The Masked Monkey (13 page)

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match went out, leaving only the burning tip of the cigarette visible in the darkness. San Marten and his friend conversed in low tones.

Frank whispered in Joe's ear, “Let's jump them!”

Joe bolted forward, seized the handle, and flung the door open. He grabbed San Marten by the lapels and started to pull him out when suddenly a powerful spotlight snapped on behind the Hardys, catching them sharply in the white glare.

“We're ambushed!” Frank cried. “Cut out, Joe!”

They turned and ran. San Marten and his companion leaped from the car, and were joined by the man with the light. The three raced after the boys.

In his haste, Joe's foot caught in a vine. He
tumbled head over heels, landing on his back. Before he could regain his feet, their pursuers pounced upon him.

Running like mad, Frank was unaware of what had happened until he reached the convertible. Only then did he realize he was alone. He jumped behind the wheel, started the engine, and swung the car around, roaring back to the scene. San Marten and his accomplice had disappeared, and so had Joe. The sound of a motor could be heard in the distance, diminishing in the direction of the highway.

Frank set out in desperate pursuit of Joe and his captors. By the time he reached the highway, the gang's car was out of sight.

Frank made a quick judgment. The Olympic Health Club! “That's where this caper began,” he thought. “That's where it will probably end.”

He drove to the top of a hill that overlooked the clubhouse. Peering down at the valley, in the first light of day, his eyes followed every turn and twist in the highway for miles ahead. Not a thing moved on the road!

“They must have gone the other way,” Frank reasoned. He decided to drive to Granite City and report Joe's capture to the police.

The sergeant at the desk took down the particulars. Frank was turning away, wondering what to do next, when a familiar figure emerged from the office of Police Chief Carton.

“Sam Radley!” Frank exclaimed in amazement. “What are you doing here?”

Fenton Hardy's assistant, a pleasant sandy-haired man, was dressed in a tweed jacket and slacks. He wore heavy shoes and a battered felt hat.

“Hello, Frank,” Radley said. “I'm here on a case of my own.”

“What's the scoop?”

“Tell you later. First clue me in to what you and Joe are doing.”

Frank rapidly described the Retson case, beginning with Graham's disappearance and ending with Joe's kidnapping.

“I'm convinced that we'll find the key to the mystery in the Olympic Health Club,” Frank concluded. “A lot of fishy things have been going on there.”

Radley raised his eyebrows and Frank continued, “The general manager seems awfully anxious to keep us away from the place. And now—what about your case?”

Radley rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “When I was in New York a few days ago,” he said, “I met an old partner of mine. We used to specialize in missing-person cases. He asked me if I'd undertake an investigation for a good friend of his.”

“Who's the good friend, Sam?”

“Mrs. Retson of Whisperwood!”

“Mrs. Retson!” Frank exclaimed. “And we
thought she might be dead. We've been wondering if her body was at the bottom of the Olympic water hazard where we pulled up a woman's shoe and a pistol.”

Radley shook his head. “She's in New York, in a state of near collapse. Her doctor's keeping her under sedation.”

“How did she get there?”

“She climbed out of her bedroom window, caught the bus to New York, and asked her friend to look for Graham. He passed the assignment on to me.”

“That's strange,” Frank said. “Mrs. Retson knew Joe and I were on the case. Why didn't she cooperate with us?”

“Because you're representing her husband.”

“What's the difference? They're both looking for their son!”

“That's true. But you're to bring him home. I'm supposed to prevent him from coming home. ‘Prevent him at all costs,' was how Mrs. Retson put it.”

Frank grimaced. “Sam, we're working at cross purposes here.”

Radley shook his head again. “Not really, Frank. Mrs. Retson thinks her son is in danger. So do you and Joe. Let's rescue Graham and then worry about bringing him home.”

Frank started. “What about Joe? We've got to rescue him before we do anything else!”

The sergeant left the desk and approached them. “We've got a tip on that getaway car with your brother.” he told Frank. “It was spotted speeding up the road to the abandoned Milten Dairy Farm.”

“How do we get there?” Frank asked.

“Take the highway south from Granite City for ten miles. Look for the big Milten sign on the right-hand side. I'll dispatch a car as soon as I can.

Frank and Radley, who carried a small suitcase, hurried out, slid into the convertible, and zoomed down the highway. At the Milten Dairy sign Frank turned off, and the convertible bounced along a rutted dirt road. It led to a complex of barns and sheds.

“Slow down, Frank,” Radley said. “There's a car in that big thicket over there.”

“It's San Marten's!” Frank replied. He parked behind the thicket, and they got out.

“Look—footprints!” Radley said in a low voice.

The trail led to a run-down house. Carefully the two sleuths edged up to it and peered over a window sill into a dingy room.

Through the dim light Frank and Sam saw Joe sitting in a chair with his hands tied behind him. San Marten and two other men were taunting the captive with threats.

“You'd be wise to answer my questions,” San
Marten was saying. “Or I'll let Belkin and Moreno go to work on you. They have ways of making people talk!” He turned to one of the men. “Right, Belkin?”

“You'd better believe it,” said Belkin. He pulled out a switchblade knife and tested the edge with his finger. At the same time Moreno turned his face and Frank recognized him. He was the driver of the car the boys had sideswiped alongside the golf course when the sprinkler had obscured their view! Harry Grimsel had been with him.

Joe tugged frantically at the ropes and San Marten clouted him across the face.

As Joe moaned, the door splintered open. Frank and Sam Radley barreled in. San Marten and his men spun around, mouths agape.

Frank floored Belkin with a swinging right and fell on top of him. Radley bowled over San Marten and tripped Moreno at the same time!

T
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criminals bounded to their feet and a wild melee ensued. Punches, karate chops, grunts, and curses filled the room as Joe sat helplessly looking on.

Frank decked San Marten and Radley staggered Moreno with a forearm smash. Belkin laid Frank and Sam low with a two-by-four, but was nearly exhausted. San Marten pulled himself up shakily.

“Let's go!” he yelled and raced out, followed by his two confederates.

Frank and Sam rose slowly, shaking their heads to clear the cobwebs.

“Thanks,” Joe said. “You did a great job.”

Frank quickly untied his brother and they dashed toward the big thicket. Radley was the first to spot San Marten's car moving out. It gained speed and disappeared.

The Hardys and Sam jumped into the convertible,
eager to take up the pursuit. To Frank's horror the car keys were gone.

“Oh, no! I shouldn't have left them here!” Frank chided himself.

“Don't fret,” Sam said. He pulled a pad from his pocket and wrote something. “I got the license number. We can phone it to the police.”

“Hey, what's that?” Joe said. A glint in the sun had caught his attention. He walked over to it. Nearby in the grass lay the car keys, wet with dew and reflecting the sun's rays.

Frank started the engine and they sped away. At the first public phone booth they stopped and Joe reported to Chief Carton. After a short conversation he told the others that the getaway car had been stolen the day before. “The chief checked the license number right away. They're on the lookout for it. And another thing—the shoe we found in the water hole was not Mrs. Retson's. Wrong size!”

Frank grinned. “I'm glad about that. Otherwise they might have started dredging the water hole.” As he started the car again, Radley asked Joe:

“What kind of information was San Marten trying to pry out of you?”

“He wanted to know about Dad's investigation of the bogus passport ring.”

“So he knows Dad's on the case,” Frank remarked.

“He sure does. He kept asking where Dad is right now.”

“This proves what we suspected,” Frank said. “He's in on the passport racket.”

“What else did he want to find out?” Radley went on.

“All about Graham Retson. Where is he now? What's he doing? When is he coming home? Things like that.”

Frank whistled. “Those were trick questions. We know that he knows where Graham is. He was on a fishing expedition to see how much we've learned.”

“Well, it didn't do him any good. I refused to bite.”

“That reminds me,” Radley said. “How about a bite to eat? There's a diner ahead.”

“Great idea,” Frank agreed. “I'm starved.”

Over ham and eggs, they continued to analyze the Retson case.

“We forgot to tell Sam about this,” Joe said suddenly and pulled a piece of folded rubber from his pocket.

“The monkey mask!” Frank exclaimed. “How could that have slipped our minds!”

Radley was amazed at Joe's account of Diabo. “This could be very important,” he said. “I'd like to take this mask with me. Something tells me it might come in handy before the mystery is solved.”

“Where are you going, Sam?”

“To the Olympic Health Club. I called and told them I had arthritis and signed up for the two weeks' treatment they advertise.”

“How come you're zooming in on Olympic, too?” Joe wanted to know.

“Mrs. Retson is convinced Graham's being held there,” Radley revealed. “As a patient, I can do some snooping. See if I can find any trace of him.”

“Olympic seems to be San Marten's headquarters,” Frank pointed out. “Won't he recognize you?”

“Unlikely,” Radley said. “It was pretty dim in that building and he didn't get a chance to see my face. Anyway, it's worth a try.”

They got up. “I'd better call a taxi,” Sam said. “It would look suspicious if you dropped me off.”

When the taxi arrived, Radley got in and waved good-by.

“Good luck,” Frank said, then the Hardys drove on to Whisperwood. Chet was waiting in the guesthouse. He looked worried.

“The guy who played that monkey trick on us called again,” he said.

“What did he want this time?” Joe asked.

“His offer of a thousand bucks still stands,” Chet replied. “He only wants the pistol.”

“What did you say to that?” Frank asked.

“I told him I didn't have it,” Chet replied. “But he wouldn't believe me. Said I'll end up in the water hole myself if I don't deliver the gun.”

Frank and Joe agreed it would be safer for Chet if he returned to Bayport right away. They hid behind the suction pump in the back of his pickup, so they would be on hand if the anonymous caller tried to ambush the truck. They intended to see Chet safely beyond Granite City, planning to return to Whisperwood by bus while their pal continued on home.

Chet was freewheeling the pickup down a side road toward the highway when a car with two men came racing up behind. He steered to the right, but the other car refused to pass. Instead, the driver cut diagonally into Chet's lane, forcing him off the road into a ditch.

The pickup bucked over a couple of boulders, tilted precariously, and jarred to a halt.

Chet leaped from the cab and ran to the rear of the truck. The two men came after him.

Frank and Joe peered out from their hiding place.
San Marten and Grimsel!

“Let's see how good my pitching arm is,” Frank muttered. Plucking a golf ball from the suction pump container, he took aim and bounced it off San Marten's head.

Joe promptly grabbed a couple of balls and fired away. Chet quickly leaped on the truck and joined the artillery.

San Marten and Grimsel tried to ward off the barrage

San Marten and Grimsel tried to ward off the barrage with their hands, but the boys kept pitching too fast. Their targets bent over, shielding their heads with their arms.

“Cease fire!” Chet yelled finally. Jumping from the truck, he plowed into Grimsel with both feet. His weight knocked the caddy into a quivering heap.

Frank and Joe raced after San Marten and subdued him. Quickly they bound his hands with rope from the truck, then tied up Grimsel.

“You'll pay for this!” San Marten snarled.

“Save it for the judge,” Frank advised him.