The Masked Monkey
Page 12
“Not almost,” Frank said. “We heard them say that Radley was the fuzz. They knew, and were probably waiting for a good opportunity to get rid of you.”
“I guess that just about winds up the case,” Fenton Hardy remarked to Chief Carton.
“There’s one thing that hasn’t been explained yet,” Frank spoke up. He went over to the monkey cage. Diabo glared at him through the bars.
“Joe, give me a hand here,” Frank said. “I want to see what makes this monkey tick.” He opened the door to the cage. Immediately the monkey growled menacingly, and Joe had to use all his might to keep him down while Frank removed the mask.
As soon as the boy had pulled the rubber mask off, the monkey calmed down. A pleasant, gentle simian face emerged, and bright eyes glanced around the gathering in a friendly way. Diabo seemed to be wondering which of these human beings would be good for a handful of nuts or a banana.
Fenton Hardy shook his head in disbelief. “That’s the most astonishing transformation I’ve ever seen,” he said. “Diabo must have been trained to be vicious only when he had the mask on. I wonder how.”
“Here’s a possible answer,” Frank said. He turned the rubber mask inside out, revealing a couple of tiny earphones hidden in the thick earpieces. “Somebody’s been radioing instructions to Diabo.”
Joe observed San Marten move his head uncomfortably, as if his collar were too tight. The boy went over to examine the prisoner closer.
“Just as I expected!” Joe exclaimed. He removed a collar mike and followed the cord to a sending unit concealed under San Marten’s shirt.
The Hardys studied the apparatus. Finally Fenton Hardy said, “I see it now. High-frequency signals sent out between oral instruction could drive the poor animal crazy.” He turned to San Marten. “You’re a sadist!”
“Dad,” Frank said, “I think Diabo’s first monkeyshine was tossing a bag of nuts at me from a truck in Belem.”
“Wait a minute, Frank,” Joe said. “He wasn’t wearing a mask then.”
Frank laughed. “You’re right. He was strictly monkeying around on his own that time.”
“But he had the mask on when he burglarized our room at the hotel,” Joe went on.
“And when he pitched us into the Amazon,” Frank added.
“Diabo’s a very versatile monkey,” Chet put in.
“So is the whole gang, in a sinister way,” Frank muttered. He was thinking of his first day in Belem. “I wonder if that hotel clerk at the Excelsior Grao Para was in with the gang.”
Retson answered. “No. San Marten had someone pose as Graham at the hotel.”
“What about Bauer in Manaus?”
“He’s a confederate.”
Frank addressed San Marten. “He was with you that night at the dock when you had us thrown in the Amazon, wasn’t he?”
The man shrugged.
“We’ll inform the Brazilian police about Bauer,” Chief Carton said.
“One more thing,” Chet said. “Who phoned me about the pistol?”
“I did,” Moreno grumbled.
Chief Carton motioned to his men. “Take the prisoners to headquarters.”
Joe Hardy grinned at his brother. “Well, I’m glad that’s over. I don’t want to do anything more serious than scavenge golf balls with Chet from now on!”
“Count me in, too,” said Frank as everyone filed out.
But neither Frank nor Joe were aware that they would have little time to participate in Chet’s project. A new case, The Shattered Helmet, would soon involve them in a chain of exciting events.
Upstairs in the lobby Frank turned to Graham Retson. “You know,” he said, “our first clue in this investigation was a poem we found in your room. It goes like this:
“ ‘My life is a walled city
From which I must flee;
This must my prison be
So long as—’”
“I remember that,” Graham interrupted.
“We figured you were thinking about escaping from home, or even changing your personality when you wrote it. Were we correct?”
Graham chuckled. “Sorry, Frank. You were on another wild-goose chase.”
“Then what does the poem mean?”
“You’ll have to ask the author, not me. I copied it out of a magazine!”