The Twisted Claw (16 page)

“Where's your boss?” Joe demanded.

“I don't know,” Rawlin snarled. “And don't ask me any more questions because I'm not talking.”

Frank rubbed his chin dubiously. “Cartoll couldn't have vanished into thin air!” He turned to the police chief. “Mind if we go inside the building and have a look around?”

“Go ahead,” the officer answered. “But I doubt that you'll find anything.”

Joe and Frank entered the museum and hurried to the exhibit room where the DeGraw collection was displayed.

The room was dark. Frank found the switch and turned on the lights. The boys looked around. Everything was intact. On the far side of the room, armor engraved with the symbol of the twisted claw stood on a pedestal.

As they turned to leave, Joe suddenly grabbed his brother's arm. “Hold on!” he whispered. “I might be seeing things, but I'm sure that figure on the pedestal moved!”

Cautiously they walked toward the spot. Frank stepped forward and lifted the visor.

A face stared at him.
Cartoll!
With a curse, the man sprang at the youths. A violent struggle followed. Joe screamed for help. The noise brought Mr. Hardy and several policemen to the scene.

“What's going on here?” one of the officers demanded.

The boys hauled the metal-clad man to his feet. “Meet Cartoll!” Joe declared.

Frank pulled the helmet from their captive's head. “Clever way to avoid being captured. And he almost got away with it.”

Cartoll was furious. “You'll regret having meddled in my affairs!” he shouted. “Too bad Starker didn't succeed in squashing you like an ant in the Philadelphia museum.”

“That's another charge against you,” Joe said. “Attempted murder.”

As the police marched the prisoner away, Mr. Hardy held up a box-shaped object. At one end was what appeared to be a photographic lens.

“What's that?” Frank inquired.

“It's the secret as to how the museum thieves avoided setting off the photoelectric alarm systems during some of their robberies,” his father replied. “Rawlin and his cohorts were carrying a supply of these when the police caught them.”

“How does the gadget work?” asked Joe.

“You know that the alarm system operates by aiming a beam of light at a photoelectric cell,” Mr. Hardy began. “The cell and light source are on opposite sides of the room. As long as the beam is not interrupted by someone walking through it, nothing happens. But if the beam is broken, off goes the alarm.”

Joe nodded. “I get it,” he said. “That box you're holding is a device which produces a beam of light. If aimed at the photoelectric cell, it simply replaces the original light source across the room.”

“Exactly,” his father said. “Then the thieves were free to move around the area without setting off the alarm.”

“Simple,” Frank muttered. “But not all the museums had this type of system!”

“True, but one of the gang's members was an expert in alarm technology. They tackled each one according to how it was set up.

“Once that problem was solved,” Mr. Hardy continued, “the rest was comparatively easy. Some of their hirelings got jobs at the museums they planned to rob. They punctured the gas masks, making sure the knockout fumes would be effective.”

“Like Starker, who worked as a gardener,” Joe interjected.

“Right. In other cases they threatened the guards to let them in. They used a different approach each time, and that's what made the case so hard to crack.”

“There's one more thing that bothers me,” Frank said. “What caused that shell hole in the
Yellow Parrot?”

Mr. Hardy grinned. “I found that out, too. She was shot at by a Central American smuggler patrol boat one night, but got away without being identified.”

At that moment Chet wandered into the museum. He had been dozing in th squad car and was rubbing his eyes. “Find any clues?” he asked with a yawn.

“A few,” Frank quipped. “You're a little bit late.”

“Why didn't you wake me up? I was supposed to help you with this case.

Mr. Hardy smiled. “We're all pretty tired. Let's head for home. The mystery is ended.”

The boys nodded. Frank and Joe had no idea at that time that a new mystery would soon take up all their time, namely
The Disappearing Floor.

It was morning when they arrived in Bayport. Mr. Morton greeted them when they dropped off Chet at the farm.

“I'm glad to see my son's back,” he said. “I've lots of work for him.”

“But I need a chance to recuperate!” Chet protested.

“Okay,” his father replied. “I'll give you till tomorrow. Then you'd better start turning over a patch of crabgrass on the front lawn.”

“That should be right down your alley, Chet.” Joe laughed. “You might be lucky and discover another sugar bowl!”