The Great Airport Mystery

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Jerry went on, “I didn’t attach any importance to it at the time. In fact, I’d forgotten about it until I saw how interested you were in those prints. Maybe the person is still around.”

  The boys dashed outside the hangar, but saw no one.

  “We’ve heard of Clint Hill a couple of times today,” Joe told Jerry, but did not explain further.

  After requesting Jerry to keep his eyes open and report to the Hardys any unusual goings-on around the hangar, the brothers left for home. Both were quiet, pondering over all that had happened during their visit to the hangar. Why had Hill’s footprints been covered? Was it to make certain the boys would not see them? And who had reported the presence of two prowlers to the police? Then there was the mechanic, Mike Zimm. Had he been the man who had eavesdropped on their conversation? The case, the boys agreed, was becoming even more puzzling.

  During supper they related their day’s adventure to the family.

  “Mighty queer business,” Aunt Gertrude commented. “You boys had better watch your step. I don’t know what we’re coming to when a company’s employees can’t walk around its private hangar without someone setting the police on them!”

  The boys and their parents smiled. They were used to Aunt Gertrude’s outbursts. Frank and Joe assured her they would try to duck any danger.

  The next morning, Thursday, the boys rose for an early breakfast, eager to start their work at the Stanwide factory. Dressed in light khaki work pants and shirts, and equipped with appetizing lunches prepared by their mother and Aunt Gertrude, they drove off to the plant.

  Frank and Joe reported to their boss, Art Rodax, exactly on time. Apparently this was not good enough.

  “I want all new workers in my department to be here twenty minutes early!” Rodax growled.

  “Is that a company rule?” Joe asked in surprise.

  “It’s my rule!” Rodax announced angrily. “Break it just once and you’re out!”

  He then thrust two large handfuls of work orders at Frank and Joe.

  “You’ve got thirty minutes to deliver these and get back here!” he bellowed.

  The boys moved quickly and just managed to return on time. Rodax appeared to be disappointed. He had underestimated the Hardys’ efficiency. To make their task harder, he gave them a number of other chores in addition to their regular duties.

  That evening the brothers went to bed immediately after supper, completely exhausted. Their second day on the job did not differ much from the first. Frank and Joe noticed that other employees of the department were given little to do.

  “Good thing the weekend’s coming up,” Joe grumbled. “The way Rodax drives us, he could have had all the Cape Kennedy gantries finished in two weeks!”

  “What bothers me most,” Frank complained, “is that we’re not getting much of an opportunity to investigate.”

  Yet the boys did not want to report the situation to Mr. Allen. There would be little the executive could do to help, they thought, without arousing suspicion.

  Monday the young detectives had an unexpected change in luck. Rodax was assigned for the day to another section of the factory to help supervise the installation of a new duplicating machine. Grateful to have comparative freedom, even if just for the short time, the boys divided the work orders assigned them.

  “Meet me in the warehouse at lunch hour,” said Frank. “We can compare notes then, and at the same time look around the building.”

  “See you there about twelve o‘clock,” Joe answered as he picked up a bundle of the orders and started off on his rounds.

  Both boys watched carefully for anything suspicious in each department they visited. Not a single clue was uncovered to the mystery of the disappearance of Stanwide’s platinum components.

  A few minutes past noon Frank and Joe greeted each other in the firm’s large warehouse. It was divided into two main sections for incoming and outgoing shipments. Stacks of cardboard boxes and wooden crates towered almost to the ceiling. There were also several pieces of heavy machinery stored along one wall in a neat row.

  The Hardys found a wooden crate and sat down side by side to eat their lunches. They glanced around to make sure there were no other workers about. The only sound was the steady hum of the warehouse’s ventilating system. As a precaution, the boys spoke in low voices.

  “Did you have any luck?” Frank queried.

  “I didn’t come up with a single clue.” Joe sighed with disappointment.

  “I didn’t find anything, either,” Frank confessed.

  He told Joe he had investigated the handling of shipments from beginning to end, even to checking the bills of lading to see if they had been tampered with. His examination had revealed nothing.

  “Whoever’s running this platinum racket is a slick operator,” Joe remarked.

  Unheard by the boys over the hum of the ventilating system, an overhead hoist was being put into operation. It was only a short distance behind the two young detectives. A heavy piece of machinery was slowly lifted off the floor, then edged to a position directly above Frank and Joe.

  Suddenly the boys were startled to hear the sharp, metallic snap of a release clutch. This was immediately followed by a deep whirling sound directly above them. Frank and Joe looked up instantly. A massive bulk of metal was plunging toward them!

  The boys made a frantic leap and went tumbling across the floor. The hurtling object pulverized the crate on which they had been seated, and sent splinters of wood and metal in all directions.

  “That was close!” Joe exclaimed.

  Frank said grimly, “Someone did that on purpose!”

  As the boys scrambled to their feet, a door slammed violently at the far end of the warehouse. The Hardys ran to the door and flung it open. No one was in sight. They hurried outside and were about to search the area when they were confronted by a company guard.

  “Hold it!” he ordered. “What’s going on here?”

  “Did you see anyone run from the warehouse just now?” asked Frank.

  “No one but you two!” the guard retorted. “I thought I heard a loud crash inside the building. What happened?”

  The boys told him of the incident, and added that immediately after the crash they had heard someone fleeing from the building.

  The guard eyed them with suspicion. “We’d better go inside and take a look.”

  Frank and Joe were annoyed at being delayed but had no choice in the matter. The man herded them into the warehouse and peered down at the huge, twisted piece of machinery on the floor. It not only had crushed the wooden crate, but had embedded itself deep in the concrete floor.

  “What’s the big idea of lying about this?” he thundered. “You caused this accident, but you’re blaming it on someone else!”

  “We had nothing to do with it!” Joe protested angrily. “And besides, we might have been killed. We were sitting on that very crate.”

  “Oh, yeah?” the guard sneered.

  Frank looked hard at the man. “We demand to see Mr. Allen!” he said.

  “The head of the company?” the guard asked. “Fine chance of that. Mr. Allen’s a busy man. He wouldn’t have time to talk to a couple of kids.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that!” Joe warned.

  The massive bulk of metal plunged toward the boys

  The guard was bewildered by the demand. He broke into a nervous grin.

  “We don’t have to bother Mr. Allen,” he said. “Somebody might lose his job because of this. Besides, this equipment is being discarded. Let’s just forget the whole thing.”

  The young detectives did not answer. They left the warehouse and returned to their jobs.

  “That guard certainly changed his attitude in a hurry when we asked to see Mr. Allen,” Joe remarked.

  “Perhaps he’s afraid that he’d lose his own job for not keeping a closer eye on things,” Frank suggested. “After what happened, we’d better watch our step around here!”

  After sup
per that evening Frank and Joe joined their father in his study. The boys told him about their narrow escape, and of their failure to uncover any clues.

  “I’m sure our real reason for working at Stanwide is suspected,” said Frank.

  Mr. Hardy agreed, and added, “As long as you continue to work at Stanwide, the thieves will probably lie low and you won’t learn anything. Besides, it’s too dangerous for you there. Your close call in the warehouse sounds as if the thieves are already trying desperately to get rid of you.”

  The sleuth advised his sons to report to Mr. Allen everything that had happened, then resign their jobs.

  “Work on the case from the outside,” he advised. “I’ll arrange to obtain a clearance for you at the airport, so you can roam around just like the regular personnel.”

  Frank smiled. “Then we’ll have lots of time to keep a close watch on Stanwide’s hangar.”

  Joe nodded. “And also, I’d like to investigate the wooded area where we saw Bush Barney. That mystery hasn’t been solved.”

  “Good idea,” Frank replied. “And let’s make our first look an over-all one—from the air.”

  CHAPTER VI

  Aerial Mission

  “THE meterologist at the airport says it should be clear tomorrow,” Frank announced as he put down the telephone.

  “I’ll call Ace Air Service first thing in the morning and arrange to schedule an airplane,” said Mr. Hardy. “What time do you boys want to take off?”

  “We plan to photograph the wooded area with our aerial camera,” Frank answered. “If we arrive there shortly after twelve o‘clock, the sun will be almost directly overhead. There won’t be any shadows from trees and other objects.”

  “Good thinking,” Mr. Hardy said approvingly. “You’ll be less likely to miss important details that might be hidden if there were shadows.”

  The investigator said that, meanwhile, he would check into the ownership of the land.

  “If it is private property,” said Joe, “I doubt it belongs to that fellow who chased us.”

  At that instant Aunt Gertrude entered the study, carrying a large tray of brownies and lemonade. She placed it on Mr. Hardy’s desk.

  “I’m sure you can all forget about your new case long enough to have a snack,” she said in a cajoling voice.

  “Frank and I have to watch what we eat,” Joe said jokingly. “We don’t want to get airsick tomorrow.”

  “Airsick?” the tall woman exclaimed, her eyes opening wider. “My word! So you boys intend to go flying around in a bouncy plane?”

  “We’re just going up to take some pictures of crooks,” said Frank, grinning.

  “Isn’t your detective work dangerous enough here on the ground?” Aunt Gertrude asked sharply.

  Mr. Hardy reached out and patted his sister on the shoulder. “Doing detective work while flying isn’t any more of a risk than it is while riding in a car,” he told her reassuringly.

  But Miss Hardy was not convinced. “At least in an automobile”—she sighed—“you can get out and walk if the motor stops!” Shaking her head, she left the study.

  “By the way,” said Mr. Hardy, “a fellow from the Bayport control tower delivered a small package for you boys this morning.”

  He extracted a set of keys from his pocket, unlocked his desk drawer, and took out the package. Frank eagerly opened it while Joe went to fetch their tape recorder.

  “This,” Frank explained, “is the tape containing the conversation between the control tower and someone who sounds like Clint Hill. I thought if we listened to the recording several times, we might be able to identify the ‘ghost’ with one of our suspects.”

  At that moment a stout, cheerful-looking boy strolled into the study.

  “Hi, Chet!‘ The Hardys grinned at the new arrival.

  Good-natured Chet Morton was one of Frank and Joe’s best pals. Although comfort-loving and not fond of danger, he was loyal and had often helped the brothers in solving mysteries.

  “Hi, everyone!” Chet responded. Spotting the tray of refreshments, he eyed them hungrily.

  “You’re just in time for a little snack,” said Frank, chuckling. Their friend’s large appetite was well known to all!

  “Thanks. I thought I’d stop by and see what you and Joe are up to!”

  Just then Joe returned with the recorder. Frank put the tape on the machine and snapped the “Start” switch. Seconds later a ghostly voice issued from the speaker.

  “What is that?” queried Chet with a look of genuine astonishment.

  “You’re listening to a ghost.” Joe grinned.

  “Ghost!” Chet replied scornfully. “That caterwauling wouldn’t even scare a nervous cat.”

  They played the tape several times. Chet tried to imitate the eerie voice.

  “The dead can tell no tales!” said the tape.

  “The dead can tell no tales!” Chet repeated.

  “That’s a pretty good imitation.” Frank laughed. “Maybe you can get work haunting houses.”

  The Hardys listened to the tape a few more times, but were unable to associate the “ghost” with any of the suspects they had encountered.

  Chet, who by now had consumed most of the brownies, glanced at his watch and announced it was time for him to go home. As he left the study, the boys were amused to hear him mumbling, “The dead can tell no tales!”

  The next morning Frank and Joe drove to the Stanwide Mining Equipment Company. Mr. Allen welcomed them with a smile as they entered his office.

  “How has the case been coming?” he asked. “Have you managed to uncover any clues?”

  “We haven’t found much to go on,” Frank said regretfully.

  The boys told him about their visit to the Stanwide hangar, and described all that had happened during their masquerade as employees. Mr. Allen expressed deep concern over their narrow escape in the warehouse.

  The Hardys said they were certain that, somehow, information had leaked out as to their real reasons for working in the plant. He agreed that it might be too dangerous for them to continue their undercover work there.

  “I’m disturbed to hear about Art Rodax’s conduct,” Mr. Allen declared. “I won’t have a man of his character working for my company!”

  “I suggest you say nothing to him,” Frank urged. “Every one of your employees is a suspect at present. If Rodax is fired, it may spoil our chances of getting to the bottom of the platinum thefts.”

  Frank also pointed out that it would be unwise for Joe and himself to resign suddenly from their jobs. This might make it appear that their investigation had uncovered some clues and would put whoever was involved in the thefts doubly on guard.

  “Then what will you do?” Mr. Allen asked.

  “We’ll get ourselves fired,” said Frank.

  “How?” his brother questioned.

  “From the beginning, Rodax has resented our being hired,” Frank said. “Maybe it’s because he’s mixed up in the racket, and he knows about us. Anyhow, I’m willing to bet he wouldn’t need much of an excuse to fire us.”

  Frank glanced at his wrist watch. “You know how fussy he is about having us report for work twenty minutes early. Well, we’re now nearly an hour late. That should do it.”

  After telling Mr. Allen that they would keep him posted on any new developments in the case, the young detectives went off to the messenger department. When they came face to face with Rodax, Frank could see that his plan was working out even better than he had expected.

  “Do you know what time it is!” shouted Rodax. Although he seemed furious, the boys could sense that he was actually pleased with the situation.

  “We couldn’t get here any earlier,” said Joe.

  “You won’t have to worry about that any more!” Rodax bellowed. “You’re fired!”

  The boys pretended to be angry and concerned. “We’ll report this to the main office!” Frank blazed.

  “Go ahead!” Rodax yelled. “See how far that will get
you!” He turned and stalked off with a self-satisfied air.

  The boys left the factory and started for the airfield. On the way they discussed Rodax briefly.

  “I wonder how pleased old sour face would be,” Joe remarked, “if he realized he’d played right into our hands!”

  A few minutes later the Hardys were walking toward a small frame building. A sign reading “Ace Air Service” spanned its entire width along the roof. Another, smaller sign, “Office & Operations,” hung above the doorway. On the aircraft parking ramp the boys saw three single-engine and two multiengine aircraft bearing the firm’s name. As they entered the building, a voice called to them:

  “Frank and Joe Hardy?”

  The boys turned to see a tall, lean man walking toward them. He wore a tan cloth jacket and sunglasses with green-tinted lenses. He extended his hand in greeting.

  “I’m Randy Watson,” he said. “I fly for Ace Air Service. I have a plane all set.” The pilot added he had often flown their father on trips. “I’ve heard a lot about you fellows,” he added, smiling. “Are you on a case, or just going on a sightseeing ride?”

  Before answering, Frank walked over to a large aeronautical chart attached to the wall. With his finger he circled an area, colored in shades of light green and brown, northwest of Bayport.

  “We want to take some aerial photographs in this locale,” he said. “Joe and I are sure we spotted an ex-convict there. We’re curious to know what he’s up to.”

  Randy stepped close to the chart and estimated the distance between Bayport and the area Frank had indicated.

  “That’s not far by air,” he observed. “We can use one of the single-engine ships.”

  “We’d like to reach the area about noon,” said Frank.

  The pilot checked his wrist watch. “That means we’ll have to take off within the next ten or fifteen minutes.”

  Joe hurried to the airport restaurant to order sandwiches and milk for their lunch, while Frank returned to the brothers’ car to pick up the aerial camera and films. The boys reached the flight line just as Randy was completing a preflight check of the aircraft. In a few minutes they were strapped in their seats and taxiing toward the active runway.