The Missing Chums (12 page)

Crash! The glass shattered and kerosene drenched the opposite wall. A flame licked up the side of the shack.

“Water!” Joe yelled. “The bucket!”

He tore off his shirt and tried to beat out the flames. At the same time, Frank and Duke grappled for the pail. Duke jerked it away and flung it at Joe. The bucket narrowly missed him, slamming against the wall. The water splashed over onto the flames with a hissing sound.

“You young fools! I'll get you for this!” Duke picked up the chair and raised it over his head. But Frank swung a right-hand haymaker. It caught Duke in the solar plexus and he went down in a heap.

“He's out cold!” Joe cried, whipped off his shirt, and finally smothered the flames. “What a sock that was!”

Duke moaned and stirred. Swiftly the boys felt around until they found the cut ropes. Panting, they bound their prisoner's hands and feet.

“That should hold him,” said Joe as the boys stood up.

“Now, let's see where we are,” Frank suggested.

Cautiously he opened the shack door and the brothers slipped outside.

“It's the edge of Shantytown,” Joe whispered after a quick look around.

Across a whitish stretch of sand they could see the dark shacks and beyond them a red glare from beach fires. A nearly full moon sailed in and out of heavy clouds.

Suddenly a figure detached itself from the shadow of the shanties and glided quickly across the sand toward them. Fists ready, Frank and Joe set themselves for a fight!

“Put up your hands!” came a firm command. “You're under arrest!”

At the same moment, moonlight fell upon a familiar face. “Pat Muster!” Frank exclaimed joyfully. “Are we glad to see you!”

Pat Muster was a plain-clothes man on the Bayport police force. The brawny, red-haired man turned his flashlight on the bruised, disheveled boys. “So you fought your way out, eh?” he said, putting away his revolver. “Too bad you didn't yell for help. My men and I were staked out by the shacks, keeping an eye on this place.”

Frank grinned ruefully. “I wish we'd known that. We didn't call out, because we were afraid of bringing more of the gang.”

“Where's our father?” Joe asked.

“He took a squad of police and followed Stark and the other fellow. The chief went back to headquarters.”

“I see,” said Frank. “When you didn't close in at the store, we thought the plan had backfired.”

“Your father suggested that we follow you, on the chance of locating the rest of the gang. Sorry I left you in the shack so long,” he added. “I was hoping some more of these tough birds would turn up and we'd make a bigger haul.”

“We have one of them for you,” Joe said, “all trussed up and ready to go.”

Pat Muster chuckled. “I've got to hand it to you, boys,” he said. “You always deliver the goods!”

He turned toward the shanties and gave a low whistle. Here and there a half dozen figures appeared from the shadows and crossed to join the boys and Muster at the shack.

“Wait here,” the officer ordered his men. He and the Hardys entered the shanty. The detective beamed his flashlight on the prone figure of Duke, who blinked and scowled.

“Now that you're awake,” Frank said, “you'd be smart to tell us where our missing chums are.”

The man glared and did not answer.

“Don't waste time on him,” Joe advised. “Let's search this place. Maybe the bank loot is hidden here.”

Frank and Joe borrowed flashlights from two of the men outside and began to help Detective Muster. They inspected the crude walls and flooring. Finally, they stood up, disappointed.

“Nothing,” Frank said, “and there's no other place to hide anything except in the little stove.”

At this, Duke darted an apprehensive look at the stove. In two quick strides Frank reached it, lifted the stove lid, and plunged his hand inside.

“There's something here!” he exclaimed. He pulled out a limp object. “A rubber mask! I think there are more!” he added quickly, reaching in again. One after another, he brought out four additional false faces.

Joe whistled. “The bank robbers' masks! What a find! This shack must have been their headquarters—for a time, at least!”

“Great work, Frank!” Detective Muster congratulated him. “There'll probably be plenty of fingerprints on those masks.” He pulled a large folded paper sack from his pocket and opened it. “Drop them in here.”

The detective summoned two of his men to unbind the prisoner. Then they handcuffed Duke and led him to the police cars hidden in the pines on the other side of Shore Road. Muster and the boys followed. When they reached headquarters, Chief Collig sent the rubber masks to his lab for immediate fingerprint analysis. Finally he turned to the Hardys. “Letting yourselves be kidnaped was a daring stunt, boys. But you got results.” He looked at Duke, who sat beside him, scowling.

Frank drew the chief aside and asked quietly, “How about Dad and his men? Have they located Chet and Biff?”

The chief shook his head. “They should have radioed in by now,” he replied. “Let's see what we can get out of the prisoner.” He walked over and stood in front of Duke. “If you know what's good for you—” he began but was interrupted by a clatter of feet outside.

The next moment Ben Stark and Moran, handcuffed together, entered the chief's office, followed by Fenton Hardy and two policemen.

“Dad!” cried Joe. “Did you find Chet and Biff?”

“No,” said his father quietly. “Are you boys all right? You look as if you'd had a rough time.”

“We're okay,” Frank assured his father quickly. “Tell us your story.”

“We followed Stark and Moran from Shantytown,” his father explained. “They drove down to the docks and sat there, apparently waiting for a boat. When it didn't show up, they headed back to Shantytown. So did we. As soon as I saw that Pat was missing from his station, I knew you boys and your guard had been brought here. We arrested these two right in the shack.”

“Do Stark and Moran know where Biff and Chet are?” Joe asked.

“I think they know all right,” Fenton Hardy said grimly. “But they're not talking.”

Frank and Joe looked disappointed.

“Cheer up,” Chief Collig advised them. “You've done a terrific job. We can hold these three on a charge of kidnaping you. After we've checked the prints on the masks you found, we'll probably be able to identify them conclusively as the bank robbers.”

After the sullen prisoners were taken away, Frank and Joe told their father and the police what had happened to them. Then the Hardys left the station and piled into the detective's car.

“We'll pick up our motorcycles tomorrow,” Frank said.

When they reached home, the three shared a late supper of cold chicken, milk, and apple pie. Then they went straight to bed.

The next morning, as the boys were coming downstairs to breakfast, the telephone rang. “I'll get it,” said Mr. Hardy, picking up the receiver.

A few minutes later he joined the boys in the dining room. “That was Chief Collig,” the detective announced. “The fingerprints of Ben Stark, Fritz Stark, Duke, and Moran—all wanted by the police—were on the masks. One set of prints is unidentified.”

“They probably belong to the big bald fellow,” said Frank. “The one Mr. Caine mentioned.”

“Caine!” exclaimed their father. “In all the excitement I forgot to tell you that Mr. Caine phoned yesterday just after you left for the costume shop. He wants you to call him.”

At this news the boys hurried to the hall and Frank dialed the long-distance call to Northport. In a few seconds Frank was speaking to the friendly dock manager.

“You remember those fellows who rented the
Black Cat
from me?” he asked. “Well, one of ‘em left an empty envelope in his hotel room. I own the hotel, that's how I found it. Thought it might help you to track 'em down. Fritz Stark's address is on it.”

“That's wonderful, Mr. Caine!” Frank cried out, and said to Joe, “He has what might be the Starks' address.” Turning back to the telephone, Frank asked, “Where was the letter from?”

“Let me see ...” the dock manager said. “It's from Worldwide Radio Distributors, Yokohama, over in Japan!”

“MR. CAINE,” said Frank in a puzzled tone, “may I have the address on the letter?”

After jotting down the information, Frank thanked him and said good-by. He told Joe, “Just a San Francisco hotel. But the sender was the distributor for radios in Yokohama.”

“Sutton had a Yokohama radio!” Joe exclaimed. “And we saw him talking to Ben Stark that day at Shantytown.”

“The radio seems to be a connection between them,” Frank pointed out. “I think we'd better go back to the hi-fi shop, and find out more about the identity of Yokohama Super-X purchasers.”

After eating breakfast, the boys hurried off, first to pick up their motorcycles, then to go to the hi-fi shop. When they entered the store, the young clerk was glad to see them.

“Change your minds, fellows?” he asked hopefully. “Like to buy one of those sets?”

“We
would
like to look at them,” Frank replied.

Immediately the clerk bustled off and returned with four of the compact little radios. “Go ahead,” he invited. “Try them.”

While Joe flicked the button on one set, the young man said, “These are neat. As I told you the other day, we buy them from a distributor in Japan.” In response to Frank's query about who had purchased them, the clerk gave the customers' names, all familiar to the Hardy3. None of them could be suspect.

“Three of these radios came in yesterday afternoon. I could give you boys a good price, since we bought them at a big discount.”

“How come?” Frank asked.

“Well, we didn't buy these from the distributor,” the clerk admitted. “These were brought in by a fellow who wanted to sell them at a secondhand price, even though they're brand new. My boss snapped up all three. He knows a bargain.”

“I see.” Frank nodded. “No questions asked.”

“Oh, it's not anything illegal,” the clerk hastened to say. “They were brought in by a respectable businessman, Mr. French, who owns the costume store down the street.”

“Mr. French!” the boys echoed in amazement.

“Yes. What's so strange about that?”

“Oh, nothing, I guess,” Frank replied. “You just reminded us that we must see Mr. French ourselves right away. The radios will have to wait. Come on, Joe!”

While the mystified clerk stared after the Hardys, they bolted from the shop and hurried along the sidewalk toward the costume shop.

“Mr. French again,” Joe muttered, shaking his head. “Is he one of this gang?”

“Somehow I trust him,” Frank replied. “Maybe the robbers are forcing him to play along with them, and have threatened harm to his family unless he does.”

“He didn't look very happy the afternoon we picked up our costumes,” Joe recalled. “Those men in his shop
were
threatening him. And when he came to our house in the middle of the night, it was no mistake!”

“He knows Dad's a detective,” Frank said. “I think he wanted him and was confused when we answered the door.”

“Well, we'll soon find out,” Joe said as they neared the shop.

“It looks closed,” Frank remarked. The heavy door was shut and the blinds drawn. Going closer, the boys saw a sign in the window:

 

“I wonder why,” said Joe. “Has Mr. French gone out of business?”

“Hey,” Frank cried out, “where are the gorilla and magician outfits that were in the window yesterday afternoon?”

Only one costume was now on display—a skeleton suit, which stood up with outspread arms, like a scarecrow!

“I hate to think what
that
costume means, if it's a signal,” Joe said.

“Never mind,” Frank said. “We must find Mr. French. Perhaps he lives over the store.” Frank strode to a door at one side of the building. “Yes, here's his name on the bell plate.”

Impatiently the young detective jabbed with his thumb at the button. The bell sounded loudly but no one answered.

“Hey!” came a sharp voice. “What are you two doing here?”

Frank and Joe whirled to face their two chums Jerry Gilroy and Tony Prito.

“We're sleuthing around,” Joe replied, and grinned. “What are you fellows up to?”

Tony explained that he and Jerry were on an errand for Mr. Prito, then asked, “Have you found out anything more about Chet and Biff?”

“We found out plenty!” Joe exploded. “Chet and Biff were kidnaped by the bank robbers, who mistook them for Frank and me.”

“What!” cried Tony and Jerry. While they listened intently, Frank and Joe gave the details of their adventure the night before.

“But where is the gang holding them?” Jerry wondered. “Could it be Hermit Island?”

“Could be,” Frank said. “We found out the hermit we saw is a fake. The real one's dead.”

“And when Dad trailed Stark and Moran last night,” Joe put in, “they went to the dock and waited for a boat. That could mean the rest of the gang—and Chet and Biff—are some place only accessible by water.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” urged Jerry. “Let's head for Hermit Island!”

“Yes—and no girls this time,” Tony added. “That phony hermit carries a shotgun, and if the robbers are there, the danger is double.”