The Shattered Helmet (2 page)

“Good. Now I have you straight, I think,” Evan said and shook hands with his new friends.

Joe swung the bag into the trunk, then slid into the rear seat. Frank beckoned Evan to sit beside him. “We'll give you the fifty-cent tour of Bayport on the way home,” he said and drove out of the parking area.

The adjacent highway led through open country to the outskirts of town. Bayport was a city of fifty thousand inhabitants located on Barmet Bay, a sweeping indentation on the Atlantic coast. Evan watched the unfolding panorama with rapt attention. He smiled when Frank drove along the waterfront, where two freighters were berthed at wharves and smaller boats lay at anchor in the bay.

“Just like in Greece,” he said. “We like the sea and ships.” He added, “I'm really excited about our studies at Hunt College.”

Evan had heard about the summer course from Frank and Joe. The three boys were pen pals, members of an international camera club.

“Our friend, Chet Morton, has enrolled, also,” Frank told the visitor. “He's a movie-making buff, too.”

“It'll be great fun,” Joe said. “The campus is out in the country about fifty miles from Bayport.”

“What kind of camera do you have?” Frank inquired.

“A new Cyclops,” Evan replied. “It's in my suitcase.”

“Great. Say, that was a beauty Saffel had. Joe and I own good ones, but not that fancy.”

Finally Frank drove to the Hardy home on Elm Street, a shady avenue of one-family houses, and pulled into the driveway. The boys got out. Joe took care of the suitcase, and Frank escorted Evan inside.

Waiting to greet him were the Hardy boys' parents and their Aunt Gertrude. Evan seemed shy as introductions were made.

“We're so glad you could come,” Mrs. Hardy said, taking Evan's hand in both of hers. “Please make yourself at home.”

Evan smiled, shook hands with Mr. Hardy, and bowed to his sister Gertrude, an angular woman with pessimistic views of her nephews' detective activities.

“It is very kind of you to ask me to stay overnight in your home,” said Evan, then added warmly, “I think Americans—like Greeks—are very hospitable people.”

Aunt Gertrude's face brightened. “Evangelos,” she said, “you seem like a very nice young man. The proper kind of companion for Frank and Joe.”

“Now wait a minute, Aunty,” Joe said. “You make it sound as if our friends were a bunch of freaks.”

“Yes,” Frank added. “What about Chet and Biff and all the rest? What's wrong with them?”

Gertrude Hardy raised her eyebrows. “I'm not referring to
them.
What I mean are those terrible criminals you and your father often get mixed up with.”

Mr. Hardy smiled. “Frank and Joe often help me on my investigations, Evan,” he explained.

Evangelos Pandropolos knew from their correspondence about Mr. Hardy's profession, but since he was not an American, he did not realize how famous the detective was. Fenton Hardy, formerly with the New York City Police Department, had left the force to set up his own agency in Bayport when his sons were quite young. They had grown up steeped in police lore and had gained a reputation in their own right.

Starting with a case known as
The Tower Treasure
, Frank and Joe had proved their keen sleuthing
ability. Their latest adventure,
The Masked Monkey
, had taken them to Brazil in the hair-raising quest for a missing youth.

Laura Hardy smiled. “Their cases often are dangerous, but I have confidence in my boys. Come now, supper is nearly ready. Frank and Joe, why don't you show Evan to his room?”

The three went upstairs to the guest room, which was small but comfortably furnished.

“Our room is next door,” Frank said. “You can share our bath.”

As Evan unpacked, he remained silent, as if thinking about something. After putting his shirts in the dresser drawer, he turned to the Hardys. “This could be a very lucky day for me,” he said.

“How so?” Frank asked.

“Meeting a detective family like yours.”

“Don't tell me you have a mystery to solve,” Joe quipped as they trooped downstairs.

“It's almost an impossible one,” Evan said. “I'll tell you about it later.”

The delicate aroma of Aunt Gertrude's apple pie mingled with the smell of sizzling roast beef. It sharpened the appetites of the three boys.

During the meal, conversation switched from one subject to another—the film school at Hunt, cameras and lenses, American television.

“Speaking of television,” Joe said, “Dad's on a very interesting assignment right now.”

“It's the first of its kind for me,” Mr. Hardy explained. “I'm a consultant for a TV documentary exposing a crime syndicate.”

“Dad knows how criminals operate,” Frank put in. “He's really digging out a good story about Twister Gerrold's operation.”

The Hardys told Evan that Twister Gerrold was a crime overlord who kept in the background and let his assistants do the dirty work.

“His real name is Filbert Francisco Gerrold,” Frank said, helping himself to another slice of beef. “The mention of it infuriates him.”

“Is it an odd name?” Evan asked.

“Guess he thinks it's too fancy a name for a gangster,” Joe replied. “Ol' Filbert Francisco's getting pretty nervous about the documentary. Dad has unearthed some juicy new evidence against him and his gang.”

Aunt Gertrude sniffed. “Nothing good will come of it, I tell you, Fenton. You should stay away from such evil men before something terrible happens to all of us.” She paused and held up a finger. “What was that noise?”

Everyone was silent for a moment. “I don't hear anything,” Joe said.

“I certainly did,” Aunt Gertrude insisted.

“You're jittery,” Frank said. “Would it make you feel any better if I turned on the outside alarm system?”

“Yes. Please do.”

Frank rose from the table to activate an electric surveillance system protecting the Hardy property.

“Okay,” he said after he returned. “Now we can eat our dessert in peace. By the way, Evan, what's that mystery you were talking about?”

Fenton Hardy leaned forward in his chair. “You're involved in a mystery? You've come to the right place.”

“Let's hear it,” Joe said eagerly. “We're ready for an exciting new case!”

Miss Hardy clucked disapprovingly, but listened intently as Evan began to spin his tale. “You are probably aware that Nicholas Pandropolos, the Greek shipping magnate, is my uncle.”

“We were wondering whether you were related,” Joe said. “How does it feel to be the nephew of a millionaire?”

Evan grinned. “It's not my money. Anyway, he wasn't always rich. When he was young, Uncle Nick was very poor. At fifteen he signed on a ship as a sailor. About that time, some boys in my hometown near Mycene discovered an ancient helmet which probably belonged to a Greek warrior.”

Evan went on to say that a curator from an American museum who was touring Greece had seen the helmet. It was split in the back, as if by a sword, and had several undecipherable letters inscribed on the front above the nosepiece. They
were copied down, but no picture had been taken of the helmet.

“The curator told about a museum in Los Angeles that might be interested in buying it,” he said. “Since Uncle Nick's ship was going to California, he was entrusted by the townspeople to take the helmet with him.”

Aunt Gertrude drew in her breath. “Don't tell me he lost it!”

“Someone else did. When he arrived in California, Uncle Nick made friends with a movie cameraman who was working at the time on a film called
The Persian Glory.
They needed an authentic Greek helmet so Uncle Nick loaned it in exchange for a bit part in the movie. The prop department somehow lost the old treasure.”

“What a shame!” Laura Hardy said.

“It was quite a blow to Uncle Nick,” Evan continued. “He returned to Greece very sad. The townspeople forgave him, but he never forgave himself. He really wants to find the ancient helmet.”

“That's like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Frank said.

“Too difficult an assignment for you?” Mr. Hardy teased.

“Are you kidding? We'll give it a try.”

“You will?” Evan could hardly believe his good luck. He swallowed the last bite of pie, thanked his hosts, and asked to be excused.

“I'll go upstairs and write Uncle Nick immediately,” he said.

“Use the desk in our room,” Frank suggested. “You'll find paper in the top left drawer.”

Evan was gone only a few seconds when the Hardys heard him cry out in alarm. Frank and Joe dashed up the stairs three steps at a time.

“What happened?” Frank asked as they burst into their room.

Evan pointed to Joe's bed. On the spread lay a hairy tarantula. As the boys stared at the creature, the alarm system suddenly shrieked a warning!

F
RANK
grabbed the empty wastebasket beside the desk, turned it upside down, and trapped the spider on the bedspread. Then the three boys dashed downstairs and outside, where Mr. Hardy was beaming a powerful flashlight around the grounds.

“See anybody, Dad?” Joe asked.

“No. The intruder was scared off.”

Frank quickly explained about the tarantula on Joe's bed. “Obviously whoever put it there sneaked in before the alarm system was turned on, and it went off when the intruder was making his getaway.”

Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude, who had stepped out into the back yard, heard Frank telling his father about the spider.

“A tarantula in our house!” Aunt Gertrude cried out. “Oh, Laura, I understand they multiply fast. We'll have tarantula eggs all over the place!”

“Don't worry, Gertrude,” Mr. Hardy said. “We'll destroy it before it can lay any.”

“Let's see how the prowler got up to the second floor,” Frank suggested.

“I'd say he climbed the drainpipe,” Joe said, pointing to the metal tubing located behind a rhododendron bush. It extended past the boys' window to the gutter at the end of the sloping roof.

Frank took his father's flashlight and carefully parted the bush, “Footprints!” he announced. “But, Dad, they're so small—like a child's!”

At that moment a blast shook the Hardy house. Glass from the window above rained down on the rhododendron. Frank jumped back to avoid being hit.

“What in the world was that?” Joe exclaimed.

“Something exploded in our room!” Frank said.

Evan stood by open-mouthed at all the excitement. Then he followed the others upstairs.

Joe's bedspread was torn, so were the sheets. A piece of wood from the frame had hit the mirror and shattered it. The wastebasket had been blown to the ceiling, where the circular bottom had made a mark.

“The spider!” Evan cried out. “What happened to the tarantula?”

“It was a fake,” Frank said grimly. “Someone made a clever imitation, concealing an explosive device.”

“But why?”

“Obviously this was a warning,” Mr. Hardy said. “I'm probably putting too much heat on Twister Gerrold. One of his favorite methods of retaliation is to threaten members of someone's family.”

“What a welcome to Evan,” Joe said.

The Greek youth grinned. “I must say life has been exciting since I arrived in Bayport.”

After scanning the bedroom for clues, Frank found that the window screen had been forced open.

“Who could it have been?” he wondered aloud.

“Kitten Cole is my guess,” Mr. Hardy replied.

“Who?”

“Kitten Cole,” the detective repeated. He told his sons that Cole was a famous cat burglar and lock expert. “He's been part of Gerrold's gang for years,” Mr. Hardy said. “And he has very small feet.”

“You mean Gerrold gave him the job of leaving the tarantula to warn you to give up the investigation,” Evan asked Mr. Hardy.

“Probably. Come on, I'll show you what Cole looks like.” Mr. Hardy led the way to his study, opened a file cabinet, and removed a dossier. Cole's mug shots showed that he was an odd-looking man. He had a small, narrow face, a receding chin, and an upturned nose. His height was five feet, and he weighed only ninety pounds.

Cole's record showed that he had served several terms in prison. But he had been out for the last three years.

“Well, I'd better call the police,” Mr. Hardy said and dialed Chief Collig's number. The chief, who was a good friend of the family, said he would have his men check on the Hardy residence and also be on the lookout for Cole.

Aunt Gertrude, who had been quiet up to this time, finally regained her composure. “I told you I heard a noise,” she said. “But no one believed me!”

“You're right,” Mr. Hardy said. “We should have investigated. You see, you're a better detective than all of us.”

Mrs. Hardy threw up her hands in despair. “It'll take us a week to straighten out this mess!”

“Don't worry, Mother,” Frank said. “We'll give you a hand after the police investigation.”

Before long, two young officers arrived. When they had finished dusting for fingerprints and made casts of the footprints under the rhododendron bush, they gathered tiny parts of the explosive device. Then they questioned the family and left.

Everyone helped to clean up. Under Aunt Gertrude's able direction, the job was completed sooner than had been expected.

Finally Evan sat down to write his letter. He had just finished and come downstairs to join the
others when loud backfiring could be heard in front of the Hardys' home. Heavy feet clomped onto the porch and Chet Morton called through the front screen door to announce his arrival.

Chet was as tall as the Hardys, with a broad back and a waistline which was far from trim. He was known all over Bayport for his enormous appetite.