Mystery of the Whale Tattoo

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Beluga!” Chet cried out. “I told you! Now will you believe me?”

  “What do you mean?” Tony asked.

  “Beluga’s another name for the White Whale. Just try and tell me it’s another coincidence!”

  The boys now had to agree with Chet. This could no longer be chalked up to chance. Perhaps the whale names were the key to a code, Frank suggested.

  During the ride back to Tony’s house, they discussed the various developments in the mystery.

  Frank and Joe dropped Biff off on the way, then left Tony at his home and said good night to Chet.

  Their husky pal, beaming with success, got into his jalopy. Before he started the motor, Joe cautioned, “For Pete’s sake, easy on the backfire, Chet. Everybody’s asleep around here.”

  “Sure,” came the answer, then blam! The chassis jiggled as the engine started, and Chet sheepishly headed for the farm where he lived, on the outskirts of Bayport.

  Back at the Hardy house, Joe said, “Beluga, Blackright, Rembrandt’s tattoo, Boko’s tattoo and the missing whale! I just can’t fit the pieces together.”

  “I can’t either,” Frank said. “But I think it might be worth while to make a trip to Mystic and—”

  Frank was interrupted by a short ring of the telephone. Aunt Gertrude called from the kitchen, “Boys, is Chet here?”

  “No,” replied Joe.

  “Well, pick up the phone. Iola Morton’s on.”

  Joe grabbed the extension phone in their father’s study. “Hello, Iola. Isn’t it rather late for a growing girl to be up?”

  But his banter was short-lived. He sensed immediately that something was wrong.

  “Joe,” Iola said in a quavering voice, “I just talked to Tony. I’m worried. Chet should have been home long ago. We haven’t seen or heard from him at all!”

  CHAPTER VIII

  A Fishy Cargo

  “I’M sure Chet’s all right, Iola,” said Joe, trying to soothe the worried girl. “He probably had a flat tire, or just stopped for a late snack. Tell you what. Frank and I will go look for him, and as soon as we find him, we’ll give you a call. Okay?”

  “Thank you, Joe. I knew I could depend on you.”

  When Joe hung up and told Frank, the older boy looked concerned. “I don’t like the sound of this. Chet could change a flat in ten minutes and be on his way again.”

  “I know,” Joe said. “But there wasn’t any sense in worrying Iola any further.”

  “Right.” Frank reached in his pocket for his car keys. “We’d better get started.”

  Joe was just opening the front door when two muffled explosions split the still night air.

  “Speak of the devil!” Frank exclaimed with obvious relief.

  Chet’s battered old jalopy pulled up to the curb. The car backfired a third time before sputtering into silence on the quiet street. Chet jumped out and ran up to Frank and Joe.

  “Have I got something to tell you!” he blurted. “A fantastic piece of luck!”

  “All right,” Joe said, “but first you’d better call your sister. She’s worried about you.”

  “Oh.” An expression of regret crossed Chet’s face. “I know I should have phoned, but I had to get here as fast as I could.”

  “Come on in,” Frank said. “Call Iola and let her know where you are, then tell us about it.”

  Chet quickly telephoned his sister, then announced to the boys, “I’ve found another whale!”

  “Where?” Joe asked. “What kind?”

  “California Gray. When I left you guys I headed straight out of town on the parkway. You know Marty’s Giant Burgers place?”

  “Sure,” Frank answered.

  “Well, I was feeling a little hungry so I stopped in for a quick bite. There was a fellow sitting at the counter next to me—a big man, rough-looking, strong. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and when he raised his coffee cup, I saw the tattoo. It was a small one on his right biceps. As good a picture of a California Gray as I’ve ever seen.”

  Chet said that when the man had noticed him staring at the tattoo, he had gulped down the remainder of his coffee, paid his bill quickly, and hastened out of the diner.

  “I followed him,” Chet said. “He got into the cab of a large tractor truck—a very large truck!”

  “Large enough to hide a Blue Whale in?” Frank asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Chet said. “But I do know that it was one of the biggest trucks I’ve ever seen. And to top it off, it was a Connecticut license plate. I remembered the postcard clue, and here I am!”

  “What are we waiting for?” Joe asked.

  “Not a thing,” Frank said, heading for the Hardys’ car. “Did you get the license number, Chet?”

  “You bet I did.” Chet produced a scrap of paper on which he had written the plate number.

  The boys sped down the highway, overtaking several trucks, but not the one they wanted. Joe had done some quick computations and reckoned they should close the remaining gap within the next half hour.

  “There it is!” Chet cried finally.

  The truck was a huge tractor-trailer combination with twin diesel exhaust stacks that belched thick, acrid columns of smoke into the air. Frank moved the car into a position that was a short, but safe distance behind the roaring behemoth.

  “What do we do now?” Joe asked.

  “I’ll wait for an open stretch of road,” Frank said. “Then I’ll move into the next lane and pull abreast of the cab. When the driver can see you, motion for him to swing onto the shoulder and stop.”

  “What if he doesn’t?” Joe queried.

  “We’ll assume he’s got something to hide, and we’ll find the nearest phone, call the State Police and have him stopped.”

  “That’s a fine plan if it works,” Chet said fearfully. “But what if he waits until we’re alongside, then decides to run us off the road?”

  “It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Frank answered coolly. “I’ll be on my guard. Everyone set?”

  The car swung into the passing lane and zipped forward.

  “A little bit more, just a bit more,” Joe said tensely. The two vehicles were almost nose and nose. Joe began waving for the truck driver to pull over. Nothing happened.

  “He either doesn’t understand, or he’s just not going to stop,” the boy shouted above the roar of the truck’s motor.

  “Looks as if we have our answer!” Frank bellowed. “I think it’s time to call the police.”

  “Wait a minute!” Joe yelled. The truck’s directional signal blinked like a big red eye as the thundering wheels eased onto the shoulder of the highway.

  Frank pulled in behind on the gravel strip and stopped. The three boys leaped out and ran forward to where the truck had hissed to a halt. The driver climbed down from his cab to meet them. To the Hardys’ surprise, he wore a friendly smile.

  “What’s the trouble, guys?” he asked. “Motor problems or something?”

  The boys were taken aback by the trucker’s unexpected good humor. Frank suddenly realized they might have made a mistake. “One question,” he said. “What’s the tattoo on your right arm?”

  The boys were poised, ready to spring into action at the first sign of a hostile move.

  The driver touched his arm. “You mean Hilda?” he asked, bewildered.

  “Hilda?” Frank repeated with equal confusion.

  “Sure.” The truck driver exposed his arm and offered his tattoo for the youths’ inspection. He even jiggled his biceps. “She’s just something I had put on while I was in the U.S. Navy.”

  The boys gaped. The tattoo was a girl in a bikini reclining on one elbow.

  “You and your California Gray Whale!” Joe exploded at Chet.

  The stout boy stared at his feet with embarrassment. “Well, if you look at it from an angle, it does look like a Gray Whale. And besides, you Hardys are always drumming into my head that no possible clue can be overlooked.”

  “You do have a poin
t there,” Frank admitted.

  “Hey, guys!” the trucker said. “Since you pulled me off the road, would you mind letting me in on the story?”

  The boys apologized, then told the driver who they were and what they were doing. The man, who gave his name as Adam Snow, burst out laughing. “So you thought I might have a whale in here, eh?” He led them to the back of the truck and opened the massive doors. Instantly a pungent, fishy odor assailed the young sleuths’ nostrils.

  “Eight tons of salted fish,” Snow said, pointing to the stacked barrels. “But it’s all mackerel and herring, not whale!”

  The boys chatted with Snow a while longer. Learning he had been raised in Mystic, they asked him if he could recommend a place to stay.

  “That’s easy,” Snow told them. “Best place in town belongs to Mrs. Elmira Snow, my mother! She rents rooms, sets the finest table you can find, and her place is within walking distance of the Marine Historical Museum.”

  The boys thanked Snow and the four of them parted with a hearty round of handshakes. On the ride back home, Joe teased Chet again about his California Gray Whale.

  “Look at it this way,” the chubby boy said. “Without me, we’d never have found such a good spot to stay in Mystic.”

  “We?” said Frank. “Since when have you been eager to go on a trip that might prove dangerous?”

  “Oh,” Chet answered, “I think we can be cautious enough to avoid danger, but the big thing is that one of the best scrimshaw collections in the United States is located at the museum in Mystic. And I’m not going to miss that, let me tell you.”

  “To say nothing of Mrs. Snow’s kitchen abilities,” Joe added.

  “That is an extra incentive,” Chet admitted.

  Before he drove off in his jalopy, the boys decided to depart for Mystic the day after next.

  “I’ll be ready!” Chet promised. Frank and Joe stood grinning a moment as the jalopy backfired its way down the street and disappeared, then they went inside.

  Joe raided the refrigerator and the boys had a short snack before they went to bed.

  Early the following morning they began making preparations for the trip. First they called Biff and Tony and asked them to fill in as carnival sleuths until they returned.

  Biff and Tony promised they would and said they would begin their duties as soon as the carnival opened for the day. Then Joe called Solo, who agreed to the change and wished the Hardys luck in their hunt for the mysterious person known as Beluga.

  “Mr. Solo said the arrangement would be fine,” Joe told his brother.

  “Good,” Frank said with an air of abstraction. He was staring out the window and his brow was wrinkled. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “Wow!” he said. “What an idea I just got to smoke out our enemies!”

  CHAPTER IX

  A Decoy Report

  JOE responded to Frank’s plan with enthusiasm and the boys hastened to Chief Collig to secure his cooperation. After they had exchanged greetings and were seated across the desk from Collig, Frank said, “Chief, Joe and I have a favor to ask of you.”

  Collig folded his hands. “I’m always willing to listen.”

  “We’d like to have you arrange for a phony news item to appear in the evening papers.”

  Collig raised his eyebrows. “A phony item?”

  “Yes,” Frank said. “A story reporting that Joe and I found the stolen balloons and have figured out how the theft was managed.”

  “Nothing untrue in that,” Collig stated.

  “But that’s only the first part of the story,” Frank went on. “In the second part, we want it stated that we’ve discovered the precise location of the whale, and that as soon as we’ve recovered it, we’re going to set up another colossal whale show.”

  Collig thought for a moment, then asked, “What do you think a story like this will accomplish?”

  “I’m convinced,” Frank answered, “that some of the carnival people are in this, but I suspect quite strongly that they’re not the only ones. I feel there’s a good chance this ruse might smoke them out into the open.”

  “It’s possible,” Collig agreed. “But you’re aware, aren’t you, that you’ll be setting yourselves up as targets? If you’re right in thinking the whale’s been lost, those crooks might well come after you.”

  “We realize that,” Joe said. “We’ll be on guard.”

  Chief Collig doodled on a scratch pad while he reflected. After a minute’s silence he said, “Well, it does look like our best course of action. If you boys promise to stay alert, I’ll arrange to have the story put into the paper.”

  “Thanks, Chief,” Frank said and stood up. “I have a hunch we’re going to get some results.”

  The boys left the police station and drove out to the carnival. Biff and Tony were on the job. Since everything was running smoothly, the Hardys stayed only for a few minutes of social conversation and then returned home. They started to pack, and when that was finished, they studied road maps to select the best route from Bayport to Mystic.

  Their mother and Aunt Gertrude had taken Cousin Elmer out to see the sights of Bayport, and the afternoon crept by at a turtle’s pace. Finally at five o’clock they sauntered down to a stationery store a few blocks from their home.

  Gus, the balding proprietor, waved to them when they entered. “Hi, Frank. Hi, Joe. See you got your names in the papers.”

  “Oh?” Joe feigned surprise.

  “Yeah. Right there on page one. Ain’t you seen it yet?”

  “No,” Frank said. “Where?”

  Gus scooped up the top paper from a stack of fresh deliveries and spread it open on the counter. He jabbed a story with his finger. “See? Right there. ‘Bayport Sleuths Solve Riddle of Missing Whale,’ it says. Boy, that was pretty fast work. You guys are sure good.”

  “Oh, no!” Frank groaned as he scanned the item.

  “What’s the matter?” Joe asked.

  “They’ve printed the whole story,” Frank replied.

  “What’s wrong?” Gus inquired. “You guys act like something terrible’s happened.”

  “I don’t know how this paper got hold of the story,” Frank said. “But by running it, they’ve tipped our hand.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We didn’t want anyone to know we’d located the whale until we were ready to make our move,” Joe said. “The time isn’t right yet. We still have a few things to do.”

  Gus scratched his head. “Sorry they jumped the gun, but you guys cracked this case in fine time. You got every reason to be proud.”

  “Thanks, Gus,” Frank said.

  The Hardys paid for the paper and left the store. Walking home, Frank said, “I really hated to fool Gus like that, but if anyone does some checking, our story will hold up.”

  Joe nodded. “We can set things right with Gus later. He’ll understand.”

  The boys reached home to find that the others had returned. Cousin Elmer, who claimed that his sea legs were not up to so much walking, had gone to his room for a nap. Frank and Joe showed the news item to their mother and Aunt Gertrude and explained their plan.

  Aunt Gertrude’s hand flew to her throat. “Oh, land’s sake! What have you boys done!”

  “It’s all right, Aunty,” Frank said. “Joe and I’ll be ready for anything.”

  “But those are dangerous criminals,” Miss Hardy wailed.

  Joe patted her hand. “Aunty,” he said soothingly, “you’ve never known us to be reckless, right? Well, we don’t intend to change now. Dad’s working on a tight schedule and every moment counts.”

  Mrs. Hardy, too, was worried about the boys, but she had confidence in their resources and abilities. “They will do all right, Gertrude,” she said.

  The phone rang. It was the Bayport branch office of a national television network. The TV news interviewer asked Frank to comment on the story and to give him additional information if possible.

  “Well,” said Frank, “we didn’t want
the news to break this early, but as long as it has, there’s nothing we can do about it. Yes, it’s true. All I can tell you is that we’ll pick up the whale when the time is right—which shouldn’t be long.”

  A second call, this one from a local radio station, followed on the heels of the first. And so it went for the rest of the evening. Joe and Frank took turns answering the inquiries, and by the time they were ready for bed, they had spoken to representatives of more than half of the major radio and television networks and all of the local stations.

  Chet arrived early the next morning. In addition to his plaid zippered suitcase he carried a small black leather case.

  “Hey, doc,” Joe said jokingly, “got all your instruments?”

  “Why’d you bring that?” added Frank. “For house calls?”

  “You’re both pretty nosy,” Chet said mysteriously. “I’ll tell you what’s in this later.”

  The Hardys said their good-bys and were on the road shortly before nine o’clock. They listened to a newscast on the car radio and were pleased to hear the details of the story they had planted.

  “If this doesn’t bring our enemies out,” Frank said, “then nothing will.”

  It was a fine, bright day. The highway was relatively free of traffic and the travelers made good time. They had been driving for two hours when they heard the wail of a police siren approaching them from behind.

  At the wheel, Frank spotted the State Police car in the rear-view mirror. “Boy, he’s moving fast. Must be awfully anxious to catch the car he’s after.”

  “It isn’t us,” Joe remarked. “We’re within the speed limit.”

  Frank edged to the right to allow the police car plenty of room to pass. To his surprise, the trooper motioned for him to pull off the road and stop. Frank complied.

  “We’re in for it now,” Chet fretted. “They’re going to arrest you guys for planting a phony news story. And they’re going to charge me with being an accomplice!”

  “Don’t be a worrywart, Chet,” Joe said. “We had Chief Collig’s permission. It must be something else.”

  The trooper got out and walked to Frank’s open window, the leather of his holster and his highly polished boots gleaming in the sunlight.