The Sting of the Scorpion

by Franklin W. Dixon

  The four boys clambered back up the hillside for a better view. The moon drifted out from behind a veil of clouds, but despite the increased brightness, they could see no one.

  Joe snapped his fingers. “Wait a second. I’ll bet I know where they’ve gone!”

  “Where?” Chet panted.

  “That cave you discovered when we solved the Chinese Junk mystery!”

  Frank was less hopeful, but agreed the cave might be worth looking at in the absence of any better leads. It was located on the north side of the island, not far from their present position. The boys walked toward it through the moonlit darkness.

  To reach the entrance, they had to climb several yards below the brow of the cliff. Here Frank called a momentary halt before entering. They strained their ears for the slightest sound from within but could hear nothing.

  “Okay, come on!” Frank led the way, keeping his fingers over the lens of the flashlight so as to provide just enough illumination to see where they were going, without glaringly advertising their approach.

  Even in the dim glow of his flash beam, the interior of the cavern looked awesome. Because of water seepage, it was a “living cave” with glittering icicles that thickened into stalactites and stalagmites as the boys probed deeper into the bedrock of the island.

  Finally the passageway widened into a huge chamber with a vast, greenish scum-laden pool that gave off faint ripples as water bubbled up from below. Frank shone his flashlight around more boldly now, convinced there was no one hiding in the cave.

  “What’s that?” Joe exclaimed, snapping on his own beam to brighten their view of a spot that Frank’s light had just swept over.

  There were unmistakable signs that someone had recently been camping there!

  Excited, the boys skirted the small underground lake and hurried toward the far wall of the chamber. Besides a camp cot and a beat-up, greasy-looking pillow with uncovered striped ticking, there were several cartons of canned food along with eating utensils, bottled beverages, a kerosene lantern, and a supply of candles and matches. Accumulated trash from a number of meals lay nearby.

  “Whoever the guy is, or was, he must have been here for more than a few days,” said Tony. “He left plenty of empties.”

  Frank picked up a book from the cot. Its title was Elephant Lore. “Joe, look at this!” he exclaimed. “The guy’s been reading about elephants!”

  The Hardys traded startled glances, each remembering what Pop Carter had told them about his recent difficulties with Sinbad.

  “And that’s not all,” Frank added suddenly as he leafed through the book. “What do you make of these?” He pulled out two snapshots that had been stuck between the pages.

  “Jumpin’ catfish!” Joe gasped. “They’re pictures of us!”

  Tony and Chet crowded closer and stared at the photographs.

  “Not very good shots,” Tony observed.

  “Don’t worry. We never posed for them,” Frank said wryly. “These are telephoto shots, snapped on the street when we didn’t even know our picture was being tak—”

  He broke off as Chet suddenly clutched his arm and hissed, “Shhh! I think I heard something!”

  The Hardys instantly doused their lights. A moment later, a shot blasted the darkness!

  CHAPTER VIII

  A Dangerous Dummy

  KAPOW! The bullet ricocheted off a stalagmite close by. The cavern rang with echoes and all four boys sank to the ground.

  “Spread out!” Frank whispered urgently.

  More shots followed, spraying the area where they had just been standing.

  Joe snatched a hunk of rock from the floor and pegged it hard in the direction of the last gun-flash.

  He was rewarded by a yelp of pain and, almost at the same instant, the splashing sound of something falling into the water.

  Silence ensued, the boys scarcely daring to breathe. Tense moments lengthened. Then suddenly the stillness was broken by footsteps running away through the cavern.

  Was their enemy’s retreat just a trick? The four teenagers wondered.

  At long last, Frank groped for a rock and ventured to flash his light, ready to douse it again instantly and hurl his missile, should his beam reveal a glimpse of their unknown assailant.

  There was no one in sight!

  He played the light around thoroughly to make sure the gunman was not hiding behind a thick stalagmite or rock formation.

  “All clear, I guess,” he murmured.

  The four boys rose warily to their feet, and Frank’s companions switched on their own flashlights.

  “Whew! Wh-what an experience!” Chet quavered. “I might have known something like this would happen, once you Hardys started chasing clues!”

  “Thank goodness you heard the guy in time. You probably saved us,” Frank congratulated their plump chum. He added to his brother, “Nice going on your part, too, Joe. I take it you heaved a rock at him. At least that’s how it sounded.”

  “Right. I guess I hit him.”

  “Yes. And then he must’ve dropped his gun in the pool.”

  “So he decided to get out fast before we got him.” Tony chuckled in relief.

  The boys retraced their steps to the cavern entrance, moving carefully, ready to react at any moment if their enemy was lying in wait.

  As they emerged into the night air, the faint drone of a boat engine reached their ears. They listened as the sound slowly faded in the distance.

  Joe glanced at his brother. “Think that was the crooks leaving?”

  Frank nodded. “Probably.”

  The Hardys went back into the cavern long enough to retrieve the elephant book and snapshots, as well as the eating utensils, the lantern, and one of the empty soft-drink bottles.

  “These should be enough to give us some clear fingerprints of the man who was hiding in the cave,” Frank declared.

  They ripped open the pillow ticking and used it as a makeshift bag to carry the evidence. After the Hardys rejoined their pals, the boys trekked back to Horseshoe Cove. Here they shone their flashlights around the site where the three men had been digging.

  A seated figure startled them momentarily, but Frank waved reassuringly. “Relax. It’s only a dummy.”

  The dummy’s back was propped against the cliffside, in a slight shallow recess formed by two projecting rocky outcrops.

  “Why did they plant that here?” Joe wondered. He started to move forward to examine the seated figure, when Frank stopped him, flinging his arm across Joe’s chest.

  “Hold it! There’s your answer!” Frank pointed to a round disklike object that Joe had almost stepped on.

  It was made of green plastic and was about the size of a small Frisbee. Apparently the men had been burying it in the sand when Tony’s move had alerted them to the presence of watchers on the cliff.

  “What’s that?” Chet blurted.

  “A land mine, unless I miss my guess.” With cautious fingers, Frank unearthed the device. Under Mr. Hardy’s expert training, he had learned how to recognize and disarm such contrivances. He took no chances, treating this one with the utmost respect.

  Luckily he saw a pressure switch lying in the sand close by and realized the crooks had not had time enough to rig a detonator.

  “A booby-trap setup?” Joe questioned, shaken.

  “Right. That’s why the dummy was put here. To arouse our curiosity. After walking up to examine it, one of us would have stepped on the mine, and—boom!”

  “Whew!” Joe wiped his forehead. “And I almost did!”

  “It wasn’t fixed to go off yet,” Frank reassured him.

  “Thank goodness!”

  “Also, from the looks of this,” Frank went on, “I’d say it doesn’t contain enough explosive to do more than stun us, or at worst, injure us slightly.”

  “Then what was their angle?” Tony asked.

  The older Hardy boy theorized that the code message had been carefully planted as bait for the booby trap. “Th
ey figured we’d know enough about secret codes to decipher the note. Then when we got here, the mine would either scare us off the case or disable us enough to be captured without a fight.”

  “In which event,” Joe added, “they would have held us as hostages to force Dad off the case.”

  “Correct,” Frank agreed.

  There was silence as the four youths digested the grim significance of their find.

  Finally Tony stretched and sighed. “What do we do now?” he asked. “Hit the sack again or go back to Bayport?”

  “May as well go back,” Frank advised. “We’ve accomplished what we came to do.”

  “That suits me fine,” said Chet. “I’ve had enough of this creepy place!”

  Before leaving the island, the boys stuck a note under the park guard’s cottage door, informing him that a man who might be involved in criminal activities had been hiding out in the cave. Then they lugged their camping gear to the Napoli and climbed in. As they headed back across the bay, the first pearly light of dawn streaked the horizon.

  Joe was silent and thoughtful as they entered the harbor. “Do you suppose those three hoods came to Bayport after they left the island?” he asked his brother.

  Frank shrugged. “Hard to say. They seemed to be heading down the coast, but the way sound spreads out over water, it’s hard to judge direction. Why?”

  “Remember why we went in Tony’s boat instead of our own?”

  “Sure. We figured the gang might be watching the Sleuth to see if we took the bait.”

  “Right,” said Joe. “So if those hoods didn’t come back here and report what happened, our boathouse may still be staked out!”

  Frank’s eyes narrowed. “That’s an idea! If we move fast, maybe we can nab the guy who’s keeping watch!”

  “And make him talk,” Joe added grimly.

  As soon as they had entered the marina and tied up at the dock, the Hardys left Tony and Chet to unload the Napoli while they themselves hurried off along the waterfront to check out their hunch.

  They were still fifty yards or more from their destination when Frank suddenly flung out his hand in warning. “Joe, look!”

  A man was tampering with the lock of their boathouse door!

  CHAPTER IX

  Sky Show

  IN unspoken accord, Frank and Joe quickened their pace, preparing to grab the trespasser before he could get away. But he evidently heard their footsteps pounding across the wharf.

  The man turned with a startled expression. Then he let go of the lock and darted away. The boys got only a quick glimpse, but noticed that he was dark-complected and had a black mustache.

  The two young sleuths gave chase.

  Their quarry was heading for a dockside warehouse. Barrels, crates, and empty oil drums were crowded against the front wall. Just before rounding the corner of the building, the stranger knocked over two of the drums with a sweep of his arm and sent them rolling toward the boys.

  “Look out, Joe!” Frank yelled.

  The younger Hardy tried to sidestep hastily, lost his balance, and fell, sprawling headlong on the wharf! Frank himself had to dodge the rolling drums, and by the time the boys resumed the chase, the fugitive was out of sight.

  “Come on. We’ve got to catch him!” Frank urged.

  As they ran around the side of the warehouse, they suddenly saw the intruder.

  “There he goes!” Joe yelled.

  The mustached man sprinted across a parking lot and then an open field, heading for a street that ran parallel to the waterfront.

  Just then a bus came into view, filled with workers on their way to early-morning jobs in Bayport. The man turned toward a bus stop straight ahead.

  “Oh, no!” Joe groaned as the boys redoubled their speed.

  The bus rolled to a halt and the man leaped aboard.

  “Stop, thief!” Frank shouted at the top of his lungs.

  But apparently his words failed to carry. The bus doors swung shut, and despite the Hardys’ frantic waving, the vehicle sped off toward town.

  The Hardys skidded to an angry halt. “Of all the luck!” Joe fumed, socking his fist into his open palm. “Think there’s any sense getting out our car and trying to follow the bus?”

  Frank shook his head in disgust. “It’s already out of sight, and our car is way over at the marina. By the time we catch up, if we ever do, the bus will be unloading downtown. And for all we know, that guy might jump off at the first stop.”

  Glumly the young sleuths rejoined their two chums, loaded their sleeping bags and other items into their car, and drove home.

  Aunt Gertrude, as usual, was up bright and early, and so was their slender, attractive mother. Both women listened attentively while the boys recounted their night’s adventure.

  “What about that explosive whatchamacallit the crooks were hiding in the sand?” Aunt Gertrude inquired.

  “We dropped it overboard in the deep water on the way back to Bayport,” Joe informed her.

  Miss Hardy nodded approvingly, then pursed her lips. “Those criminals may strike again.”

  “You’re right,” Frank agreed. “That’s why we’ve got to nail them. If we can identify any fingerprints on this stuff we brought back from the cave, at least the police will know whom to look for.”

  “Smart work,” Mrs. Hardy said. “I’ll make breakfast now. Then you two had better get some sleep.”

  “I could sure go for bacon and eggs,” said Joe. “But I don’t feel like turning in just now. Guess I’m too keyed up.”

  “Same here,” Frank said. “We have to go to New York this morning to see Eustace Jarman, the business tycoon. We can doze on the bus.”

  Both brothers wolfed down a hearty breakfast, then set to work in their basement lab, dusting the objects from the cave with powder. Much to their surprise and disappointment, there were no fingerprints on any of them.

  “That guy must’ve wiped everything he touched,” Joe grumbled.

  Frank nodded. “He was playing it safe and taking no chances in case anyone discovered his hideout.”

  “Which means that he must be a pro.”

  “I’d say there’s no doubt about it.”

  The boys showered, changed their clothes, and started out for New York City. It was only a few minutes after eleven o’clock when their bus rolled into the Port Authority Terminal, which gave them ample time to keep their eleven thirty appointment at Jarman’s midtown office. The weather was bright and sunny.

  “Let’s walk,” Frank suggested.

  “Good idea.”

  The sidewalks were filled with the usual bustling crowds. Noting the bumper-to-bumper cross-town traffic, Joe chuckled. “We’re probably making better time on foot than we would by taxi.”

  A ripple of gasps and excited remarks ran through the throng of pedestrians, and the boys suddenly noticed people stopping to stare skyward.

  “Hey, look!” Joe exclaimed.

  A sleek, silvery airship was gliding majestically over Manhattan !

  “The Safari Queen!” said Frank.

  Awed, excited comments could be heard all around them.

  “I’ll bet Quinn sent her here to prove that nothing serious happened yesterday,” the older Hardy boy guessed, “and to show everyone his dirigible’s as good as ever.”

  “If that’s his idea, it’s working,” Joe said. “Listen to the way everyone’s admiring her.”

  The words were hardly out of his mouth when two baby blimps suddenly soared up into view.

  “Hey! Where’d they come from?” Joe asked.

  “A skyscraper up ahead,” said Frank. “They must have been berthed on the roof.”

  “The two mini-airships headed straight for the Safari Queen. They looped and swooped and maneuvered about the larger craft like baby whales frolicking around their mother. The sidewalk observers chortled with delight at the spectacle.

  “What a show!” Joe chuckled.

  “I doubt if the Queen’s pilot apprec
iates their company,” said Frank. “But the crowd really goes for it. I wonder who thought this one up?”

  “I don’t know, but I intend to get some pictures while the show’s on!” Joe took his miniature camera from his pocket and began snapping photographs rapidly.

  The boys finally walked on as the dirigible sailed southeast toward Brooklyn and Long Island. At the Jarman building, they took the elevator to the industrialist’s penthouse office. A smiling, beautifully dressed secretary ushered them in.

  Jarman was a tall, intense-looking man with long dark hair and a hawklike profile—the perfect picture of a hard-driving business executive. He got up from behind his huge modem desk to shake hands with Frank and Joe.

  “Glad you fellows could come. I’m sorry I was out when you returned my call yesterday.”

  “What was it you wanted to see us about, Mr. Jarman?” Frank asked when they were all seated.

  “My security department’s been in touch with the FBI about the activities of those confounded terrorists, the Scorpio gang,” Jarman explained. “I gather you Hardys are working on the case.”

  “Dad is, sir. We’re helping unofficially,” Frank replied.

  “That’s good enough for me. From what I’ve heard about you two, your ‘unofficial help’ is often mighty effective.”

  “Did you want us to investigate something, Mr. Jarman?” Joe inquired.

  “Yes,” the businessman said emphatically. “If you’re not already working full time to run down those terrorists, I’ll pay you to do so.”

  “Thank you, sir, but there’s no need for that,” said Frank. “In fact, I doubt if it would be right for us to accept such an assignment from you, since Dad’s already in charge of the case. But, as I say, we’re working with him, and Joe and I intend to do all we can to help catch the Scorpio gang. May I ask what your interest is in the case?”

  “I wonder who thought this one up?” Frank asked.

  “Jarman Ventures is a vast corporation. We do business in many fields, and we’ve already had several brushes with terrorists. But that’s not all.” Jarman clipped off the end of a long cigar, lit it, and eyed the boys with a thoughtful frown as he blew out a cloud of smoke. “I’m sure any thing I tell you will be kept confidential.”