The Bombay Boomerang

by Franklin W. Dixon

  One picked up the handles and began to push the burden toward the back entrance of the hotel. The other guided the carrier, while keeping a hand on the cask to prevent it from rolling off.

  Silently, carefully, the boys followed. A dusty pickup truck was parked in the back alley. Tilting the hand truck forward, the men raised the cask to an upright position so each could get a grip.

  Straining and swearing under their breath, they levered the cask up into the rear of the pickup, bolted the tailboard, then climbed into the front seat. The motor came to life and the truck started to move.

  “Come on,” Joe hissed. Rushing forward he managed to get a foot up on the bumper and propelled himself into the back of the vehicle. Frank was right on his heels. They crouched behind the cask, hoping fervently the driver would not see them in his rear-view mirror.

  The truck, gathering speed, moved rapidly through empty streets in the direction of the harbor, rattling the cask against the metal it was standing on and jouncing the boys up and down every time the rear wheels hit a bump.

  Finally the driver stepped on the brake, slowing the truck on an oil-soaked dock where the water lapped against the pilings ten feet below.

  “Come on,” Frank whispered in Joe’s ear. “Let’s beat it out of here before they get wise to us.”

  The boys sneaked one at a time over the tailboard, dropped lightly to the dock, and dashed round the back of a nearby dilapidated shed.

  “Wow!” puffed Joe, “that was pretty close. But I don’t think they noticed anything.”

  Frank was peering cautiously round the corner of the shack. “They’re unloading the cask,” he reported. “Now they’re rolling it to the edge of the dock.”

  There was a loud splash.

  “They’ve dumped it into the water!” Frank said.

  This task accomplished, the two men ran back to their truck and roared off without a backward glance.

  The Hardys raced to the spot. “There it is,” called Joe, pointing excitedly. “It’s sinking fast.”

  He was right. As the cask went under, a cloud of air bubbles began to rise to the surface from around the edges of the lid!

  “Somebody or something’s inside,” Frank said in alarm. “And maybe still alive!”

  There was no time to debate the situation. Both boys kicked off their loafers and hit the water in a desperate dive.

  Plunging downward, they arched underneath the cask, took hold of the bottom rim on either side, and hoisted it to the surface. With some effort they maneuvered the bulky cylinder so that it lay lengthwise on the water.

  “If we can get it over to that boat slip before it sinks we’ll be lucky,” gasped Frank. “Let’s swim behind it and try to push it and keep it afloat at the same time.”

  They soon had the cask bobbing toward shore.

  Despite the green slime that covered the slip, they managed to get it out of the water.

  “Let’s stand it upright now,” Frank said, grunting with effort as he proceeded to do so. “Anything we can use to pry the lid off?”

  Joe crawled up the slope from the water’s edge and returned triumphantly with an iron bar he had found in a pile of rusty junk on the dock.

  “This should do the trick,” he told Frank as he applied the bar to the rim of the cask.

  The lid snapped off and clattered on the concrete. Eagerly the boys peered inside.

  Slumped in a heap, seemingly unconscious, was a man in a rough tweed jacket, corduroy pants, and battered brogans.

  “Dad!” Frank cried out. “Is he still breathing?”

  “Yes, he is,” Joe answered quickly. “Look, he’s beginning to come round.” He tugged at their father’s arms. “Here, help me lift him out.”

  As gently as they could they eased Mr. Hardy out of the cask and carried him up to the deserted dock. There they slapped his face and chafed his wrists until his breathing became stronger. The color returned to his cheeks. He began to struggle feebly.

  “Dad! It’s us!” Frank whispered into his ear. “Don’t worry, the thugs are gone!”

  It took the detective a few minutes to realize that he had been rescued by his own sons. “In the nick of time, too,” he said weakly. “Good work, boys. However did you know I was here?”

  “We didn’t,” Frank said. “It was pure luck.” And they told their story.

  Then they turned the bulky container on its side and rolled it completely over. One stave bore the legend Quantico Quicksilver in heavy black letters.

  “I’d call that a clue,” Fenton Hardy declared with satisfaction. “Quantico Quicksilver is a major chemical company that has been losing mercury flasks to thieves!”

  Frank dubiously looked at the cask. “Any point in preserving this memento?”

  “No. Better put it back in the water before the thugs notice it lying around.”

  The boys carried the cask to the edge of the dock, depressed the open end to make sure it shipped water, and allowed it to sink out of sight. The lid, which had no markings, would only float if tossed in, so Joe kicked it behind some packing cases.

  Daylight was breaking, bringing sailors and longshoremen down to the docks to assume sea duty or handle cargoes. Soon the whole harbor area would be as busy as a beehive. “Let’s go,” Mr. Hardy said.

  They walked back to the hotel, keeping to the side streets, and discussed their next move. Slinking into the back alley, they climbed up the fire escape to the window of the room from which the cask had been taken.

  They flattened themselves against the wall and listened eagerly for sounds from inside. Several men were stirring around. Spoons clinked in cof fee cups. Cigar smoke drifted through the slightly opened window.

  The talk was audible to the three eavesdroppers. “Who would have thought Marks was Hardy?” gloated one of the men. “Good thing we tapped his phone or we might never have got on to him. He sure knew how to use those disguises. Only the last one didn’t work!”

  “Rest his soul in the briny deep,” another said with a laugh. “He’ll never know about the Super S now!”

  CHAPTER VIII

  Hotel Hideout

  THE Hardys, clinging to the wall outside the window, exchanged baffled glances. The Super S again! What could these hoods know about the missile that had disappeared from the Baltimore arsenal?

  The men in the room were, they knew, members of the mercury gang. They seemed to be common thieves, clever at stealing the flasks of liquid metal, but hardly important enough to put a scare into the Pentagon!

  There was the flat thud of a fist against flesh and the sound of a heavy body falling against the door.

  “Don’t mention that, you fool!” snarled a voice menacingly.

  “Why not?” came the sullen retort, presumably from the recipient of the blow. “With Hardy out of the way, there’s nothing for us to worry about! We’re in the clear again!”

  “Oh, yeah? Suppose the Feds pick up where the gumshoe dropped out of the case? Do you want them to put us on the run?”

  “If you’re so concerned,” sneered the other, “just tell U3 how the Feds could have heard my remark about the subject we’re not supposed to mention! I checked this room for bugs myself. Even if they knew we were here, they couldn’t tune in!”

  A string of oaths greeted the protest. “You talk here, you’ll talk where it isn’t quite so private. So shut up!”

  A third voice broke into the row. “Lay off, you guys. We’ve got to get on with the timetable. Dumping Hardy among the fish was only the beginning. We’re moving into high gear as soon as we get the green light from Mr. Big!”

  There was the scrape of a chair, then he continued. “Orders are for us to meet here tonight. Break it up for now. You’ve got jobs to do. I’ll lock the door.”

  The Hardys quickly slipped down the fire escape into the alley. Finding the service elevator conveniently empty on the ground floor, they crowded in and soon entered the boys’ room.

  Frank was seething mad. “They tap
ped our home phone! That’s how they knew you were Marks, Dad!”

  Mr. Hardy nodded. “That’s one thing I didn’t expect.” He started to take off his soggy clothes and continued, “My strategy worked perfectly at the start. Finding that members of the gang were staying in this hotel, I arranged to have an accidental meeting with them. We happened to be in the elevator together, and I happened to have a light when one of them brought out a pack of cigarettes.”

  “Accidentally on purpose,” Joe mused.

  “Right,” his father said. “I managed to make them think L. Marks was a gangster. They assumed I was hiding out from the police and needed a job. Which impressed them favorably, of course!”

  “I’ll bet,” Frank said with a grin.

  “They were pretty close-mouthed at first, but it didn’t take me long to figure out that the ringleader—whoever he is—had indoctrinated his strong-arm squad effectively with the need for secrecy.”

  “How did you manage to break the ice?” Joe asked.

  “By bragging about being a candidate for public enemy number one, I gained their confidence. The chances were beginning to look good that they might let me in on the deal.

  “I’m almost sure I was on the verge of a breakthrough when they bugged our telephone. Obviously they wanted to keep tabs on me. And what they found out was that I was L. Marks!”

  Mr. Hardy paused to take a shower. When he came out of the bathroom he rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead and took a deep breath. The effects of his ordeal showed in dark circles under his eyes. He lay down on the bed while the boys cleaned up, then continued his story.

  “I had a hunch that they were on to me, so I checked out of here and returned later in another disguise, trying to find out what they knew about L. Marks. But the entire case blew up in my face last night. Two of the thugs barged into my room. They shouted that the game was up, told me they were holding you prisoners, and threatened that I’d never see you again unless I gave them my entire dossier on the mercury case!”

  “Did you?” Frank asked.

  “I had no choice. They had me cornered by sheer weight of numbers. Besides, they showed me your jackets and wallets.”

  Joe described how they had been stolen at the Bayport repair shop near the landing field. “I couldn’t understand this bit of petty thievery at the time,” he said. “Now it makes sense. They wanted to be sure you’d play ball.”

  “They couldn’t have kidnapped us at the airport very easily,” Frank went on. “Not with all those people around. So they tried a different gimmick, pretended kidnapping!”

  “Which served their purposes almost as well,” Mr. Hardy pointed out. “They got what they really wanted—the information I had gathered on them.”

  “Then what happened?” Joe inquired.

  “Well, they had no motive to keep me alive and every reason to get me out of the way. They knocked me out, stuffed me into that cask, and took me to the harbor on a one-way trip. Luckily you two showed up in time!”

  The Hardys pondered their next move.

  “We’re in better shape than we were before,” Frank commented. “Those thugs are convinced that they’ve disposed of Fenton Hardy. Okay, we’ll play it their way! Let them continue to think you’re dead, Dad. They won’t be suspicious that anyone is on their trail, let alone closing in on them. Could be they’ll become careless.”

  Joe was excited by Frank’s strategy. “Since they don’t know we’re in the same hotel with them, this is the perfect hideout for us. We’re their next-door neighbors. So we’ll be able to keep an eye on them.”

  “An ear too,” Frank added with a chuckle. “It shouldn’t be too difficult for us to bug their room!”

  “That’s a problem,” Mr. Hardy put in. “Those hoods took my electronic equipment. We’ll have to retrieve it somehow.”

  Frank spoke up. “I’ll go down and arrange for another night in this room. It would be embarrassing if our hideout were suddenly pulled out from under us because we neglected to pay the bill!”

  “And while you’re downstairs, how about picking up some food?” Mr. Hardy suggested. “I’m famished! Haven’t had anything to eat since noon yesterday!”

  Frank took the elevator down to the lobby. The day shift had not taken over yet, a big relief to him since he preferred to avoid the Indian of the previous afternoon. The night clerk willingly agreed to let “Mackin” and “Bard” occupy their room the following night, and Frank paid up.

  Then he sauntered out of the hotel and into the diner across the street. He ordered a stack of sandwiches along with cartons of steaming hot coffee and was soon back in their room.

  The sandwiches diminished rapidly under the onslaught of the three Hardys. The coffee disappeared just as quickly. They all felt better as they put the debris into the wastebasket. The detective was beginning to be himself again.

  “A couple of hours’ sleep and we should be as good as new. That’s all we can afford if we’re to keep the gang under surveillance.”

  “I think one of us had better stand guard in case anyone tries to break in,” Joe suggested.

  “Good idea.”

  Joe volunteered to stay awake since he was not particularly tired at the moment. While the others turned in, he stationed himself in a chair near the window.

  Turning over the pages of a magazine, he listened to the sounds of the hotel coming to life. The buzz of cars in the parking lot indicated that the day shift was replacing the night shift. The elevator clanged as guests arrived and departed. A low hum of voices from the street reached the room.

  Suddenly footsteps approached along the hall. Two men stopped at the door of the Hardys’ room, conversing in an undertone. “Shall we go right in?” Joe heard one ask.

  He stiffened. “The enemy is preparing to charge!” he thought. “Better summon reinforcements.” He stepped around the bed to wake his father. Then he paused.

  “There’s no point in going in there,” the second man declared. “That’s not our room. We’re on the floor below.”

  “That’s what comes of going on a bender just off the ship!” replied his comrade with a hiccup. “Come on. Let’s go down before my legs give out. I’m gonna snooze the clock around!”

  Joe relaxed and went back to his chair. “This kind of interruption I can do without,” he murmured. He allowed his father and brother to catch up on their sleep, and roused them at the time agreed upon. Both were ready for action.

  “Anything happen while we snoozed?” Frank wanted to know.

  “Nothing but a false alarm, although it gave me quite a turn,” Joe told him, and went on to describe the incident of the sailors in the hall.

  “It’s good you took note of them,” Mr. Hardy said soberly. “From now on, we have to be extra careful of those we’re dealing with. Regard everyone who approaches as a suspect until he clears himself. We’ll cover our tracks—”

  A pounding on the door cut him off. Mr. Hardy’s voice sank to a whisper. “I can’t be seen here when you’re the only ones registered. If you need help, yell!” With that he disappeared into the closet.

  “Who’s there?” Frank called out sharply. “What do you want?”

  Joe slid silently behind the door, prepared to jump anyone who tried to force his way in.

  “It’s the desk clerk,” stated the man outside. “You guys gotta get out, we need the room!”

  CHAPTER IX

  A Bug on a Wire

  “WHAT are you trying to pull?” Frank demanded. “We’ve paid in advance so we could stay in this room for another night!”

  “Too bad about that,” said the surly voice. “But there’s been a mistake. We had an earlier reservation the night clerk didn’t know about. Another party’s coming in. So you’ll have to vacate!”

  Frank played for time. “Okay, we’ll pack our things and get out of here. But how about another room in the hotel? After all, we’re paying customers, cash on the barrelhead!”

  “Nothing do
ing. Every room is occupied. My orders are to get you out before check-out time. Nothing personal, you understand. Just business.”

  “Okay, we’ll be off the premises by noon. However, you’ve still got the money we’ve paid in advance. If we don’t get it back pronto, you’ll have to carry us out!”

  “Don’t worry, wise guy,” growled the clerk. “You’ll get your dough—right now!”

  There was a rustling sound as some dollar bills appeared under the door. Frank stooped and picked them up as footsteps retreated down the hall.

  “Better see if it’s all there,” Joe said.

  “It’s all here,” Frank said cheerfully, flipping the bills with his thumb. “They’re only too glad to pay off. Which means they want to get rid of us with as little fuss as possible.”

  Now that the coast was clear Mr. Hardy emerged from the closet. The three held a council of war about what to do next.

  “We’ll have to work fast and pick up as much information as we can before noon,” Mr. Hardy said.

  “Think there’s anything in that story about an earlier reservation?” Joe asked. “The man who came to our door didn’t sound like the day clerk we met yesterday.”

  His father shrugged. “Perhaps. It could also be that they want to clear the hotel of any outsiders.”

  Frank sighed. “Well, it’s all in the game. We can’t take anything for granted.”

  “What now?” Joe asked.

  Fenton Hardy gave Frank and Joe a rundown on the main facts of the case. The evidence he had collected before being discovered pointed to a high-power conference of the gang that night. And what they had heard on the fire escape proved it.

  “We ought to sit in on their session,” Joe observed. “By remote control. How do we get our bug back, Dad?”

  Mr. Hardy looked thoughtful. “Those thugs who put me in the cask took it. Before they knocked me out, I saw one of them place my electronic equipment in a closet. If we can only get into their room, we should be able to find it easily enough.”