed toward the airport exit, through which the two suspects would have had to pass. The boys' timing was perfect. They neared the exit just as the cars driven by Zimm and Lieber pulled out onto the main road.
After driving a short distance, the two men took different routes. Frank followed Zimm, dropping behind as far as possible so as not to be conspicuous. Joe and Chet went in pursuit of Lieber.
As Frank and Biff rode along, Frank briefly outlined the situation to his friend, who nodded enthusiastically. “You can count on me if there's any trouble.” He set his jaw and skillfully executed several left jabs in the air.
“Save your energy,” Frank told him with a grin. “You might need it.”
The young sleuth kept his eyes fixed on the car ahead. As they entered town a short while later, he saw it slow down and stop. Zimm got out and went into a photographic shop. “Freeman's Camera House,” Frank observed. He wondered if this was just a coincidence, or was Zimm planning to have the stolen films developed?
“When Zimm comes out,” he told Biff, “you take the car and follow him. I want to question the shop owner.”
“But when will we join up?” his friend asked.
Frank reached into his pocket and took out an emergency detective kit. From it he extracted a packet containing small pieces of vivid red paper, and handed it to Biff.
“As you drive,” he told him, “drop some of this paper every few seconds. That will leave a trail I can follow later.”
“But what if I run out of paper?” Biff asked.
“If you have to follow Zimm that far,” said Frank, “stay with him and find out where he goes. Then retrace your route. I'll be following the trail on foot for as far as it takes me.
“In the meantime,” Frank went on, “I want to call Jerry Madden at the Stanwide hangar and ask him if he's had an opportunity to check the men's lockers.”
Frank got out of the car. He found a public telephone across the street, where he was able to call and still keep an eye on the camera shop.
Summoned to the phone, Jerry Madden told Frank that he had found no sign of the aerial camera in either of the lockers. Frank requested Jerry to keep his eyes open and to call Mr. Hardy should anything turn up.
Frank had just completed the call when he saw Zimm come out of the shop and get into his car. He drove off, with Biff trailing behind.
Frank hurried into the camera shop. A man of medium height, with dark hair, was jotting notes in his order book. He proved to be the owner, Mr, Freeman.
The young detective identified himself, and asked if Mr. Zimm, who had just been there, had left film to be developed. Mr. Freeman said the man had left four rolls to be developed, but had given him the name R. C. Williams.
Frank realized that it was possible the films really did belong to a man named Williams, and that Zimm was merely having them developed for him. There would be no way of knowing until the pictures were developed.
“Mr. Freeman,” said Frank, “we Hardys are suspicious these are films that were stolen from us.”
The proprietor was eager to help the boys find out. He promised that when the negatives and prints were returned from the laboratory he would notify Frank immediately.
“Thanks a lot,” Frank said, then left the shop. Daylight was beginning to fade, prompting him to hurry in search of the trail he had instructed Biff to mark. Almost immediately, he spotted the first bit of red paper. Then another piece, and another.
Frank estimated that he had walked nearly a mile when the trail led him onto a quiet residential street. He quickened his pace as darkness increased and a breeze sprang up, threatening to erase the paper trail. Dead ahead, he was suddenly elated to see his car parked on the street. As Frank neared it, he could see Biff at the wheel.
“How did things work out?” Frank asked in a low voice, as he eased into the seat beside his pal.
“Luckily your suspect reached his destination before I ran out of paper,” Biff said.
He pointed to a house a short distance away and told Frank that Zimm was inside.
“He lives there,” said Biff. “I got out and walked past the house. His name plate is posted on the lawn.”
Frank said that he wanted to watch the house a while. “Biff, how about your driving to the nearest store and picking up some sandwiches, milk, and ice cream for us? We may be here a long time.”
Biff went off and Frank stationed himself behind a tree. Daylight was now completely gone. The area was quiet, and light radiation fog was beginning to drift from the trees and shrubbery. Frank folded his arms against a chill that was developing in the air. He hoped that Biff would not be too long getting back.
Suddenly the stillness was disturbed by the sound of someone whistling. It seemed to be coming from the far side of Zimm's house. Frank recognized the tune.
“High Journey!”
An eerie feeling gripped him. Was he hearing the ghost of Clint Hill?
The young detective bent low, crossed the street, and carefully edged toward the house. The sound, he was now certain, was coming from the far side of the dwelling. Frank slowly crept to the rear and listened. The whistle was louder now. He braced himself, then broke into a fast sprint.
As Frank rounded the corner of the house, he suddenly collided with a tall man. The force of the contact threw both of them to the ground. Dazed for a second, Frank took a deep breath, then scrambled to his feet.
The stranger also got up. He was wearing a mask! The man turned to run, but Frank was too fast for him. He managed to catch him by the collar. As the two tumbled and rolled across the ground, the stranger swung his fist.
Frank received a hard body blow that badly stunned him. The stranger leaped to his feet and ran. Frank made an effort to pursue him, but was too late. With consternation, he watched the masked figure vanish into the darkness.
CHAPTER IX
Alley Escape
MEANWHILE, Joe and Chet had followed Aaron Lieber to his apartment house. It was a small stone building with doors to the outside at both the front and rear.