The Firebird Rocket

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “That’s an idea,” Joe said. “Maybe someone was trying to keep the police from finding out Jenson stayed there.”

  The boys went inside. Two men stood behind the desk in the empty hallway that now served as a lobby. One was the manager, the other had “porter” stitched on the breast pocket of his threadbare jacket.

  When Frank inquired about Jenson, the manager looked annoyed. “I’ve already told the police all I know,” he said curtly. “Dr. Jenson left with two Americans the day after he checked in and I never heard from him again.’”

  “Did he pay his bill?” Joe inquired.

  “The men did.”

  “Why not Dr. Jenson himself?”

  “How do I know?” the manager asked gruffly.

  There was a brief silence before Frank said, “Were you afraid of trouble if you told the police too much about Jenson?”

  The man’s face turned sullen. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “You had a fire here, for one thing. And maybe you received some threats.”

  “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

  Frank flashed a twenty dollar bill. “Try to remember. Was there anything even the slightest bit unusual about Jenson’s departure?”

  The manager hesitated, obviously tempted. He glanced furtively around, then took the money and quickly put it in his wallet. “Well, Jenson seemed drunk,” he told the boys. “He was sort of slumped between these two blokes. They paid and led him outside, then pushed him into a car and drove off.”

  “Do you think he was forced to go with them?”

  “I dunno. I think he was drunk.”

  “Can we look in his room for a clue?” Joe asked. “We must find him!”

  “Go ahead. I haven’t rented it since.” The manager gave him the key and the boys went into Jenson’s room.

  Joe looked into the closet while Frank went through the bureau drawers. They turned the wastebasket upside down, and lifted the mattress from the bed.

  “Nothing here,” said Joe, standing in the middle of the room and gazing around. His eyes fell on the door, which was covered with scratches and graffiti. Joe went over and bent down, staring at the bottom panel.

  “Hey Frank, come here a minute!”

  Frank looked at the initials and sentences scribbled on the lower part of the door. “Graffiti,” he said. “Courtesy of the hotel’s high-class clientele.”

  “Look close,” Joe advised. “See this sign?”

  “A bolt of lightning!” Frank exclaimed. “The same as we saw on Dr. Jenson’s desk!”

  “Correct. And after it are the letters A1 S. What do you think that means?”

  “Maybe those are the initials of Dr. Jenson’s kidnapper!” Frank said, excited. “Could be his name is Albert Smith.”

  “Or Alfred Scott, or a million other combinations,” Joe commented.

  Their enthusiasm diminished as they realized the number of possibilities. “There are too many names with those initials,” Frank concluded. “We’ll have to find Jenson to find out whom he meant.”

  “Let’s think about it as we go back to our hotel,” Joe suggested. “What say we walk instead of taking a cab?”

  “Suits me,” Frank agreed.

  Before leaving, they wrote down their room number at the Australian Arms and asked the manager to call them if he remembered any other details. Then they walked toward the center of the city, which was not far, and found that Sydney was built on a number of hills. Rows of houses painted in bright colors lined the streets, and cars whizzed back and forth through narrow thoroughfares.

  “Why do you think Jenson checked into that crummy hotel?” Joe asked his brother.

  “Maybe he suspected he was being followed and wanted to hide,” Frank replied.

  “Or, if he’s not on the level, perhaps he wanted to disappear and obscure his tracks,” Joe concluded.

  “I think he was kidnapped. I don’t believe he was drunk when those guys took him out of the place,” Frank said.

  “You’re probably right. Boy, these streets are all uphill or downhill,” Joe said. “I’m getting tired!”

  “Cheer up. We’re coming close to level ground,” Frank told him. He referred to Macquarie Street, where they saw the law courts before cutting over to George Street, the site of the magnificent Town Hall and St. Andrew’s Cathedral.

  They stepped off the curb and began to cross over to the cathedral, when a car swished around the corner and barreled straight at them at top speed!

  Instinctively Frank and Joe whirled to leap back onto the sidewalk. The car followed them, heading them off. Again they raced into the street, hoping to make it to the other side. The car careened after them. It was a wild chase until Frank slipped and fell. The car hurtled straight at him!

  Joe barely had time to shove his brother out of the way. There was no chance to escape himself. He took a death-defying leap at the car, sprawling across the hood to avoid being run down!

  The car zoomed past Frank, missing him by inches, and jolted over a patch of grass bordering the sidewalk. Joe was blocking the driver’s view, but a sharp twist of the wheel sent the youth sliding off. He rolled over and over. Only the cushion of grass saved him from serious injury.

  As Joe lay half-stunned, he caught a parting glimpse of the bearded driver, scowling at him through the open window as the car roared away. The man was wearing tinted glasses!

  He continued up the street, rounded the corner, and vanished. Frank and Joe got to their feet, shaking their heads at their narrow escape. The few pedestrians ran to help, but nobody had caught the car’s license number.

  “Thanks for saving me, Joe,” Frank puffed. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, except that fall rattled my eyeteeth.” The younger Hardy waited till they were alone again before adding, “Did you get a look at the driver?”

  “No. Who was he?”

  “The guy who shadowed us in Princeton!”

  Frank gave a long whistle. “He followed us to Australia! How did he know we’d be here?”

  “He didn’t follow us to Bayport,” Joe said. “And I watched on the way to the airport. No one was behind us.”

  Joe took a death-de fying leap at the car.

  “Maybe he overheard our telephone conversation with Professor Young,” Frank said. ‘Or he could have overheard Young and Smoky talking when the professor told Smoky to catch us before we left for Australia.”

  “Or Smoky could have told him!” Joe added.

  “Right. Once he knew we were coming here, all he had to do was check with the airlines and take an earlier flight or even get on the same plane with us in disguise!”

  “This is getting serious,” Joe said. “The guy’s out to kill us. If we don’t crack this case soon, he may succeed!”

  Taking various detours, the boys returned to the Australian Arms Hotel. When they arrived in their room, Chet was still sleeping. Frank woke him up and told him what had happened. He was just about finished when the telephone rang. Joe picked it up.

  He heard a muffled voice say, “If you want information on Dr. Jenson, be at the Botany Bay Coffeehouse in King’s Cross in one hour!”

  CHAPTER X

  A Spy in the Crowd

  “WHO are you and how will we know you?” Joe asked.

  “I’ll know you, and that’s all that matters.” The phone went dead. Joe relayed the message to Frank and Chet.

  “Sounds like a trap,” he added. “Probably another one of our shadow’s tricks.”

  “I think we should chance it,” Frank said. “We don’t have any other leads in the case.”

  There was a knock on the door. Frank walked over to it and asked, “Who is it?”

  “Ponsley.” It was their friend’s familiar voice. Frank let him in and brought him up-to-date on the latest news.

  “Suppose,” Ponsley said, “I go along and trail behind you. If the crooks gang up on you, I’ll call for help.”

  “Great idea!” Joe said. “How a
bout you, Chet?”

  Chet was awake by now, and felt better. “Of course, I’m coming, too,” he said.

  “Wait a minute,” Frank objected. “I think it will be better if we split forces. You stay here, Chet, and if we’re not back in an hour, alert the police. If you come along, they might get all of us and no one would know we’re missing.”

  “Okay,” Chet agreed readily. The thought of being caught did not appeal to him at all. Ponsley looked a bit doubtful, too, but did not retract his offer.

  The three left, and just before the hour was up, the Hardys entered the Botany Bay Coffeehouse, a popular gathering place for Australians of all types from Sydney businessmen to shop girls, office workers, and people in the arts. Like most Aussies, they seemed to have a sun-tanned breezy look about them that the boys liked. Over coffee and tea, a babble of cheerful voices could be heard.

  Frank and Joe sat down at a table in a corner and ordered coffee. They surveyed the room without spotting a familiar face until Ponsley walked in. He took a table on the opposite side of the room, winked to indicate that he was keeping them under surveillance, and told a waitress to bring him a pot of tea.

  “You’re right on time,” a voice said at Frank’s elbow. “You must be interested.”

  It was the porter from the hotel Dr. Jenson had stayed in!

  The man sat down and accepted a cup of coffee. “Look, mates,” he said in a low tone, “I know about Dr. Jenson. I opened the door for him and the two blokes who were with him. I could tell from the look in his eyes that he was drugged. When they pushed him into the car, he began to struggle. I went out to see what was going on, and I heard him mutter something.”

  “What was it?” Frank asked eagerly.

  “He said ‘Alice Springs’ just before they slammed the door and drove off!”

  “Why didn’t you mention this before?” Joe inquired.

  “I told the manager. He said he didn’t want any trouble, and that I might have made a mistake. That’s why I couldn’t tell you at the hotel that I recognized Jenson’s photo. After thinking it over, I thought you should know that he wasn’t drunk. He was drugged!”

  The porter drained his coffee cup and, after accepting some money from Frank in payment for his information, he rose to his feet. He was due back at the hotel and strode off. The Hardys stared at each other in consternation.

  Joe broke the silence. “Now we know what Al S stands for. Alice Springs! She must be the leader of the kidnap gang. Maybe she’s holding Jenson a prisoner right now here in Sydney!”

  “Joe, Alice Springs isn’t a person. It’s a place—a town way off in the Outback in the middle of the country. Jenson left a message saying that he was taken to Alice Springs!” Frank said.

  Joe jumped up from his chair. “This is a hot clue, Frank! We’ll have to go to Alice Springs!”

  “That’s the way I see it. We’d better get out there in a hurry.”

  Ponsley left his table and joined them. “Who was that fellow and what did he say?”

  Frank told him and repeated the conversation.

  “Where is Alice Springs?” Ponsley asked.

  “Let’s find out,” Frank suggested and pulled a map of Sydney from his pocket that showed all of Australia on the reverse side. He spread it flat on the table, running a fingertip from Sydney west across New South Wales into South Australia, and then up into the Northern Territory. His finger stopped almost exactly in the center of the continent, where the words “Alice Springs” were printed in black letters.

  They could tell from the relief coloring that the town nestled in the foothills of the Macdonnell Ranges, at a point where a number of streams converged. The illustrations indicated that all around Alice Springs there were homesteads, mines, and cattle ranches.

  Ponsley was aghast. “Impossible!” he cried, thumping the table with his fist until the ruby on his finger seemed to be a streak of red in the air. “That town is over a thousand miles from here!”

  “A long trip,” Joe agreed.

  “Too long!” Ponsley snapped. “You have to stay in Sydney and continue the search for Mike Moran!”

  Frank shook his head. “Mike will have to wait,” he said firmly. “Jenson comes first. Besides, Mike said he was leaving town. Chances are he’s not in Sydney anyway.”

  Ponsley groused and grumbled, but finally gave in. “I’ll go with you,” he decided. “I’m not the detective around here. I need you boys to solve my mystery. I’d better stay with you so I can be sure you start looking for Mike the minute you find Jenson.”

  “Fair enough,” Frank said and paid the bill. He asked the waitress about the nearest travel bureau, which happened to be around the corner.

  The boys were unable to book a scheduled flight for the next day, but the clerk referred them to the pilot of a small private plane, who had just come in to pick up possible fares.

  “I belong to the Royal Flying Doctor Service,” the pilot told them. “The RFDS flies doctors, nurses, and medicine over the Outback wherever someone is ill or injured. Planes are the only way to get around quickly in that area.”

  “You must be like the bush pilots in Alaska,” Joe surmised. “They cover a lot of territory.”

  “Quite similar,” the pilot agreed. “Well, I operate out of Alice Springs and will be flying back there tomorrow morning. I’ll be glad to take you.”

  “We’ll need four seats,” Frank said. “A friend of ours is coming, too.”

  “That’s okay. I have enough room.”

  The boys thanked the man and left the travel agency. “What say we call Chet to tell him the latest news, and then see a few more of the sights on the way back to the hotel?” Frank suggested.

  “Good idea,” Joe and Ponsley agreed. They called from a public phone booth, then strolled along the Elizabeth Street shopping area, glancing at items in store windows and enjoying the bustle of the city. They paused at a fishmonger’s barrow.

  “Anything on the menu from the Great Barrier Reef?” Frank inquired.

  “Too far away, mate,” the man laughed. “My fish come from Ulladulla, down south of here. How about some tasty snapper or John Dory? Blimey, you’ll find ’em delicious!”

  “Okay, you’ve convinced us.” Joe chuckled.

  They all bought fish sandwiches and munched them hungrily. Then they deposited their paper napkins in a trash bin and walked on.

  Suddenly Frank spotted someone watching them from the opposite side of the street. The older Hardy boy recognized the man with the beard and the tinted glasses!

  “Our shadow from Princeton!” he told his companions.

  “The guy who tried to run us down!” Joe exploded. “Let’s get him!”

  The boys turned and hastened to the corner to cross Elizabeth Street. Ponsley brought up the rear as fast as he could. But the light turned red just as they arrived at the intersection and the flow of traffic compelled them to wait. By the time they got across, they could barely glimpse their quarry almost a block away.

  “He’s heading toward the waterfrontl” Frank cried.

  The Hardys and Ponsley ran after him. A sign, HARBOUR BRIDGE, pointed the way to the busy eight-lane steel span connecting Sydney to the North Shore.

  Presently they came to the dock area, where ocean liners and tramp freighters were tied up at the piers to disgorge and take on passengers and cargo. Across the waters of Sydney Cove on their right could be seen the dazzling new opera house, looking like a cluster of pointed white concrete sails.

  As the boys slowed to get their bearings, they almost bumped into a sailor who was hurrying in the opposite direction.

  “Sorry, mates! I didn’t see you coming,” he apologized.

  “Did you happen to pass a bearded man with dark glasses?” Frank asked him.

  The sailor shoved back his cap and scratched his head. “Don’t recall noticing anyone like that,” he replied, “but if you want to come back to me ship for a minute, I’ll find out if anyone saw him.”
/>   “That’s mighty kind of you, but weren’t you going the other way? We don’t want to hold you up.”

  “That’s all right, cobber. I was just going on shore leave. Nothing that urgent.”

  Ponsley sat down on a wooden bollard to catch his breath. “I need a breather after all that running,” he said. “You two go on. I’ll wait here.”

  The boys accompanied the sailor to his freighter, which was moored nearby. On its stern was the name Sydney Cove.

  The sailor grinned. “Recognize that name?”

  Frank and Joe shook their heads. “Should we?” the younger Hardy boy asked.

  “Maybe not, seeing as ‘ow you’re Yanks. But there once was a ship called Sydney Cove that sank. Only three ’ands survived to tell the tale. So now some say every ship with that name is jinxed.”

  Frank laughed. “We don’t believe in jinxes.”

  The sailor grinned. “Then you got nothin’ to fear. Come on aboard. You can call me Salty, by the way. Everyone else does.”

  He led the way up the gangplank to the well deck, where the captain was giving orders to his bosun and deck hands. One of the men was attaching a huge bale to a cargo boom near the open hold.

  “What’re you doing back aboard, Salty?” the officer bellowed.

  “Just ‘elpin’ out these two Yanks, sir. They’re lookin’ for a bearded man with dark glasses. Anyone see ’im go by?”

  The skipper and crewmen, who had stopped work, shook their heads. The boys thanked them and left the ship. They saw Ponsley coming toward them across the dock.

  “I’ve seen enough of Sydney,” he declared. “I’m going back to the hotel. Want to share a taxi with me?”

  “May as well,” Frank answered. “Looks like we’ve lost that creep we were chasing.”

  As they turned to go, the freighter’s cargo boom swung out over the side with a heavy bale in its cargo net. The net opened just above the three and the bale hurtled down on them!

  CHAPTER XI

  Chet’s Clever Plan

  FRANK caught a glimpse of the bale as it tumbled out of the cargo net. “Watch out!” he shouted.

  Frank and Joe lunged into Ponsley, pushing him out of the way and knocking him over backwards. The three went down in a tangle of arms and legs as the heavy cargo slammed into the dock a few feet away from them!