The Mystery of the Aztec Warrior (2 page)

Mr. Weaver asked Joe to hurry downstairs and telephone for the ambulance. “We'd better not move Mr. Brower.”

While he and Frank were waiting they kept close watch of the victim, but began to pull out the dresser drawers one by one to see what the man was after.

The man was struggling to free himself

“These certainly are stiff,” Frank remarked. “Mr. Brower must have tried to open one and pulled the dresser over on himself.”

“I'm afraid so,” Mr. Weaver agreed. “He had no right being here. I wonder how he got in.”

The drawers were filled with a collection of old books and old clothes. “Nothing unusual at all,” Frank remarked. “I was hoping maybe we could find a clue to the Aztec warrior object.”

Joe returned from the first floor and said the ambulance would be there in a few minutes. He went back downstairs to wait for it and in a very short time an intern and an attendant carrying a stretcher came up to the attic. The doctor examined Mr. Brower, then said, “This man must be taken to the hospital.”

The two men transferred the patient to the stretcher, carried him downstairs and out to the ambulance, with the boys following. As soon as it had driven away, Frank said he would like to return to the attic and make a search.

“Mr. Brower may have had a good hunch. Also, I noticed several boxes of picture slides. Maybe there'll be a clue to our case in one of them!”

“Then let's go!” Joe urged.

“You mean there might be a picture of the Aztec warrior among these slides?” Mr. Weaver asked, as he and the Hardys reached the attic.

“Yes, either of the man or of the object,” Frank answered eagerly.

Mr. Weaver was intrigued by the idea and suggested that the three of them carry the boxes of slides downstairs. “When I was searching the house, I noticed a screen and projector on the first floor. By the way, only a few of the boxes are marked, so you'll probably have hundreds of pictures to look at.”

Quickly they gathered up the boxes and began lugging them down the two flights of stairs. As Joe, in the lead, started for the first floor, he suddenly tripped on a worn spot in the carpeting. Two boxes flew from his arms, and he went sprawling.

Joe started to slide downward but caught a banister rail and pulled himself up, rubbing a bruised elbow. The slides lay in the hallway below, hopelessly mixed up.

“Great!” he said in chagrin.

Frank chuckled. “All in a sleuth's day.”

The boys picked up the slides, and Mr. Weaver brought out the screen and projector.

While Joe set these up in the living room, Frank put aside the boxes on which there were notations of Greece, Italy, Egypt, and India. “I'm sure we won't find a picture of either Aztec warrior among these,” he said. “I'll bet what we're looking for has something to do with Mexico.”

The draperies were drawn, and Frank began handing slides from unmarked boxes to Joe. The first group of pictures looked as if they had been taken in the Rocky Mountains. Then came scenes in Hawaii, Canada, and England.

Although the boys had not yet come across any pictures of Mexico, they were so fascinated by the slides that they did not realize a full hour had gone by. Presently Mr. Weaver mentioned the time. “Two more boxes and we'll have to quit,” he announced. “I must get back to the office.”

Joe turned the projector to full speed, and the slides began flashing on and off the screen.

Suddenly Frank gave a shout. “We've hit Mexico! That's a building at the University in Mexico City!”

“You've been there?” Mr. Weaver asked him.

“Joe and I visited Mexico and once had a fleeting glimpse of Mexico City. But I recognized the university from pictures I've seen.”

Joe then threw a slide on the screen which Mr. Weaver recognized as the Pyramid of the Sun, one of the great ruins outside Mexico City.

“Hold that picture!” Frank called out. “It's Aztec. There might be a clue in it.”

The Hardys could not detect anything extraordinary. The few people in the picture were not distinct enough to be recognized.

Joe released the hold button, and the projector began to work automatically again. There were some pictures of candle cactus, and of a lake with fishermen who held strange-looking nets.

“That's Lake Patzcuaro,” said Mr. Weaver. “Those are the butterfly nets. It's the only place in the world where fish nets like those are used. Well, boys, I must leave. We'll come back sometime and look at the rest of the slides.”

“Would you mind if Joe and I stay here and finish them now?” Frank asked.

Mr. Weaver smiled. “Personally, no, but I have a responsibility as an executor, and such a thing might be criticized.”

While he was talking, Joe showed one more slide. It was a picture of two men standing side by side. Joe pushed the hold button.

“That one on the left is Mr. Moore!” the lawyer said excitedly.

“And the Indian-Spanish-looking gentleman with him?” Joe said. “Is he Roberto Hermosa?”

“I don't know,” Mr. Weaver replied.

Frank was staring at the picture. “He just might be the direct descendant of the Aztec warrior!” he cried out.

Mr. Weaver was so excited he forgot all about leaving. Joe quickly ran through the rest of the slides in the box. Each one showed the same two men in various parts of a lovely garden.

“Mr. Weaver,” said Frank, “since some of these slides are similar, would you let me take one and make a print from it?”

The lawyer considered the request, then finally consented.

Frank picked out the clearest view of Mr. Moore and his companion, put the slide in a handkerchief, and slipped it into a pocket.

The projector, screen, and boxes of slides were put away. Then the lawyer and the two young detectives left the house, locking the door. As soon as the boys reached home, they went to their workshop over the garage to make a print, which Frank later tucked into his wallet.

As the brothers were walking to the house, their father drove in. “Any luck?” he asked.

“We think we had a little,” Frank told him, pulling out the picture. “One man is Mr. Moore. The other may be either Roberto Hermosa or the Aztec warrior descendant. We found the picture in a box of Mr. Moore's Mexican slides.”

The three went into the comfortable, well-furnished house, where they were greeted by Mrs. Hardy. She was a small, slender woman with a sweet smile. She tried to take the adventuresome life of her family philosophically, but worried over the dangers she knew they encountered.

They were met also by Miss Gertrude Hardy, the detective's sister, who lived with them. She was a tall, spare woman, who adored her nephews, but frequently made it quite clear she thought they were not cautious enough in their sleuthing. Upon a few occasions her dire predictions of danger had come true.

Frank and Joe had been through many hair-raising adventures, starting with the mystery of
The Tower Treasure.
Recently they had solved a most unusual case,
The Viking Symbol Mystery,
in northwest Canada.

When Aunt Gertrude heard about the beneficiary who had been searching in the attic, she said tartly, “The idea! Why, he should be cut out of the will! There's no telling what he's already gotten away with!”

“We don't know that he was trying to steal anything,” Frank defended Mr. Brower.

Aunt Gertrude was unconvinced. “There may be secret hiding places in that house,” she declared. “If
I
were in Mr. Weaver's place, I'd get out a search warrant and go through all that Mr. Brower's effects.”

Mr. Hardy patted his sister's shoulder. “I'm sure that the man will have a good explanation when he regains consciousness. Let's give him a chance to tell his story.”

“This is your case, of course, but I wouldn't put too much faith in that man!” she said, and hurried to the kitchen. Mrs. Hardy waited with the boys while the detective telephoned the hospital. He reported to his family that Mr. Brower was still unconscious.

“He must have had a bad whack on the head,” Mr. Hardy remarked.

Frank and Joe talked about the case until luncheon was ready. The meal included one of Aunt Gertrude's famous strawberry shortcakes topped with a sea of whipped cream. Presently the conversation turned again to the mystery.

“I think we should bone up on Mexican history,” said Frank, “especially the period when the Aztecs were in power.”

They excused themselves from the table and went to their father's library. Each boy selected a volume on Mexico's fascinating history.

“Whew! Human sacrifice!” Joe suddenly exclaimed. “They chose a young man, and for one year gave him the best food and clothes and entertainment possible, then killed him as a sacrifice to the war god!”

“Yes, and everything was done in the name of religion, with the priests as the killers!” Frank remarked.

The boys studied pictures of the elaborate costumes worn by Aztec warriors.

“Pretty fancy!” Joe remarked.

He pointed to a colorful illustration of a warrior in headdress and shirt of yellow parrot feathers and sprays of costly quetzal feathers, all decorated with gold. Another picture showed a whole squadron wearing uniforms made of jaguar skins and carrying shields adorned with golden disks, butterflies, and serpents; on their feet were embroidered sandals with thongs of orange leather.

The Hardys looked up as they heard a car roar up in front of the house and stop.

He grinned. “I'll bet that's Chet!”

Joe peered from the window. “You're right.”

Coming up the walk was a stout, good-natured-looking boy, a schoolmate of the Hardys. Chet Morton was a particular friend and often but unwittingly found himself involved in the mysteries the brothers were solving.

“Hi, fellows!” he said, as Joe opened the door and he walked in. “Why so glum?” he asked. “Something happen?”

“Oh, nothing much, except that we rescued an unconscious man, and we're searching for an Aztec warrior,” Frank said nonchalantly.

Chet's eyes bulged. “You what!”

Quickly Frank and Joe told their friend the story of the Moore mystery. “Sounds crazy,” Chet remarked. “But the part about Mexico interests me. I've read some of that history myself. Say, do you know what those old Aztecs used to eat?”

“No.”

“They cooked with flowers,” was Chet's surprising answer. “The acacia flower was supposed to cure melancholia. They sprinkled the flowers into an egg batter, fried it, and covered it with sugar and cinnamon.” Chet smacked his lips. “I've always meant to try it.”

“You suffering from melancholia?” Frank teased.

“Did they use any other kinds of flowers?” Joe asked.

“Sure. They made pie fillings with roses—boiled them up with sugar and lemon, and they made a drink out of the red blossoms from the Jamaica tree. You've heard of eating squash blossoms, haven't you? The Aztecs munched them during ceremonies to their rain-god.”

Joe grinned. “I'm sure Aunt Gertrude would love to make some geranium soup!”

Chet laughed. “I just stopped by to ask you fellows if you'd be interested in going to a movie. But now I suppose you'll have to stick around to solve this mystery.”

“I'm afraid we will,” Frank said. “But we'll be in touch!”

“Well, lots of luck to you,” said Chet as he left the house. Frank and Joe watched him roar off down the street in his open jalopy. Then suddenly both brothers wanted to be on the move themselves.

“How about driving out to the Moore house tonight?” Joe proposed. “No restrictions on looking over the grounds.”

“Sure thing.”

After supper the boys took flashlights and set off in their car, with Frank at the wheel. When they reached the entrance to the Moore property, he stopped.

“Let's leave the car here,” he suggested.

The boys hopped out and started up the driveway. It was still dusk, so there was no need for their flashlights. As they reached the left side of the house, the brothers were surprised to see a plump, white-haired woman standing there, gazing upward.

Hearing them, she turned. For a moment she looked hard at the boys, then smiled. “Good evenin‘,” she said. “You startled me. I thought maybe you were burglars. But you're nice-lookin' lads. My name is Mary O'Brien. I used to work by the day for the dear old gentleman who lived here.”

“You mean Mr. Moore?' Frank asked her.

Mary O'Brien nodded. “It was sad, his death. Such a fine person. I enjoyed workin' for him. I was just relivin' those nice times.”