On the margin at the left were the words, “See Dell.”
Frank and Joe searched the file and all the other drawers in the room, but could find no further reference to Dell. Who was he?
Before they put the Hexton report away, Frank read aloud the note at the end of it: “ ‘Do not think Hexton is aware of investigation. Perhaps should discuss with Frank and Joe when more substantial evidence is found.’ ”
“It’s dated yesterday!” Joe exclaimed.
“Somehow Hexton must have learned that Dad was onto his game,” Frank observed.
“And our showing up at the theater,” Joe said, “probably made him nervous. So he pulled a kidnapping.”
Frank reminded Joe of the magician’s suggestion that the two men get better acquainted. “I’ll bet Dad thought if he went along with the idea he might be able to get the goods on Hexton. The first step was taking part in the trick.”
“But what a risk!” said Joe.
“You know Dad,” Frank said quietly. “If he figured it was worth while, he’d take it.”
The night wore on with no word. Finally Aunt Gertrude insisted upon phoning a missing-persons report to the Bayport police. The next morning there was still no word from the detective, and the police had found nothing.
Frank and Joe decided to drive back to Claymore. They arrived at the theater to find the front door locked. Walking around to the back, they were confronted by a guard. He told them that Hexton had given his last performance the night before and had already departed. The magician had left two of his assistants behind to supervise the packing of the show’s equipment.
“Our father disappeared here last evening,” Frank said. “We’d like to have a look inside.”
“Sorry,” the guard answered, “I can’t permit anyone in the theater. Manager’s orders.”
“Then we’d like to see him,” Joe said.
“He’s not here. I’d advise you to go.”
“Okay,” Frank signaled Joe with his eyes and the two walked off briskly around the side of the building. There they stopped abruptly and Frank peered back.
After a few minutes the guard left his post and disappeared around the far corner.
“Let’s go!” Frank commanded.
Quietly the boys edged their way toward the stage door. They pulled it open and darted inside, stopping to let their eyes adjust to the dim light. Then, cautiously, they made their way to the stage. Nobody was around.
“Where are Hexton’s men?” Joe whispered.
“Out for a coffee break,” Frank guessed.
The stage was cluttered with packing cases containing the magician’s equipment. At the rear the boys spotted the vanishing-man device. It had already been partially dismantled.
“Look! The plank’s missing,” Joe said. “Maybe packed in one of these cases.”
Further examination of the device revealed that it had a false bottom, beneath which was a secret compartment.
A soft rustling noise had sounded overhead. “What’s that?” Frank said. He glanced up in time to see a ballast sandbag hurtling down toward them from the flies.
“Look out!” Frank shouted. He leaped aside, pulling Joe with him. The sandbag crashed to the stage and burst open. The boys looked up and saw a man running along a catwalk.
“After him!” Joe yelled.
“Hold it!” commanded a harsh voice. “Stay right where you are!”
CHAPTER III
The SKOOL Man
THE Hardys whirled to see the theater guard approaching. “So it’s you two!” he shouted angrily. “Didn’t I tell you to shove off?”
“Yes, but—” Joe began.
“That crash—” the guard cut in. “What happened?” He looked at the sand scattered about the stage.
“Someone tried to drop a sandbag on us,” Frank explained.
“A likely story.” The guard eyed the boys suspiciously. “You’re probably up to something. I’m calling the police!”
Keeping an eye on the boys, the guard walked to a wall telephone and dialed. Within minutes an officer arrived.
“Oh, the Hardy brothers,” he said, and turned to the guard. “I heard about these kids. They’re trying to find their father.”
“I thought that was a gag,” the man replied.
“No. It’s on the up and up.”
The guard apologized and helped the young sleuths examine the sandbag. They discovered that the ropes which held it had been cut.
At that moment the magician’s thin assistant walked onstage. When the policeman questioned him, he gave his name as Stony Bleeker. The man said he had been out for a walk and insisted he had had nothing to do with dropping the sandbag.
“Where’s the other man who was helping you pack?” Frank asked.
“How should I know?”
“I suppose you’re going to tell us that you don’t know what happened to our father, either!” Joe said.
“You’re nuts!” Bleeker growled.
The Hardys climbed up to examine the flies, but there was no trace of their attacker. “He must have sneaked down the ladder and out the side door while we were hassling with the guard,” said Joe.
Back on the stage, the boys found further questioning fruitless. The policeman said he would request that the detective squad investigate the matter.
Stony Bleeker quickly set about packing the rest of Hexton’s equipment, telling the policeman that a truck would call for it shortly.
“Well, that’s that!” Frank said glumly. “Come on, Joe. Let’s go home.”
On the way back to Bayport, the boys decided to search their father’s study again.
“Maybe we can find out who or what Dell is,” Frank said. “That might give us a lead.”
But their efforts were of no avail until Frank examined the books on his father’s desk. A torn envelope flap was sticking to the back cover of one. On it was the notation, “Kenneth Dell, Great Circle Airways, Westboro, 789-1010.”
“You found it!” Joe exclaimed.
The boys surmised that their father had put the book down on the gummed paper and failed to notice later that it had stuck to the cover.
Quickly Frank dialed the Westboro number. A man with a deep, commanding voice answered and identified himself as Kenneth Dell. Frank explained why he had called, and Dell revealed that he was chief of security for Great Circle Airways.
Amazed to hear about the disappearance of Mr. Hardy, Dell said it was imperative that he talk to the young detectives and he would fly to Bayport the following day.
“Meet me outside the airport restaurant at twelve-thirty,” Dell said. “I don’t want to come to your home for fear we’re being watched by Hexton’s men. I’ll explain everything when I see you.”
After church the next day, Frank and Joe drove through the heavy Sunday traffic to the airport and anxiously awaited the security chief’s arrival at the restaurant. Soon they were approached by a tall, stocky man, with distinguished features and slightly grizzled hair. Accompanying him was a thin, gray-haired man in a dark suit.
“You’re the Hardy boys, I take it,” said the stocky one. “I’m Dell. This is Mr. Smith.”
Both men shook hands and Dell added, “Your father has told me a lot about you two. He’s very proud—says his sons are great detectives.”
The four entered the restaurant and seated themselves at a table by a front window. Mr. Smith kept looking down at his hands.
“Who is he?” Frank wondered.
Both boys noticed that Mr. Smith was twisting a crested gold ring on his finger.
“Looks like a school emblem,” Frank thought, then suddenly realized what the man was telling him. “He’s from SKOOL!”
Joe got the message at the same time and threw a quick glance at his brother.
Dell smiled. “I felt sure you would understand. It is safer if some things are not said aloud. Mr. Smith and I work together.” So Dell was also a member of SKOOL, working under the guise of security office
r for Great Circle Airways!
He went on to say that Mr. Hardy had come to him some weeks before and asked for dossiers on all employees and the passenger lists for the past two years. “I supplied the information.”
Dell was interrupted for a minute while a waitress took their orders. Smith gave none. Then the security chief leaned closer.
“Your father found out that Hexton owns a castle in the north of Scotland. It’s a retreat, the magician claims, where he rests and devises new tricks for his show. He goes there several times a month on our planes.”
“Sounds like a great setup for smuggling secrets out of this country,” Frank said softly.
“That’s just what your father concluded,” Smith said. “But he disappeared before he had a chance to give me a detailed report. So far nothing has been proved.”
In turn, Frank and Joe quickly told about the information they had gleaned from Mr. Hardy’s file on Hexton.
“Where is Dad” Frank asked urgently. “Have you any idea??”
“I had a reliable tip that Hexton has taken him to South Africa,” Smith replied. “My organization will move in on the situation there.” He glanced at his watch and abruptly stood up. “If you need me, contact Mr. Dell. Good luck.” He walked off quietly.
A few moments later the food came. As they were eating, Joe suddenly exclaimed, “Look!” He clutched his brother’s arm and pointed toward the large front window of the restaurant.
“What is it?”
“A man just peered in here! I’m sure he’s Stony Bleeker!”
The boys darted outside, followed by Dell. But Bleeker was not among the passers-by.
“Maybe he ran around back!” Joe suggested.
“Quick!” Frank ordered. “Let’s split up and check the building on all sides! Joe, you stay here in front! Mr. Dell, I’ll take the east side, if you’ll take the west!”
“Let’s go!” the security chief agreed.
Frank raced along the east side of the building. Carefully he rounded the corner, but did not spot Bleeker. Just then he heard sounds of a scuffle coming from around the far side.
“Uhff!” someone groaned.
Frank ran to the spot to find Dell lying on the ground. He bent over the prostrate man.
“Are you all right?” Frank asked worriedly. He helped the security chief to his feet.
“I almost had him,” Dell said, breathing heavily. “But he got in a fast punch.” Dell pointed. “There he goes now!”
Frank turned and saw Bleeker dashing into the airport parking lot. The boy bolted after him. The man had too big a lead, though. Before Frank could reach him, Bleeker scrambled into a car and sped away. Disappointed, Frank returned to the restaurant. Dell was already there.
“Any luck?” Joe asked his brother.
“No. Didn’t even get the license plate number.”
“Bleeker’s thin,” Dell commented as he rubbed his chin, “but he packs a lot of power.”
“What’ll we do now?” Joe asked.
Frank thought for a moment. “We’ll check the list of cities scheduled on Hexton’s tour. If we can trail him without his knowing it, we might trap him into revealing where he took Dad.”
“I still have a copy of the playbill from his last show,” Joe recalled. “I believe his tour schedule is listed in it.”
“Good thinking,” Dell remarked. He instructed the boys to call him if they wanted help. Then he boarded a plane to return to the Great Circle Airways base at Westboro near New York City.
“Let’s go home and check that playbill right away,” Frank said.
“Hexton knows that we’re on to him and his gang,” Joe remarked. “Do you think he’ll continue with his tour?”
“Probably not,” Frank answered. “But right now it’s our only chance to find him.”
When they returned to their car, the Hardys were surprised to see a pencil-printed note attached to the steering wheel. Frank removed it and read the contents aloud:
“‘Mind your own business! Or you’ll never see your father again!’ ”
CHAPTER IV
Cryptic Message
“BLEEKER must have left the warning here!” Joe exclaimed.
“That’s for sure,” Frank agreed. “And it’s no idle threat. Besides, I have a hunch Dad wasn’t taken to South Africa. Otherwise, Hexton wouldn’t be so determined to keep us off the trail.”
The Hardys were more eager than ever to get their investigation under way. Upon arriving home, they examined the playbill which listed the cities on the magician’s tour.
“According to this list,” Frank observed, “Hexton is scheduled to appear at the Tivoli Theater in Darville tomorrow.”
Joe paged through the atlas and pinpointed the location of the city. “Here’s Darville. It’s about four hundred miles from here.”
The boys telephoned Jack Wayne, pilot of Mr. Hardy’s twin-engine plane, and arranged to fly to Darville the following day. Frank and Joe had private pilot licenses, but thought it wise to have Jack along. “He’s a tough man in a fight,” Joe said.
When they invited Chet, he eagerly accepted. “I’ll meet you at the field.”
The next morning Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude nervously prepared breakfast for the young detectives.
“Now don’t do anything foolish,” their mother cautioned. “This Hexton fellow sounds terribly dangerous to me.”
“I fear the worst!” Aunt Gertrude said, shaking her head. “Detective work involves taking too many chances. No good will come of this. I can feel it in my bones.”
“Don’t worry about us,” Joe assured them. “Hexton might be a clever magician, but we have a few tricks of our own.”
After receiving more admonitions at the doorway, the boys drove to the airport. Jack Wayne, the tanned, lean-faced pilot, was waiting for them at the plane. Chet came puffing up a few moments later. Soon they were airborne and streaking toward Darville. Two hours later they circled it and set down.
Frank rented a car and they drove directly to the theater where Hexton was scheduled to appear. As they approached the Tivoli, the boys were amazed to see a man standing on a tall ladder against the marquee, removing the big black letters which spelled out the magician’s name.
Frank pulled up in front of the theater, and Joe called out, “What’s going on? Hexton’s first show is scheduled for tonight!”
The man on the ladder shrugged. “I only follow orders. Sorry.”
He pointed to the box-office window. A cancellation notice was spread across a large poster advertising the show.
“Let’s have a talk with the theater manager,” Frank suggested. He parked and they hastened to a door marked “Manager L. Sardella.” Joe rapped loudly.
“Come in!”
When the four entered, a small, thin man with a waxed mustache removed his feet from a desk and glowered. “Yes?”
“Mr. Sardella, where is Hexton?” Joe asked tensely.
The man arose and eyed them sharply. “You want refunds?”
“No. We’re private detectives,” Chet said importantly. “Where is he?”
“Hexton? That’s what I’d like to know. The skunk! I’ll spend the rest of the day giving refunds on my advance ticket sale, and still have no show tonight.”
“Why didn’t he come?” Frank asked.
“Search me. He phoned long-distance. Gave no reasons. I’ll sue him!”
Sardella said that the magician had mentioned he was canceling the remainder of his tour with the exception of one last performance.
“Where?” Frank asked.
“Some little place called Granton. Don’t ask me what state, because I don’t know. Said they pushed up the date to tonight to accommodate him. Accommodation—bah!”
The Hardys and their friends thanked the manager and hurried back to the car. They returned to the airport and hastened to the operations room to consult a large aeronautical chart mounted on the wall.
“Here’s Granton,” the pil
ot said, pointing. He quickly plotted a course. “It’s a little bit more than a thousand miles from here.”
“Good grief!” Chet exclaimed. “We’ll never get there in time.”
Frank glanced at his watch. “We ought to be able to make the trip in under seven hours, wouldn’t you say, Jack?”
The pilot manipulated a small flight computer, which he had taken from a jacket pocket. “With the present winds, I’d say we could do it in seven hours easily.”
“If we take off right now,” Frank said, “we can be in Granton before Hexton’s show ends.”
“I’m game, fellows,” Chet piped up, “if you’ll let me get some chow for the trip.” He trotted toward the airport cafeteria and returned a few minutes later with a bag of sandwiches and milk.
Soon the four companions were in the air, speeding toward Granton. They set down late that evening at an airport thirty miles from the town, rented a car, and started off. Fortunately, the speed limit was generous. Also, Granton had only one theater, which Frank found easily.
It was nearly time for the show to end. Frank parked the car across the street from the lighted marquee.
Joe walked down an alley to the rear and reported that there was only one other exit besides the front. “It’s on the side.”
“Keep a sharp lookout for Hexton and his men after the performance,” Frank instructed the others. “Also, remember that they mustn’t spot us or our chance to follow them might fail.”
Twenty minutes later the show ended and people spilled out through the doors. Presently a green sedan drove up in front of the theater.
“Look!” Joe said in a loud whisper. “The driver is Stony Bleeker!”
Four men appeared from the alley exit. “There’s Hexton!” Chet whispered.
“And Vordo with two short men!” Frank observed.
“They look like twins!” Joe exclaimed.
“I’ll bet that’s how Hexton works the vanishing bit,” said Chet. “One twin disappears in the box and the other appears from the wings! From the audience, who could tell they weren’t the same man?”
The magician and his assistants got into the car and sped off. Frank and his companions followed at a safe distance. Several blocks farther on, the green car passed a high wall surrounding a garden back of a hotel, then pulled around the corner and stopped in front of the Granton Inn. The men got out and entered, while a doorman drove the car into the hotel’s underground garage.
The Secret Agent on Flight 101 Page 2