The Pentagon Spy (15 page)

He went to the phone and tried to get a connection. Then he replaced the instrument in its cradle with a despairing gesture. “The phone is dead!” he declared.

“Morven and Bryle must have cut the line,” Joe guessed. “I just wish we knew where they went. They could be anywhere in town or even at one of the farms around it!”

The boys sat in glum silence trying to plan their next move. Suddenly Frank had an idea. “Mr. Hammerley, do you have a cassette player?”

“Sure I do. I record messages for the grain dealers all the time. Why do you ask?”

“I'd like to try something.” Frank told Hammerley about the tape they had received at the Sunset Motel. “Mind if I play it again?” he asked.

“Of course not. Follow me.”

When Hammerley heard the weird voice, he was puzzled. “Who in the world would talk like that?” he wondered.

“Is there a speed control on this machine?” Frank asked.

Hammerley showed him where it was, and the young detective turned it down. He replayed the tape, adjusting the speed even further. The voice diminished from the weird squeak to a normal range, and everyone gasped.

The speaker was Gaspard Clay!

Frank and Joe stared at one another and Hammerley stood staring, his mouth open, as the cassette spun on to the end of its message.

“Gaspard Clay!” he gulped. “How did you know his voice was on the tape?”

“I didn‘t,” Frank replied. “It just occurred to me suddenly that whoever made the recording might have changed the frequency to disguise his voice. When Joe and I experimented with tape recordings in our lab, we did that once.”

“That's right,” Joe added. “Lucky you thought of that, Frank. Say, I'll bet Clay made this recording right after we talked to him at the museum. When we asked him about Chesapeake Crossing, he must have figured we were headed there. So he warned us over the phone first, then took the cassette down there to try to scare us away.”

“As long as Clay is one of the weather vane gang,” Frank mused, “he's probably involved with the Pentagon spy, too.”

“This is all very confusing,” Hammerley said. “Why don't you bring me up to date on your investigation?”

Frank explained the connection of the two cases. “Morven and Bryle also worked for Wickerson,” he said. “Since they went into town, they probably have joined Clay.”

The light dawned on Joe. “The stolen weather vanes might be at the museum!” he exclaimed. “We'd better get over there fast before the gang moves the stuff out!”

“May we borrow two of your horses, Mr. Hammerley?” Frank asked.

“Sure. Take Red and King. They're the best saddle mounts I own.”

The Hardys raced to the stable, took down bridles and saddles of burnished leather from pegs on the wall, and hurried into the stalls. Frank took Red, while Joe saddled King. Then they led the animals out of their stalls. The horses champed at the bit and pawed the ground as the boys mounted them.

Frank patted Red on the shoulder and tugged on the bridle. “Come on,” he coaxed. “Let's see what you can do!”

The horse cantered a few steps then broke into a fast gallop. Joe was right behind his brother as they neared the pasture and urged their horses forward at top speed. They took the fence in flying leaps. When they came to the boulders the boys had passed on their way to Juniper Field before, they fell into single file and rode along the narrow path through the woods. Arriving at Juniper Field, they circled the airport then slowed their horses to a canter in the town.

Night was falling when they drew rein within sight of the county historical museum. Frank maneuvered close to Joe. “The gang might hear us coming,” he warned. “We'd better go the rest of the way on foot.”

They dismounted and tied the horses to a tree, then they sneaked through to the edge of the woods. The museum was dark except for a light in one room.

“That's the west wing,” Joe noted. “The one Clay said was closed for repairs.”

“Well, something's going on in there now,” Frank pointed out.

Reaching the museum grounds, they climbed a picket fence and crawled toward the building on their hands and knees. They moved along cautiously in case a member of the gang was standing guard. Judging that the coast was clear, they rose to their feet and flattened themselves against the wall on either side of the lighted window. Gingerly they peered around the frame into the room.

It was filled with weather vanes!

“There's the
Flashing Arrow!”
Joe whispered, “and the
Galloping Rider
is right next to it!”

Crow Morven and Ed Bryle were shifting the weather vanes and stacking them near the door. “We can load these up in a hurry,” Bryle declared as he placed the
Flashing Arrow
at the end of one stack.

“We sure fooled the Hardys,” Morven gloated with an evil grin. “They never caught on when I cut the phone line from the barn to the house. And they didn't figure out that I sneaked into the house and doped Hammerley's cocoa. Too bad I couldn't get into the kitchen and destroy the evidence. But that dratted Mrs. Smith locked the window after I unlocked it.”

“Those nosy kids!” Bryle complained. “I'd feel better if my time bomb had gone off sooner and done away with them. As long as they're around, there's no telling where they'll turn up next!”

Morven nodded. “That's true. But there's nothing we can do about it now.”

Having finished shifting the weather vanes over to the door, the men returned to the center of the room where there was a table flanked by a number of chairs. They sat down. Morven tilted his chair onto its back legs and placed his feet on a corner of the table. “Wanna play a game of poker while we're waiting?” he asked.

“Why not?”

Frank nudged Joe. “We've got enough evidence to blow the whistle on them. Let's get the police before they clear out of here!”

The Hardys were about to move when Frank pulled Joe back against the wall. A beam of light flashed past them. Instinctively, they froze to avoid being seen.

“It's a headlight,” Frank whispered. “A truck's coming.”

The vehicle eased up to the museum through the darkness and stopped at the door of the west wing. The driver got out. He was the tall man wearing a black beard and dark glasses!

Climbing the stone steps, he knocked on the door; first three slow knocks, then two rapid ones, and finally three slow ones again.

“That must be the gang's signal,” Joe thought to himself.

A chair scraped on the floor inside. Footsteps approached the door. When it opened, Morven was standing there.

“Hi, boss,” he said.

The newcomer went into the museum. The Hardys returned to their post at the window and watched him sitting down. Unlacing his heavy shoes, he took them off and pushed them under the table, revealing as he did so that they were specially built with soles about three inches thick.

He drew a regular pair from beside the chair, put them on, and stood up. Now he was of medium height. He grabbed hold of his black beard on one side and stripped it off with a single motion. Then he removed his dark glasses and replaced them with steel-rimmed spectacles, which he pushed up on his forehead.

“Joshua Korbo!” Frank and Joe gasped the name as they recognized the auctioneer.

Korbo tossed his beard and dark glasses aside. “I won't need these anymore,” he said. “Our weather vane caper in this county is over. I'll use a different disguise the next time. We go into action again a hundred miles from here after the heat's off.”

“Good idea,” Morven said. “I could use a little vacation in between.”

“We'll use the same system,” Korbo went on. “Each time, I'll prepare a paper with a hex sign identifying the weather vane and the place to hide it. Then we truck it on to Chesapeake Crossing.”

He took a list from his pocket, went over to the weather vanes, and checked them off with a pencil. Morven and Bryle watched him in silence. They seemed afraid of an explosion if Korbo found any of the stolen items missing.

“All here,” he said with satisfaction after a moment or so. “I'll bring in my fence now so we can move our goods.”

He went to the door and called out, “Bucky! Come in and have a look!”

A man got out of the truck, walked up the stairs, and entered the room. He was the desk clerk from the Sunset Motel!

Clay didn't have to sneak into the motel with the cassette, Joe now realized. All he had to do was walk in and hand it to Bucky! Some motel clerk—he's an international smuggler!

Bucky looked over the stacked weather vanes. “This is a good haul. The
Flashing Arrow
and the
Galloping Rider
will go for about twenty grand apiece. The rest are nearly as valuable. I'll be able to fence them abroad. My contacts will buy every American weather vane I can send them. And all the classified Pentagon documents from Washington!” Bucky added with a grin.

“No more documents from now on,” Korbo said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Wickerson got caught and arrested last night. Not only that, the Hardys were at Barren Island and freed Clifford Hunter!”

“What!” Morven and Bryle were flabbergasted.

“If you hadn't failed with your bomb plot,” Korbo said to Bryle, “we'd be in better shape. Wickerson is a real threat to us now if he talks, and so is Hunter, not to mention those nosy detectives!”

Bucky became nervous. “Let's load up as fast as we can. I have a cabin on the beach at Chesapeake Crossing where we can store the goods safely until we see the midnight signal out on the bay. Then I'll deliver them by powerboat.”

Korbo turned to Morven and Bryle. “Okay, start moving the stuff out to the truck.”

Frank and Joe put their heads together underneath the window. “You go for the police,” Frank said in a low tone to his brother. “I'll watch the crooks.”

“Oh no!” boomed a voice behind them. “You're both going, ahem, inside!”

Whirling around, the Hardys were confronted by Gaspard Clay and two other men brandishing ax handles at them.

“Up the steps!” Clay commanded. “And no tricks or we'll use these on you!”

Frank and Joe, seeing they had no alternative, entered the west wing of the museum, closely followed by their captors.

“The Hardys!” Korbo exploded. “Where'd you find them?”

Clay explained how he had caught the boys listening outside the window.

“Then they must have heard everything we said!” Korbo grated.

“Doesn't matter, boss,” Morven rasped. “Now we can get rid of them for good.”

Bryle scowled at the boys. “The time bomb I planted on your powerboat should‘a done you guys in a couple of days ago!”

“You made the mechanism too loud,” Frank told him. “We heard it when we cut the engine.”

“Well, you only postponed your fate,” Clay smirked. “I tried to warn you off the weather vane case and told you the hex was on you, but you wouldn't take the hint. Now you'll pay for it!” He turned to Morven. “Tie ‘em up. We'll drop them into the Chesapeake Bay!”

Morven produced a rope and shoved the boys against the far wall next to the door to the main building. He tied their ankles and bound their hands behind their backs.

“Can't we at least sit down?” Joe spoke up. “It's not our intention to make you comfortable,” Korbo replied sarcastically. “Not only are you going to stand up, you're going to shut up!” He turned to Morven. “Gag‘em, Crow!”

Morven tied handkerchiefs across the boys' mouths. Then he drew a four-pronged grappling iron from under a table. “This is what we used the night we snatched the
Flashing Arrow,”
he said with an evil grin. “It'll sink you in the bay when we get there!” He looped the rope with which he had tied their ankles around the prongs of the grappling hook so it served as an anchor holding them in place.

“Now we'd better start loading the truck,” he suggested. “We don't want to waste any more—”

A police siren in the distance interrupted Morven's sentence.

“The cops!” Korbo exploded as the sound grew louder. “They're coming this way. Everybody duck!” He ran to the door and locked it, then snapped off the light, plunging the room into darkness. Seconds later several squad cars roared up and surrounded the museum.

“You cannot escape!” Mr. Hardy announced through a bullhorn. “Throw down your weapons and come out with your hands up!”