The Mummy Case

by Franklin W. Dixon

  In the morning, the Hardys reported to Captain Baker about the mummy face at their porthole.

  The captain was shocked. “I have no idea who it could have been!” he admitted.

  “Have most of your crew sailed with you before?” Joe inquired.

  “Some have, some haven’t.”

  “How about Butch Londy?”

  “He’s new. Do you suspect him?”

  Joe shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on him,” the captain promised.

  Later, the Hardys met Biff and Chet. Neither of their chums could tell them anything about the weird episode, but both agreed to keep the sailor under surveillance as much as they could.

  “We might even pick up a clue from other people because we’re members of the crew,” Biff pointed out. “They might say something in front of us that they wouldn’t mention in front of you.”

  Frank nodded. “Thanks for the help, fellows.”

  The four agreed to meet before lunch and compare notes. Frank and Joe’s search had been fruitless, but Biff had hit pay dirt. “Follow me!” he said excitedly. “I want to show you what I found.”

  He led the way to a lifeboat and raised the tarpaulin. Inside lay a rubber mask shaped and painted like the face of a mummy!

  “Our suspect dropped his face!” Frank cried out, picking up the rubber disguise. He turned it over and noticed a tag bearing the word “Luxor” inside.

  “Luxor is in Egypt!” he said. “Maybe that’s where he got it.”

  “But we still don’t know who he is,” Joe pointed out. “Let’s set a trap for him. We’ll leave the mask in here and keep the lifeboat under surveillance. Then we nab the guy when he comes back for the mask.”

  “Terrific idea,” Frank agreed.

  “We’ll spell you when we’re off duty,” Chet offered. “This way we can watch around the clock!”

  During the days that followed, the four boys met regularly to see if one of them had learned anything. However, their reports were always negative. The man they were looking for never returned to the lifeboat to retrieve the mummy mask.

  “He must suspect something,” Frank concluded. “That’s why he’s steering clear of the place.”

  The voyage continued without incident. The Hardys checked the mummy crate several times a day and always found it untouched. They also watched Butch Londy. However, the surly sailor seemed to be performing his duties aboard ship like any other member of the crew, and they never saw him do anything suspicious.

  Near the Strait of Gibraltar, Captain Baker suddenly ordered all hands to their emergency stations. “We’re running into a storm,” he announced tersely over the loudspeaker. “Photos from a space satellite show it will be a big one, approaching hurricane force. So batten down the hatches. We’ll have to ride it out.”

  The Hardys volunteered to assist the crew in preparing the freighter for the storm. Chet was released from the galley to help hand out boots, oilskin coats, and floppy hats with brims extending down over the neck to keep the water out. The captain ordered Biff to stand by to radio an SOS if it should be necessary.

  Meanwhile, the waves grew higher and higher. The sky became dark, and rain began to fall. Soon the full force of the storm burst over the ship!

  The Admiral Halsey pitched up and down in the violent, seething swells of the Atlantic. She rolled so heavily from side to side that she seemed about to turn over. Torrents of spray whipped by high winds swept across the deck. The rain fell in sheets, and bolts of lightning flashed through black thun derheads in the sky.

  The crewmen clung to the railings as they made their way along the deck. They had to shout at the top of their voices to be heard over the screaming wind, the booming thunder, and the sound of gigantic waves breaking over the bow and making the ship shudder.

  Frank and Joe were assigned to help see that the hatch over the hold remained intact. If it went, the Atlantic would pour down into the hold, ruining the cargo and endangering the ship.

  Joe was worried about the mummy. “The coffin is bound to be knocked around,” he said tensely. “I hope the old pharaoh doesn’t break!”

  “He’s wrapped up pretty tightly,” Frank said. “I think he‘ll—hey, here comes Chet!”

  Their rotund pal had been ordered up from his duties belowdecks to help fasten a lifeboat near the bow that was being torn from its moorings by the force of the wind and the waves. He was wearing an outsized oilskin, boots fastened above his knees, and a sou‘wester tied by a strap under his plump chin. Water dripped down over his face, and he kept wiping it away by running his hands across his cheeks and his nose.

  In spite of the storm the Hardys could not help laughing at Chet’s appearance. But instead of joining in with his usual good humor, Chet looked at them mournfully. He felt nauseous and he wished fervently that the violent motion would stop.

  “I think Chet’s getting a bit green around the gills,” Frank said to Joe. Their friend, however, did not give in to his weakness. Bravely he assisted three other crewmen in forcing the lifeboat back into place and they all lashed it to stanchions on the deck.

  Chet went to the railing, playing out a rope behind him. It was his job to wind the rope around the railing to give the lifeboat greater stability. He had just finished making a sailor’s knot when a tremendous wave broke over the bow and surged along the deck.

  The wave knocked Chet off his feet and swept him overboard!

  7

  Surprise Message

  While the Hardys were watching in horror, Chet plunged into the boiling sea! A moment later he came to the surface. His sou‘wester had been swept away, and his head bobbed up and down in the waves. Frantically he struggled to keep from drowning, but the oilskin around his body constricted his arms.

  Frank wasted no time. He grabbed a life preserver from underneath the railing and tossed it toward their pal. It was attached to a long rope. Frank wound the end of it tightly around his hand.

  Joe, meanwhile, had stripped off his rain gear and was about to jump in after Chet. But Frank held him back.

  “Don’t be foolish! You can’t do anything for him down there. Look, he’s getting closer to the life ring.” Frank clenched his fists tensely as he watched a wave carry the white and red life preserver away from Chet, then brought it closer again.

  “Oh, come on, Chet!” he cried. “Grab it!”

  For a moment neither Chet nor the life ring could be seen. But then their pal surfaced, clinging to the preserver as tightly as he could.

  “Thank goodness!” Frank sighed in relief as he and Joe began to pull the ring toward the ship. Other crew members, meanwhile, had become aware of the accident and pitched in, helping the Hardys to raise their load. Chet clung to the ring with all his might, but his arms were getting weaker and weaker. He was about to let go in utter exhaustion when helpful hands grabbed him and pulled him over the railing. With a gasp, Chet collapsed on the deck.

  “Quick, take him inside and dry him off,” one of the sailors told Frank and Joe. “We’ll watch the hatch for you.”

  The Hardys half led, half dragged their pal to their cabin. Chet was shivering from the cold water. His skin was deathly white and he felt as if he had swallowed half the Atlantic Ocean.

  He tried to speak while Frank and Joe took off his wet clothes and wrapped towels and blankets around him. “Th-thanks, guys. I almost didn’t make it!”

  “You gave us a pretty good scare, buddy,” Joe said. “If we had to lose anyone, I’d rather lose the mummy.

  Chet grinned weakly. “Considering what the mummy is worth, I’m flattered!”

  By now the storm was beginning to subside. After the Hardys had put Chet into Joe’s bunk to rest, they returned to the deck and helped the crew stow away the equipment. The hatches were opened, and soon the Admiral Halsey was once again sailing through placid seas.

  When they had finished their work, the boys went into the hold for an inspection of the mummy crate. To their di
smay, one of the metal bands had snapped open, and a board was hanging loose!

  “Frank!” Joe gasped. “Do you think somebody fooled with the crate?

  “Let’s see if the mummy’s okay,” Frank suggested. After inspecting the padding underneath the loose board, he shrugged in frustration. “There’s really no way to tell unless we break the other seals, and we’re not supposed to do that!”

  “Maybe the storm did it,” Joe said. “There are other crates that have broken loose, and a couple are slightly damaged over there, see?”

  Frank looked just in time to notice a dark shadow looming in the next aisle behind a huge tractor. The blade of a hatchet appeared over the treads, then a sailor moved around the vehicle.

  Butch Londy!

  He came toward them, the hatchet half raised in his hands. The sharp edge gleamed wickedly, and he wore his usual scowl.

  Frank and Joe automatically stepped apart. If he were to attack one of them, the other would be behind him in a position to launch a counterattack. Tensely they went into a karate stance to avoid the first swing of the hatchet.

  But Londy did not swing. “Gotta fix the crate,” he snarled. “It’s yours, but I’m the ship’s carpenter, so I was told to do the repairs for you.”

  The Hardys were too relieved to say anything. They watched Londy as he pulled a hammer out of his pocket. He nailed the board tight again, then drew the ends of the metal bands together and twisted them so they would stay in place.

  “There,” he growled. “That’ll take care of your mummy.”

  “How do you suppose the board got loose?” Frank asked. “Could someone have done it deliberately?”

  “How should I know?” Londy walked off, whistling a tune and swinging his hatchet.

  The voyage went smoothly after that. The freighter passed through the Strait of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean Sea and continued on past Spain, France, and Italy. Rounding the headland of Greece, it entered the eastern Mediterranean.

  Numerous Greek islands appeared over its bow and then dropped astern. Frank and Joe followed them on a map provided by Captain Baker. “The next island coming up is Rubassa,” Frank observed.

  “Never heard of it,” Joe admitted.

  “It used to be part of the British Empire,” Frank told him. “Now it’s independent. The people speak English as far as I know, and quite a few Americans live there.”

  He had scarcely finished when Biff Hooper arrived with a piece of paper in his hand. “I have a radiogram for you,” he announced. “Pretty high-powered stuff!”

  Frank took the message and read aloud:

  TO FRANK AND JOE HARDY. CAN YOU COME ASHORE RUBASSA? IF SO, HELICOPTER WILL PICK YOU UP. REPLY WITHIN THE HOUR CRAIG COMPTON, UNITED STATES AMBASSADOR.

  The brothers looked at each other in total bewilderment.

  “We don’t know Ambassador Compton,” Joe spoke up. “What does he want with us?”

  Frank scratched his head. “Search me!”

  “Well, you don’t just say no to an American ambassador!” Biff declared.

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to,” Joe said. “We must stay with the mummy all the way to Cairo.”

  “Chet and I’ll take over for you,” Biff offered. “Perhaps Captain Baker will give us more time off. Why don’t you ask him?”

  Frank shrugged. “Why not?”

  They found the captain in his cabin and told him about the radiogram they had received. He read it curiously, then put it down on the table. “I think you should go,” he said. “It must have been important for the ambassador or he wouldn’t have contacted you.”

  “But how did he know where to get in touch with us?” Frank wondered.

  “Perhaps he called Bayport and Mother told him,” Joe reasoned.

  “In any case,” Captain Baker went on, “don’t worry about the mummy. Biff and Chet can take your place. As long as the crate’s aboard ship, it will be safe. You have my word on that. Go to Rubassa. You can come back by helicopter if this is a quick mission. Otherwise you can fly to meet the ship at Cyprus or Alexandria.”

  “Thanks, Captain,” Frank said. “We’ll go.”

  The Hardys went to their cabin and made preparations to go ashore at Rubassa, while Biff radioed their acceptance to the ambassador.

  Frank was thoughtful while he packed an overnight bag. “We’re shooting in the dark on this one, Joe. We have no idea what Ambassador Compton wants. It can’t be about the mummy because that has nothing to do with Rubassa. And if he just wants to talk to us about something, why didn’t he phone the ship?”

  “Maybe he’s got a case for us,” Joe speculated.

  Frank chuckled. “That’s all we need—another case!”

  They got up on deck just in time to see a small speck in the sky, moving in their direction. As it came closer, the sound of the helicopter’s engine, muted at first, became increasingly louder until the chopper clattered over the freighter with a deafening noise.

  A bosun’s chair was lowered at the end of a long cable. Frank strapped himself in and was whisked aloft, then Joe followed. When both had been safely pulled into the cabin, the chopper veered away from the freighter and roared off toward the island.

  “What this all about?” Frank asked the gray-haired pilot who was handling the controls.

  “Don’t know,” he replied laconically. “I got orders to pick you up, that’s all.”

  “Where are you taking us?”

  “That I can tell you. I’m taking you to a place on the other side of Loma, the capital of Rubassa.”

  The island came into view, and the chopper crossed the shoreline. The pilot pointed out the window. “There’s Loma now,” he said.

  The chopper dipped to one side and the panorama of the city became visible. A few relatively tall buildings, eight or ten stories high, stood in the center of the town. Modern high-rises flanked the business district. Beyond, stretching into the suburbs, were houses built in the architecture typical of the Greek islands, mainly oblong shapes of whitewashed stone that shone brilliantly in the sunlight.

  Crowds milled around in the streets, and shoppers were entering and leaving the stores. The Hardys could see a policeman directing traffic in the main square. It consisted mostly of motorcycles.

  “They go for bikes in a big way,” Joe commented.

  “They go for all kinds of things in a big way lately,” the pilot said dryly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, be prepared for anything, because anything can happen on Rubassa.”

  The helicopter began to lose altitude as the pilot cut power on the outskirts of Loma. He brought his craft down in an empty field outside the city.

  The trio got out and walked toward a group of men who were waiting beside a limousine.

  “I’ve got the Hardy boys for you,” the pilot announced.

  “That’s great,” said the leader of the group, who introduced himself as Major Martin. “Get into the car, boys. The boss is waiting for us.”

  Frank suddenly felt apprehensive. “I’m not sure I want to get in. I’d like to see your credentials.”

  The major took a billfold out of his pocket and showed the boys a card identifying him as a member of the U.S. Embassy. The card bore his picture and the seal of the U.S. Government.

  “Satisfied?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” Frank had to admit.

  “Then get in.”

  Three of the men occupied the front seat of the limousine while two sat on the jump seats facing Frank and Joe. The pilot returned to his helicopter and took off just as the driver started the engine of the limousine.

  Frank still felt suspicious. Was Major Martin’s identification a forgery? Had they walked into a trap?

  “Where are you taking us?” he asked.

  A smile curled around the major’s lips. “You’ll find out soon enough!”

  8

  The Spy at the Embassy

  Frank and Joe looked at each other in bewilde
rment. Each knew what the other was thinking. Were they being kidnapped? Was the radiogram that Biff had received a ruse to get them off the freighter? Did someone plan to do something with the mummy? Was the man in the rubber mask behind the scheme?

  The car moved through a small grove of trees and turned off onto a paved road on a cliff along the seacoast. Frank and Joe could see a sheer drop down to enormous rocks in the water. The road wound in and out, and the driver frequently came close to the edge of the cliff at high speed. Joe, who was sitting next to the window, caught his breath.

  “I hope this car has wings,” he muttered. “We’ll be airborne any time now!”

  But then the curves in the road ended and it straightened out for several miles along a ledge with a cliff rising on one side and another falling away on the other.

  Suddenly the roar of motorcycles could be heard in the distance. Frank nudged Joe and said, “Bikes!” Looking through the window in the back, they could see a dozen cycles closing in on the limousine.

  The leader, riding a sturdy Kawasaki, wore a crash helmet with the visor down just like the rest of the gang. He whizzed past the car and cut over in front of it. Several others pulled alongside. Frank noticed that one of the bikes had a twisted left handlebar, evidently the result of an accident.

  Suddenly the cyclists veered toward the limousine. The driver pulled to one side to let them pass, but they kept zooming back and forth, pressing the car toward the open side of the road.

  “They’re trying to force us over the cliff!” Joe shouted.

  “Can’t you do something?” Frank asked the men in the car.

  “No!” Martin barked. “We’re not allowed to carry weapons. And if we stop, there’s no telling what they’ll do!”

  The running duel continued at high speed along the edge of the cliff. The driver of the limousine skillfully steered away from the steep descent to the rocks whenever the cyclists inadvertently allowed him the room, and the men in the car shouted and shook their fists at their attackers.

  “They won’t get too close,” Joe observed, “because they don’t want to follow us over the cliff!”