The Mystery of the Spiral Bridge (5 page)

Joe smiled weakly at the gruesome joke. Then the boys paid the driver and stepped out.

“Have fun!” The taximan waved and roared off.

“For Pete's sake!” Joe fumed. “I had a feeling that Mortimer would trick us.”

“I wouldn't say he did,” Frank replied. “Sure, this is a cemetery, but maybe Matlack works here as a gardener or gravedigger.”

They approached a small brown building marked “Office.” The door was ajar and the boys stepped inside. Behind a desk sat a portly man with a fringe of white hair like a halo about his head, bushy eyebrows, and a hooked nose which reminded the Hardys of the well-known puppet character, Punch.

“Are you boys looking for a relative?” the man asked solicitously. “I'm the superintendent here.”

“Not exactly,” Frank replied, barely smothering a smile.

“We're looking for Mr. Milo Matlack,” Joe spoke up “Have we come to the right place?”

“Indeed you have. Our groundskeeper can show you.”

He led the boys outside and pointed across the gravel lane. A man in overalls was pruning a row of shrubbery. Before the Hardys could walk over, a funeral cortege drove slowly through the entrance gates.

“Sorry,” said the superintendent, “guess you fellows will have to wait.” He excused himself and re-entered the office.

The procession was a long one and the Hardys counted fifteen limousines as they slowly drove past. Then the boys hastened across to the groundsman. He readily agreed to take them to Milo Matlack. The trio walked along the gravel lane to the rear of the cemetery. The boys' guide paused at a low, flat area.

Frank and Joe looked about. They could see nobody.

“Where's Matlack?” asked Joe.

“Maybe he's eating lunch,” Frank said.

This remark brought a look of shocked disbelief to the face of the groundskeeper.

“L-lunch?” he quavered.

Puzzled, the boys followed him in silence to a grave of comparatively recent origin. Frank and Joe bent down to examine the headstone. The brothers sucked in their breath sharply and Frank gasped out, “Dead! Milo Matlack—dead!”

THE Hardys' prime suspect dead! Frank and Joe looked at each other, their mouths agape with bewilderment.

Noting the boys' queer expressions, the workman asked, “Were you friends of the deceased?”

“Oh, no,” Joe replied. “Milo Matlack was a—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” the man interrupted. “But believe me, Milo repented for his crimes. He became very religious while in prison. Was a handyman here, very diligent worker, too.”

The brothers thanked the groundskeeper for his trouble and returned to the office. Here Joe asked the manager if Matlack had met his death at the hands of old gangland enemies.

“No,” was the reply. The superintendent explained that Milo had become ill soon after the death of his sister and had passed away quietly one night.

“Bad ticker, I believe,” the superintendent said, thumping his chest. “I think his heart just plumb gave out.”

Outside the cemetery grounds, the Hardys looked at each other sheepishly, their hands thrust deep in their pockets.

“Well—Mortimer Prince must be doubled up laughing at us,” Joe said bitterly. “For this joke we bought him lunch!”

Frank tried to sound cheerful. “I realize our deductions have been knocked out of orbit, but at least we know Matlack's off our list.”

“I feel like a goof,” Joe admitted. “Here we tackle a case for Dad, and we've come across nothing but dead ends.”

“If we don't get on the ball pretty soon,” Frank remarked, “we'll be low sleuths on the totem pole!”

The Hardys decided to walk for a while before returning to Manhattan. As they strode briskly along, they reviewed every aspect of the mystery. If Matlack was not their man, why was his record stolen from Radley? And why had Fenton Hardy taken Matlack's files with him to Kentucky?

“The answers probably are in Dad's missing brief case,” Frank surmised. “Maybe his dossier on Matlack would help to solve the puzzle.”

“You're right. But that brief case could be any where in or out of Kentucky right now.”

For the next ten minutes the brothers walked along in silence. Then Frank said, “One thing is certain. Dad's enemies have a super-intelligence system. They didn't waste a minute picking up our trail, and seem to know everything we've planned at home or in New York.”

“Which means,” Joe said, “that monkey man is one of the gang.” He suggested that they return to Bayport. “If we can track down their spy network there,” Joe added, “it might put us on the right trail.”

Frank hailed a passing taxi, and after a speedy ride, the driver let them out in front of their hotel. Frank paid the fare and turned to his brother.

“Let's case this block first!”

“You're right! That monkey man might still be spying on us.”

The boys separated, each sauntering along opposite sides of the street. As inconspicuously as possible, they surveyed the rooftops, and carefully watched for any suspicious motion behind the dirt-streaked windows.

Joe was passing the house where Matlack had lived, when the front door opened. Out stepped the slovenly landlady, still wearing the pink housecoat. She held a broom in her hands and began to sweep the steps. Joe bounded up to her and Frank followed.

“Milo Matlack's dead. Why didn't you tell us?” Joe asked.

Instead of replying, the woman scurried into the house and locked the door.

“Boy, she's really scared,” Frank declared. “Somebody has threatened her to keep quiet.”

“But why—if Matlack is out of the picture?”

“To keep us on the wrong track!”

Frank and Joe walked across the street and posted themselves in the doorway of a vacant store in case any suspicious person showed up at No. 47. Nothing happened, however, and the landlady did not reappear. The boys also kept an eye out for the vagrant who had tricked them, but the grubby drifter was not to be seen among the passers-by.

Finally they returned to the hotel. The desk clerk handed Frank the room key. “You two check ing out? Otherwise you'll owe us for another day.”

“We're leaving in fifteen minutes.”

In their musty room the Hardys threw the few possessions they had brought into their overnight bags. Joe said to himself, “Shaving kit, toothpaste—” His mental check stopped suddenly when he picked up his red-handled toothbrush from the side of the wash basin. A white paper was wrapped around it, held securely by an elastic band.

“Frank, look at this!” Joe slipped off the elastic and opened the paper. Printed on it in crude letters was
“Warning
—
Bayport is for Brats.”
It was signed with an odd-looking M with three spiral loops.

Frank gritted his teeth. “If Matlack weren't dead, I'd swear he left this warning.”

“It's a dirty insult! Bayport for Brats, eh?” Joe exploded. “We'll show them.”

The brothers quickly finished packing, hastened downstairs with their bags, and queried the desk clerk. He denied knowledge of the toothbrush warning. A silly grin came over his face. “Say, maybe some joker did it before you left home.”

The Hardys made no comment. Handing over the door key, they left.

“That was a bright theory!” Joe said sarcastically as the two walked away from the hotel.

Frank stopped at the first public telephone booth and contacted Jack Wayne. The pilot told them the plane was in readiness and that he would take off immediately to meet them at La Guardia. Exactly on schedule Jack set down the Hardy plane at the airfield and the boys climbed into the cabin.

The flight to Bayport was smooth and fast. From the airport, the young sleuths drove directly to the hospital. It was past visiting hours, but they were allowed to look in briefly on Mr. Hardy. Much to Frank and Joe's relief, they found their father slightly improved, but as yet unable to talk clearly.

Back home, Joe called Sam Radley and told of their experiences in New York. He was surprised to learn that Matlack was dead.

“This mystery is a real puzzler,” Sam remarked. “At least you two found out somebody's worried by your sleuthing.”

Sam said no further clues had turned up locally to the prowler's identity. Then the Hardys checked with their pals. None of the four had detected anyone suspicious lurking near the hospital or the Hardy house.

The following morning Frank and Joe discussed what their next move should be. From the living room came assorted thumps and clicking noises. Aunt Gertrude was assembling the vacuum cleaner with her usual vigor.

“Goodness gracious, Gertrude!” came Mrs. Hardy's voice. “We cleaned thoroughly just a few days ago!”

The boys grinned and went into the living room. Joe squinted his eyes, as if inspecting the room. “Aunty, relax, there's not a cobweb in sight!”

Aunt Gertrude pursed her lips. “Don't be funny,” she said tartly. “There happens to be a spot on the ceiling in one corner of your father's study.” With an accusing look at her nephews, she added, “You and your friends were the last to use it.”

“Wow!” Joe said. “Aunty, I'll bet you could spot a speck of dust ten miles away. Better be careful, though, it might be a beetle!”

“Humph!” Aunt Gertrude gathered her equipment and carried it up the carpeted stairs.

Suddenly an electrifying thought flashed through Frank's brain. He ran upstairs. Aunt Gertrude was about to enter the detective's study when Frank grabbed her. The startled woman gasped.

“What—?” was all she could get out, because Frank clapped a hand over her mouth and dragged his flabbergasted aunt into the hall.

GERTRUDE HARDY'S eyes bulged with fright as Frank kept a hand clapped over her mouth and half carried her down the stairway into the living room.

“Good night!” exclaimed Joe. “What—”

“Sh, sh!” Frank whispered frantically. “Don't make a sound.” He released his aunt and led the trembling woman into the kitchen. The others followed.

Mrs. Hardy spoke first. “What on earth are you up to, Frank?”

“I know,” Aunt Gertrude said tartly as she smoothed her disheveled hair and set her spectacles straight. “Frank has gone stark raving mad, that's what!” She glared at her elder nephew.

“I'm sorry, Aunty,” Frank said soothingly. “You see—I think that dirt spot on the ceiling you're talking about is a bug.”

“Oh! It really is a beetle! Ugh!”

“Not that kind of bug,” Frank went on with a smile. “ ‘Bug' is slang for a hidden microphone.”

“So that's how the crooks knew all about our plans!” Joe whispered hoarsely.

“But that seems impossible!” Mrs. Hardy said. “No outsider has been here recently!”

“Except Mr. Kenfield,” Aunt Gertrude said. She had calmed down, but there was a look of deep concern on her face.

“Hmm. You said you heard his ladder against the house,” Frank reflected. “Joe, let's go take a look at that ceiling spot.”

After cautioning the two women to keep their voices low, Frank and Joe kicked off their shoes and padded up the stairs. They went into the study and looked at the speck. No larger in circumference than a pencil, it protruded an eighth of an inch from the ceiling, so close to the corner that it might not ordinarily have been seen.

Frank put his finger to his lips and beckoned Joe out into the hall. There he whispered into his brother's ear, “It's a listening device all right. The transmitter must have been installed in our attic.”