The Bombay Boomerang

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Won’t you come in?” he said politely. Joe joined the group in the hall.

  “We’d like to speak to Fenton Hardy,” declared the man in the trench coat and snap-brim hat.

  “Yeah, important business,” said his partner in the windbreaker and beret.

  The boys said their father was away from home. They did not volunteer any information as to his whereabouts.

  “Since your father isn’t here, maybe you can help us,” the first fellow declared in a gravelly voice.

  “Not likely!” was the reply that occurred to Joe, but he held his tongue.

  “Do you have a Mercury for sale? We were told you advertised a second-hand job. If the price is right, we just might be willing to take it off your hands.”

  Frank and Joe answered that they had never advertised a second-hand car.

  “Oh. Well, maybe we’ve got the wrong address.”

  As the two men went out, Snap Brim turned around and mentioned the name of a hotel on the Bayport waterfront. “If you hear of anyone with a Mercury that’s in shape for a long drive, let us know! We’re in Room 203.”

  The door shut behind them.

  “What do you make of those guys?” Joe asked his brother.

  “I don’t like their looks,” Frank replied. “Where do types like that get enough money to patronize the best clothing stores? If they have money, why are they living in a waterfront hotel? And why would they be interested in a second-hand car?”

  “Seems to me we should do a little investigating. Let’s go to the hotel and call their bluff!”

  Frank went along with that, but another thought occurred to him. “Wait a minute! Biff Hooper’s uncle has an old Mercury. Could be he’s in the market for a buyer.”

  Joe put in a phone call and came back with the report. “Affirmative. The old heap is available for the first guy with ready cash who turns up. You know what this does? It gives us a good excuse to visit our new friends—I use that last term loosely.”

  “New enemies might be more like it,” Frank concurred. “Still, we don’t have much to go on, except appearances. It could be that the Mercury bit is merely a coincidence.”

  Joe chuckled. “Will our faces be red if those fellows really want to buy a second-hand car!”

  Deciding to take no chances, the Hardys asked their pals Biff Hooper and Tony Prito to accompany them to the waterfront. Both were ready, willing, and able.

  Biff, a blond six-footer, knew how to use his fists, and dark-eyed, olive-skinned Tony could always be counted on in a dangerous mission.

  The two roared up the driveway a little later in Biff’s car. “What’s the play?” Tony demanded, jumping out of the bucket seat before the vehicle jolted to a stop.

  “How many desperadoes do we corral this time around?” Biff quipped.

  “Don’t crave too much action,” Frank advised. “You might get more than you bargained for!”

  Quickly the Hardys filled them in, after which the four headed for the waterfront. Biff parked on a side street near the hotel, a dilapidated building with shingles askew on the roof, and paint peeling off the walls. The neon lights had half the letters missing.

  The boys got out and advanced cautiously. The front door was open, revealing the small, dingy lobby. A sleazy clerk sprawled over the desk, reading a newspaper.

  After one look, Biff gave his verdict. “My impression is that we’re inspecting the place most likely to have a guest list made up of characters from the rogues’ gallery.”

  Tony bobbed his head up and down. “Certainly not the Waldorf-Astoria,” he said.

  “I know,” Frank agreed. “That’s why we asked you to come along. There’s a slight chance that these fellows are on the up-and-up about the car. But we think there’s something phony about them. And we want to know what it is.”

  “No matter how you slice this salami, we’ve got to go in there,” Joe added.

  “Since Joe and I can identify the guys we want to check, we’ll go up to their room,” Frank continued. “If all we have to do is arrange a deal about a car, we should be back here in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  “If you don’t see us pretty quickly, you’ll know something’s gone wrong,” Joe added. “That’ll be your clue to come busting in. Let’s put a time limit of ten minutes on the operation.”

  “Roger,” said Biff, and the four synchronized their watches. Then the Hardys entered the hotel.

  The desk clerk raised his eyes from his paper and gave them a suspicious stare. When they told him the number of the room they wanted, he jerked a thumb toward the stairs and mumbled, “Second floor, third left.”

  “Pleasant receptionist,” Joe observed sarcastically as they climbed the stairs.

  They found the room and rapped on the door. It was opened by the man in the beret.

  “Well, look who’s here!” he said, sounding so threatening that Joe was reminded of the story about the spider and the fly. “Won’t you come into my parlor—” he recited under his breath.

  Frank and Joe went in. They immediately recognized Snap Brim standing at the window. He came toward them with a menacing scowl. Shaking his fist at them, he spoke with suppressed fury. “So you think we want a car, do you? I’ll tell you what we want. Mercury!”

  “Your old man is poking his fingers into a hot racket, and we don’t like it!” Beret added.

  Joe spun on his toes and headed for the door. He was quick, but not quick enough. Beret stepped in front of him. Tall and beefy, he flexed his powerful shoulders, raising his long arms in a wrestler’s stance.

  “Come on,” he barked. “I’m itching to take care of you. Next time you bob up, it’ll be in the bay, and you’ll be as dead as an iced mackerel!”

  CHAPTER III

  The Hotel Caper

  SUDDENLY the door splintered inward with a terrific crash, dislodging the lock. Biff and Tony hurtled into the room.

  “Sorry we haven’t been introduced,” Tony said to the beefy character, “but I imagine we’ll get to know one another real fast!”

  “It’s all a question of timing,” Biff quipped. “To wit, ten minutes!”

  Joe covered his relief with a whimsical remark. “We were about to have a ball, just the four of us.”

  “A brawl!” Frank corrected him.

  “A real go-round,” Biff added, “only our invitations never arrived. Anyway, the party’s over.”

  The two men were caught off balance. Snap Brim, who had lowered his fist, recovered first. “Okay,” he snarled at the Hardys. “So you’ve got a bodyguard. But next time may be different! And there’s sure gonna be a next time! We’re not through with you by a long shot, or with your old man, either! You can tell him that!”

  Frank, Joe, Biff, and Tony stepped past the door which was crazily swinging on its hinges. The desk clerk, who had heard the noise and came upstairs, looked at them uncomprehendingly as they walked past him and out of the hotel.

  “That caper had a happy ending,” Tony remarked.

  “I wouldn’t be too sure it’s ended,” Frank warned. “The curtain hasn’t gone up on act two yet.”

  A series of rapid-fire explosions dented their eardrums. Down the street chugged an antiquated jalopy—fire—engine red, bucking like a bronco and backfiring explosively with nearly every revolution of the cylinders.

  Roly-poly Chet Morton guided his favorite vehicle to a stop at the curb and jumped out. “I’ve just been to your house,” he said. “Your mother says your dad phoned from Baltimore. She looked so worried, I think there’s something brewing. You’re to contact your father before you do anything else.”

  The Hardys glanced up at the second floor of the hotel and spotted a scowling face at the window of the room they had just left. Beret stared down on them, a slightly baffled expression on his face.

  Had he heard Chet’s booming voice clearly enough to understand the message from Fenton Hardy? If so, it could mean trouble, and plenty of it!

  Biff came up w
ith an idea. “Suppose I stay here to keep an eye on these birds? If they come out, I’ll tail them. That’ll give you a chance to go home and put in that call to Baltimore. We’ll meet here later and compare notes.”

  “I’ll keep you company,” Tony suggested. “Just in case you need some reinforcement.”

  “Good thought,” Frank said. “Let’s go.”

  “I’ll take you in my car,” Chet offered.

  “And arrive with an aching back!” Joe groaned.

  Everybody ragged Chet Morton about his bone-rattling car. But he wheeled it around the busy streets of Bayport, and boasted a good safety record, partly because pedestrians and motorists who heard him coming got out of the way.

  Right now the Hardys were glad to have Chet give them a lift to their house. While Chet went into the kitchen looking for one of Aunt Gertrude’s specialties which were usually available, Frank dialed the number of his father’s hotel. The detective answered almost immediately.

  “Let me call you right back,” he said. “Stand by!”

  A few minutes later the phone rang. Frank picked it up, while Joe ran upstairs to the study to listen in on the extension.

  “I didn’t want this call to go through the switchboard here,” Mr. Hardy explained. “Someone might eavesdrop on us.”

  “Dad, what’s going on?” Frank wanted to know.

  “Well, not too much on my end,” his father replied. “However, I’m not discouraged. I picked up a few leads that are worth checking out. Right now I’m posing as a hood. It’s the best disguise for undercover operations along the waterfront where hoods hang out.”

  Frank interjected, “Do you realize that the mercury gang is on to you? They came to our house hoping to find you here. And when we went to their hotel to check up on them, they got violent over your part in the case. Said to get off their backs—or else!”

  The news surprised Mr. Hardy, who listened grimly to Frank’s detailed account of the events that afternoon.

  “Obviously word has gotten around that I’m working on the case. You and Joe better watch your step as long as those two mugs are loose in Bayport. It was a good idea to have Biff tail them. Perhaps they’ll lead him to something.”

  “I hope so. What’s your next step, Dad?”

  “Well, I’m not exactly in the safest spot here. The thieves might even know that Hardy and Marks are the same man.”

  “If that guy in the hotel heard Chet mention that you’re in Baltimore, they might put two and two together!” Frank said.

  “They might and they might not. I have no choice but to continue as L. Marks and play it by ear.”

  Frank and his father batted the details around to be sure of covering all angles. Finally Mr. Hardy said, “The Bayport pair look like our best bet right now. They probably rank on a lower echelon of the organization and receive strong-arm assignments from the top. They might lead you to the ringleader. Try not to let them shake you and tail them wherever they go.”

  “Right. I’m sure Biff and Tony will help, too.”

  “Okay. But at the same time you’d better get the police to back you up. Tell the whole story to Chief Collig. He’ll know what to do.”

  “What about the boomerang bit?” Frank asked, changing the subject.

  “That’s why I called in the first place. I talked with Admiral Rodgers at the Pentagon. He’s very concerned about what you boys heard when Joe made that wrong call to Washington. But he wouldn’t give me much information over the phone. Says the matter is top-level security stuff, too hush-hush to discuss outside his office.”

  “Are you going to see him personally, then?”

  “I can’t leave Baltimore with the mercury gang on my hands. However, I’ve made an appointment for you and Joe to meet him. Be at his office tomorrow morning.”

  “Will do.”

  “If your friends can’t take over the surveillance of the Bayport hoods during that time, Chief Collig will.”

  “No problem,” Frank said.

  “So long then. Good luck, and be careful!”

  The phone clicked on the other end. Joe came down again and observed that the mystery was thicker than ever. “Which,” he continued, “is all the more reason for us to pitch in and give Dad all the help we can.”

  “Exactly. Let’s go to headquarters right away.” They went to the kitchen to tell Chet, who was enjoying a piece of Aunt Gertrude’s fresh-baked apple pie.

  “Be a sport and drive us over to see Chief Collig,” Frank said.

  “Whatever you say.” Chet stuffed the last bite into his mouth and followed the Hardys outside. A few minutes later they reached their destination.

  “Have to double-park,” Chet declared. “You two go ahead. I’ll wait for you here.”

  Seconds later Frank and Joe confronted Chief Collig in his office. He was an old-timer who had worked his way up on the force. He understood criminals because he had collared his share, and often assisted the Hardys in their cases.

  “Sit down, boys,” he said with a smile, “and tell me what brings you here. A new case, I suppose. That’s what comes of having a detective for a father. Maybe you should listen to your Aunt Gertrude more often. She’d find another occupation for you, double-quick!”

  The chief stopped kidding, however, when Frank and Joe gave him the facts.

  “I’ll put two of my men on the case. They can stake out the hotel and check up on those characters.”

  He made a brief phone call and talked to one of his officers. Then he turned to the boys again.

  “Let me have the address and descriptions of the men.”

  Frank complied.

  Collig wrote it down and added, “Tell Biff Hooper to stay there until a green Ford arrives. If he has already left, call me.”

  “Thanks, Chief.”

  Chet drove the Hardys back to the hotel. Biff and Tony were still parked in the side street, keeping an eagle eye on the entrance.

  “Anything stirring?” Frank queried.

  “Not even a mouse,” Biff reported. “I’ve been staring at that door until I’m cross-eyed.”

  “Our friends are still inside, no doubt,” Tony added.

  “Let’s make sure,” Frank suggested.

  He and Joe went into the building. Strolling casually up to the desk, they questioned the clerk about the two suspects.

  To their amazement they had checked out. “Paid their bill and left by the back way about an hour ago. They didn’t leave a forwarding address,” the clerk added with obvious relish at the Hardys’ disappointment.

  They returned to the car to tell their friends what had happened. Biff and Tony were crestfallen, blaming themselves for flubbing a critical assignment.

  “Think we should investigate the desk clerk?” Biff inquired. “He’s a slippery fish, a definite suspect as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Trouble is,” Frank replied, “there’s no evidence against him. He’s about as amiable as a porcupine, but that’s no crime. We can always move in on him later.”

  “Now what?” Joe asked.

  “We better call Chief Collig and cancel the backup squad,” Frank said. “Or, on second thought, let’s wait till they get here and ask them to check out the room. Maybe we’ll find a clue.”

  “Good idea,” Joe agreed.

  Soon an unmarked police car arrived and two officers jumped out. Frank quickly explained the situation, and asked if he and Joe could join in the search.

  “Sure. Come on,” one of the men said and went to the desk. He showed his badge and they were admitted to the room. Their search, however, was unsuccessful. The pair had left nothing!

  Dismayed, all four boys returned home. Frank and Joe spent the rest of the afternoon reconstructing the apparently unrelated events that had occurred with such swiftness. There were so many puzzles that didn’t make sense—the Bombay Boomerang, the Super S data, the Bayport suspects.

  “I don’t know where to begin fitting the pieces together!” Joe groaned.
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  Before his brother could answer, they were startled by a solid object that crashed through a window pane and landed on the carpet amid a shower of glass.

  “Chet again?” Frank complained. “Isn’t he getting a little out of hand with his boomerangs?”

  “Hold it!” Joe interrupted. “That’s no boomerang!” He picked up the object, which turned out to be a heavy bolt with a piece of paper wrapped around it, held in place by a rubber band.

  Joe spread the paper out on the table. Frank peered over his shoulder. With mounting excitement they read a message written in crude letters approximately an inch high. It was a warning that gave them cold chills.

  WE KNOW ALL ABOUT YOU! SPLIT OUT OR

  YOU’LL WIND UP IN A CEMENT BARREL!

  CHAPTER IV

  The Battered Car

  “WHAT’S that?” asked a nervous voice behind the boys. Aunt Gertrude had rushed in to see who had broken the window.

  “Just another message,” Frank replied, trying to soothe her. “It’s hardly worth mentioning.”

  But her inquisitive eyes had already scanned the words on the paper. “I believe they mean it!” she retorted in frightened tones. “You’d better drop the case right now. I’m not interested in going to a funeral—least of all mine!”

  Joe slipped the bolt into his pocket, then phoned Baltimore and asked to speak to L. Marks.

  “He checked out,” said the hotel clerk. “Packed his bags, paid his bill, and left without giving us any forwarding address. Seemed to be in a hurry.”

  “Dad must be on to a hot lead,” Frank declared. “That would explain why he departed so suddenly. Besides, if he had run into any trouble, he’d have left a code message for us.”

  Joe nodded thoughtfully. “Let’s hope he contacts us before we fly to Washington tomorrow morning.”

  “Meanwhile, we might as well enjoy ourselves tonight,” Frank suggested. “It’s almost time to start for Phil’s.”

  The boys went upstairs to tell their mother that they were leaving. Laura Hardy said she was relieved that for once nothing dangerous was involved. Aunt Gertrude sniffed, saying that her nephews were able to find danger wherever they went.