The Twisted Claw (10 page)

With that, a trap door sprang open and the boys were dropped into a shallow pit. Half stunned, they were set upon by the powerful hermit, who sprang at them like a cat. He tied their hands with a piece of rope which he pulled out of his pocket, then brought them back into the room.

It was filled with all sorts of modern appliances. There was an electric stove, a refrigerator, ventilation system and many other devices.

After he had tied the boys by one wrist to sturdy oaken chairs, their captor said, “You are impressed with my home, yes? Perhaps you are wondering how I receive the electrical power for all my treasures? Well, there is an underground generator located just behind the hut.”

“Why are you holding us prisoner?” Joe asked.

“As a precaution. First let me ask what you are doing on this island,” the man countered.

The Hardys did not want to tell him that they had escaped from the
Yellow Parrot.
There was a possibility, after all, that he was connected somehow with the ship.

“Er—we were sailing our ketch on a long voyage,” Frank replied. “A storm came up, blew us off course, and finally shipwrecked us not far from here.”

“Ah, I see,” the man said. “My name is Katu.”

The Hardys introduced themselves by their aliases, Frank and Joe Karlsen.

“It is not often that I have guests,” Katu went on. “I am about to prepare lunch. Will you eat with me?”

Eagerly the boys accepted his invitation. They watched with mixed feelings of surprise and amusement as Katu took a package of hamburgers from the freezing compartment of his refrigerator, then switched on the electric stove.

Joe was overwhelmed with curiosity. “How did you come by all these gadgets?” he asked.

“That is not for you to know,” Katu answered, displaying annoyance.

He avoided further conversation during the meal. When he finally spoke, it was to announce that they would remain prisoners until his amphibious friend returned.

“Amphibious friend?” Frank repeated. “What do you mean?”

“He flies a plane that can float on the water like a boat,” Katu explained proudly, “or roll on the land with wheels.”

“An amphibian aircraft!” Frank exclaimed. “It comes here to the island?”

A blank expression spread over Katu's face. He looked as if he had unintentionally revealed some deep, dark secret.

Before Frank and Joe could ask any more questions, they heard an airplane overhead. It passed low, then seemed to turn toward the sea. Katu left in a hurry.

“Must be the amphibian he told us about,” Joe declared.

Frank sighed. “I sure hope he'll let us out of here!”

Twenty minutes later the door to the room opened. A tall, wiry man with sandy-colored hair entered. He was wearing coveralls and leather flight boots.

“Hello,” he said, smiling broadly. “My name's Dan Tiller. Katu tells me you fellows were shipwrecked.”

The boys nodded. “You must be the pilot of the amphibian,” Joe put in.

“That's right,” said Tiller. “And who are you?”

Frank and Joe introduced themselves. On a hunch they decided to play it straight and did not use their aliases.

The pilot's eyes widened in surprise. “Are you the sons of Fenton Hardy, the famous detective?”

“Yes,” Frank replied. “But—”

“Say!” Tiller interrupted. “I've heard lots about the Hardys. An airline friend of mine met you and your father once. It was on one of his flights that you caught a couple of smugglers aboard the plane.”

“Oh, yes. I seem to remember that,” Frank muttered, hoping to avoid a lengthy discussion of the case.

“Sorry about the way you were treated. Katu was being a bit overcautious,” Tiller said as he loosened their bonds. There was a worried expression on his face.

“Were you fellows really shipwrecked?” he asked. “Or did you come to Tambio to investigate me?”

“Investigate you?” Joe asked curiously. “Why? Have you done anything wrong?”

“No. At least I don't think so. But I don't pay any real-estate taxes.” Tiller explained that two years before he had been caught in a storm and was blown off course. When the weather finally cleared, he had spotted a capsized dugout canoe below him. A man was clinging to the craft.

“I landed the amphibian to rescue the fellow,” he continued. “It was Katu. I flew him back to my base on Cambrian Island, which is about six hundred miles north of here.”

“I've heard of it,” Joe interjected. “It's become a popular place for tourists, and its capital is one of the most modern cities in the world.”

“Right. Katu liked it there and stayed for a year and a half. He went to school, learned English, and worked in a hoteL We became great friends and flew a lot. One day we discovered this island and decided to make it our Shangri-la, some place where we could get away from the world. It's pretty good, don't you think?”

“Terrific!” Joe said.

“But I don't know if this land belongs to anyone. This underground complex was already here you see. We might be trespassing on someone' property. But I thought as long as we're not being chased off, it's ours.”

“I don t believe you'll have any trouble,” Frank assured him.

Now Katu joined them. He grinned as the Hardys praised him for his tricky defense of Tiller's hideout.

The boys took a liking to the pilot and decided to tell him about their escape from the
Yellow Parrot.

He listened to their story with great interest. “I've never heard of the
Parrots
before,” he said. “Ships are a bit out of my line.”

“There's something fishy going on with those two,” Joe told him. “They're anchored near the west side of Tambio right now.”

“How soon will you be flying back to Cambrian?” Frank asked.

“This afternoon.”

“Will you take us with you?”

“Of course. From there you can get one of the scheduled flights to Florida.”

The Hardys talked a while longer to Tiller and Katu, until the pilot finally said, “Come on, fellows. I want to make it back before dark.”

Katu paddled them out to the amphibian, and waved good-by.

“All aboardl” Tiller cried as he led the young detectives through a small hatchway and into the cabin of the plane.

Then he climbed into the cockpit and started the first of the craft's two engines. When it was running smoothly, he fired up the second.

“Here we go!” he shouted and eased the throt tles forward. The idling engines erupted into a loud steady roar. The plane bounced across the water and then lifted gracefully into the air.

As the amphibian gained altitude, Frank dashed into the cockpit. “I know you're in a hurry to get back to Cambrian,” he said to Tiller, “but I just had an idea. Would you fly to the other side of the island? We'd like to see if the Parrots are still there.”

“Sure,” Tiller answered as he turned the plane to a westerly heading.

Soon they had reached the coast. A look of disappointment spread over Frank's face when he saw that the ships were gone.

“Too bad,” he mumbled. “I thought we might pick up some kind of clue.”

“Wait a minute,” Joe exclaimed, and pointed to an object in the distance. “That looks like a ship over therel”

Tiller swung to the direction Joe had indicated. As the distance closed, Frank shouted, “It's the
Yellow Parrot!”

As they started to circle the ship, thin trails of smoke streaked past the aircraft.

“Tracers!” Joe cried out. “They're shooting at us!”

An instant later a column of thick black smoke began to stream from the plane's left engine!

“FIRE!” Frank exclaimed.

Tiller turned the plane sharply away from the
Yellow Parrot.
Then he pulled a knob marked “Extinguisher.” Immediately faint trails of frozen carbon dioxide streamed from beneath the engine cowling. The boys were relieved to see the black smoke gradually disappear.

“Are you going back to Tambio?” Joe asked.

“No!” replied Tiller. “We can make it to Cambrian on one engine. However, it'll take longer than usual because our speed is reduced.”

Hours ticked by. The young detectives were dozing off when Tiller leaned forward for a closer look at one of the instruments on the panel.

“Oh, oh,” he muttered. “The right engine's starting to overheat.”

“Is it serious?” Joe inquired anxiously.

“Not yet,” the pilot answered. “But I'll have to reduce the power setting slightly.”

As he eased back on the throttle, the amphibian gradually began to lose altitude.

“We're going down,” Frank observed nervously.

“I'll let the plane settle,” Tiller decided. “The air is thicker below. It will help to develop a bit more power and lift. Also, we're getting lighter every minute as the fuel burns off.”

This statement was of little consolation to the Hardys. They watched the altimeter slowly unwind. Then, at 1,000 feet, the plane acquired new life. The instruments no longer indicated a descent and the engine was now operating at normal temperature.

“Whew!” Joe sighed. “For a while I thought we were going to have to paddle the rest of the way.”

“We can relax,” Tiller remarked with a wide grin. “The worst is over. I estimate we'll reach Cambrian in about another hour.”

It was dark by the time the island came into view. The lights of its capital city twinkled like a small cluster of stars on the horizon.

“I'll use the wheels and land at the airport rather than set down on the water,” announced the pilot. He contacted the control tower and was cleared for a straight-in approach.

The landing was smooth, and after parking the aircraft, Tiller obtained a ladder. He climbed up to the left engine, removed the outer cowling, and inspected the damage.

“We're awfully sorry about what happened,” Frank said apologetically. “It's our fault and we'd like to pay for repairs.”

“Don't worry about it,” said the pilot. “As far as I can see, we received one hit in the crankcase. Oil was being splashed over the engine. That's what caused the smoke.”

Tiller escorted the boys to the airport terminal building. There they were told that a shuttle flight to Miami would be departing within the hour. After a quick bite to eat, Frank and Joe bid their new friend good-by and took off on the first leg of their journey back home.

They stayed overnight in Miami and arrived in Bayport the following afternoon. Aunt Gertrude let out a cry of surprise when they entered the house.

“Mercy! It's been days and days since we've had any word from you!” she exclaimed. “Where were you? Chasing after some awful criminals, I suppose.”

The commotion brought Mr. and Mrs. Hardy to the living room. The boys' mother gave them affectionate hugs and Mr. Hardy greeted them warmly.

“You've had me worried,” he said. “I was going to notify the authorities and request a search.”

An early dinner was prepared while the boys showered and changed their clothes. During the meal they described their adventures aboard the
Yellow Parrot.

“You placed yourselves in a very dangerous position,” Mr. Hardy remarked with concern. “I'm thankful you decided to escape.”

“And, Fenton,” Aunt Gertrude interjected, “you should also tell them not to go running off for days at a stretch without letting us know where they are. Even a postcard would be of some consolation.”

“Sorry,” Joe quipped, winking at his brother. “There wasn't postal service where we were.”

“The situation
was
sort of grim,” Frank admitted to his father. “And, the worst of it all is that we didn't come up with any real evidence to link the
Parrots
with the robberies.”

“But I wouldn't say our trip was a complete loss,” Joe said. “Remember, we do have a possible contact in Ellis. He might still change his mind and tell us what he knows.”

The boys talked to their father about the tentative arrangement they had made with the radioman.

“We'll have to set up a listening watch,” commented Mr. Hardy. “Count on me to do my share. I'll stand by the radio tonight. You two get some rest.”

“I'll take my turn tomorrow night,” Joe volunteered.

“And we can get Chet to pitch in,” suggested Frank.