The Mysterious Caravan (6 page)

“My goodness, that's very dangerous!” Aunt Gertrude said. “He should stay in Jamaica. What if those terrible cutthroats come to Bayport?”

“We'll take care of them!” Joe vowed.

“It also solves the problem of the mask,” Frank said. “William can take it back to Jamaica when he leaves.”

“And it'll give us more time to study it,” Joe added.

“Right. By the way, Ali's back in his shop and feeling much better.”

After lunch Joe said, “You know, Frank, I think Callie and Iola would get a great charge out of this mask. Why don't we invite them over? They can help us polish it.”

“Good idea.”

Iola Morton, Chet's sister, dated Joe, while Callie Shaw was Frank's favorite girl. When Frank phoned the Morton farm, Callie was there and both accepted the invitation readily. Iola said, “Chet's coming to see you later this afternoon anyway. We'll drive over with him.”

“And stay for supper, okay?” Frank asked, raising his eyebrows and nodding to his mother.

Mrs. Hardy smiled a quiet consent. She, too, was fond of the girls.

When Aunt Gertrude heard the news, she bustled about the kitchen to make Chet a pie. His appetite was usually appeased by Aunt Gertrude's goodies, and he praised her cooking all over Bayport and its environs.

At four o'clock a few heavy backfires announced the arrival of Chet's jalopy. The girls were bundled up in ski jackets, and their faces were bright and rosy from the cold air as they entered the Hardys' living room. Chet followed, a bright-yellow skating cap perched on his head.

“I wish I were back in Jamaica,” he said. “How
would you like to swim in that warm surf today, Joe?”

Callie and Iola were intrigued by the mask, and after a delicious supper suggested that Frank and Joe drive them back to the Morton farm, where Iola had a special cleaning fluid.

“It'll make
Bwana
Brutus's face shine,” Iola said. All agreed, and by seven-thirty were on their way to Chet's place, snow tires humming against the highway.

Frank and Joe kept looking behind to see if anyone was tailing them. Several cars passed, but far back, dim headlights seemed to be holding their position.

“You think that's someone following us?” asked Iola.

“It's probably Chet,” Frank said. “He left with us but dropped off the pace.”

Conversation turned to winter sports. Skiing had not been good, but the ice skating was the best in years.

“Our pond's like glass,” Iola said. “Why don't we have a skating party soon?”

“Fine with us,” Joe said as they pulled into the long driveway on the Morton farm. Chet arrived a few minutes later.

It was not until the mask lay on sheets of newspaper on the kitchen table and the girls, using cotton-tipped swabs, were cleaning every
crevice in the beard, that the Hardys told them about William's plan to visit.

“You'll like him,” Joe said. “He's tops.”

“Listen!” Callie said suddenly.

“What is it?”

“I thought I heard a little tap on the window.”

None of the others had, but nevertheless the Hardys and Chet hurried out into the biting cold to look around. No one was in sight.

When they were back inside with the girls, Iola inquired, “When is William coming?”

“He's leaving on the nine fifteen
A.M.
flight to New York tomorrow morning, and will call us when he arrives.”

“Maybe he can teach you Swahili,” Chet said, looking at the girls. “And I'm warning you. It's not easy!”

Everyone laughed; then Iola held up the mask. The face seemed to be more expressive than ever. Tilted at a certain angle, the mouth even appeared to have a faint smile.

“I still think it's spooky,” Chet said.

Later, when the boys got ready to leave, Frank said, “It looks like old Brutus here had a real good beauty treatment.” He thanked the girls and offered Callie a ride home.

Just then Chet glanced out the window, which offered a view of the country road that curved around the farm.

“Look at this, guys,” he said. “A car just
turned on its lights. It must have been parked.”

The Hardys became apprehensive. Why would a car be standing there at this time of night? Frank had a hunch, which he hardly dared think about. “Callie,” he said, “which window did you hear that noise at?”

She pointed to the one nearest the kitchen table. After putting on their coats, the Hardys went outside. They scanned every bit of the glass.
Suddenly Frank saw it!

Far in the left-hand corner was a tiny suction disk. Attached to it was a small matchbox-size instrument and a long, trailing wire.

“The place has been bugged!” Frank cried out.

“You know what that means?” Joe said. “Someone in that car heard our conversation about William!”

“What'll we do now?” Chet asked.

“Get in touch with William and map out an alternate strategy,” Frank said.

Both boys were glum as they dropped Callie off. “Cheer up,” she said. “Things can't be that bad!”

“You win an Oscar for optimism,” Joe said.

When the Hardys arrived home, they telephoned William. But there was no answer.

“I hope we reach him before his flight leaves tomorrow morning,” Joe said, worried.

They tried every hour all night long, but to no avail.

“Maybe he's staying with his grandfather,” Joe said. “And we don't even know his name. It's his mother's father.”

The next day the boys waited for a call from New York. The minutes ticked by in silence. Neither boy spoke much, and they picked sparingly at the food on their plates.

Mrs. Hardy tried to cheer them with no results.

Finally, late in the evening, the phone rang. Joe ran to pick it up. A look of horror came over his face as he listened to the voice on the other end.

“Give us that mask if you want to see William alive again!” a man rasped.

T
HE
caller hung up, leaving Joe holding the receiver.

“They've got William!” he finally burst out.

“How terrible!” Aunt Gertrude wailed. “I told you to have nothing to do with strangers! If you took my advice, you wouldn't get into these horrid situations.”

“It's not the boys' fault,” their mother defended them. She turned to Frank. “Could it be just an empty threat? Maybe these people are only bluffing.”

The phone rang again. This time Aunt Gertrude snatched up the receiver. The voice on the other end was loud enough to be heard by the others.

“I mean business!”

“So do I!” Aunt Gertrude berated. “You villains leave my nephews alone or I'll—I'll—”

Click!
The caller hung up.

“Those ruffians make me furious!” The woman huffed.

“You'll never get anywhere talking like that!” Frank said. “We must be calm and find a way to trick them.”

“Whoever it is, he'll phone again,” was Joe's guess. “We can't turn over the mask without knowing when, where, and how.”

The bell sounded once more and Frank took the call. The voice said, “We're not going to give you more than a couple of days to decide.”

“We get the message,” Frank said evenly. “And we don't want anything to happen to William. How soon shall we make the exchange?”

“I'll contact you tomorrow. We'll discuss details then.”

Realizing it was impossible to trace the call, Frank and Joe immediately set off on another tack. First Joe telephoned the airline's New York office. They were told that William Ellis had debarked at Kennedy International Airport. Had he boarded a plane for Bayport? No, he had not.

“Is his baggage in New York?” Joe asked.

After a long wait he got the answer. “No.”

“Then perhaps it went through to Bayport.”

“That's a possibility.”

“Thanks for your help,” Joe said, and he hung up.

“Let's find out right away,” Frank said.

They jumped into their car and rode to Bayport Airport.

“If William's luggage has arrived,” Joe said, “it might give us a clue.”

The terminal was nearly deserted at that time of night, as most flights had already come in. The baggage master gave the boys his prompt attention. Several suitcases were still unclaimed. Could they possibly identify their friend's luggage?

It proved to be easy because one of the bags, a tan one that looked rather new, had William Ellis's name on it in bold white letters.

“That's it,” Joe said. “May we take it?”

“Not without authority.”

Joe went to a pay phone and called Chief Collig of the Bayport Police Department, a friend who had worked closely with them on many cases. He was not there, but the desk sergeant gave the boy his home phone number. When Collig answered, Joe outlined the case and said they were hoping to find a clue in William's bag.

“Like what?” asked the chief.

“I don't know. But can't we at least bring it to headquarters?”

The chief gave his permission and said that a patrol car would arrive shortly to pick up the suitcase.

When it arrived, the officer signed a receipt and drove to headquarters, with the Hardys following.

By the time they got there, Chief Collig himself had arrived. “This is interesting,” he said. “I'd like to see what's in the bag.”

The lock was picked by an expert and the suitcase laid open on the desk. In it were the usual things a young man would carry: slacks, a sport jacket, shirts, and a gift-wrapped package marked “Mrs. Hardy.”

Chief Collig slit the paper and revealed a jar of preserves. “Looks like mangoes,” he said.

“No doubt from William's mother,” Frank said.

In a side pocket of the suitcase the chief found William's Swahili wordbook. A slip of paper marked a certain page and Frank opened it. On it were written two words:
Hatari Dingo
.

“Hatari
means ‘danger,'” Joe said and verified it in the book. But
Dingo
was not listed.

“Maybe it's one of those words that are seldom used,” Frank said.

The contents of the suitcase were replaced and locked in the properties room for delivery to William if and when he should arrive.

The Hardys drove home. As they entered the driveway they saw a light in their father's second-floor study.

“Dad must be home,” Frank said as he parked the car. “I wonder what's new in the ticket racket.”

The boys hurried upstairs and found Fenton Hardy poring over a sheaf of notes.

“Dad, did you hear about William?” Joe asked.

“Mother and Gertrude told me,” the detective replied. “A very serious matter. I'd say you'll have to relinquish the mask. It's not worth a human life!”

“What did you and Sam find out?” Frank asked.

“I think we have a good lead,” his father replied. He told them that their investigation focused on a man named Kenleigh Scott, an employee of the printing plant who had been hired about six months previously.

“He's very bright,” the detective went on, “and received several quick promotions. By his diligence he worked his way into the traffic department.”

“So he knew the routes of all the trucks. Is that it?” Joe asked.

“Exactly.”

“Did you question him?”

“I'm afraid not. He left without notice after the last big haul of tickets.”

“What does he look like?” Frank wanted to know.

“The photos filed with Plant Security have disappeared,” Mr. Hardy said, “but I'm confident that Sam can turn up something if he probes long enough. I left him on the case.”

Now speculation turned back to the death mask, and Mr. Hardy had an idea. “Why don't you have a duplicate made at a foundry?” he suggested. “There's a good one in Millvale. A friend of mine, Alex Krusinsky, is a foreman. I'm sure he could take care of this with absolute secrecy. You might even try to palm the copy off on the crooks!”

“Terrific thought!” Frank said. “We'll see him first thing in the morning.”

While they were still at the breakfast table the next day, Chet's jalopy bombarded its way down the street and their friend appeared at the back door, his freckled face beaming. “What do I smell, ham or sausage?”

“Sausage,” Aunt Gertrude said. “Farm fresh.”

“Can't say I'd turn it down,” Chet remarked as he pulled up a chair. “And only two eggs, please, Aunt Gertrude. I've already had breakfast.”

“We were just talking with Dad about
Bwana
Brutus,” Joe said as he finished a glass of milk.

“Gives you the creeps, doesn't it, Mr. Hardy?” Chet shook his head. “A mysterious caravan that existed hundreds of years ago. I'm afraid its secret is buried in the sands of time.”

“You're getting pretty poetic so early in the morning,” Frank quipped. Then he added with a snap of his fingers, “You know, I just had a brainstorm.”

“Let's hear it,” Joe said.

“Suppose a cargo of gold disappeared on its way from Mali to Sijilmasa. And suppose it was hijacked and hidden. And suppose a smart man knew where it was and made a map.”

“Go ahead,” Fenton Hardy said. “It intrigues me.”

Frank said that a parchment map could be destroyed, and so could wood. “That leaves metal, right?”

“Right!” Joe said. “The map might be on the death mask! Old
Bwana
Brutus might hold the key to the riddle!”

“M
AYBE
the mask was the treasure in the captain's cabin, and was lost in the wreck of the
Africanus Rex,”
Frank said.

“And I found it!” Joe was exuberant.

Chet put away his second fried egg and was savoring a sausage. “Fantastic!” he said. “And impossible!”