Mystery of the Flying Express (9 page)

Read Mystery of the Flying Express Online

Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: Mystery of the Flying Express
13.96Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Frank broke the silence. “This could be just about right. And look! There's a red neon sign with a boathouse behind it!”
In bold letters it advertised Calderon's Shore Restaurant. The place was nearly deserted.
Frank pulled off the road, parked in the shadow of some trees, and led the way past the neon sign to the boathouse behind the building. The doors were open, and a catwalk provided easy entrance.
“Wait a moment, Joe,” Frank said. “It's pretty dark in here. There's a light switch near the door. Flick—”
His foot hit a net piled up on the floor and he stumbled into a pool of shallow water. Something nipped at his legs!
At the same time Joe said, “Hey, this isn't the right place.” Then he burst out laughing. “Frank, you're in a lobster tank!”
CHAPTER XI
An Unequal Match
FRANK waded out of the tank, with lobsters clinging to the legs of his pants.
Joe laughed uproariously.
“Go ahead, make fun of me!” Frank said, shaking them off. “I'm lucky I escaped those crawly creatures alive!” Then he grinned. “I guess we had the wrong boathouse, all right.”
Frank took off his shoes and poured water out of them. He set them aside while he removed his socks, then squeezed water from the bottom of his pants legs.
“Listen, Frank,” Joe urged, “we'd better get out of here. If someone sees us, we might have trouble explaining why you went swimming with the lobsters.”
“Right.” Frank grabbed his shoes and they returned to Callie's car.
Next they scoured the shoreline farther down the coast. Spelling each other at the wheel, they passed several red neon signs and plenty of boat-houses, but not one looked familiar.
“We certainly weren't this far down when we had our encounter with Zigurski!” Frank observed glumly. “We're nearly at Shark Harbor.”
Joe agreed. “But since we've come this far, how about paying Dad a visit?”
“Good idea. It's only a short run to the bridge.”
Fenton Hardy was staying at a small motel on Shark Island, a narrow spit of sand paralleling the mainland for about ten miles. He was not in his room. The desk clerk said he was at the State Police barracks nearby.
The boys found their father in the crime lab, where members of the felony squad were inspecting about fifty pieces of marine equipment. Mr. Hardy made the introductions.
“Quite a lot of goodies you collected,” Joe remarked.
“But only a small part of what was stolen,” a detective said. “This loot was found in an abandoned house.”
Fenton Hardy pointed to a foghorn. “That will interest you.”
Frank held it up. Someone had marked it in rough letters with the one-word notation: Hardy.
Joe exclaimed, “This must be the foghorn I ordered from Skee the other day!”
“Skee?” said another detective. “We know a Skee, too. Let's hear about yours first.”
Frank described the youth who had offered to sell them used maritime equipment cheap. “Joe ordered a foghorn, and that's the last we've seen of Skee.”
“Your description fits Skee very well,” the detective stated. “He's the leader of a gang of young thieves who run in a wolf pack along the coast.”
“Dad, that may be the cue for us!” Frank exclaimed. “Skee doesn't know we're on to him, and he'll probably turn up with another foghorn. As far as he knows, Joe is still his customer.”
“If we nab him red-handed,” Joe added, “we should be able to break up the wolf pack! And if by any chance Skee's tied in with that gang you're after, we may hit a double jackpot.”
“And possibly find Henry Chassen,” Frank said.
One of the policemen nodded. “That seems to be the ticket, Fenton. Your boys have developed a sound strategy. Attack the problem at both ends —Shark Harbor and Cape Cutlass—and see if the two lines of investigation converge on a single solution to all the robberies.”
Frank and Joe drove back to Providence early the following morning, and went straight to the Starfish Marina. They found a mournful Chet Morton slumped in a beach chair. “Leaping Libra, fellows, am I in a jam this time!”
“What now?” Joe asked.
“A gang of hoodlums raided this place,” Chet mumbled. “They boarded half a dozen boats, stripped them, and sped off before the police arrived.
“The Harbor Patrol says it will have a dickens of a job finding them,” he added. “Too many coves and inlets along the coast where they could be hiding.”
“Probably Skee and his boys!” Frank said.
“Just our luck,” Joe complained. “We came back to Providence all primed to deal with this gang. But they pulled off the job while we were snoozing at Shark Harbor!”
“We've been outfoxed all right,” Frank declared.
Chet's expression became even more forlorn. “You can say that again, Frank. They took the
Sleuth
with them, and a big rubber raft, too.”
“What?” Joe blurted.
“The Sleuth's gone,” Chet said. “You must admit it's a prize.”
“Joe, did you activate the electronic beeper as Dad suggested before we left Bayport?”
“Sure did. And the receiver's in my suitcase at the cottage.”
“Good. Let's get it and drive along the shore. We might get a response from the Sleuth, and maybe even pinpoint Skee's hideout.”
Twenty minutes later they were cruising around Cape Cutlass, with Frank at the wheel, and Joe twisting the dials of the receiver in an effort to pick up a beep-beep.
“Hey, look,” Frank said, gazing over the harbor. “There's something doing dockside. The Flying Express is surrounded by a flotilla of small boats!”
“Let's see what's up,” Joe suggested.
Frank drove down to the wharf and parked the car. The two walked to the hydrofoil's berth, where some men were standing around arguing.
Joe elbowed his brother. “What do you know! There's our generous friend from the Fidelo Corporation!”
“It's Big Malarky all right,” Frank replied. “He towers over everybody. Let's see what he has to say for himself.”
In response to Frank's question, Malarky said, “Yes, I'll tell you. You've heard about the vigilantes of the Old West? They knew how to deal with horse thieves. Well, we're the aqualantes of Cape Cutlass, and we know how to deal with boat thieves!”
“But your flotilla doesn't seem to be chasing boat thieves,” Joe commented mildly. “The skippers are circling the Flying Express as if they had nothing better to do.”
Malarky's big face flushed. “Why would I want to do that?”
“I know why,” piped a voice at the edge of the crowd, and Spencer Given strode up to the builder. “You want to put me out of business, Malarky!”
The two men began a savage debate, full of mutual denunciations. A shoving match started.
“We'd better break this up!” Joe whispered. He stepped between the two men just as Big Malarky thrust a straight-arm at Given. Joe took the force of the blow, staggered, and fell to the ground.
Malarky helped him to his feet. “Sorry I hit you. I hope you're not hurt!”
“Not a bit,” Joe replied sarcastically. “And I'll feel a lot better if you two will cut it out!”
“I've said all I had to say,” growled Malarky, moving off with his men.
“I've got more to say,” Given called after him, “and I'll say it next time I get the chance! Thanks for the assistance,” he said to Joe. “I should have more sense than to get into a fight with that jerk. Well, see you later.”
Frank and Joe ate lunch, then drove back to the road to continue their quest. It was evening and they were ready to give up the search as hopeless when suddenly—beep—beep,
beep-beep, beep-
beep came from the receiver of the electronic detector.
“We've located the Sleuth!” Joe exulted.
The sounds increased in intensity as they came to the top of a steep cliff. The boys got out and peered down into the darkness.
“The Sleuth must be at the foot of this precipice,” Joe said. “I'll get the flashlights.”
“No, we can't use them. The gang may have left someone on guard. Better take him by surprise. I'll go first.”
“Okay.”
Frank eased himself over the edge, gripping the top of the cliff until he found a toehold on a protruding root and began the descent. Cautiously he put his foot on a jutting rock, tested it, and moved down to a sapling.
Frank's weight was too much. The small tree pulled loose and he plunged down the side of the cliff !
CHAPTER XII
Baiting a Trap
FRANK hit something soft, bounced into the air, and came down on his feet. His knees were bent and his hands extended, ready for an attack.
Nothing happened.
Then Joe called from the cliff. “Are you okay, Frank?”
“Yes. Get a flashlight.”
The beam of the flashlight illuminated the base of the cliff, casting a soft glow on the Sleuth. A large yellow rubber raft lay upside down on the sand.
“I landed on the raft,” Frank said. “Come on down, Joe, but watch yourself.”
Quickly Joe found his way to the beach and doused his light. Together the boys put their shoulders against the bow of the Sleuth and began to push the craft back into the water.
Suddenly Frank stopped. “Listen. Someone's coming.”
They ducked behind their boat and waited in the dim moonlight. A figure appeared, dragging something heavy across the sand.
Frank and Joe jumped up and shone the light in the stranger's face.
It was
Skee.
“Hello,” Joe saluted him nonchalantly. “Long time no see!”
The youth grinned weakly. “You scared me!” He set a power tool down and rubbed his hands. “I've been away for a while,” he said. “Where've you been?”
“Oh, here and there,” Joe replied airily.
Frank said, “Where's the foghorn you said you'd get us, secondhand and cheap?”
“Ain't got it yet.” With a sidewise glance he added, “How'd you know where to find me?”
“Maybe Big Malarky's aqualantes told us,” Frank replied.
Skee was poker-faced. “I don't know what you're talking about. Never heard of the outfit.”
“How about this motorboat?” Joe inquired. “You own it?”
“Sure thing.”
“Is it for sale?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, we're on the lookout for this particular model. But we don't want to buy a pig in a poke. Let's take it out for a trial spin on the bay, and if it runs smoothly, maybe we can arrange a deal.”
“Are you crazy?” Skee protested sullenly. “Whoever heard of trying a boat at this time of night? It doesn't make sense!”
“Why not?” Frank retorted. “No time like the present. You've got something to sell, and we're out to buy.”
“To tell the truth,” Joe added slyly, “I'm not convinced this is much of a boat. Probably has a bad engine.”
Skee took the bait. “Works like a charm. I'll show you!”
They pushed the Sleuth into the water and climbed aboard. Joe took the controls. Everything worked all right, so he upped the power and roared away from the shore.
“Let's see what she can do!” he sang out.
The boat responded to his touch like a spirited cow pony. It zoomed into a cove, turned broadside to the beach in a caldron of frothy water, and sped out. It skimmed nimbly among several small islands, slackened speed, went into reverse, and zipped forward again.
Skee was impressed. “You know how to handle this boat better than I thought.”
“She's easy to handle!” Joe said. “I feel right at home behind the wheell”
Realizing that Skee's attention was concentrated on the motorboat—which he hoped to sell for a good price—Joe maneuvered toward Cape Cutlass, and made a long curve right into the Starfish Marina.
Skee stood up in alarm. “What's going on? Oh no you don‘t!”
He plunged toward the side of the Sleuth in an attempt to jump clear, but Frank wrestled him to the bottom of the boat. They threshed around in a tangle of arms and legs.
Skee broke loose and leaped up to the jetty—almost right into the hands of Chet Morton.
“Get him, Chet!” Frank called.
A blow to the midsection and another to the chin decked the surprised Skee. Chet pulled the prisoner to his feet.
“Groovy!” Joe said admiringly and Frank put in a call to the State Police. A squad car came screeching to the scene and Skee was arrested, but he clammed up when questioned about his gang.
“He'll talk later,” the trooper said and drove off.
“Good thing I was guarding the marina tonight,” Chet said proudly. “How'd you like that belt to the breadbasket, Frank? Pow!”
“You did great, Chet.”
The Hardys told what had happened and they all went to bed.
The next morning Chet had some time off, so Frank and Joe took him down the coast in the Sleuth where they had left Callie's car.
“You can drive it back,” Frank said, “while we scout around for some clues.”
“Okay, fellows,” Chet said.
First thing the Hardys did was to examine the power tool left by Skee. It was an electric grinding machine.
“I'll bet Skee was going to remove the Sleuth's serial number,” Joe deduced.
“Remember the motor we picked up from the bottom of the bay?” Frank said. “Its number had been filed off! Well, Skee won't have any further use for this tool. We'll take it back with us.”

Other books

The Cold Song by Linn Ullmann
Just Add Magic by Cindy Callaghan
Sweet Reluctance by Laura Lovecraft
Skinny Dipping by Kaye, Alicia M
The Profilers by Suzanne Steele
Conversations with Myself by Nelson Mandela