The Shattered Helmet (13 page)

Trying to hide his excitement, he cradled the helmet in his left arm and walked to the front of the shop.

“Find something?” the manager asked.

“I guess this will do,” Joe said.

“I'm glad,” the man said with a smile. “I'll give you a real bargain since you're a student. Twenty-five dollars.”

Joe took the money from his wallet. The man wrote a receipt, wrapped the helmet, and gave it to him.

Success at last! Joe felt as if there were wings on his heels. He stepped out into the sunlight on Third Avenue, thinking about the cheers that would greet him when he delivered the shattered helmet.

But as Joe looked for a taxi he felt a sharp blow on the back of his skull. He slumped to the sidewalk, and at the same time the helmet was snatched from his hands!

B
Y
the time Joe woke up, a crowd of people had gathered. The antique dealer and two other men helped him to his feet.

The boy rubbed the back of his neck and winced. “Who hit me?”

The shopkeeper said that three men had jumped him. One delivered the blow, another had snatched the helmet. All three had turned the corner and dashed toward Lexington Avenue so quickly that nobody could give a good description of them.

With a hasty thank-you, Joe turned the corner. To find his assailants, he realized, would be almost impossible, but he would try. He reached Lexington Avenue and glanced both ways, but saw no one who was carrying his package.

As he trotted toward Park Avenue, questions raced through his mind with computer speed.
Had his attackers followed him to the Antique Salon? Had Dimitri ridden in the same plane from Los Angeles to New York? Had these men already attacked Frank and Evan?

Joe crossed Park Avenue and was hurrying toward Madison when he spotted three men half a block ahead of him hailing a taxi. One of them carried a bulky package.
The helmet!

Joe bolted forward, but the car was off in traffic before he could reach it. Then another cab pulled up and a passenger got out.

Joe hopped in and pointed to the taxi with the three men, which had stopped for a red light. “Follow them!” he said.

“Playing cops and robbers?” asked the driver.

“Please! Don't lose them in traffic!” Joe begged. “They're thieves!”

“I'll stick to ‘em like glue. Relax.”

When the signal changed to green, their quarry went north on Madison. The boy craned forward to get a look at the passengers, but all he could see was the backs of their heads.

The pursuit led across Sixty-third Street, then north on Eighth Avenue. The lead taxi stopped near Seventy-second Street and the men got out. Joe handed his driver a five-dollar bill and ran after them. One of the fugitives, who looked like Dimitri, turned and spied Joe. Abruptly the men ducked into a place called the Peloponnesian Restaurant.

As Joe reached the door his way was blocked momentarily by a couple who were leaving. Then he rushed inside, glancing about wildly. Where had the thieves gone?

The manager, a handsome man in a black jacket, approached him. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Three men! They came in a minute ago!”

“Not only that, but they ran out the back way!” the manager said disapprovingly.

Joe did the same, dashing through the kitchen and into an alley that led to a parking lot on Seventy-third Street. The men were nowhere in sight. Joe hurried to the street and looked in all directions. His quarry was gone!

Dejectedly he returned to his father's hotel. Frank and Evan had already arrived. Joe told what had happened. “I wonder how they knew which Antique Salon had the helmet!” he said glumly.

“I can answer that one,” Frank replied. “The salesman in the Bronx told Evan and me that a Greek fellow had been there before, looking for a helmet. Since he had none, he sent him to the Third Avenue branch.”

“That must have been Dimitri. He was one of the guys who bopped me. I recognized him when he turned around. The second man could have been Saffel. But who was the third?”

Frank had an idea. “Dad, do you have a picture of Gerrold with you?”

“Sure.” Mr. Hardy went to his briefcase and produced a photograph of the racketeer. He had an intelligent face and curly brown hair.

“Let's show this to the manager of the Peloponnesian Restaurant,” Frank suggested.

The boys returned to the restaurant, where the manager confirmed that Gerrold was one of the fugitives who had run through his establishment.

Back at the hotel, they mulled over the case. Why was Gerrold so eager to get the helmet? Could he have learned of its real value? Did it have any bearing on Mr. Hardy's investigation of the underworld?

“My head is spinning,” Joe said, “from the bump
and
the questions. Now what?”

“I think the gang will beat it to Greece,” Mr. Hardy said.

“That's it, Dad!” Frank said. “Dimitri told Cole that Gerrold wanted to get out of here for a while.”

“Let's fly to Greece!” Joe urged.

“Good. I'll be your guide,” Evan said.

Mr. Hardy nodded. “Make reservations right away. I'll wire Evan's parents and tell them you're coming.”

All planes to Athens were filled for the day, but there were seats available for the following day on three flights.

The young detectives decided to travel separately so they could cover all three. They inquired
whether Dimitri or Gerrold were booked on any of the planes, but the reply was negative.

“But that doesn't mean anything,” Mr. Hardy said. “They could have used aliases. Watch carefully for them.”

The boys made their preparations. Evan's flight took off first, with Joe's following. Frank's plane left in the evening. When it was airborne, Frank got up and moved around slowly, studying faces.

None of the passengers seemed to resemble Gerrold or Dimitri. But then Frank noticed a man fingering worry beads. He had no mustache, but he did have dark hair, and his stocky build looked like the Greek's!

Frank spoke to a stewardess. “Isn't that man over there named Dimitri? I think I know him. But I don't want to make a mistake.”

“I'll find out for you,” the girl said and went over to the man. When she returned she said, “Yes, his name is Dimitri.”

Frank decided to confront him at once and walked over to his seat. “You might as well give up now, Dimitri,” the boy said. “I'm going to tell the captain that there's a fugitive on board!”

The man rose and looked at Frank quizzically. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“You know what I'm talking about. You're tied up with Gerrold and Kitten Cole!”

The passenger laughed loudly. “Listen, you've gone off your rocker. You're talking Greek to me.”

Suddenly it dawned on Frank that the man spoke English without the slightest accent. Could he be wrong?

“Your name is Dimitri, isn't it?” Frank asked.

“That's right,” the man replied. “Dimitri Jones from Keokuk, Iowa.”

Frank was tongue-tied. “B-but I thought you were Greek!”

“Half Greek,” the man said. “My mother came from Thessaly. That's how I got the name Dimitri.”

Frank felt his face grow hot from embarrassment. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I guess I took you for somebody else. Please excuse me.”

“I think you read too many detective stories,” Mr. Jones said, shaking his head.

Frank slumped back into his seat. “Boy, what a boo-boo,” he thought. “I'm glad Joe and Evan weren't here!”

Suddenly two strong arms grasped him from behind. They locked around his head so tightly that Frank could not utter a sound!

F
RANK
struggled but the grip grew tighter. Suddenly the viselike hold relaxed and he heard a familiar chuckle.

Wheeling around, Frank looked up into the jolly moonface of Chet Morton!

Chet moved forward and lowered his hefty frame into the seat next to Frank's.

He grinned broadly. “Frank Hardy supersleuth. I knew you'd be in trouble without me!”

“All right!” Frank groaned. “And how did you get here just at the right time?”

“Your guiding angel sent me. Actually it was Aunt Gertrude. I phoned your house and she told me you were coming to New York. The school had planned an optional field trip for this week and I begged off. Came into town and spoke to your father. He told me about your trip. It sounded
exciting so I rushed to the airport and almost missed the plane. Well, anyway, here I am.”

“I don't believe it! You spent all that dough for the fare just to join us?”

“Besides having the important mission to look out for you. Also, I'm making a documentary film.”

“No kidding. On what?”

“Dumb detectives. Oh, no. Grecian beauties,” Chet corrected himself as Frank gave him a playful punch.

“For the Greek beauties you broke away from Thelma?”

Chet winced. “Frank, to tell the truth, I was glad to get out of there.”

“How come?”

“She wanted to get engaged!”

Frank doubled over with laughter.

“Anyway, she fed me too much,” Chet went on. “Look at this!” He patted his well-rounded midsection. In the next breath he said, “When's dinner?”

Frank sighed in mock despair. “There you go again. Now listen to me. This whole thing is rather serious.” He brought his pal up to date on the latest events. “Chet, we'll have to scrutinize everybody on this plane.”

“I've got an idea,” Chet said. “I'll start my documentary right here with the passengers. That way I can look at everybody real close.”

Chet took his camera and went up and down the left aisle, filming short footage of passengers he thought looked interesting. Meanwhile, Frank strolled down the right aisle and carefully scrutinized each person.

Chet deviated from his task for a moment to smile at a pretty girl. Then his eye caught the middle-aged man beside her. He had gray sideburns and light hair.

Seeing Chet's camera, he quickly held a magazine before his face. Chet was alerted immediately. He made his way to Frank and told him about the bashful passenger.

“This guy really acted suspicious, Frank!”

“Some people are camera shy,” Frank said. “Did you say he was middle-aged?”

“Yes.”

Frank pulled out Gerrold's picture. “Is that him?”

“No. He's quite pale and has light hair.”

“Then it's not Gerrold. And it doesn't sound like Dimitri either. But I'll take a look on my way back.”

Chet returned to the man. The girl beside him had left her seat and Chet slipped into it. He tried to start a conversation.

“Great flight we're having,” he said.

The man mumbled something unintelligible.

“I'm from Bayport,” Chet went on. “Where do you live?”

The man coughed, put a handkerchief to his face, rose from his seat and made his way to one of the rest rooms.

Chet joined Frank. “That guy is definitely suspicious,” he declared, and told of his attempt to make a conversation.

“We'll watch him,” Frank decided

Twenty minutes passed before the man finally appeared. Frank and Chet stood in the aisle and observed him take his seat.

“He's built just like Saffel,” Frank said. “And his hair color is the same. But Leon's not that old!”

“He could be in disguise.”

“Let's sit down. They're just beginning to serve dinner.”

Frank took the seat next to the suspect, while Chet established himself on the other side of the aisle. Not a word was said.

Frank observed the man from the corner of his eye. He sniffed and seemed nervous. A stewardess slid trays of hot food before the passengers. Beef filet, mashed potatoes, and carrots. Frank picked up his fork and began to eat.

The suspect sat stiffly. He ate a small piece of meat and a dab of mashed potatoes. The carrots he pushed off onto his bread plate.

Something flashed through Frank's mind.
Leon Saffel couldn't stand carrots!

“Well,” Frank thought to himself, “here we go
again.” He took a deep breath, then said to the man in a low voice, “Quit playing games, Leon!”

A fork clattered onto the tray. Saffel's hands shook from fear and fatigue.

“All right, I give up!”

Chet's eyes bulged. “Holy crow! It's really Leon!”

“In disguise,” Frank said. “You had us fooled for a while. Now tell me, why did you get mixed up with that Gerrold gang?”

Saffel sighed. “You really embarrassed me at Bayport Airport the first time we met. I wanted to get even. Dimitri saw me smash one of your cameras at the falls. He approached me later and asked me to help him harass you guys.”

“Did he tell you why he was after us?”

“No. I didn't realize how serious the whole thing was until they made me steal the dynamite and blow up your bikes. I took off after that and went back to New York, but they found me and threatened to kill me. I knew they weren't fooling, so here I am.”

Frank remembered Dimitri saying to Cole in the motel room the kid had high-tailed it back to New York and that Gerrold had found him. “It seems Saffel's telling the truth,” the boy said to himself.

Chet addressed Leon. “Did you follow the Hardys and Evan to Santa Fe from Hunt?”

Leon nodded. “I wore this disguise. Cole and Dimitri took another flight and we met out there.”