While the Clock Ticked (9 page)

“That’s what we need now,” said Frank. “A magnifying glass.” He looked at Joe significantly. “Because I think we have the
keys
to this mystery!”

In answer, Joe jingled his pocket. “Let’s go!”

“Don’t you dare!” cried Aunt Gertrude. “No detective work until you have a decent lunch.”

The brothers were famished, and gladly complied. Twenty minutes later there was not a crumb left of the roast-beef sandwiches and the apple pie Miss Hardy had made.

“Delicious, Auntie,” Frank declared.

“Thanks for stopping us,” Joe added.

Their aunt beamed. The boys excused themselves
and hastened to their lab. Joe brought out the three keys for examination.

“The first is the key to the
Sleuth
all right,” Frank confirmed, fitting it to the original lock. “This second one is the kind used in ordinary door locks.”

“The third is an automobile ignition key,” Joe reported. “We’ll soon find out what kind of car it’s for.”

In Fenton Hardy’s laboratory next to the boys’, he kept a photograph file of ignition keys for all automobiles of domestic and foreign manufacture. Frank and Joe went to compare these to the key dropped by Mr. Dalrymple’s mysterious double at Swarts’ shop.

“Start with the American makes,” Frank proposed, “and take this year’s models first.”

The suggestion proved a good one. In less than five minutes the key had been identified as belonging to the current year’s Meteor Special.

“The Special—that’s the
big
Meteor—the limousine!” Joe noted with excitement. “Frank, it could have been the car that nearly hit us!”

“And there probably aren’t too many of them around,” Frank reasoned. “The next step is to find out who owns Meteor Specials in this area. We’ll need police help.”

Joe agreed. He suggested that Frank make the trip to headquarters. “I want to stay here and do some lab work. Mr. Dalrymple lent me those first
two threatening notes. Let me have the third one. I’ll do a handwriting analysis on it.”

Accordingly, Frank drove to the handsome stone building that housed Bayport’s police headquarters. He was allowed to see Chief Collig immediately.

“Anything new on the harbor thieves?” Frank asked.

“Yes,” the chief replied tersely. “As you recall, Joe reported he’d seen a man climbing down from the
Sea Bright
into the
Napoli
just before he went after it. I had Captain Stroman check his ship to be sure that nothing more was gone. None of the crew reported anything missing, so we assumed the thieves came away empty-handed that time.”

“Didn’t they?” Frank asked.

“They did not. They took a diamond ring and several fine gold gifts from one of the crew members.”

“Why wasn’t it noticed before?” Frank queried.

“The night the jade was stolen, the sailor was taken ill suddenly and removed to sick bay. He had left his locker standing open when he was stricken. Of course he didn’t miss his valuables until he returned to his quarters this morning.”

Frank looked serious. “The thieves must have spotted that open locker when they took the jade, but were afraid to take the time to go through it.”

The chief nodded. “So they came back. They’re
getting bolder and bolder!” Collig frowned deeply. “Well,” he said, “you wouldn’t be down here, Frank, unless you’d turned up something.”

Frank told him what they had found out at Swarts’ antique store, and of the keys dropped by the man resembling Mr. Dalrymple.

“Good work!” exclaimed Chief Collig. “So the fellow was trying to peddle Stroman’s necklace and Applegate’s chess set! That certainly links the two thefts.”

Frank nodded. “Look at this key. It’s the ignition key to a late model Meteor Special.”

Chief Collig understood immediately. “Very likely the car the harbor thieves used!”

“Right,” Frank agreed. “Could we get a list of all the owners of such cars in the area? Then we can check them out, one by one.”

“I’ll call the State Motor Vehicle Bureau right away.” The chief looked troubled. “With all my men in the harbor, I can’t spare anybody to run down this lead.”

“We’ll take care of that,” Frank promised, “as soon as you can give me the owners’ names.”

Relieved, Chief Collig remarked with a smile, “So Captain Stroman suspected at first you were crooks?”

“That’s not all.” Frank laughed and briefly told of “Mr. Smith’s” call on Aunt Gertrude.

Here the chief eyed Frank with a twinkle. “And how’s your other business coming?”

“What other business, Chief?”

“The appointment you had yesterday at the Purdy place—”

He was interrupted by the buzzing of the desk telephone. The policeman picked up the instrument and listened a moment.

“For you,” he said, handing over the phone.

“Frank?” Joe’s tone was insistent.

“What’s up?”

“Can’t tell now. Just get home—fast.”

Frank drove back as rapidly as he could through the afternoon traffic. He found Joe and Aunt Gertrude in the living room.

“One thing after another,” Miss Hardy was complaining. “First that private eye, and now this! It’s
enough
to make a person wish she didn’t have a detective in the family.”

“What happened?” Frank demanded. Joe’s face was serious as he handed his brother a sheet of stationery.

“Came in the mail just now,” Joe said, “addressed to Aunt Gertrude.”

Frank read the warning scrawled on the sheet.

“
If you value your nephews’ lives, tell them to mind their own business.
“

“A death threat,” Aunt Gertrude declared vehemently. “Now maybe you’ll give up chasing harbor thieves!”

“Not a chance, Auntie!” Joe exclaimed. “I checked the handwriting. This note was written
by the same person who threatened Mr. Dalrymple!”

“Oh, my lands, what’s the difference? It’s still a death threat!” Aunt Gertrude cried.

“There’s a big difference,” Joe stated. “I’m
glad
you got this letter.”

His aunt stared at him in bewilderment but Frank nodded understanding. “I get it,” he said. “We thought we weren’t making headway on Mr. Dalrymple’s case. This note proves that we are. We have somebody worried!”

“You have
me
worried.” Aunt Gertrude sighed. “Mr. Dalrymple is in danger and so are you!”

At that moment the telephone rang. Aunt Gertrude started. “If it’s another threat—” She broke off as Frank took the call. He picked up a pencil from the stand and jotted something on a pad.

“That was Chief Collig,” Frank announced after he had hung up. “The motor vehicle office has eight owners of Meteor Specials registered in this area. Here’s the list. One is a Mr. Henry Nichols, who lives closest to us. Come on, Joe. Let’s go!”

CHAPTER XIII

M
R
. H
ENRY
N
ICHOLS
’ home turned out to be a large one in Bayport’s most attractive residential section.

“Frank!” Joe grabbed his brother’s arm and pointed to the garage. Showing through the open door were the black fenders and shining grille of a new Meteor Special!

“Good afternoon, boys!” called an old man seated in a rocking chair on the front porch. “Hot weather.”

“Sure is,” Frank agreed. “Are you Mr. Nichols?”

“Yes sirree.” The old man was very thin and weak looking, but his light-blue eyes were lively.

“I’ve been Henry Nichols seventy-nine years, now; eighty next April. Never minded it either, ‘cept when I was young. Then I used to wish I was somebody famous—”

“Henry!” called a voice just inside the screen door. “That’s enough!” A small, white-haired woman stood there. “What is it you boys want?”

Frank said politely, “We came to ask about your car.”

“Don’t drive those machines myself,” Mr. Nichols piped up. “
I
drove a team of horses and did some harness racing.”

Mrs. Nichols interrupted proudly, “Boys, I drive the car.”

“How do you like your Meteor Special?” Joe asked her.

“Rides nice. And it’s fast. I love a speedy car!”

Frank and Joe were amused by the couple, but did not smile. “Do a lot of driving?” Frank asked.

“Well, shopping downtown, and to church.”

Mr. Nichols chuckled. “When Ma gets to going, I say to myself, ‘Henry, buckle your seat belt!’”

Frank and Joe grinned, but thought Mrs. Nichols’ Meteor clearly was not the one they were after. “Thanks for your time,” Frank said to the couple. “We’re very much interested in Meteor Specials.”

Back in their convertible, the Hardys looked at the seven remaining names on the list. It was now late in the afternoon.

“We’d better split up, if we’re going to cover these people,” Frank advised. “I’ll drive you home, so you can get Dad’s car.”

When the Hardys returned home from their quest, each reported no luck. None of the owners of Meteor Specials had resembled Mr. Dalrymple.

“There’s one possible answer,” Frank deduced. “The car this key belongs to may have been brought here from a distance. Probably it’s using stolen plates.”

“Yes, but where
is
it?” Joe wondered.

The young detectives were forced to go to bed with the question unanswered.

The next morning after breakfast Frank and Joe found a bright and eager Chet Morton seated on the Hardy doorstep. “You said to give you a day or two, so here I am!” he announced.

“Right on schedule.” Joe grinned as the brothers sat down with their friend. They told him of their efforts to catch the harbor thieves, solve Mr. Dalrymple’s mystery, and find the missing jade articles.

“Wow! I can hardly keep ‘em all straight!” said the stout boy. “Well, I’ll be on the lookout for that Meteor Special!”

“Good,” responded Joe. “If you spot it, let us know on the double.”

“Count on me!” Raising his right hand, and placing his left over his heart, Chet declaimed, “Let it never be said that Chet Morton forsook his companions in the hour of distress. Let the thieves do their worst! Chet Morton defies them!”

“Okay, okay!” Frank laughed. “Is Chet Morton ready to go now?”

“Lead on,” Chet said, waving. “I follow. But where?”

“To see Mr. Dalrymple,” Frank replied. “It’s time he knew his property’s being used by the harbor thieves.”

“And we’ll show him the warning that was sent to Aunt Gertrude,” Joe added.

Soon the Hardys’ convertible was carrying the three boys along the highway from Bayport to Lakeside. Once in town, they drove to the leading bank, of which Mr. Dalrymple was an officer.

He received the boys in his office, and listened intently as the Hardys told of their suspicions.

“Criminals using
my
house!” he exploded. “Outrageous! But it explains the notes. Those thieves are trying to scare me away, and you boys, too!”

“Yes,” Frank agreed. “But it still doesn’t explain
how
the messages were put into the time-locked room.”

“That’s true,” the banker admitted. “What else have you found?”

Frank described the theft of the jade necklace Captain Stroman had purchased for his wife in the Orient. “Probably by the same thief who stole Hurd Applegate’s collection.”

To the boys’ surprise, Mr. Dalrymple disagreed sharply. “No connection at all!” he snapped.
“I’m convinced that Applegate is suffering from hallucinations. His whole story is preposterous!”

The boys rose to leave, promising to keep the banker posted. To their disappointment, he had again forgotten to have a set of house keys made. Back on the road to Bayport, the young detectives considered Dalrymple’s remark about Mr. Applegate.

“What do you think, Frank?” Joe asked. “Did Hurd Applegate
really
lose any jade?”

Frank said emphatically, “I think Mr. Dalrymple’s still angry about being called a thief. But it won’t hurt to have another talk with Mr. Applegate.”

Suddenly both Hardys noticed that Chet’s attention had been diverted. He stared longingly ahead.

“What’s so interesting?” Joe asked.

“Don’t pass it,” pleaded Chet.

“Pass
what
?”

“That milk bar up there. They serve a terrific sundae, covered with whipped cream, cherries, and nuts. It’s called a Bigloo Igloo. Come on, fellows. It’s lunchtime.”

“Okay.” Frank laughed.

The yellow convertible turned in and stopped before the little white building. Soon the boys were seated together in a booth.

“Four Bigloo Igloos,” ordered Chet, when the waitress came over.

“But there are only three of you, sir,” the waitress protested.

“Four sundaes, miss,” Chet repeated grandly. “Never fear—we shall dispose of them!”

The waitress shrugged and went off. The place was filled with people on their lunch hour, and there was a lively hubbub. A juke box was playing continuously. Suddenly, through the noise, Frank heard a voice behind him say:

“… it will happen while the clock ticks.”

The youth abruptly stood up, whirling, for a look at the speaker. His foot swung out into the aisle, tripping the waitress, who was returning with the boys’ order!

Crash
! Down went the girl. Up went four enormous Bigloo Igloo sundaes. Chet Morton stared aghast as two of them came down on his head. The others had found resting places on the floor.

Above the shrieks of the waitress, and the roars of laughter from the other customers, Frank cried, “Joe! Those two men who just went out—we must catch them!”

Pushing through the clogged aisle, the brothers paid the disconcerted waitress, then emerged from the milk bar in time to see a black car carrying two men speed away in the direction of Bayport.

“The fellow driving was tall—looked a lot like
Dalrymple!” called Frank as he sprinted for the convertible.

Joe followed, hurrying Chet, head still streaked with ice cream, along in front of him. They climbed into their car and gave chase.

The convertible slewed into the road with a squeal of rubber on concrete. By this time the other car was only a black dot on the highway ahead. Grimly, Frank pressed the accelerator to the floor.

“If it’s the Meteor Special, you’ll never catch it,” Chet grumbled.