The Mysterious Caravan (8 page)

“Expensive, no doubt,” Joe said, as he felt the
material. “Kenleigh Scott must have lots of money from his ticket racket.”

“I think it's kidskin,” the detective went on, jotting down the name of the company. “We'll send them a cable asking for a list of possible dealers in the United States.”

“I guess it's a long shot, Dad, but it's worth trying,” Joe said.

Frank, meanwhile, had lifted two sets of prints from the cup and saucer. One was Aunt Gertrude's. The second, they felt sure, belonged to the impostor.

“Let's take them to Chief Collig,” Joe suggested.

“How about sending a copy to Interpol?” Frank said. “If this airline-ticket racket is spread all over the world, Interpol might have something on our friend Scott.”

“An excellent thought,” Mr. Hardy agreed.

As they started to send the information out, Mrs. Hardy asked, “Fenton, where did Gertrude go?”

“She was here a minute ago. There she is, outside!”

“What is she looking at in the gutter?” Frank wondered.

Gertrude Hardy was bent down, tugging at something in the wet snow with her bare hands. The boys ran out to question her.

“Aunty, what's going on?” Joe asked.

“Humph!” she replied, straightening up. “You think you're the only ones who know how to look for clues?”

Joe winked at his brother and said, “Of course not. What have you got there?”

She held up what appeared to be a letter. It was soaked and crumbled from lying in the wet snow.

“This could have fallen from that scoundrel's pocket,” Aunt Gertrude declared. “You spun him around like a pinwheel, Joe.”

“All right, let's bring it inside to dry,” Frank said. “And thanks for helping us.”

Once indoors, Joe spread the soggy paper on the drainboard in the kitchen. The words, written in ink, were smudged and barely legible.

Aunt Gertrude went upstairs and returned minutes later with her hair dryer. She plugged it in and soon had warm air blowing on the mysterious letter.

“Maybe it's somebody's shopping list,” Joe quipped.

“I wouldn't be too sure,” Aunt Gertrude retorted tartly. “Fenton, come here and look at this! That's no shopping list at all!”

Mr. Hardy, who had been busy dispatching the information to Interpol and to the French company, came into the kitchen to examine his sister's find.

“There, it's showing up more clearly now,” he
said. “Joe, we need a magnifying glass, the powerful one you keep in your desk.”

Joe raced up the stairs, two at a time, and returned with the lens. He bent over to study the writing and his face grew beet red.

“It's—it
is
a clue, Aunt Gertrude!” he exclaimed.

“Then read it to us.”

Joe sucked in his breath. “I can't make out all the words, only a few. They say, ‘Get mask…us…and…will knock off Fenton Hardy.'”

“Y
OU
know what this means?” Frank asked. “Dad's enemies and ours have gotten together somehow.”

“You're right,” Mr. Hardy said. “They're working together and are twice as strong now.”

The boys felt sheepish when they complimented Aunt Gertrude on her good piece of detective work.

“We Hardys have to stick together,” she replied with a coy smile. “I hope it helps you solve your case.”

“Aunt Gertrude, you're something!” Joe said. “We're sorry we took it so lightly.”

The next morning they called the foundry. “Is the job ready?” Joe asked.

“Yes. It turned out fine,” Mr. Krusinsky replied. “Come and get it any time.”

Another four inches of snow had fallen during the night, but since then the temperature had
risen above freezing, and the roads were covered with a sloshy, slippery mess. With Frank at the wheel, they drove toward the foundry.

“I hope our scheme works,” Joe said as they sped out into the open country. “We'll give up the duplicate mask for William and continue to study the original, if at all possible.”

“Right,” his brother said. “This investigation is a long way from being finished. Do you suppose we can catch the kidnappers?”

“It's going to be risky. But we're duty-bound to report it to the police.”

“If we could only spring a trap and nail the whole gang!” Frank said.

They drove through farmland. Corn had been planted on both sides of the highway the summer before and the stubble poked through the fresh covering of snow. The boys had been watching the road behind them for possible spies, but it had been clear of traffic for several minutes. All at once, however, a red Ford sedan, traveling at high speed, pulled up close.

“I wish that guy would stop tailgating,” Frank said. “If I had to brake suddenly, he'd climb right up my back!”

He drove as far to the right as he could to let the sedan pass. It did, but instead of streaking off, it slowed in front of them. When Frank tried to overtake the Ford, he was blocked!

“What's the matter with that joker?” Joe asked.

Just then another car appeared, as if from nowhere, and positioned itself behind them. They were boxed in!

“We're in trouble, Joe,” Frank said. “Did you get a look at these goons?”

The two men in the rear car wore ski masks pulled down over their faces, as did the driver in front. Their heads were covered except for eye slits and a mouth hole.

Frank tried again to pass the Ford, but it moved out to the center of the highway and their bumpers banged. The Hardys were sandwiched in tighter than ever, and their tormentors brought them almost to a halt.

“They want us to stop,” Joe said.

“Not on your life! I'm going to make a break for it!” Frank declared. They had come to a place where only a shallow ditch dropped off on the left side of the road. Frank watched for oncoming traffic. Now he had a chance!

Turning the wheel sharply and flooring the gas pedal, he broke out of the tight formation. Their right fender crumpled for a split second with a grinding crunch, but the car broke free!

Frank crossed the road, drove down into the ditch, and up the other side. “Look back, Joe. What are they doing?” he asked.

“Coming after us!”

“I think we can shake them off.”

The soft snow on the muddy field in front of
them made driving treacherous. Frank drove in a tight semicircle, hoping to regain the highway and speed back to Bayport. Joe saw the trailing cars falling back.

“We've got it made!” he exulted.

Frank fantailed on the mucky topsoil and headed at full speed for the road. The rear wheels kicked up a rooster tail of snow and mud, and the motor growled as he urged every bit of horsepower from it.

But then—
slam!

About a hundred yards from the side of the highway, the car stopped dead in its tracks.

“What happened?” Joe asked.

“Must have been a rock hidden by the snow,” Frank said. “We're high centered!”

“Look, they're gaining on us!” Joe said. “The only thing left to do is to stand and fight.”

The boys leaped from the car and got behind it while their pursuers raced up.

“If they hit the car, get ready to jump!” Frank told his brother.

The two other vehicles, however, slowed to a stop and the three men stepped onto the snow. They approached the Hardys, who stood poised for the attack. Besides being good boxers, they excelled in karate.

“We don't have the mask you're looking for!” Joe said hotly.

“We'll see for ourselves,” one of the men replied.
After searching the car in vain, their leader said, “We could drop you both in the snow right now, if we wanted to.”

“Why don't you try?” Frank said.

“No. We don't want to hurt you. We want you to take a message back to your old man. Tell him to lay off his case! He's not dealing with a bunch of stumblebums this time!”

“So, what if he doesn't?” Joe demanded.

“That might just be the end of Fenton Hardy!” The men chuckled at the boys' predicament and drove away.

“Now what?” Joe asked.

“Here, put your shoulder to the back of the car.”

The boys pushed and shoved, to no avail. The automobile was stuck tight.

“We'll have to go for help,” Frank said. “There's a farmhouse on that ridge over there.”

The brothers trudged across the field, past out-buildings and sheds, and knocked on the farmhouse door. A gray-haired man opened it. Frank introduced himself and his brother and said, “Can you help us, please? We're stuck in your field and can't get out.”

“I saw them cars a while ago,” the farmer said. “What was that, some fraternity initiation?”

“Nothing like that,” Joe replied.

“Well, whatever it was, it was plumb crazy!”

“We're high-centered on a rock, sir,” Joe said.

“I just ought to let you sit,” the farmer grumbled.
“Where'd this nonsense get you? Into trouble, that's where!”

“Perhaps we could use your tractor,” Joe pleaded.

“It ain't working.”

“Do you have a horse?”

“Yes. I got a horse. Two of ‘em.”

“Could we have them pull the car out?” Frank asked. “We'd be glad to pay you.”

“I wouldn't take no money from no kids. Okay. I'll get the horses. But next time you're fooling around with your friends, don't play tag in my fields!”

The farmer put on boots and coat, and the Hardys followed him into the barn, redolent of hay and horses. The animals nickered and tossed their heads.

“Quiet! Easy there!” the man said.

Frank and Joe patted the horses while the farmer led them out of the barn. He harnessed the animals to a whiffletree and said to the boys, “You know how to handle horses?”

“Yes. We've done it before,” Frank said.

“Okay. Take them and pull your car off the rock, then bring them back to the barn.”

“You're very kind,” Joe said. “Thanks for helping us.”

The farmer replied with a grunt, and he went back into the house.

Frank and Joe walked the animals across the field, then hitched them to the front of the car.
Holding the reins, Frank said, “Giddap, there, fellows. Pull!”

The horses strained for a few seconds. With a scraping noise the underside of the chassis came free of the stone. Joe drove the car to the highway, while Frank took the horses back to the barn. After unharnessing them, he led them into their stalls. “Thanks, old boys.”

When they arrived at the foundry, Krusinsky greeted them cordially. “Well, here you are,” he said, showing them the two masks on his desk. “Can you tell ‘em apart?”

“That's a great job!” Frank exclaimed. “I think you'd better tell us which is which.”

The foundry man pointed to the original, then wrapped them up.

“How much do we owe you for this?” Joe asked.

Alex Krusinsky smiled. “Your dad said he'd take care of it later. Give him my regards. By the way, your mother has been trying to get you on the phone. She said you should have been here half an hour ago.”

“Thanks,” Frank said. “May I use your phone?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

Frank dialed the number and Mrs. Hardy answered. Her voice sounded nervous and she spoke fast. “Frank, they telephoned!”

“The kidnappers?”

“Yes. They left instructions. Hurry home as fast as you can!”

G
RABBING
the package, the boys raced outside. Off they went toward Bayport, both looking grim and wondering what instructions the kidnappers had given.

They found Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude in the living room.

“What did they say, Mother?” Frank asked.

Mrs. Hardy picked up a piece of paper from an end table. “I made the notes right here,” she said. “The kidnappers will meet you at two o'clock tomorrow morning.”

“Where?”

“Behind Mary's Quick Stop.”

“The little hamburger place on the Shore Road?” Joe asked.

“That's right. They have William, and they warned us not to notify the police.”

“But we'll have to,” Frank said.

“It's pretty woodsy out there,” Joe added. “Good cover for a possible ambush.”

Joe returned the masks to the Hardys' safe while Frank phoned police headquarters. Officer Kennedy answered.

“I don't know you, do I?” Frank asked.

The man replied that he had been on the force only three months. The desk lieutenant had been called away momentarily. What was it that Frank wanted?

“Is Chief Collig there?” Frank asked.

“No. Can I give him a message?”

“All right,” Frank said, and he gave the rookie details of the kidnappers' phone call.

The boys paced about the house restlessly and only nibbled at their lunch. Mr. Hardy was out of town and would not return until later, so they could not consult with him.

“Listen, Joe,” Frank said finally. “Let's work on the mask and compare the lines with the maps I got from the library.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the telephone rang. It was Callie Shaw. “Iola and I can't get that spooky mask out of our minds,” she said. “Can we help you any more?”

Joe chuckled. “You mean you want to come over?”

“Well—”

“Sure. We'd like to see you. Something's really brewing. We'll tell you when you get here.”

The girls arrived in the Shaw family car, and when Frank told them about the kidnappers' plan their eyes danced with excitement.

“Oh, that'll be so dangerous!” Iola said. “You'll be careful, won't you?”

“Dad will be back by that time,” Joe said. “Besides, the Bayport police probably will have the place staked out. When the crooks walk into the trap,
snap!
We've got ‘em!”