The Mysterious Caravan (16 page)

“Holy crow, look at this!” he exclaimed. “Skeletons!”

The bones of five men, laid out side by side, rested stark on the ground. The skulls grinned ludicrously at the boys, who stepped over them gingerly.

Farther back they came upon small piles of dust and pebbles, and the remnants of leather sacks that had crumbled with age. Frank bent down and rubbed the dust between his fingers.

“Gold!” he cried out. “Gold! We've found the treasure!”

“You have done us a great favor!” The harsh voice behind them sounded familiar. The boys whirled about. Several men, clothed in djellabahs, advanced toward them.

Their enemies!

The speaker was Scott. His face was now clearly visible. Beside him was the phony taxi driver and Jason Hickson, who had fled to Casablanca. Farther back were Stribling and Brown. The rest of the men were dark-faced strangers.

The boys realized that the camel caravan had been no mirage! The criminals had been ahead of them after all and must have hidden behind a dune, allowing the Hardys and their friends to complete the discovery!

Stribling spoke. “You were most kind, gentlemen, to lead us to the treasure. What fools you were to think you could outfox us.”

“All right,” Frank said, trying to keep his cool. “You win. Here's the treasure. It's all yours. Just let us out of here.”

“Frank,” Joe whispered, “we can't do that. Let's fight ‘em!”

Dubonnet-Scott laughed loudly. “Of course the treasure is ours, and of course you're not going to fight us. You won't escape, either. We'll leave you right here with the other skeletons!” He kicked a pile of bones, and a tibia skittered across the cave.

As their enemies approached menacingly, Frank, Joe, and Chet held up their fists in self-defense. But William whispered, “Frank, those black men. They are the acrobats from Marrakesh. And the small one is the
ju-ju
man. I'm sure of it!” With that he whipped the African charm from around his neck. He stepped forward and spoke in Swahili.

The
ju-ju
man shrank back, as did the acrobats, and they murmured among themselves.

“What did you tell them?” Joe asked.

“I said I was a more powerful
ju-ju.
I would put a terrible curse on them unless they defeated their confederates.”

Seconds later a fracas broke out, and the cave
reverberated with shouts, screams, and curses. The agile acrobats pounced on the criminals and even before the Americans could pitch in, their adversaries lay subdued, moaning, begging for mercy, and rubbing their bruises.

Suddenly a clear voice rang through the cavern. “Stand where you are, all of you!”

“It's Dad!” Joe cried out.

“Nobody move. We have you covered.” It was the commanding voice of Fenton Hardy again. Joe raced forward and flung his arms around his father. “We thought you were dead!”

“A base canard!” the detective said with a grin. “An inexcusable exaggeration!”

Lined up behind him with weapons poised stood Dr. Cellier and two police officers.

Stribling looked up in disbelief. “But—but Aker was supposed to have rubbed you out!”

“He tried,” Mr. Hardy said. “But I laid a trap for him. Then I caught two of your men. Mr. Dingo, Scott's chauffeur, confessed everything!”

Dingo had been left behind to see that Aker did his job properly, but both had fallen prey to the detective. “It was Dingo,” Mr. Hardy said, as the police handcuffed everyone except the acrobats and the
ju-ju
man, “who led us to the World-Travel Agency in Casablanca. In the cellar under it we found thousands of blank tickets, name plates, sucker lists, and paraphernalia used in the racket all over the world.”

“And when your Dad contacted me,” Dr. Cellier added, “I told him where you had gone.”

“Great!” Frank exclaimed. “But how did you find us here?”

“We hired a plane and spied Joe outside.”

“What I would like to know,” Frank said, “is how did you know we were going to Africa, Mr. Scott? You must have shadowed us all along.”

“None of your business!” Scott grumbled.

But Brown, obviously hoping to make things easier for himself if he talked, gave the answer. “We did. When your fat friend picked up the tickets, we followed him. Then one of our men took the same plane.”

“Shut up!” Scott growled.

“But how did you ever combine forces with Scott?” Frank pressed on.

Brown was silent, but Mr. Hardy reported that a spy from each group had been scouting the Hardy home and by accident had run into each other. Finding they had a common enemy, though two diverse causes, they melted into one gang.

“But why did Scott impersonate the Jamaican envoy and try to get the mask from us at the same time that the kidnapping exchange was being set up?” Frank asked.

“It would have been easier that way,” Mr. Hardy said. “But since it didn't work, they went through with the exchange.”

“And once we were in Casablanca, Scott tried to do away with us through that phony note from Klem!” Joe said accusingly.

Scott's face was expressionless.

“And when that didn't work, he set our hotel room afire!” Joe added.

Scott shrugged. “Prove it!”

“And you were the man sitting across the aisle from us in the train to Marrakesh!” William said. “The Frenchman in Arab disguise, who rolled his bread into little balls.”

“How did they know we were going to Marrakesh?” Chet asked. “They lost our trail when we left the Marhaba!”

“We went back to the travel agency the next morning, remember?” Joe said. “No doubt that man on the roof was one of their gang, and he followed us.”

The next question was where the crooks got the camels. It was revealed that Stribling, who knew the ways of the desert, had sent ahead for a caravan to wait in readiness at Rissani.

Frank said, “We might have discovered this had we stopped there and asked a few questions.”

Joe's face grew red. “You win, Frank. Never leave a stone unturned.”

A celebration was held the following night in the Cellier home. During the evening Frank whispered to Christine, “May I use your phone, please? I want to call home.”

In the next room he talked quietly to his mother, and when he returned, Chet said, “What's up? You look happy as a clam at high tide.”

“Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies.”

Three days later, the missions of father and sons having been brought to a successful conclusion, the Hardys and their friends touched down at Bayport Airport. As they all trooped into the house at Elm Street, a surprise was waiting. Tony, Biff, and Phil greeted them with grins on their faces, and the women hugged them. In the middle of the living room stood a wire-mesh cage. In it a dog paced about, sniffing at the arrivals and making odd, chortling noises.

“It's for you, William,” Mrs. Hardy said. She turned to Frank. “I did have quite a job finding a Basenji breeder, but I managed!”

William stood tongue-tied for a few moments. His eyes widened as he looked from face to face and then at the cage.

“Thank you. Oh, thank you so much,” he finally said, opening the top. Out jumped the lithe animal, pointed ears alert, and pranced around the room. Then he sprang into William's open arms, nuzzled him, and licked his face.

“Okay, okay!” the boy laughed. “I am glad to see you, too!”

“He can tell a
ju-ju
man from just any ordinary fellow, see?” Joe quipped. “Smart dog!”

Even Aunt Gertrude smiled and nodded, while the happy reunion went on for another hour. It was fortunate that the Hardys could not foresee the future, because around the next bend lurked a treacherous and frightening mystery to be known as
The Witch Master's Key.