“We’d like to see the weather vane exhibit,” Joe informed him.
“Right this way. It’s in the, ahem, east wing.”
About a hundred weather vanes lined the walls of a large room or stood mounted on a long table. There were all sizes and shapes, some of wood, others of metal. Many portrayed animals, others formed stars, crescent moons, or sunbursts.
Clay bustled around discoursing volubly on the importance of weather vanes. “In the days before radio and television, ahem, farmers depended on them to tell which way the wind was blowing. Then they could judge whether rain was coming. Of course,” he added with a smile, “weather vanes could not make long-range forecasts. But they were useful in foretelling the day’s weather.”
Before the boys left the exhibit, Joe mentioned their robbery case. “Mr. Clay, do you know anything about the stolen weather vanes?”
“Of course I know. I keep track of every weather vane in the county. Some of the pieces I remember best are gone.”
“But you have no idea who took them?”
“None. I suppose you have heard about, ahem, the Galloping Rider? It’s terrible to think of it being stolen.”
“Yes,” Frank agreed. “We’re investigating that theft and the others.”
“We saw the Galloping Rider at an auction!” Chet piped up and told about the incident.
“Well, I hope you have better luck the next time,” said Gaspard Clay. “The man who took it ought to be in jail. If anyone tries to palm the Galloping Rider off on the museum, ahem, I’ll let you know.”
“You can reach us at the Hammerley farm,” Joe said.
“Ah yes, the barn with the Flashing Arrow. It’s a beautiful and very valuable antique.”
“It was heisted last night!” Chet blurted.
Clay shook his head in dismay. “That’s too bad. It was the masterpiece of all weather vanes in the county.”
“Does Chesapeake Crossing mean anything to you?” Joe spoke up.
The curator smiled. “It sure does!” he boomed.
9
The Suspect
Startled, the boys stared at him. They wondered if this was the breakthrough they were waiting for.
“It means the very best crabbing there is,” Clay went on jovially. “I go down to Chesapeake Crossing whenever I can. From there, you have two hundred miles of bay loaded with crab.”
Again the Hardys felt disappointed. Only Chet was pleased by the curator’s remarks. The word crab gave him delicious visions of steamed crustaceans served for dinner.
“There’s a marina at Chesapeake Crossing,” Clay continued. “You can rent a boat and head for the coves and inlets where the crabs are. All you need is a net, ahem, to make a big catch. I usually steam some of them on the shore and bring the rest home. I have a wonderful recipe for crab if you’d like to hear it.”
Chet’s eyes lit up, but Frank said hastily, “Not now, Mr. Clay. We have to get back to the Hammerley farm.”
Clay shook hands with the boys in a friendly fashion. “If there’s anything I can do to help you solve the weather vane mystery, please let me know,” he offered.
The young detectives promised to do so, then left the museum and returned to Juniper Field. From there they began the long trek back to the farm. Chet was puffing when they arrived. His face was red and his feet felt sore.
Mrs. Smith told the boys that the farmer was out in the pasture. She added that he had phoned the police about the stolen weather vane and the drugged cocoa. Two officers in a patrol car had arrived and searched the farm but left without finding any clue.
Noting that the boys were hot and tired, the housekeeper brought them a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of cookies. Gratefully the trio dug into the refreshments, when the phone rang. It was Fenton Hardy.
“What have you been doing since we talked?” Mr. Hardy asked. “Any developments in the weather vane case?”
Frank described the theft of the Flashing Arrow while the boys had been guarding the loft.
“Those crooks are clever,” Mr. Hardy noted. “Have you been able to trace the helicopter?”
Joe explained the discovery of the chopper at Juniper Field and the paper bearing the Hammerley hex sign along with the reference to Chesapeake Crossing.
“Chesapeake Crossing!” Mr. Hardy exclaimed. “Why, that’s the place where Clifford Hunter was last seen!”
“His sailboat has not been found?” Frank asked.
“No. The navy has been watching not only Chesapeake Crossing, but the entire eastern coast very closely ever since he vanished, but he has not been sighted.”
“I take it the owner of the marina where he kept his boat has been questioned?” Frank suggested.
“Yes. But he could shed no light on the matter. At first nobody thought anything about Hunter’s failing to return, because every now and then he made runs down Chesapeake Bay that lasted for a few days. Besides, they knew the weather was good, so there was no reason to fear he sank in a storm.”
“Maybe Hunter got stranded on an island in the bay,” Joe said.
“Unlikely,” Mr. Hardy replied. “Hunter’s an expert sailor who knows every mile of the bay. Still, the navy sent out scouting planes to look for him. They didn’t find a thing. I’m on my way to Chesapeake Crossing now to investigate.”
“We’re on our way there, too,” Frank revealed. “Let’s meet and compare notes.”
Their father chuckled. “Not so fast. You’ve got another assignment first. I want you to go to Washington. I’ve arranged a briefing for you at the Pentagon. Be sure you’ve got your I.D. cards with you.”
“What do we do when we get there?” Joe questioned.
“Ask for Joseph Wickerson. He’s the head of the navy department where Clifford Hunter worked. He’ll give you the details about the missing document. After the briefing, go on to Chesapeake Crossing. We’ll meet and see if we can crack the spy case. Maybe we’ll get lucky and solve the weather vane mystery at the same time. I’ll be at the Sunset Motel.”
After a little more conversation, Fenton Hardy hung up. Frank and Joe started back to rejoin Chet. Through the kitchen door they spotted Mrs. Smith standing at the sink. She was holding a cocoa can in her hand.
Frank nudged Joe. “I heard Mr. Hammerley say he’s keeping the cocoa locked in the pantry so no one can spike it with knockout drops,” he said in an undertone.
“Mrs. Smith must have a key to the pantry he doesn’t know about,” Joe whispered. “Let’s watch her.”
Mrs. Smith turned away from the sink and walked out of the kitchen. The Hardys followed her upstairs, where she went into one of the bedrooms.
“That must be Mr. Hammerley’s room,” Frank murmured. “She’s making his cocoa for tonight. Maybe with knockout drops in it!”
“That means Mrs. Smith is a member of the gang and that they’re planning something else!”
Frank nodded soberly. Together they tiptoed up to the door and cautiously peered into the bedroom. Mrs. Smith was standing at a bedside table with her back to them. She still held the cocoa can in her hand. Breathlessly they waited for her next move, hoping to catch her red-handed in the act of spiking Hammerley’s nighttime drink.
As they watched, the housekeeper leaned toward a shelf on the wall near the bed and poured water from the cocoa can into the pot of a large philodendron.
Ruefully the Hardys grinned at one another. They were about to retreat silently when Mrs. Smith turned around and saw them.
“I want to talk to you boys,” she declared.
“Uh-oh,” Frank thought. “Here’s where we get it for spying on her.”
“It’s about last night,” Mrs. Smith continued.
“What about it?” Joe asked.
“Well, when I brought Mr. Hammerley’s cocoa here to the bedroom, I heard footsteps downstairs. They surprised me because Mr. Hammerley was in bed and the rest of the workers were gone for the night. I thought I must be hearing things, except for what I saw when
I got back to the kitchen.”
“What was that, Mrs. Smith?” Frank inquired eagerly.
“One of the kitchen windows was unlocked. I always lock all of them before I serve the cocoa and leave. Someone was in the kitchen while I was upstairs! I didn’t think of it this morning, with all the excitement, but now I remember.”
“What did you do then?” Joe asked.
“I locked the window again, checked that the house was empty, and went home.”
“Well, whoever unlocked the window couldn’t have drugged the cocoa, because you were already serving it,” Frank pointed out.
Joe snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! The person who drugged the cocoa sneaked back and unlocked the window so he could get in during the night and destroy the evidence. You sure foxed him, Mrs. Smith. He must have been ready to blow his top when he came back later and tried to get in! You saved vital evidence without knowing it!”
The housekeeper seemed pleased as she accompanied the Hardys downstairs, excited that she was taking part in one of their cases.
When Mr. Hammerley came in, he listened to their plan to go to Chesapeake Crossing. “I don’t know anything about the place,” he admitted. “But I don’t mind where you go, as long as you get the Flashing Arrow back. When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Frank replied, without adding that the boys would stop in Washington before proceeding to their destination. The young detective did not want to upset Hammerley by revealing that they were working on the spy case as well as his weather vane mystery.
“Is there anything else you’d like to know about before you go?” Hammerley inquired.
“Do you suspect anybody here at the farm as a possible accomplice of the thieves?” Frank asked.
“I don’t suspect anyone working for me at the moment,” Hammerley replied. “But I fired a man two weeks ago because he was loitering around the house and I caught him stealing food. I never thought he might steal my weather vane, though. His name is Ed Bryle.”
“Where can we find him?” Joe wanted to know.
“I have no idea. I paid him and he left without telling me where he was going.”
“Do you happen to have a photograph of him?” Frank inquired.
Hammerley nodded. He went to a desk and withdrew a picture from a drawer, then handed it to Frank, who examined it while Joe and Chet were looking over his shoulder. Bryle was a short, wizened man dressed in farm overalls.
“That’s the man we saw at the auction!” Frank gasped. “The one who grabbed the Galloping Rider from Joe and ran off with it!”
Just then the telephone rang. Mrs. Smith said it was another call for the Hardys.
“Must be Dad again,” Frank guessed and took the receiver while Joe stood close enough to listen in.
A weird, squeaky voice warned, “Hardys, beware of the hex!”
10
Danger in the Driveway
The phone clicked off. Frank held it in his hand for a moment, puzzled. Then he hung up and turned to Joe. “Did you recognize the voice?”
Joe shook his head. “Sounded like a real weirdo. I never heard anything like it.”
“Neither have I. But it seems as if the weather vane gang will stop at nothing to get rid of us!”
“Which means we’d better keep our eyes open from here on out. They might send a hit man to take us off the case—permanently.”
When the boys reported the warning to Chet and Hammerley, the two were perplexed.
“I don’t know anyone with the kind of voice you describe,” Hammerley said. “Could it be a hoax?”
Frank shrugged. “We’ll have to solve the case before we can answer that.”
Next morning, Chet received a phone call from Iola. She informed him that he had been chosen to represent Bayport High in a state archery competition. Knowing how badly he wanted to compete, Frank and Joe persuaded their friend to participate.
“We’ll be meeting Dad,” Joe pointed out. “He’ll back us up.”
“Just win the honors for good old Bayport,” Frank added. “You can come to Washington with us and then catch a plane home.”
After breakfast, the boys went outside to their rented car, which a farmhand had brought around the driveway and parked in front of the house. They were standing beside the car talking to Hammerley, when Crow Morven drove a pickup truck to the top of an incline leading into the driveway. The foreman jumped out of the vehicle and approached the group.
Suddenly the pickup began to move. Gathering speed, it hurtled down the slope directly toward the boys!
Frank saw it and barely had time to shout a warning. Chet and Hammerley dived into the bushes bordering the driveway, while Joe, who stood closest to the pickup’s path, leaped onto the vehicle and wrenched the door open. He slid behind the wheel and managed to put on the brakes.
Morven had run behind the truck and was shouting excitedly. When he reached the group, Frank glared at him. “You aimed that pickup at us!”
“I forgot to put the brake on. It wasn’t intentional, believe me!” the foreman insisted. But he grinned evilly as he spoke.
Chet waved a fist under his nose. “Next time, it’ll be intentional. And I mean a collision of your nose and my fist!”
Hammerley watched the heated exchange with a worried frown. “Crow, I’m sure you didn’t mean to hurt anybody, but you must be more careful in the future.”
“Sure, Mr. Hammerley,” Morven replied and walked away.
Joe parked the vehicle, then returned to his friends. They got into their car, said good-bye to the farmer, and drove off with Joe behind the wheel. About three miles down the road they saw a horse and carriage racing toward them. Afraid of an accident, Joe pulled to the right and stopped, letting the engine idle. The horse came to a halt in a cloud of dust as the driver tugged hard on its reins. It was the same wild-eyed woman with unkempt hair blowing in the wind, who had spoken to them previously!
“It’s Mad Maggie!” Frank exclaimed.
“Ja, Mad Maggie!” she shouted. “And my friend is with me, see?”
She lifted a birdcage from the seat beside her and held it up. A large horned owl stared at the boys from between the bars.
“Is that a witch’s owl?” Joe wanted to know.
“Ja, it is.”
“Does it talk?”
“Ja, it talks. Listen.” Leaning over the cage, she urged the owl. “All right, my pretty one. What do you say to these boys from Bayport who have come to the Pennsylvania Dutch country?”
The owl fluttered its wings and hooted.
Chet felt an eerie sensation, as if a clammy hand gripped his shoulder. He gulped as the sound grated on his ears. “Wh-what did your friend say?” he asked.
“It said the hex is working. Ye should have gone home when Mad Maggie warned ye.”
Chet glanced at Joe. “I wish he’d start the car and get us out of here before she rides off on a broom-stick!” he thought to himself.
The owl gave another low hoot that choked off suddenly.
“Do ye know what that means?” Mad Maggie demanded. “It means—when the weather is stormy, your search is in vain!”
Joe was dumbfounded. Could the words weather and vain be a code referring to the weather vane mystery?
“The rider gallops, the arrow flashes!” Mad Maggie went on.
Frank stared at her. “Are you talking about the Galloping Rider and the Flashing Arrow?” he inquired.
“Ja, that I do. They have flown away from here. My owl says so.”
“Where have they flown to? Can your owl tell us?”
Maggie leaned over and whispered something in the owl’s ear, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on the boys. This time the bird made no sound. It closed its eyes and appeared to be asleep.
“The place is secret!” Mad Maggie hissed. With that, she pulled the reins of her horse and drove off.
Joe headed in the opposite direction. “You think she really knows something?” he asked.
Frank shrugged. “Apparently she’s heard of the thefts. But so has everybody in the county.”
“She could be the squeaky voice you heard over the phone,” Chet suggested.
“It’s possible,” Frank conceded. “The crooks might have hired her to scare us away.”
“She succeeded, as far as I’m concerned,” Chet declared. “I’m glad we’re getting out of here!”
They came to the place where they had seen the auction. A couple of men were folding the tent and stacking the pegs. A third was loading unsold objects into a truck.
Joshua Korbo was showing his auctioneer’s license to a county official who towered a good three inches over him.
“How was business?” Joe greeted Korbo after pulling up alongside the two men.
The auctioneer pushed his steel-rimmed glasses from his nose up onto his forehead. “Very good,” he snapped, “in spite of what your fat friend did to my tent!”
Insulted, Chet was about to snap back when Frank spoke up. “Have you found any sign of the weather vane, the Galloping Rider?”
“None. I doubt it was ever here.”
“We saw it!” Chet insisted.
“That’s what you say.” Korbo shrugged, then turned to talk to one of his assistants.
“I get the feeling he doesn’t want to tell us anything,” Joe said and drove on.
Frank chuckled. “He’s still mad at Chet for knocking over his tent.”
They continued in silence for a while. Then a big black car zoomed past them. The driver was a man in a black beard and dark glasses. He fitted the description of the individual who had hired the helicopter that snatched the Flashing Arrow!
“This could be our suspect!” Frank cried out. “Don’t lose him, Joe!”
His brother trod hard on the accelerator, and the speedometer rose to the legal limit as they sped after him. Seeing he was being followed, the black-bearded man suddenly turned onto a side road. Joe reacted just in time to make the turn himself. He had to grip the steering wheel firmly to keep it from being torn from his grasp as he jounced over rocks and potholes.
The Pentagon Spy Page 6