A Figure in Hiding

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “You mean, there was no contract in force when the Jeweled Siva was stolen?” Frank asked.

  “Exactly. And the insurance company requires one on all items that Mr. Fontana takes into his store to sell for an outside owner. So, I shan’t get a penny. I don’t know what I’ll do if your father or the police don’t find the Siva!”

  Mrs. Lunberry’s voice broke and she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “Oh, dear! I almost believe there is a curse on that figure!”

  Frank and Joe did their best to comfort her.

  “Dad will certainly do everything he can, Mrs. Lunberry,” Frank promised. “And so will we.”

  Suddenly the woman’s face went white. She sucked in her breath sharply, then gave a piercing scream!

  “What’s wrong?” Joe cried out. Both boys sprang up from their chairs.

  “The window! I saw something!” she gasped hysterically. “Like a head with no face! It was horrible!” The elderly woman was trembling.

  “We’ll see who’s out there!” Frank told her, and the boys dashed outside.

  “There he goes!” Joe yelled, pointing as they rounded a corner of the cottage.

  A man with a stocking mask over his head was running toward the woods! Frank and Joe sprinted in pursuit. They plunged in among the trees. At first they were guided by faint sounds of rustling shrubbery and steps trampling dry leaves. Then, as the Hardys groped and darted about in the forest gloom, the sounds faded. The boys were forced to slow down and search the crushed underbrush for signs of the fugitive’s trail.

  “It’s hopeless,” Frank groaned at last. “He could be a mile from here by now!”

  Disgusted, the Hardys walked back to Mrs. Lunberry’s cottage. Frank stopped short.

  “Look there, Joe! Under the window!”

  The crude drawing of an eye had been chalked on the gray clapboard siding! The oval pupil and spark lines were instantly recognizable.

  “Just like the glass eye and the drawing on Zatta’s card!” Joe said grimly.

  When the brothers went back to the cottage, they found Mrs. Lunberry pale but much calmer. She offered the boys some tea.

  “No, thanks,” said Frank. “We’d like to show you something if you’re feeling all right.”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Lunberry sounded a bit apprehensive, but she accompanied the boys outside. The sinister drawing of the eye seemed to frighten her again.

  “Ever seen anything like it before?” Joe asked.

  “Yes, I’m almost certain I have,” she said shakily. “Perhaps it was in connection with my husband’s work, but—oh, dear, I just can’t think right now. It may come back to me later.”

  Frank promised that their father would get in touch with her as soon as he was free to work on the case. He also asked Mrs. Lunberry to let them know if she recollected where she had seen such an eye.

  “I’m sure it signifies something terrible!” she said uneasily. “It’s probably connected with the curse on the Jeweled Siva!”

  Frank and Joe said good-by and walked back to the boat landing. They hoped the fisherboy would be there. The mysterious man might have quizzed him. But the lad was gone. The Hardys got into the Sleuth and headed for Bayport.

  “Do you suppose that guy in the stocking mask was the same one who trailed us in the green Torpedo car?” Joe mused.

  “I don’t know,” Frank replied, “but let’s check on that auto dealership in Ocean City.”

  When working on a case, the brothers usually kept the Sleuth’s radio turned on to pick up any calls from home. Just as they neared the mouth of Barmet Bay, Tony Prito’s voice came over the speaker:

  “Napoli calling Sleuth! ... Come in, please.”

  The Napoli was Tony’s own speedy little craft.

  “Sleuth at mouth of river,” Frank replied, picking up the microphone. “What’s happened, Tony?”

  Their chum asked, “When will you be back?”

  “We’re on our way now. Why?”

  “Somebody was asking for you. I’ll tell you all about it when you get here,” Tony replied. “Over and out.”

  “Hmm. Wonder what that was all about,” Frank muttered as he put down the mike. Joe shrugged.

  Rounding out of the river into the bay, the Sleuth bounded over the waves toward their boathouse. As they neared it, another motorboat put-putted out to meet them.

  “It’s the Napoli!” Joe remarked.

  Tony drew alongside. “Chet Morton wants to see you two as soon as possible,” he reported.

  “He’s the one who was asking for us?” Frank inquired.

  “Right. Chet says it’s urgent. He wants you to meet him at Doc Grafton’s Health Farm at eleven-thirty.”

  Frank glanced at his wristwatch. “Only a quarter to eleven. What say we stop at the hospital first and see how Bill Braxton’s making out?”

  “Good idea,” Joe agreed as he berthed the Sleuth.

  The boys drove to Bayport General Hospital and went to Braxton’s room.

  “Hi, fellows!” he greeted them. The mechanic was lounging in a chair, reading a magazine.

  Frank grinned. “You don’t look very sick.”

  “Me? I’m rarin’ to go. Luckily I have a very thick skull—from being a racing driver, I guess.”

  “No aftereffects from that clout on the noggin?” Joe asked.

  “Not a bit. The doctor was afraid I might have suffered a concussion, so they kept me for observation. But they’re discharging me today.”

  The boys discussed with Bill the mysterious attack on him. “So Lambert’s a crook named Spotty Lemuel,” Bill said. “Wonder why he picked on me!”

  Frank asked, “How did Spotty first hear about your hydrofoil, by the way?”

  Bill wrinkled his forehead. “Don’t know exactly. I met him at the track once in Ocean City. I drive stock cars over there, you know—for Izmir Motors.”

  lzmir Motors! Frank and Joe looked startled at hearing the name of the auto dealership.

  “Something wrong?” Bill asked, puzzled.

  “We’re not sure,” Frank said. “But it happens we were planning to check on that same place.”

  Leaving the hospital, the Hardys drove out of town to the health resort. It was located on a hillside overlooking the bay. Its wooded rolling acres were enclosed by a high wire fence. Brass letters arching over the driveway proclaimed: DOC GRAFTON’ S HEALTH FARM.

  Chet was waiting at the entrance for the Hardys. His usually calm face looked excited.

  “I just found out you guys are going to be kidnapped!” he said.

  CHAPTER VII

  Beach Battle

  “KIDNAPPED?” Joe echoed. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course I’m serious!” Chet retorted.

  The chubby youth was wearing white trousers and a green gym shirt with the name of the health resort in white letters across his chest.

  “Okay, tell us,” Frank said.

  Chet gave a worried glance behind him. “I can’t talk about it here,” he whispered. “I quit at noon. Wait and I’ll tell you the whole story.”

  “If you’re not going to tell us till twelve o’clock,” Joe said, exasperated, “why’d you get us up here at eleven-thirty?”

  “‘Cause you two are always chasing around on some goofy mystery case, that’s why. I wanted to make sure you’d be here in plenty of time.” Chet regarded the young sleuths somberly. “Boy, if this tip I got is right, you fellows have really got yourselves in a spot. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes!”

  “Stop looking so smug,” Frank said. “What are we supposed to do—park here and just worry?”

  “Come on inside and I’ll show you around,” Chet invited. “Wait a second.”

  He hurried over to a small stone gatehouse and spoke to the uniformed gatekeeper. The man gave Frank and Joe a brief once-over and nodded. “Okay. Just this once.”

  The Hardys hopped from the convertible and the three boys started up the curving graveled drive.

&
nbsp; “How come you get off so early?” Joe asked.

  “Well, it’s my first day,” Chet replied, “so all they had me come in for was to learn my way around and get a uniform and stuff like that. Besides, I have an after-dinner athletic period tonight.”

  The emerald lawn swept upward to a large white porticoed building. On a stone-flagged terrace in front, guests were sunning themselves in deck chairs. Several outbuildings could be glimpsed, set back among tall oak trees.

  “Some layout,” Frank murmured admiringly.

  “You bet! It’s strictly for guys with big bankrolls,” Chet boasted.

  As the boys stood chatting and looking around, a burly man with a shock of thick black hair came toward them. He also wore a green gym shirt, revealing sloping, muscular shoulders and furry, apelike arms. His nose was flat and almost shapeless. Cauliflower ears stuck out of his bulletlike head.

  “Good grief, who’s he?” Joe muttered.

  “The bouncer, probably,” Frank said. “I’ll bet he’s coming to give us the heave-ho.”

  “Relax—he’s harmless,” Chet assured them.” ”His name’s Rip Sinder. Used to box heavyweight when Doc Grafton was a fight manager and trainer. Now he’s sort of a general handyman. Incidentally, don’t be surprised at the noises Rip makes. He got punched in the Adam’s apple and it damaged his vocal cords so he can’t talk.”

  The ex-pug approached and handed Frank a note penciled in spidery handwriting. It read: I’d like to talk to you about

  Braxton’s hydrofoil.

  Z. Mudge

  Frank looked surprised. “Where is Mr. Mudge?”

  Rip Sinder gave a guttural grunt and made stabbing gestures toward the terrace.

  “Thank you.” Frank restrained a start as he took in the boxer’s huge, sausage-fingered hands.

  “Come on. Let’s go see him,” Joe said. He whispered to his brother, “What’s wrong?”

  “Did you get a look at Sinder’s hands?”

  “Big, aren’t they?” Chet said.

  “I’ll say they’re big,” Frank retorted under his breath. “Just like the pair of hands that tried to throttle me last night!”

  Chet shuddered. “You don’t mean Rip did it?”

  Frank shrugged. “Probably a coincidence. But I’d like to get my hands on the person—whoever he is.”

  The pudgy lad groaned. “Remind me to keep away from you two. You attract trouble!”

  Zachary Mudge was seated in a deck chair with his spindly legs stretched out. As before, he was clad only in shorts and a straw hat.

  “Did you want to see us, sir?” Frank said.

  “What? Speak up, boy!” As Frank repeated his words in a bellow, Mr. Mudge fiddled with his hearing aid. “All right, all right! You don’t have to shout—I’m not deaf. Certainly I want to see you. Why do you think I sent for you?”

  “Well, here we are, sir,” Joe said, grinning.

  “What about that fellow Braxton? Is he out of the hospital yet?”

  “He’s getting out today, sir.” Suddenly Joe snapped his fingers. “Frank! We forgot to tell Braxton about Mr. Mudge!”

  The elderly man snorted contemptuously. “Typical! You young whippersnappers wouldn’t remember to come in out of the rain if someone didn’t remind you. How about Lambert? Has he made Braxton an offer yet?”

  “No, sir. Braxton hasn’t seen him,” Frank replied.

  Mudge cackled and rubbed his hands in glee. “Fine! Then there’s still time to sew things up! All right, sonnies.” Settling back, Mudge pulled his straw hat down over his face.

  “What a character!” Chet Morton whispered as the boys walked away.

  Chet hurriedly showed Frank and Joe through the splendid gymnasium building. This included a pool, steam room, tiled showers, and handball courts. The main room was equipped with exercise mats, trampolines, pulley weights, and other apparatus. Chet dropped several broad hints about his prowess as a gymnast.

  “Okay, let’s see you perform on that,” Joe challenged, pointing to a leather horse.

  “Not now. I have to change.” Seeing the Hardys’ grins, Chet burst out, “Okay, if you think I can’t! I’ll show you!”

  Seizing the steel grips, he hoisted himself off the floor, getting somewhat red in the face. Then he tried to swing his legs around the horse. But as he let go with one hand, his grip with the other loosened.

  “Oops!” Frank cried, and Chet landed heavily on the mat in a sitting position.

  “That doggone handgrip was slippery!” Chet explained, wincing as he got up.

  “Sure.” Joe repressed a smile. “Anyhow, it was a good try.”

  Chet changed clothes in the locker room and the three boys walked back down the drive.

  “Well, it’s noon and you’re through here,” Frank reminded Chet. “How soon do we get briefed on that kidnapping tip?”

  Just then Chet’s yellow jalopy drove up outside the gateway. Two girls sat in the front.

  “Hey! Iola and Callie!” Joe exclaimed.

  The girls waved gaily and the trio hurried to meet them. Chet was chuckling as he ran.

  “Well, fellows, it’s like this,” he said. “You’re about to be kidnapped by two dangerous dolls—for a beach party!”

  Frank and Joe stopped short, their jaws dropping open in surprise. Chet, Iola, and Callie burst into peals of laughter.

  “Man, did I ever have these guys going!” Chet informed his two conspirators. “They were expecting some big underworld trap!”

  “Who’s complaining?” Frank retorted with a grin. “Callie can kidnap me any day.”

  “They even brought our surfboards!” Joe said.

  “And your trunks and two picnic hampers!” Chet added, peering into the back seat. “Let’s go!”

  Callie rode with Frank in the convertible, while Joe piled in with Iola and Chet. They drove to a spot just north of Barmet Bay, called Gremlin Beach, which had become popular for surf-riding because of its high swells.

  “What a day for surf-birds!” Joe cried as the foursome jumped out onto the clean white stretch of sand. An onshore breeze was blowing, and the waves from some distant storm were piling into high-crested breakers. Two boats came into view, kicking up plumes of spray.

  “Tony and Biff!” Frank exclaimed. Biff Hooper was another Bayport High pal.

  The Napoli and Biff’s boat, the Envoy, soon arrived. Both boys had brought dates. In a few minutes the young people were frolicking in the water. Frank and Joe, expert surf-riders, brought screams of delight from the girls. They soared and dipped like skimming sea gulls.

  Biff tried and did a “wipe out,” coming up from the spill with a mouthful of salt water.

  Presently the girls went ashore to broil hamburgers and frankfurters. Joe, glancing shoreward, noticed a youth with sun-bleached hair talking to Iola. She looked annoyed. Suddenly Joe’s pulse skipped a beat.

  “Hey, Frank!” he called. “It’s that wise guy who checked our ‘pass’ at the empty house last night!”

  The Hardys bounded out of the water. The stranger saw them coming and beat a hasty retreat. But Joe grabbed his arm. “Hold it, Buster! You have some explaining to do!”

  In answer the youth swung a surprise blow at Joe’s jaw, knocking him off balance. But Frank darted after the attacker and tackled him.

  “Now start talking!” Frank ordered, letting him get up.

  The youth said his name was Fred Hare and that he was spending a week at a resort hotel in Bayport with his parents. He told the Hardys he had been paid five dollars to act as lookout at the house on Malabar Road.

  “By whom?”

  “Some man I met on the street. I never saw him before,” Fred Hare whined. His description of the man was vague.

  “Could have been Spotty Lemuel,” Joe said.

  At a call from Tony, the Hardys turned their heads. Fred seized his chance and sprinted toward a sand dune. Frank and Joe took after him, but as they topped the dune they saw him leap into a boat.


  “I fed you guys a pack of lies!” he jeered, and gunned the motor. “I know plenty more!” The boat sped off.

  Joe was furious, but Frank calmly strode back to their convertible to call Chief Collig. As the radio warmed up, the Hardys were startled to hear Aunt Gertrude’s voice over the speaker.

  “Boys! Come home at once!” she said. “I’ve caught the scoundrel who’s behind this mystery!”

  CHAPTER VIII

  DZ7—

  “THIS is Frank, Aunt Gertrude! Who is the fellow you’ve caught?”

  “I’ve no time to explain!” Miss Hardy’s voice snapped back. “Just get home here at once and help me attend to him! Your mother is out. Over and out!”

  The Hardy boys looked at each other in stunned surprise.

  “Good night!” Joe gasped. “I wonder who it is she’s nabbed.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Frank said. “Whoever it is, we’d better blast off in a hurry!”.

  Iola and Callie looked stricken when the Hardys announced they had to rush home. But Iola quickly recovered her impish good spirits. “Even detectives must eat!” She quickly handed hamburgers to Frank and Joe.

  The Hardys ate quickly, then sped off along the highway. Reaching town, they wove their way through traffic to the house at Elm and High.

  Frank and Joe dashed inside. The place seemed strangely quiet.

  “Aunt Gertrude! Where are you?” Joe yelled.

  The boys hurried downstairs to the basement where the Hardys’ short-wave set was located. No one was there.

  “Something must have happened to her!” Frank said fearfully.

  They ran up from the basement, then mounted the hall stairway two steps at a time. Faint noises drew Frank to their father’s study. He burst in and stopped short with a gasp.

  “She’s in here, Joe!” he called.

  Miss Hardy was bound to a chair. Her mouth was covered with a man’s handkerchief, but her eyes flashed fire. A warning had been lettered on a piece of paper and clipped to the collar of her blouse:TAKE MY ADVICE AND KEEP THIS

  BLABBERMOUTH GAGGED ALL THE TIME!