The Masked Monkey

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “And what about his showing up at the hotel just at the right time? He claimed the door was open, but I’ll bet somebody locked it after we went into the room. And how come part of the fire escape ladder was missing just when I needed it?”

  “How’s that again?”

  Frank told his brother about his movements while Joe had been unconscious. “When I tried to call for a doctor, I got no answer. After San Marten had come in, the desk answered immediately.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything. The clerk might have had another call.”

  “And how do you explain the locked door?”

  “It could have been stuck.”

  “Then the bellboy walked in when nobody called for him.”

  “He might have been sent to take out the dishes. I saw a tray and a couple of glasses on one of the dressers.”

  Frank sighed. “Maybe you’re right, but the whole thing is too pat, too—”

  Just then San Marten beckoned to the Hardys. “Buru has a prediction about where to find Graham. He says he had a vision that your friend is going up the Amazon to Manaus.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “It’s a port near the juncture of the Amazon and the Negro rivers nearly a thousand miles from here.”

  “Baloney!” Frank murmured to Joe.

  The witch doctor sensed their skepticism. He smiled and spoke volubly.

  San Marten said, “He warns that we had better believe his vision. Otherwise serious harm might come to Graham. If you want to find him, go to Manaus.”

  “We’ll think it over,” Frank began, “and when we reach—”

  He was interrupted by a rustling sound at the back of the stall. Furry fingers pulled the curtains apart. A simian face appeared in the opening. Frank and Joe saw a howler monkey about three feet tall, with silky black fur and a savage expression.

  The Hardys got only a brief glimpse before the face pulled back behind the curtains.

  “So you keep a monkey for a pet, Buru,” Joe said.

  When San Marten translated that remark, the witch doctor shook his head angrily and went into a torrent of negatives.

  “He denies he has a monkey on the premises,” San Marten reported.

  “We saw it!” Frank insisted.

  “Buru says that whatever you saw was caused by your imagination.”

  “Like his visions,” Joe scoffed.

  San Marten smiled. “Perhaps. Still I believe it would be better if I left your comparison untranslated. Witch doctors are not the best-tempered people in Belem.”

  Joe looked amused. “You mean Buru might place a curse on us?”

  Sensing hostility, Frank said, “We’d better return to the Excelsior Grao Para.”

  “Not there, my friends,” San Marten protested. “My home in the suburbs is at your disposal. Please use it freely as long as you stay in Belem.”

  Frank and Joe, however, would not be swayed. “You see,” Frank stated, “we need to be in the city while looking for our friend.”

  “Some other time,” Joe promised. “We’ll take a rain check just now.”

  They parted with friendly handshakes, and the boys went to the hotel. The desk clerk waved to them. “Mr. Graham returned while you were out.”

  “Is he here now?” Joe asked excitedly.

  “No. He came for his leather jacket and departed again.”

  “Did he give you any forwarding address this time?” Frank queried.

  “All he said was that he was going to Manaus, and that he could not wait. He mentioned no address in that city.”

  The boys went to their room and Joe closed the door. “Good night, Frank! Buru was right. It’s incredible!”

  Frank suspected trickery. Joe, on the other hand, felt that the voodoo witch doctor might have some psychic power of insight. They discussed the case from every angle and tried to figure out how to proceed from here.

  “Now we’re faced with the monkey mystery, too!” Frank said. “Are you sure that sack of nuts was pushed by the monkey?”

  “Listen, Frank. I told you!”

  “Okay, okay. Don’t let this give us the jitters. Was it the same one we saw at Buru’s?”

  “I don’t know,” Joe said. “Monkeys all look alike to me.”

  Frank sagged into a chair and let out a long breath. “San Marten bugs me.”

  “You worry too much,” Joe said. “Tell you what. If it will make you feel better, why not have Dad inquire about him at the Brazilian Embassy in Washington?”

  “Good thinking. We’ll send Dad a cable.”

  “What about Manaus?”

  “It’s our only clue. I suggest we go, but proceed with extreme caution.”

  “I’m with you,” Joe said. He took out a cablegram blank from the desk drawer and wrote: “Need info Brazil Embassy Joachim San Marten. On way to Manaus re Graham.”

  “I’ll take it down to the telegraph office,” he said when he was finished. “Better not trust the bellboy with it.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Frank said. “I’m starved.”

  The boys had dinner in a small restaurant near the hotel, then returned to their room. It was not air conditioned and seemed like an oven.

  “We’d better get as much air as we can,” Frank suggested, forcing the window wide open.

  “Come to think of it,” Joe said, “the fire escape would be a good place to sleep on a night like this. Natural air conditioning.”

  They showered and then turned in. Frank placed a flashlight on the table beside the bed for emergency use, which was an old habit with him.

  Both boys slept fitfully, turning and tossing on sweat-dampened sheets. Suddenly both were wide awake. There was a strange noise in their room. Dimly they made out a figure bending over their clothes.

  “A thief!” Joe thought.

  Carefully Frank reached for his flashlight. Pointing it toward the intruder, he snapped it on. A cone of light stabbed through the darkness. It revealed a hideous-looking simian standing beside a chair, holding Frank’s shirt in one of its paws. The monkey’s nose was wrinkled, the eyes drawn into narrow glaring slits, and his fangs were bared in a ferocious scowl!

  CHAPTER VIII

  Fish Bait

  FRANK and Joe jumped up and dived for the simian. Joe got a hand on a furry leg, but the animal scampered free. It dashed to the fire escape and swung down the metal framework from floor to floor, using its long prehensile tail as a fifth paw. The boys watched in dismay as the monkey finally leaped to the pavement and vanished around a corner of the hotel.

  “That’s the ugliest brute I’ve ever seen,” Joe said in a shaky voice. “I’d consider it a nightmare if you hadn’t seen it too, Frank.”

  “Oh, it was real enough,” said Frank, who had been examining his clothes. “Real enough to make off with my wallet, key ring, passport and other identification papers.”

  Joe went through his pockets. “Good night! I’m cleaned out, too!”

  Frank sat down on the bed. “Joe, we’re dealing with a monkey clever enough to be a professional burglar. A human being couldn’t have pulled off the job more neatly.”

  “A human being put that monkey up to it!” Joe said.

  An odd feeling swept over both boys. They felt as if they were in the grip of some evil power, as if a malevolent force was bent on their destruction.

  “Frank,” Joe said, “we’re stuck. No money, no passports, no nothing. What’ll we do?”

  “Go to the American Consulate,” Frank said. “Then I suggest we call San Marten and tell him our sad story. If he’s involved in it, we might as well stick close to him. He doesn’t know we suspect him, so maybe we can pick up a clue.”

  At nine in the morning Frank asked the hotel clerk to put him through to San Marten’s home. After a brief wait, the Brazilian’s voice came over the wire. Frank told him they had been robbed.

  “I will help you,” San Marten assured them. “Come here for breakfast. Take a taxi at my expense. I will instruct
my servants to set two extra places.”

  Frank and Joe accepted his invitation, but first made their way to the consulate. A United States official gave them some cash, arranged for them to cable home for money, and promised to have identification for them shortly.

  The boys thanked him, caught a taxi in front of the consulate, and reached the suburbs of Belem in about twenty minutes. It was an exclusive residential area of large houses with broad lawns. Maids were sweeping off front porches and washing windows. Gardeners were spading the earth.

  “Nice area,” Joe commented. “The rich live well here, too.”

  The Brazilian’s home turned out to be a plush one. A wrought-iron gate gave access to a walk flanked by tropical flowers leading up to a big house. The door was opened by a servant who ushered the boys through to a patio in the rear of the property.

  San Marten sat at a table beside a broad, deep swimming pool. Thick shrubbery grew a few yards from the pool on three sides; the fourth side facing the house was open.

  San Marten rose. “I am very happy to see you here,” he said, waving them to a couple of empty chairs.

  Frank noticed the table was placed on the west side of the pool in the morning sun. They sat down with their backs to the glare.

  A second servant brought in a platter of ham and eggs, which the boys ate with great relish. At the same time they discussed the theft by the monkey. San Marten seemed thoroughly mystified. He folded his napkin and placed it on the table.

  “I will speak to the police immediately,” he said.

  “We’ll go with you,” Frank said.

  “That won’t be necessary. You stay here and relax. Enjoy a swim in the pool,” San Marten said. “You’ll find suits in the cabana.”

  Before they could object, he stepped into a light-blue sports car parked nearby and roared off in the direction of Belem.

  Frank and Joe sat lazily in the sun for a while, then Joe said, “I think I’ll take San Marten up on his swim invitation. How about you?”

  “First we’ll get rid of the breakfast dishes,” Frank said with a grin. “Aunt Gertrude would never approve if we left the table like this.”

  He rang the bell for the servants, expecting someone to come and clean up the table. Receiving no response, he went into the house, found it empty, and returned to the patio.

  “The help has vamoosed with the master,” he told Joe.

  “Must be their day off,” his brother guessed. “We’ll have some peace and quiet for our dip.”

  “They were here when we arrived, so it’s hardly their day off,” Frank said, an uneasy feeling coming over him. “I think maybe San Marten is up to something.”

  Joe had already started for the cabana and quickly slipped into a pair of trunks which looked as if they would fit. Frank followed suit, still pondering the strange disappearance of the servants. As they emerged from the cabana, the sunlight reflected from the surface of the pool in blinding rays. Joe climbed on the diving board, where he poised for a full gainer.

  Frank, shielding his eyes, spotted a slight movement down in the water. Suddenly Aunt Gertrude’s warning rang in his ears: “Look before you leap!”

  Leaning over the edge of the pool, he saw a small fish not more than eight inches long. It had a blunt face with an underslung jaw, a silvery bluish body, and a touch of red on its fins.

  “Joe, don’t dive!” Frank shouted.

  The warning came almost too late and Joe had trouble regaining his balance. “Why, what’s the matter?” he asked.

  “You’ll have company you may not care to meet. Come here!”

  Joe descended from the diving board and peered down at the fish.

  “Frank, there’s more than one. In fact, a whole school. Wait a minute! I have a hunch!” Joe ran to the table where the breakfast dishes still lay. Seizing a piece of ham from the platter, he returned to the pool.

  He tossed the ham through the air. It hit the water with a splash and had hardly started to sink when the school of small fish darted to it. They became a swirling horde of ferocious predators, tearing off mouthfuls and gulping them down. The ham was gone in seconds!

  Frank and Joe shuddered.

  Piranhas!

  “No wonder San Marten and the servants vanished so suddenly,” Frank muttered. “They set up operation bone yard for our benefit, but didn’t want to witness the gory details. And the table was set up facing the sun to keep us from spotting the fish.”

  “Wow! I’m beginning to feel sick,” Joe said.

  “Come on,” Frank said. “I’ve got an idea.” He led the way into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. They found a rib roast, two large hams, a big loin of pork and a leg of lamb.

  “Our host must have been planning a party,” Frank said. “Joe, help me carry these!”

  The boys lugged the meat outside. “In they go!” Frank said as they tossed the provisions into the water.

  The piranhas were on them in a flash. The water boiled with the assault. In a few minutes only cleanly picked bones lay at the bottom of the pool.

  Suddenly the front door slammed. Frank and Joe dodged into the shrubbery, crouched down, and parted the leaves. The two servants walked warily across the patio to the pool.

  One laughed, elbowed his companion, and pointed to the bones. The other guffawed as if he had just heard a good joke.

  “They think they’re looking at our remains,” Joe whispered.

  Frank nodded. “We’d better get off the premises before they find out the truth. Come on!”

  As they slipped through the shrubbery Joe tripped and fell. Frank paused to help him up. Then came the sound of pursuers.

  The boys careened past large bushes and small trees toward the fence at the back of the property. Frank scrambled to the top. Joe followed, barely escaping the clutching fingers of one of the servants.

  “They’ll come after us!” Joe panted.

  They ran down the street and turned a corner.

  “In there!” Frank replied, pointing to the nearest building. It was a low neat structure with the sign BIBLIOTECA beside the front door.

  “It’s a library,” Frank said. “And look how we’re dressed.”

  The dark-haired pretty girl at the reception desk was startled by the sudden appearance of two boys in swim trunks. Readers looked up from their books and newspapers to see what all the commotion was about.

  The boys asked for help and the girl, in halting English, said, “I will get police. You wait.”

  Frank and Joe squatted behind some book-stacks. A few minutes later a squad car transported the Hardys to headquarters. The chief, Captain Vasquez, spoke English quite well.

  Frank asked for San Marten, but was told he had not come to headquarters. Then the boys went over the morning’s events repeatedly, only to be met with grins of disbelief.

  “Americanos good with joke!” said a lieutenant, bursting into loud laughter.

  “Joachim San Marten would never do anything like this,” the captain insisted. “He is a respectable resident.”

  “Send your men to investigate his swimming pool,” Frank urged.

  Vasquez hemmed and hawed, but finally agreed. The squad car went out. It returned ten minutes later and the two policemen reported nothing unusual about San Marten’s pool.

  Frank was crushed. “The servants must have removed the piranhas and the bones,” he said weakly.

  “We will forget your fish story,” Vasquez said, shaking his head, “and let you go this time. Get out of those swim trunks. We will find your size among clothing left by former prisoners.”

  “Thanks,” Joe said glumly, disappointed that nobody believed them.

  The boys changed, then left. As they walked into the lobby of the Excelsior Grao Para, Frank grabbed his brother’s elbow. “Sh! Look over there at the desk!”

  “San Marten!” Joe gasped.

  The Brazilian was in a towering fury. His face was flushed, his body trembling. He pounded the desk with his fist.


  “Where are the Hardys?” San Marten demanded in English.

  “Sir, I have no idea.”

  San Marten seized the man by the lapels and shook him. “Where did they go? Where can I find them?”

  “Sir, if I knew, believe me I would tell you,” the clerk gasped.

  Thrusting him aside with a contemptuous gesture, San Marten wheeled around. The Hardys hastily ducked behind a large pillar. Had they been fast enough? Had their murderous enemy seen them?

  CHAPTER IX

  A Curious Number Seven

  SAN MARTEN motioned savagely in the Hardys’ direction. He started walking toward the pillar behind which they were hiding.

  “He’s spotted us!” Joe warned.

  “Get ready,” Frank muttered. “We’ll have to fight our way out of this one!”

  San Marten’s vigorous strides brought him quickly abreast of the pillar. The boys could see the angry tightening of his jaw. Tensely they prepared for a counterattack.

  The Brazilian, however, did not circle the pillar. He walked straight past toward a man in the doorway at whom he had been gesturing. The pair disappeared out of the hotel.

  Frank mopped the perspiration from his forehead.

  “Wow! That was close.”

  “Let’s scram while we’re still in one piece,” Joe urged.

  “Right. But we’ll need our suitcases.”

  “How do we get to the room—by asking the clerk for the key?”

  Frank grinned. “I’d rather not. Let’s take the fire escape. Since we paid one night in advance when we registered, I suggest we forget about checking out, too.”

  The boys managed to climb up to their window unseen. They jumped into the room, took their bags, and exited the same way.

  “Where to now?” Joe asked.

  “There’s a park a few blocks down the street,” Frank said. “San Marten won’t think of looking for us there. We’ll have to hang around a while till money from home arrives.”

  They found the park practically deserted. Seated on a bench under some spreading tropical foliage, they were able to talk freely with no fear of eavesdroppers.

  “San Marten can’t be operating against us all by his lonesome,” Joe remarked. “He must be the leader of a gang.”