“Where will this one fly?” Frank asked.
“To northwestern Canada, hauling supplies for a three-year pipeline project.” Quinn’s face darkened as he added, “That is, if what happened this morning doesn’t cause the pipeline company to cancel our contract.”
“You think they might, sir?”
“Who knows? Those explosions could arouse their fears about airship safety.”
“Have you had any trouble before this?” Joe asked.
“Yes, two or three sabotage incidents.”
Frank said, “Do you suspect anyone?”
Lloyd Quinn frowned and hesitated before replying. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not making accusations. But the only possible enemy I can think of is a man named Basil Embrow. My former partner.”
Joe snapped the fellow’s picture with his miniature camera.
“The two of you broke up?”
“We had to,” Quinn replied. “We were having too many violent disagreements, so I went ahead and formed this dirigible company on my own. Embrow may bear me a grudge.”
After asking for and obtaining computer printout data on the crew and passengers aboard the Queen’s morning flight, the Hardys returned home.
Their mother informed them that they had received a phone call from Eustace Jarman, a well-known New York industrialist and head of a large corporation called Jarman Ventures.
“What did he want, Mom?”
“Actually, it was his secretary who called. She didn’t say what it was about, but left this number. She wants you to call back.”
Frank dialed the number, only to learn that Jarman was out. His secretary asked if the boys would be willing to come to New York City and talk to him. An appointment was set up for eleven thirty the next morning.
Afterward, Frank phoned Mr. Hardy’s ace operative, Sam Radley, and asked him to trace Quinn’s ex-partner. Frank also read him the names and other data on the twelve passengers who had arrived in Bayport that morning from Africa aboard the Safari Queen. All of them were foreigners.
“Would you please find out if the FBI has anything on any of them?” Frank asked.
“Will do,” Sam promised and rang off.
Meanwhile, Joe had developed and enlarged his photograph of the crewman. He had no special distinguishing features, except for a mole near his left eye. A check of their father’s crime files revealed no data on him or any other member of the crew.
“Looks as if we’re up against a blank wall.” Joe sighed.
“For the moment, anyhow,” Frank agreed.
The boys now set to work on the code message they had found in the envelope hidden in the hollow tree at Wild World. It read:HXTREXST OCHOXTEH ROXCFUTX SVSKIETH
EEHYVSLA SXOXEDER HNRIXAXD
OOESAYWY ERXLMXIS
“There are quite a few X’s,” Joe mused. “Those could stand for spaces between words.”
“Right,” Frank said. “If you’ll notice, there are exactly eight letters in each group—so those groups almost certainly don’t stand for individual words as the message is now laid out. Hm, let’s see.”
A lengthy silence followed while the boys racked their brains for a possible key. Each tried various transposition and substitution ciphers without success.
“Wait a second!” Frank exclaimed suddenly. “There are nine groups and eight letters in each group, which adds up to seventy-two.”
“Hey, I get it!” Joe said. “You mean this may be one of those ‘twisted path’ ciphers, laid out in a square.”
“Right.”
The boys tried arranging the letters horizontally.
“That’s it!” Frank exulted.
CHAPTER VI
Jungle Man
WITH the nine groups of letters laid out in rows, side by side, the Hardys had the following box:HORSESHOE
XCOVEXNOR
THXSHOREX
ROCKYXISL
EXFIVEXAM
XTUESDAYX
SETTLEXWI
THXHARDYS
“In this case, it’s not really a ‘twisted path’ cipher at all,” Frank said. “Just a straight-line path.”
“Check.” Joe agreed. “Follow each line straight across from left to right, one after another, with the X’s representing the spaces between words. Let’s see what that gives us.”
The deciphered message read:HORSESHOE COVE NORTH SHORE ROCKY ISLE FIVE AM TUESDAY SETTLE WITH HARDYS
The brothers looked at each other, and Joe whistled. “Settle with Hardys!” he read aloud. “That sounds like trouble!”
“It sure does,” said Frank, frowning uneasily. “Seems as if enemies of ours are arranging a meeting to plot how to get even with us.”
“Or get rid of us!”
“Right. The place will be Horseshoe Cove on the north shore of Rocky Isle, at five A.M. Tuesday—tomorrow morning.”
“And the ones holding the meeting,” Joe added, “could be this Scorpio gang that Dad’s after.”
Frank looked puzzled. “But that would go against Dad’s theory. Remember, he suggested that it might be the Scorpion himself who sent us the park map in the mail—hoping one of us would get stung when we checked the hollow tree!”
“Yes. I’d forgotten that,” Joe said, scratching his head. “But that doesn’t add up either, Frank. Why would the Scorpion warn us about a plot by our enemies?”
“Maybe the warning’s a phony. I mean this code message may be just a trick to lure us into a trap.”
“In other words, if that scorpion in the tree didn’t sting at least one of us, the gang would still get us when we go over to the island tomorrow morning to spy on their meeting.”
“Right,” Frank nodded. “But I think we should check out this information in the message, Joe, phony or otherwise. Only let’s not wait till tomorrow morning. Let’s go right after dark and keep watch tonight so they don’t get a chance to set up a trap.”
“Smart idea. And we’ll take a couple of the fellows with us for extra muscle, just in case.”
The boys hopped in their car and drove to the construction project, where they found Tony Prito jockeying a wheelbarrow full of cement. Tony, a dark-haired youth who had taken part in many of the Hardy Boys’ mystery cases, readily agreed to accompany them to Rocky Isle.
“And how about taking your boat instead of the Sleuth?” Frank added, referring to the Hardys’ own motorboat. “If this tip-off in the code message is a trick, the gang may be keeping watch on our boathouse to see if we take the bait.”
“Smart thinking, Frank. The Napoli’s all set for a run. I topped up her tank this morning.”
From the construction site, the boys drove to the Morton farm on the outskirts of town. They found Chet’s slim, pixy-faced sister, Iola, curled up on the front-porch swing, reading a book.
“Hi, Iola,” said Joe, who rated her the cutest girl at Bayport High School. “Where’s Chet?”
“Out in that patch of woods behind the barn.” She smiled. “He’s busy on a new project.”
“What now?” Frank asked. “Training squirrels to gather nuts?”
Though he avoided most forms of exertion, Chet developed a new hobby every few weeks. He would work at it furiously till the first flush of enthusiasm wore off, or an obstacle arose that threatened to require too much effort to overcome.
Iola giggled. “Go and ask him.”
The Hardys tramped around the barn and into the wooded grove behind it. They found their roly-poly chum in T-shirt and gym pants, holding on to a rope tied to the branch of a tall tree and swinging.
At the sight of the brothers, Chet dropped to the ground. He was sweating profusely, but his moon face was wreathed in smiles.
“Hi, guys. Meet Jungle Man!” he thumped his barrel chest and gave vent to an errie bellow that shook the leaves on the trees.
“What in the world are you up to?” Joe asked.
“Wait till I tell you. Boy, have I got a great idea!”
“I’ll bet.”
�
��No, really! That setup at Wild World, it’s really a form of show biz, right? I mean, the animal displays, and the amusement rides to help attract crowds. Pop Carter himself used to run a circus.”
Frank shrugged. “I suppose you could call it a form of show biz. So what?”
“So I have an act that’ll top everything!” their chubby chum announced.
“Chet Morton as Jungle Man?” Joe stared. “Are you kidding?”
“No. Let me give you a sneak preview!”
Chet spat on his palms, which were red and blistered. “I ought to rub some chalk on my hands first, but never mind.”
He grabbed the dangling rope, took a few steps backward, then launched himself with a running jump. As he swung back and forth like a pendulum, he pumped with his chunky legs to increase the arc of his swing.
Finally he was far enough out to touch a tree behind him with his feet. Using its trunk to give himself a fresh push, Chet swung high in the air, aiming for the branch of another tree some distance away.
Unfortunately, the branch was too slender to support his weight, or perhaps it was already cracked from too much use. Whatever the reason, it suddenly gave way, just as he managed to land on it precariously.
With a loud report, the branch broke off. Chet yelled in fright as he plunged to the ground.
Luckily Frank and Joe had dashed to his aid as soon as they saw the bough start to bend, so they were able to break his fall. But Chet was badly shaken by his mishap. “I think I need some nerve tonic!” he gulped.
“I think you’re right, pal.” Joe chuckled, and the boys went into the house.
Over ice-cold glasses of cola, the Hardys told their friend of their plan to spy out a possible enemy move on Rocky Isle. Chet tended to get the jitters whenever their mystery cases became too exciting, but could always be depended on in a tight spot.
“Okay,” he agreed. “But let’s play it careful, huh, and not go asking for trouble.”
“We won’t,” Frank promised. “Anyway, it can’t be any more dangerous than your jungle-man act.”
Shortly after eight o’clock that night, equipped with sleeping bags and camping gear, the four boys shoved off from a dock in Bayport Harbor aboard Tony Prito’s boat, the Napoli. A cool evening breeze had set in across the bay, carrying a bracing salt tang toward the shore.
“Should be great sleeping tonight,” said Tony as he steered a course across the dark, moon-dappled water, kicking up plumes of spray.
“I just hope we get some sleep!” Chet remarked nervously.
Frank grinned. “We’ll take turns standing watch. I wish it weren’t so bright. But maybe it’s just as well. At least we won’t have to use our flashlights much to find our way around.”
“Hey!” Joe exclaimed softly. “Speaking of flashlights, take a look over there!”
He pointed toward the brightly lighted amusement park area of Wild World, which could be seen overlooking the waterfront just north of town. A green light was flashing on and off from the revolving Ferris wheel.
“Somebody’s signaling!” Chet Morton gasped.
CHAPTER VII
Cave Camp
TONY slowed the Napoli so they could watch the flashes.
“They’re signals all right,” Frank agreed, “but not in Morse code.”
The same thought was going through everyone’s head. Were the signals in any way connected with their secret scouting expedition to Rocky Isle?
“I don’t like this,” Chet gulped. “Maybe someone spotted us leaving the dock!”
“That’s not likely,” Joe argued. “Why would they watch Tony’s boat? But I’ll bet it has something to do with the gang.”
Frank nodded thoughtfully. “I agree. If you’ll notice, the flashes only occur around the top half of the wheel’s turn, so the signals could probably be seen by someone on the island.”
“Especially by someone on the north shore,” Joe added, thinking of the code message.
“Want to turn back?” Tony asked in a disappointed voice.
“Not unless you fellows do,” Frank said.
“Not me!” Tony declared with an air of suppressed excitement.
The Hardys glanced at Chet, who hesitated a moment, then shrugged cheerfully. “Oh, well, we’ve come this far. May as well see what’s out there.”
“Good,” Frank said. “But from now on we’d better watch our step and be extra careful.”
The green light flashes had ceased while they were talking. The boys continued their cruise to Rocky Isle, with only the sound of the boat engine and the slap of water against the hull to accompany their passage. As they neared the island, Tony shut off the motor and they made the final leg of the trip with muffled oars.
On Frank’s suggestion, they beached the boat on the southwestern shore and covered it with brush and driftwood.
Rocky Isle was a popular picnic and swimming spot by day. The boys had briefly used a Chinese junk to operate a ferry service between there and Bayport. After dark the regular ferry service ceased, and the lighthouse was now automated, which left the island in desolate loneliness during the night hours. Even the park guard’s cottage was dark.
“Let’s leave our stuff here and scout the north shore before we settle down for the night,” Frank said, after they had lugged their camping gear halfway across the island.
“Suits me,” said Chet, who was beginning to puff a bit.
The boys hiked the rest of the way with their hands free except for flashlights, and cautiously probed the northern portion of the tiny island. The terrain was rocky and vegetation sparse, affording few places for cover.
The horseshoe-shaped cove was fringed by a sandy beach, which in turn was overlooked by flat-topped cliffs, barren except for weedy clumps of dune grass and here and there a gnarled, stunted tree. There was no sign of any other human in the area.
“We must have beaten the gang over here,” Tony observed, “if they’re coming at all.”
“Sure looks that way,” Joe agreed. “Let’s bring our gear and lie down.”
They unrolled their sleeping bags in the tall grass on the bluff overlooking Horseshoe Cove. A few boulders and a nearby tree gave them a certain amount of cover, and from this vantage point they could see anything happening on the beach below.
“We’ll stand two-hour watches, okay?” Frank plucked several weed stalks, broke off the tops, and clutched four uneven pieces in his fist with the ends sticking out. “Draw straws for turns,” he proposed. “Shortest stands the first watch, second shortest takes the second, and so on. Okay?”
Joe drew the first two-hour sentry assignment, and Tony the next, followed by Chet. Frank, who was left holding the longest straw, would stand the last watch, by the end of which time, the boys figured it would be daylight.
In the peaceful night air, with the sound of surf in their ears and the occasional distant mewing of seagulls, the three boys soon fell asleep. Joe was left to study the stars and keep his eyes and ears trained for any suspicious comings or goings. The lighthouse beam swept intermittently out to sea.
Some time later, Frank awoke in the darkness. He had heard a faint noise somewhere in the distance. Cautiously he squirmed upright out of his sleeping bag and looked around him.
Chet, who was guard at the time, was slumped against a rock. A low, sawing noise issued from his open mouth!
“Oh, no!” Frank muttered to himself. He wormed his way through the tall grass toward the edge of the cliff and scanned the shore, where a fresh shock awaited him.
On the beach, not far from a point just below his own position, he could make out the figures of three men!
Frank wriggled back toward his own group and shook their sleeping sentry.
“Chet, wake up!” he hissed, then immediately clapped a hand over the boy’s mouth before he could utter a startled outcry.
“Wh-wh-whassa matter?” Chet managed to say in a muffled voice between Frank’s fingers.
“You fell asleep at the swi
tch, that’s what,” Frank whispered in his ear, “and now three of the gang are down on the beach.”
With the utmost caution, the pair woke up their two companions, and Frank, Joe, and Tony hastily pulled on their sneakers. Then, as silently as Indians, the boys wriggled toward the edge of the bluff. The three men appeared to be digging in the sand.
“What are they up to?” Joe whispered in his brother’s ear.
“Search me.”
Tony wormed his way closer to the brink of the cliff for a better look. In doing so, he dislodged a few fragments of gravel, which skittered down the steep slope! Instantly the three men on the beach jerked to attention. One swung a flashlight beam in the boys’ direction.
“Someone’s up there!” he shouted.
Frank realized that he and his pals might be in a tight spot if the men were armed. Thinking fast, he called out, “There they are, sergeant!”
Joe immediately clued in and exclaimed loudly, “I’ll go get the rest of the men!”
Their ruse worked even better than they had dared hope. The crooks appeared to panic.
“It’s the law!” one of them cried. “Let’s get out of here!”
All three broke into a run down the beach.
“What do we d-do now?” Chet stammered, excited.
“Go after them!” Frank blurted. “Maybe we can scare them into surrender, or at least get a good look at them!”
The boys slid and scrambled down the steep slope and took off in hot pursuit, though the sand slowed their pace. The crooks were already out of sight in the darkness.
The shoreline curved sharply beyond the cove. As the boys rounded the arc of the horseshoe and continued along the jagged beach, they could see no sign of their quarry. Finally they halted to look around.
“Where did they go?” Tony asked, puzzled.
“They probably went up the hill to cut across the island,” Frank conjectured. “The slope isn’t that steep here. It wouldn’t take them long to reach higher ground. I imagine they beached their boat a safe distance away, just as we did.”
The Sting of the Scorpion Page 4