Quickly he related what had taken place that evening to the astonished and horrified chief. “Now,” Frank concluded, “I’m convinced Jensen’s still on the grounds, hiding. We’ve had our flashlights on continuously. And if he saw you come in, he probably won’t dare try escaping right away.”
Chief Collig instantly barked orders to his assistants to begin a hunt for the gang leader. “Search the area all around the house. Just to be sure he hasn’t sneaked back inside,” he went on, “you, Callahan, turn on every light in the place and scour it from top to bottom.”
“Be on the lookout for Mr. Dalrymple,” Frank urged, explaining his fears about the banker.
Chief Collig had reassuring news. “Don’t worry about him. He telephoned us just before we left. He’d been out of town all day, and called your home. Your aunt told him that you boys were missing. Dalrymple probably will show up here.”
By this time the big house was ablaze with lights. The police chief moved off to direct his search detail. Suddenly Frank noted an expression of terror on Chet’s face. The stout boy pointed wordlessly toward the roof of the house. Frank turned and froze.
Two figures, swaying back and forth, were hanging onto the edge of the mansion roof.
“Joe! Mr. Wandy!” Frank cried, noting that Joe had one arm around Amos Wandy, and, with his other, was clinging to the gutter.
In a twinkling he was inside the house and taking the steps to the attic two at a time. Chet pounded close behind him.
“If they can only hang on!” Frank thought.
Finally the two boys reached the attic window. “I’ll go down for ‘em. You straddle the ridge and grab my ankles,” Frank directed Chet tersely.
“Got you.”
They clambered out onto the rain-slick slates. A dank mist had settled down. Frank crept along the ridge to a spot which he judged to be just above where his brother and Amos Wandy were clinging to the gutter. Chet, directly in back of him, anchored himself on the peak by clamping his legs and heels against either side of the roof.
“Here goes!” Frank maneuvered himself into position, headfirst, on the steep slope. Now Chet grasped his friend’s ankles and Frank began his downward slide.
“Joe!” he shouted. “I’m coming after you. Hold on!”
Frank’s eyes strained against the blurry mist. Fortunately, the glow from the house lights enabled him to see a little distance ahead. With Chet maintaining an iron grip, Frank Hardy stretched his body full length and reached out toward his brother. He could dimly discern the hands of the dangling pair clutching the roof edge.
But, with a stab of despair, Frank found them inches beyond his grasp. “Chet!” he called. “I—I can’t make it.”
Above, the chunky boy shifted his position so that he could lean to one side. This gave Frank the needed leeway. Now he slid forward and secured a hold on his brother’s hand.
“Joe!” he gasped. “Grab my wrist. See if you can hoist Mr. Wandy up.”
He felt Joe’s fingers groping, then encircling his lower arm. Joe placed his other hand on the elderly man’s elbow and pushed while Frank pulled him by the arm. Slowly and painfully the inventor was dragged up and over the eaves.
Then Joe, with Amos helping despite his weakened state, was hauled back onto the roof. Chet’s powerful hold never once failed. For a minute all four remained motionless, catching their breaths.
Then the arduous ascent began. A sort of human chain was formed. Joe held onto Frank’s arm, and the inventor onto Joe’s ankle. Each had a hand and foot free to help ease the strain on Chet, as they hoisted themselves.
Another inch, and another. Six inches—a foot. At last Frank sat on the ridge beside Chet. A moment later Joe had hooked one leg over the top, and all three assisted Mr. Wandy until he too was astride the peak.
Utterly exhausted, they were silent for several minutes, breathing deeply of the damp air. Finally Joe managed to gasp:
“Guess we put on a real circus act. Trapeze artists have nothing on us.”
Mr. Wandy groaned. “I’ve brought you boys nothing but trouble. I never should have come back here.”
“None of us should have come here—ever,” was Chet’s emphatic comment.
“Just be thankful we’re still in one piece,” Frank put in dryly. “Let’s get going. Collig and his men are below, searching for Jensen—he got away from Chet and me.”
Fortunately, the wind had died away, so the trip across the ridge to the attic window was not so hazardous. In vast relief, each of the four clambered back inside.
Mr. Wandy turned to the boys. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done to help me—at your own peril.”
“And don’t think I’m not grateful you two got to us when you did,” Joe told Frank and Chet. “I thought Mr. Wandy and I were on our way down—and out.”
Frank smiled at Chet. “Remind me to remind you to keep on eating sirloin steak! You’ve got arm muscles, pal!”
“You’ll buy me a steak after tonight,” the stout boy retorted. “Especially if we’re going to tangle with loony Jensen again.”
The boys started down. As they did, Joe saw Mr. Wandy give a wistful backward glance over his shoulder. Joe suddenly realized that the old man had not yet recovered his invention. In their narrow escape on the roof, the boys had completely forgotten it.
“He doesn’t want to bother us again,” thought Joe with a pang of pity.
Before anyone could object, he dashed back into the attic, and soon was out on the roof. Back across the ridge he went, straight to the chimney. He felt around it, as Mr. Wandy had done.
Finally Joe’s fingers touched a coil of wire with some kind of contraption at the end. Quickly the young detective slipped them into his pocket. Then he hustled back through the window. The others waited for him with perplexed looks.
“Say, haven’t you had enough roof travel for one night?” demanded Chet indignantly.
Joe reached into his pocket. “Mr. Wandy—”
The next moment, to the boys’ consternation, the inventor slumped unconscious to the floor.
“We’d better get him downstairs,” Frank said worriedly. “He’s been through too much.”
He and Joe lifted the elderly man and, between them, carried him to the first floor into the living room. Gently they lowered the inventor onto a draped sofa.
Just then Chief Collig strode in, followed by a familiar, straw-hatted figure. “Mr. Dalrymple!” Joe exclaimed.
The banker hurried forward, his face lined and haggard. “Thank heavens you boys are safe!” he cried out. “I’d never have forgiven myself if—”
“We’re all right,” Frank assured him hastily. “Right now, Mr. Wandy needs help. He fainted.”
The police chief instantly summoned one of his men to administer first aid. Briefly, the boys recounted their harrowing experience on the roof. Joe patted his pocket. “I found Mr. Wandy’s invention. We’ll give it to him later.”
Chief Collig, in turn, reported that so far there had been no sign of Arthur Jensen. “I’ve thrown out a roadblock, too. He’s a slippery customer, I must admit.”
“To think a would-be murderer was using my property!” Mr. Dalrymple shuddered. “The chief told me everything that happened here. That bomb—awful, awful!”
Assured that Mr. Wandy was rallying satisfactorily, Frank said to Chief Collig, “Okay if we have a try at locating Jensen? I’d like to settle a few scores with him.”
“Me too,” Joe added grimly.
Chief Collig assented readily. “I can tell you two have a hunch. My men will be on the alert if you need help.”
The Hardys and Chet hastened out into the chilly air. The lighted windows of the house became eerie rectangles of hazy yellow in the drifting mist as the trio skirted the dense bushes edging the lawn.
“You figure Jensen eluded the police and circled back to the hidden barn where the gang kept their car?” Joe asked his brother.
“Right,” said Frank. “It�
�s worth a look, anyhow.”
Chet shivered as they left the lighted house behind and entered the darkness of the road. “Some light would help,” he suggested, pulling out his flashlight.
“It would,” said Frank in a whisper, “but it might also warn Jensen. We’d better make this trip without lights if we want to take him by surprise.”
The three boys stealthily made their way along until they came to the wall of tangled vines where the road ended. Joe pulled aside the vine “curtain.” Cautiously they stepped beyond it and moved forward, every sense alert for sound or movement of any kind.
Jensen came toward the boys, lowering the three-pronged tool threateningly
By now the first faint hint of dawn had lightened the sky. It made the going easier, but at the same time, the Hardys hoped it would not enable Jensen to spot them.
Shortly the boys reached the big hulk of the ramshackle barn. They stopped to listen. Except for the chirping of crickets, all was silent.
At Frank’s signal, the three stepped into the black interior. “We’ll have to risk flashlights now,” Frank whispered.
Three circles of light stabbed the darkness. The mound of dusty hay was still in the loft above the sagging beam. But most of the camouflaging hay had been thrown aside. The plywood door was open, so the boys peered into the alcove in which the thieves’ car had been kept.
A sudden clatter against the wall of the barn caused them to whirl. Chet swung his flashlight swiftly around. Its beam rested on the tall form of Arthur Jensen!
The man’s suit was rumpled and soaked. On his face was an expression of mingled rage and hatred. Clutched in his hands was the pitchfork. This was what had caused the clatter—when Jensen had pulled it from its hook.
He came toward the boys, lowering the three-pronged tool threateningly.
“You’ll pay for what you’ve done,” the gang leader cried in a voice filled with menace.
CHAPTER XX
Hidden Loot
THINKING quickly, Chet shone his flashlight straight into the eyes of the gang leader as he advanced on the boys with the deadly pitchfork.
Blinded by the glare Jensen stopped.
“Let’s separate,” Frank whispered. “He can’t get all three of us at once!”
The brothers dropped their flashlights and rushed to opposite sides of the old barn. They wheeled and jumped the man from both directions.
Joe came in with a hard-driving tackle that caught Jensen just below the knees. As the man crumpled, Frank stepped in, snatched the murderous pitchfork, and threw it to one side.
Chet had stayed rooted to the spot, keeping his light trained on their would-be attacker. Now he rushed forward, flinging the flashlight away, to help subdue Jensen.
In the darkness a terrific struggle took place. The boys’ opponent seemed possessed of an iron strength. Just when they believed they had overpowered him, Jensen would yank loose, flailing his fists violently.
“Don’t let him get away!” shouted Frank.
Joe frantically groped in the darkness for the flashlight. He found it and flicked it on. The unexpected beam of light caught Arthur Jensen staggering up the ladder to the haymow. In an instant the boys had pounced on him.
“We’ll take no more chances,” Frank cried out, whipping off his belt.
Joe quickly unbuckled his also. As Chet held their prisoner in a viselike hold, the Hardys lashed the man’s hands firmly behind him with their belts before dragging him out.
The man was sputtering and threatening. “Keep still or we’ll gag you!” Frank warned.
Frank and Joe pocketed their flashlights, and the boys marched Jensen along the hidden road back to the house. The old Purdy place was still blazing with lights in the gray dawn. More police cars had arrived, and men were hurrying about in every direction. Chief Collig stood on the front porch directing search operations.
“Good news, Chief!” Frank greeted him as the boys came forward with Jensen.
Collig stared in pleased astonishment. Then he turned to Officer Tomlin, “Call in the men!”
A police whistle shrieked. Immediately the boys were surrounded by officers, two of whom handcuffed Arthur Jensen. The ringleader stood in sullen silence, his eyes burning with hate.
Fleece-lined storm coats were thrown around the chilled boys when the entire group entered the living room. There they saw Mr. Dalrymple looking thoughtfully upon the face of Amos Wandy, who was now sleeping peacefully.
The banker turned to the Hardys. “I thought I recognized Mr. Wandy. I remember him years ago as a brilliant inventor. He came to me once for money to finance an electrical invention of his. I was glad to lend it, knowing that the device would be beneficial to many people. To think he was forced to work on an instrument of destruction by this despicable person.”
Mr. Dalrymple gave Jensen a withering look. “But at least,” he added, “I’ll give Amos any monetary help he may need now, and he can work here any time he wishes, undisturbed!”
The Hardys were pleased to hear this. Joe then said, “We thought something had happened to you today, sir. That’s what brought us out here tonight.”
The banker explained that he had been called out of town on a business emergency early that morning and had no chance to notify his office. “I didn’t return until after midnight. When I learned about the Lakeside police having searched my home and why, I contacted your aunt and Chief Collig right away.”
The banker addressed the handcuffed Jensen. “How did you—you thugs get into my house?”
“Simple.” The gang leader gave a short laugh. “We took wax impressions of the locks, and had keys made in town.”
“Yes. But how did you manage to leave threatening notes in my secret room?”
“As I told these snooping kids—find out yourself,” was the sullen answer.
Joe had a sudden idea. He drew from his pocket the coil of wire with the mechanism at one end, and examined them for a moment.
The others in the room crowded around. “So this is the invention Amos was keeping on the roof,” Frank said, “I wonder why.”
The device consisted of a pair of weatherproof batteries mounted side by side on a little platform about three inches long. The platform had wheels, and at one end a pair of little movable jaws.
“If I’m right,” Joe observed, “the jaws will open after so many revolutions of the wheels.”
He clicked a switch. With a little hum, the metal wheels turned. After a few seconds the jaws opened, and the wheels stopped. When the jaws closed together once more, the wheels turned again—but in the opposite direction!
“Clever,” Mr. Dalrymple said. “I think our government’s intelligence department would be interested in this.”
“Very clever,” Joe replied, “and it’s also the method used for delivering those warning notes to your secret room!”
“What!” the banker cried.
Everyone listened intently as Joe explained his theory. “You see, the message was placed in the jaws. Then the whole contrivance was lowered by wire down the chimney. The gadget is small enough to fit through the bars. As soon as it reached the bottom of the fireplace, this platform rolled out into the room and deposited a note! Then it rolled back into the fireplace and was pulled up the chimney by Jensen, on the roof.”
Raymond Dalrymple’s eyes opened wide in amazement. “No wonder we couldn’t figure it out,” he declared. “Nobody but myself was entering my secret room!”
Frank wheeled on Jensen. “You convinced Mr. Wandy you wanted to try out his invention. Of course, he didn’t know for what purpose.”
The prisoner remained stubbornly silent. But Frank’s guess was backed up by Amos Wandy himself, who had awakened.
“Mr. Jensen told me he was conducting an experiment,” said the inventor. “What a fool I was!”
The captured thief gave a derisive snort. “That’s true.”
“Quiet!” thundered Collig. “You’ll have plenty of time to laugh where
you’re going.” The chief signaled two patrolmen, who stepped up to lead Jensen away.
“Wait a moment!” Frank spoke up. “What about the jade? Jensen had it all when he got away from us.”
Chief Collig strode over to the gang leader. “Spill it. Where did you stash that jade?”
But no amount of prodding would elicit any reply from Jensen. Finally the chief, in disgust, ordered him to be taken off to jail.
“Looks as if another search operation’s in order,” Officer Callahan spoke up. “Shall I get the men started, Chief?”
“Right. Also, better douse that disconnected bomb.”
“Great jumping Irishmen!” Callahan exclaimed. “I’ll say. No use taking any chances!”
Immediately a respectful space was cleared around the formidable black box, and two men carried it outside. Frank, Chet, and Joe followed.
The three boys, although dog-tired, had already determined to conduct their own hunt for the precious jade.
“Where to start?” Chet inquired of his friends.
The Hardys scanned the grounds, still wet from the rain. The sun had risen and was starting to burn off the mist. Frank pointed to a bush area about five hundred yards from the mansion.
“That would’ve been a good spot for Jensen to hide and watch us get blown up,” the boy reasoned.
“Dandy,” Joe agreed. “Come on!”
The trio trudged through the wet grass and up the slope. They circled the bushes, and poked among the branches. But there were neither boxes nor a canvas sack. Disappointed, the searchers cast around for another likely place.
Joe’s eyes lingered on a huge old maple tree, with low, spreading limbs. “I think I’ll climb up,” he murmured.
Sprinting to the tree, he swung himself onto the lowest branch. Standing up, he could see the mansion clearly. He then reached out to a stout limb above him and ran his hands along it toward the trunk. His heart leaped as his fingers touched something that felt like canvas!
“Found it!” he shouted.
Frank and Chet dashed up and waited excitedly below. Joe shinned up the trunk. There, tucked in the forked space, was the sack and a pile of small boxes.
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