The Mummy Case

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “A guy came in here dressed like a mummy. He was holding it,” Joe explained. “It looked so real in the glow of his flashlight I was scared to death.”

  Frank chuckled.

  “It wasn’t funny!” Joe exploded.

  “I know. But even a mummy wouldn’t handle a live cobra, Joe!”

  “Of course not. But I didn’t have time to think of that. What do you make of the whole thing?”

  “First tell me exactly what happened,” Frank urged.

  “The guy put a hand on my shoulder and shone his light into my face.”

  “Then I guess he wasn’t after our mummy, which, incidentally, I checked on. The intruder’s purpose must have been to scare us. Perhaps he doesn’t want us to go to Egypt.”

  Joe nodded. He was examining the bump on his head with his fingertips and groaned. “Maybe the curse is working!” he said ominously.

  Frank grimaced. “Let’s go back to sleep!”

  In the morning, the boys reported the incident to William Colden, who arrived at the museum much refreshed. He had no idea who the intruder could have been, and the two guards had heard nothing.

  “Whoever it was, he must have had a key to the door,” Joe pointed out. “Also, he knew how to avoid the alarm system. It could have been Ahmed Ali!”

  Colden went to Mr. Wilcox’s office, and returned a few seconds later greatly disturbed. “The alarm was off!” he cried out. “And I checked last night just before I went home to make sure it was working!”

  Just then Sam Radley arrived. He was younger than Mr. Hardy, with sandy hair and a friendly smile on his face.

  “We’re so glad you’re here,” Frank greeted him and introduced him to the assistant curator. “We have to leave to prepare for our trip, but Mr. Colden will give you all the details of the case.”

  “Run along, boys,” Radley said cheerfully. “I promise to find the thieves while you’re on vacation with your mummy!”

  The Hardys drove back to Bayport and informed their mother and Aunt Gertrude of their impending trip.

  “You’re headed for trouble, I can tell!” Aunt Gertrude spoke up. “All those crocodiles in the Nile eat boys like you for breakfast!”

  “And lunch, Aunt Gertrude,” Joe added imp ishly.

  “Don’t get smart, young man, or you won’t get any lunch!” his aunt replied tartly.

  Later the telephone rang. Hoping it would be their father, Frank hurried to answer it.

  A familiar voice on the other end boomed, “Hey Frank, are you ready for the big one?”

  Frank relaxed and grinned. “It’s Chet,” he informed Joe.

  Chet Morton was their best friend. A rotund youth with blue eyes and freckles, he enjoyed eating more than anything. But he had been on many investigations with Frank and Joe, and they knew they could count on him in a pinch. Chet played catcher on the Bayport High baseball team and was inquiring about the upcoming game.

  “We’re ready for Greenpoint High,” Frank assured him.

  “Good. I called yesterday, but you guys were out. On another case, right?”

  “Right,” Frank admitted. “We’ll tell you about it when we see you at the game.”

  Frank and Joe packed their suitcases, then drove to Bayport Field shortly after noon. The team was already on hand with gloves, bats, and baseballs.

  Chet was in his catcher’s gear, his face mask pushed up on top of his head. He grinned when he saw the Hardys. “Here come the Bayport sleuths!” he called out. “Fellows, let the Hardys pass!”

  “It’s hard to get past you,” Joe teased their friend. “You’re wide enough to block a Sherman tank!”

  “Just enough to cover home plate,” Chet replied good-naturedly. “Now tell us about your new case.”

  The others gathered around. There was dark-haired Tony Prito, Biff Hooper, the star athlete of Bayport High, and Phil Cohen, who liked to read as much as he enjoyed solving mysteries. They listened excitedly as Frank and Joe described the mummy and their adventures in the museum.

  “We’ll be leaving on the Admiral Halsey tomorrow,” Frank added. “With the mummy—”

  He was interrupted by the sound of a bus pulling into the parking lot. The Greenpoint High players had arrived.

  The game began with Frank pitching and Chet catching. Phil played first base, Tony, second base, and Joe, shortstop. Biff was in the outfield.

  It was a tense game in which the innings rolled by and neither team could score a run. In the top of the ninth, the Greenpoint slugger came to the plate with the bases filled and two out. The count went to three balls and two strikes. Chet called for a fastball. Frank kicked his left foot high in the air. His arm came around, and he put everything he had into the pitch. The batter swung and missed!

  Joe led off the bottom of the ninth. He slammed the ball in a high arc toward the fence. The Greenpoint center fielder raced back to the fence and leaped into the air with his glove outstretched. The ball cleared it by inches!

  Joe circled the bases with the game-winning home run to the applause of the crowd.

  “That’s Hardy power!” Chet called out. “A shut-out for Frank and a homer for Joe! But the game couldn’t have been won without a catcher whose name I won’t mention. Boy, I must have lost ten pounds! I need food. Otherwise, I’ll shrivel like a mummy!”

  5

  All Aboard!

  “We’ll pickle you in a barrel of salt water,” Joe suggested with a grin. “That way you’ll last as long as the pharaohs of Egypt!”

  “No thanks,” Chet said. “I’d rather have a hamburger. ”

  After a snack at Nick Pappadopolos’s diner, the group broke up and the Hardys drove home. The phone rang as they walked into the house. Frank answered.

  “How’d you make out in New York?” Mr. Hardy asked.

  “It was quite an experience,” Frank replied and told his father about the events of the past twenty-four hours. “Is it okay if we go to Egypt in Mr. Salim’s place?” he asked.

  “I don’t see why not.” Mr. Hardy chuckled. “I just hope you and the mummy get along and have a nice trip!”

  “What about your investigation, Dad?” Frank asked.

  “I’m leaving the United Nations tomorrow to fly to the country that’s threatened by a radical minority. I’ve learned that the takeover will be attempted soon. The government of this nation hopes I can crack the conspiracy before then. Sorry, but I still can’t tell you where it is. Meanwhile, good luck on your mission!”

  Early next morning the boys flew to New York and reported to the Egyptian Museum. The crate holding the mummy case stood on the loading platform ready for shipment to the docks. It was made up of boards nailed into place at each end. Three metal bands running around the crate at the head, in the middle, and at the foot provided added strength.

  “The ends of each metal band are sealed together,” Colden explained. “Make sure they’re not opened until you get to Cairo.”

  Four men carefully lifted the crate from the loading platform into the back of a van. The Hardys got in with the driver, who eased his vehicle through the museum exit into New York’s traffic. A short time later they reached the dock on the Hudson River where the freighter was moored.

  An animated scene met their eyes. Longshoremen shifted boxes, bales, and crates along the dock to where cranes and cargo nets could pick them up. Aboard ship, members of the crew guided the crane cables and cargo nets through open hatches down into the hold.

  The Hardys went aboard, showed their passports to the first mate, then watched a cargo net lift the mummy crate high into the air and into the hold. Frank and Joe went inside and watched the crate being lowered onto the floor, where members of the crew moved it in position amid a number of containers about the same size and shape.

  When it was safely in place, the boys went upstairs to the bridge and introduced themselves to Captain Baker.

  “I’m glad to see you,” Baker declared. “I’ve been informed about you, and you have my perm
ission to visit the hold at any time to see your cargo. I’ve assigned you to a cabin on the starboard side near the hold to make it easier for you. I hope you enjoy your voyage.”

  “Are we stopping anywhere along the way?” Joe asked.

  “Just once. We’ll be headed across the Atlantic to the Strait of Gilbraltar and then into the Mediterranean. After passing the island of Rubassa, we get to Cyprus where well make our only stop. From there, it’s a straight run to Egypt.”

  “That makes it easy to watch the mummy,” Frank said. “It can’t go anywhere while we’re at sea.”

  “It would have to be a long-distance swimmer to reach land from the middle of the ocean,” the captain said with a grin. “Well, you might as well check out your cabin. It’s almost time to put to sea.”

  Frank and Joe found that their cabin had a porthole and two bunks, one above the other, on the opposite wall.

  “I’ll toss you for the lower,” Frank said, producing a quarter. “Call while it’s in the air.” He flipped the coin.

  Joe called “heads” and won. Happily he sat down on the lower bunk. Frank climbed into the upper and complained about the lack of space.

  “You couldn’t get a quarter between me and the ceiling,” he grumbled. “The mummy has more space than I do!”

  “Well, the pharaoh knows better than to sit up,” Joe kidded his brother. “Say, the ship’s moving. Want to go topside and watch?”

  By the time they reached the deck, the Admiral Halsey was sailing down the Hudson. The skyscrap ers of lower Manhattan fell behind and they passed the Statue of Liberty. Soon the freighter was churning through the waves of the Atlantic. The land disappeared, and they were on the high seas.

  “What’ll we do now?” Joe asked. “We can’t spend all our time in the hold watching the mummy!”

  “No need to,” his brother agreed. “It’s safe. But we should check on it a couple of times a day just to make sure it doesn’t get damaged. Let’s go down and see that it’s secure.”

  They descended the metal steps into the hold. Before they reached the bottom, Frank suddenly stopped short and grabbed Joe’s arm.

  “What‘s—?”

  “Sh!” Frank pointed to the left of the hold. Across a pile of boxes and bales stood the mummy crate. A man in sailor’s clothing was kneeling beside it! Apparently he had not heard the boys.

  “What’s he up to?” Joe whispered.

  “I don’t know, but we’d better find out. Let’s try to get down and hide so we can watch him.”

  Stealthily, the Hardys tiptoed down the steps. But then the freighter lurched in a heavy wave and threw Joe against a pile of boxes. The man scrambled to his feet and turned around. When he saw the Hardys, he darted off between the cargo!

  Frank and Joe raced after him. He slipped into a side aisle past a file of automobiles. When the boys reached the corner, the fugitive was nowhere to be seen!

  “I’ll go left,” Frank panted. “You circle around on the other side. Maybe we can trap him between us.”

  Joe turned right and quickly made his way past the cars. At the end of the line, he moved around to the other side. About halfway down, a mass of crates made him halt.

  In the semidarkness of the hold, he heard furtive sounds on the other side. Someone was coming toward him! Joe retreated into the shadows and waited with bated breath. He was ready to jump the man the moment he appeared.

  He saw a hand reaching up to the top of a big crate. Quickly he grabbed it and pulled its owner up! Then he gaped in surprise. He was staring at his brother!

  “How do you like that!” Joe said in disgust. “We’ve been stalking each other.”

  “But we couldn’t have missed him,” Frank insisted.

  Another noise proved he was right. The fugitive suddenly shot from the space between the crates and one of the cars, leaped onto the hood and down the other side, then dashed along the corridor. His shoes rang on the metal steps as he clambered up to the deck.

  The Hardys ran after him. They reached topside and saw a sailor swabbing the deck. They ran over to him. He was a burly man whose flattened nose and battered ears proved that he had once been a boxer.

  “Who are you?” Frank demanded.

  “Butch Londy,” the sailor growled.

  “What were you doing in the hold just now?”

  “I ain’t been in the hold. You must be off your rocker!”

  “Did you see anyone come out?”

  “No! Now buzz off. I got work to do.” Londy walked away.

  “Stymied again.” Frank grimaced. “Either he was in the hold or he knows who was. But we can’t tell which. Joe, we’d better get below and see if the mummy’s okay.”

  They found the crate unharmed and decided to go to their cabin. As they walked in, they saw two figures sitting on the lower bunk. Both were all wrapped in bedsheets!

  “Welcome aboard!” one of them boomed.

  “We’ve been waiting for you!” the other intoned menacingly and stood up. He was well over six feet tall!

  Frank and Joe stared at the two intruders apprehensively and backed toward the door. “Who are you?” Joe demanded. “And what are you doing here?”

  “Mummies!” the tall figure hissed. “We’re mummies, and we’ve come to keep you company!” With that, both pulled off their sheets.

  Frank and Joe stared in surprise. “Chet and Biff!” Frank exploded. “How on earth did you get here?”

  Biff grinned. “We got to talking after the baseball game. Since we had no jobs for the summer, we called the Admiral Halsey and asked if they needed any extra hands.”

  “And they hired you a day before sailing time over the telephone?” Joe was incredulous.

  “We-e-l-ll,” Chet said sheepishly, “we spoke to the captain and told him we were friends of yours. Since we still had our union licenses from the time we worked in the Merchant Marine, he said okay.”

  The Hardys burst out laughing. “What a great idea!” Frank sputtered.

  “I’m the captain’s radioman,” Biff said, “and Chet’s a waiter.”

  “That suits his style,” Joe chortled.

  “You bet,” Chet said. “See you at the captain’s table tonight!” With that, the two left.

  At dinner, Captain Baker and his guests were amused at the spectacle of Chet Morton, who wore a waiter’s jacket about two sizes too small. He could barely button the jacket across his stomach, and the cuffs fell inches short of his wrists. The shoulders were so tight that he had trouble balancing a tray.

  “It was the best we could do for him,” the captain said. “Our last waiter was small and thin. So his jacket doesn’t fit Mr. Morton too well.”

  Chet bustled back and forth, serving the courses and carrying empty dishes away. At the end of the meal, he piled the last china and cutlery on the tray, lifted it over his head, and moved toward the galley, trying to maintain his footing as the ship rose and fell in the ocean swell.

  He got through the door. Then those at the table heard a terrific crash punctuated by the sound of dishes breaking and silverware hitting the floor.

  A moment later Chet peered around the door. He was red-faced and embarrassed. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled.

  “That’s all right, Mr. Morton,” said Captain Baker. “It takes every sailor a little while to get his sea legs.”

  Chet was soothed by the captain’s words. He grinned and vanished into the galley.

  That night the Hardys went to sleep early. In the small hours, during the freighter’s graveyard shift, there was a furious rapping sound at their porthole window. Startled, Frank and Joe sat up.

  In the moonlight, they saw a face glaring at them—the face of a mummy!

  6

  A Raging Storm

  Joe leaped out of his bed and Frank swung down from the upper bunk. They rushed to the porthole, but the mummy’s face jerked to one side and disappeared.

  Frank threw the window open and poked his head through. A slim man in sail
or’s clothing was swiftly climbing up a rope attached to the railing above! When he reached the top, he vaulted onto the deck.

  “We’re too late to catch him,” Frank said grimly. “He’ll be gone by the time we get up there.”

  “Let’s investigate anyway,” Joe suggested. “Maybe we’ll find a clue that’ll tell us who he is. Or perhaps somebody spotted him.”

  The Hardys dressed quickly and went up on deck. The freighter was plowing steadily forward through the Atlantic waves in the predawn darkness. A light showed on the bridge where the pilot kept the vessel on its course.

  Frank and Joe circled around, then climbed to the bridge. “Anything moving on deck?” Joe asked the pilot.

  “Not a thing,” he responded. “Everyone’s asleep, I guess.”

  The Hardys descended to the deck again and circled from bow to stern and back, past the captain’s cabin and the lifeboats. In the darkness, they noticed a man slinking along toward the front of the freighter. They hurried after him and reached the bow just as he did. He whirled around and stared at them. It was Butch Londy!

  “Hi,” Frank said. “Nice night for a walk.”

  Londy smirked. “It sure is. This is how I get my exercise.”

  “What about climbing up and down the side of the ship on a rope?”

  “You’re a real joker, ain’t ya?” Londy scowled.

  “How come you’re not sleeping?” Frank asked.

  “I’m on the graveyard watch. You think I’d go walking for fun in the middle of the night? How come you’re out here?”

  “We’re walking for fun.”

  “Walk all you want, but don’t bother me,” Londy grumbled, then moved along the deck and vanished into the darkness.

  “I can’t figure this out,” Frank said to his brother. “This is the second time we’ve been visited by someone wrapped up like a mummy. Maybe the same person. He could have followed us from the museum-I wonder if it’s Butch Londy!”

  Joe shook his head. “Londy’s bigger than the man in the museum. But whoever he is, he’s trying to frighten us. I don’t think he wants us to go to Egypt. We’d better watch our step or we’ll end up overboard!”