“Look!” he cried. Then voices called their names—searching, anxious voices.
“Here! We’re over here!” Frank yelled, and they all joined in excited shouting.
The bobbing flashlights swung in the direction of the captives, then advanced on the double. In moments Jack and the Hardys were surrounded by six state troopers, two of whom immediately set to work cutting the ropes.
“Are we glad to see you!” Frank said. “Did you pick up those thieves in a dragnet? Is the Ivory Idol safe?”
“I’m afraid the answer to both questions is negative,” said the officer in charge. “We did the best we could, but on such short notice were spread too thin. They slipped through us.”
Frank, Joe, and Jack were helped to their feet, stiff and aching from their ordeal. Never had the boys been more crestfallen.
Jack Wayne went to tinker with the helicopter and managed to get the motor going. Then he and the Hardys thanked the police, climbed into the copter, and headed for Bayport. On the way, Jack radioed a message to Chief Collig requesting him to inform Mrs. Hardy of their safety.
Everyone was glum on the flight home. Each was thinking about the lost statue. They found Chet still faithfully waiting at the airport.
“I heard about it,” he said sadly as he packed his scrimshaw in the carrying case. “Rotten luck all the way around. If I hadn’t banged my head, maybe I could have gone along and helped.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Frank said. “By the way, any snoopers around our plane?”
“No,” Chet replied ruefully. “They were all after you, I guess.”
The Hardys said good-by to Jack, then climbed into their car with Chet. After dropping him off at the Morton farm, the boys made straight for home.
The usually ebullient Joe slumped in the seat beside his brother, chin in hand. He was quiet as the car skimmed over the highway. Finally he said, “Frank, we ruined our record today. This will be our first unsolved case.”
“Don’t agree,” Frank replied. “We solved it all right, just didn’t win it.”
“Like in the carnival, huh? Rang the bell but didn’t get the prize.”
“Righto. But try to cheer up. Your chin’s dragging on the ground. Don’t let Aunt Gertrude read us, or we’re in for a lecture.”
“Don’t worry. We’re in for one, anyhow. Look at these rope burns. She’ll be sure to spot them.”
As Frank pulled into the driveway, Joe spied a familiar figure through the living-room window.
“Great spoutin’ whales!” he shouted, nearly leaping from his seat. “It’s Dad!”
Frank braked the car with a jerk and the Hardys hastened into the house. Greetings were warm and enthusiastic. To their relief, Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude were out. Fenton Hardy was in fine fettle. He had captured Whitey Meldrum in New York and turned him over to the police, then returned home.
“And now,” he said, “my boys are back again.” He clapped both of them on the shoulders.
“But we didn’t do such a hot job, Dad,” Joe confessed glumly. He and Frank gave a detailed report of their exploits.
Mr. Hardy’s face grew grave. “Frank and Joe, I’m as disappointed as both of you that we didn’t recover the Ivory Idol. No one likes to fail. But you did have it in your grasp! It was only circumstance that snatched it away from you. When all is said, I’m as proud as a peacock about the way you handled yourselves and the work you did on this case.”
The boys appreciated their father’s efforts to try to cheer them up, but the taste of defeat cast a pall over them. Joe asked whether the gang might fly the statue out of the country.
“That’s very likely,” Mr. Hardy said. “And after that, it’s highly improbable it will ever be recovered. I know it’s—”
“Holy mackerel!” Frank slammed a fist into his palm, then struck himself on the forehead. “I’m an idiot. Why didn’t I think of it before?”
“Think of what?” Mr. Hardy asked.
Frank told him about the shack on the waterfront where Tim Varney, Mug Stine, and Baby Face had met.
“Remember, Joe? There were some extra articles of clothing, some bedding and cans of food.”
“Right,” said Joe. “You think they might use it as a hideout until the heat is off?”
“It’s possible. After all, they don’t think anyone knows about the shack. What’s your opinion, Dad?”
Mr. Hardy thought it was definitely worth a try. Speed was of the essence, so they ruled out driving to Mystic. At this hour there were nearly no requests for rented planes and they secured one easily.
“Let’s give Jack a call,” Frank suggested “I’m sure he’d like to come, and besides, we might need some reinforcement.”
Joe hurried to the phone. Jack Wayne, who had just reached his home, was eager to join them and said he would meet them at the airport.
After leaving a note for Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude, father and sons hurried off. Jack Wayne was waiting at the plane when they reached the airport.
Up they flew into the night sky, and after a smooth flight touched down at a small private field five miles from Mystic.
Locating a taxi in the middle of the night took half an hour, but they finally found one and instructed the driver to stop three blocks from the shack near the Mystic waterfront. Mr. Hardy paid the fare, then they moved in on the shack by foot, advancing cautiously and keeping to the shadows.
“Look!” Frank said. “There’s a light seeping around the edges of the windows. Someone’s inside.”
“Your hunch just might have paid off,” Fenton Hardy agreed. “Easy now. We don’t want to give ourselves away. Is there another entrance besides the one in the front?”
“No,” Frank replied.
They crept to the shack and peeped through the crack in the door. Frank spied a long object on the floor, wrapped in a white tarpaulin. His whole frame tingled. The Ivory Idol!
“Listen,” said Mug Stine’s voice. “If we dump this baggage in the sea, no one will be the wiser.”
“It’s okay by me,” Rembrandt agreed. “How about you, Tim?”
Varney nodded.
The Hardys and Jack Wayne pulled back a few feet. “We hit the jackpot all right,” Joe said. “But I don’t understand why they’d want to discard the statue. It doesn’t make sense.”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Frank whispered. “Listen, Dad. We’ve got a score to settle with those goons in there. If it’s all right with you, we’d like to do it right now.”
“Roger,” Jack hissed.
“Go to it,” Fenton Hardy said. “Clean ’em up!”
Frank and Joe charged the door and it flung open with a shattering bang. Mug, Varney, and Rembrandt were stunned into immobility as the Hardys and Jack set upon them.
Frank’s one-two punch toppled Rembrandt; Joe’s flying tackle flattened Varney, and Mug failed to duck a haymaker delivered by Jack.
With a smile of satisfaction Fenton Hardy looked at the three men sprawled on the floor, rubbing their bruised jaws and glaring up at their captors. Joe dusted his jacket and said, “Guess you guys aren’t so tough when the odds are even!”
The answer was a groan—but not from Varney, Rembrandt, or Mug. It came from the wrapped figure on the floor!
“Wh-what’s that?” Joe blurted out.
“Me! Get me out!” came a muffled reply.
Fearing some kind of trick, Fenton Hardy handcuffed the criminals together, then bent down to unwrap the prone figure, which had started to wriggle. He split the tarpaulin with a knife and rolled the prisoner out.
Boko the Clown!
“Good night!” Frank exclaimed. “They were going to dump him into the sea!”
“We should have!” Varney grumbled.
“Quiet!” Fenton Hardy ordered. “Now tell us your story, Boko!”
Shaking with fright, Boko showered the Hardys with gratitude before revealing his bizarre tale.
He was Bottlenose in the Society of t
he Whale Tattoo, and Rembrandt was Blue. Kane, who was Pygmy, had hidden the Ivory Idol in the whale owned by Zelemeyer’s Circus, where he worked, because it was too hot to sell. When Zelemeyer had gone bankrupt, the whale was buried and Kane died before he could divulge its location to the society.
“When your friends dug up the whale,” Boko explained, “something had to be done.”
It was Rembrandt, however, not Boko, who was the informer. He believed the statue was still too hot to sell, so he decided to turn stool pigeon and make some money for himself.
The tattooed man glowered. He was the one who had entered Boko’s bunk wagon and burned the contents of the strongbox.
“I knew he was after me and I had to get out,” Boko continued. “I remembered the picture you boys had of Elmer Hardy, so I decided to move into your house as him.”
“But why did you take off so suddenly?” Frank inquired.
“Well, the real Elmer Hardy was due soon,” Boko said, “and besides, since the carnival had moved, I felt safer.”
The clown was kidnapped, however, soon after he left the Hardy home. Rembrandt convinced Mug and Varney that Boko was the informer and they decided to silence him once and for all.
“They almost got away with it,” Boko concluded.
Mug Stine and Tim Varney were just as surprised as the Hardys and started yelling at Rembrandt.
Joe interrupted them. “Never mind that now. We’re not finished yet.” Turning to the tattooed man, he said, “You were the one who put me on the Ferris wheel, weren’t you?”
“What else was I supposed to do with a nosy brat?” Rembrandt retorted.
“What about the whale? You couldn’t have carried that off by yourself with those weather balloons,” Frank questioned.
“Whitey and Tim lent me a hand, and Baby Face...” His voice trailed off.
“And of course you had to knock Tony out to get to the whale,” Joe figured.
Rembrandt shrugged.
Mr. Hardy turned to Mug Stine. “How did you happen to be at Kennedy Airport when Frank and Joe were waiting for their plane?”
Mug sneered, “We’ve been watching ’em ever since they left Mystic and went to New York.”
Joe grew impatient. “Where’s the Ivory Idol?” he demanded.
“Lashed beneath their rowboat,” Boko revealed. “It’s moored outside.”
“Show us the place,” commanded Mr. Hardy, and asked Jack Wayne to stay with the prisoners, who again started arguing among themselves.
Using their flashlights, the Hardys and Boko reached the harbor side, where small waves leaped against a dory tied to a wooden dock. Stout ropes fastened to the oarlocks disappeared beneath the boat. Frank and Joe pulled off their shoes and trousers and jumped into the water, which was only chest high.
“I feel it!” Joe cried triumphantly.
“Me too,” Frank said on the other side of the boat.
Inside the dory, Mr. Hardy and Boko quickly untied the knots.
“Okay, Frank. Got her?”
“Right!”
The boys eased the treasure to the dock where their father and Boko lent a hand to pull the magnificent ivory figure up to safety.
Joe grinned. “I guess we didn’t lose our case after all, eh, Frank?” he said.
With the criminals and the Ivory Idol safely in the hands of the Mystic police, the Hardys and Jack returned to Bayport. Shortly after daybreak, Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude were awakened by lively banter as Mr. Hardy and the boys entered the house.
After a hearty breakfast the three detectives turned in and slept soundly until past noontime.
Chet, meantime, arrived at the Hardy home and was delighted to hear that a big victory party had been planned for that evening. It would include Biff, Tony, Callie, Iola, and other friends of the Hardys.
Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude scurried about all afternoon preparing for the feast. When the guests were all gathered in the living room, they insisted that Frank and Joe relate the events of the past twenty-four hours.
In the middle of the party, Chet Morton stood up and asked for silence so that he could make an announcement. He said he had just put the finishing touch on a piece of scrimshaw which he now presented to Aunt Gertrude. It was an ivory instrument of delicate, symmetrical design. One end had three long tines and the other had a revolving wheel with a toothed rim.
“Oh, it’s lovely, Chet! Thank you so much,” Miss Hardy said. “But what is it?”
“It’s called a jagging wheel and you use it for ruffling and marking the edges of pies.”
“Are you trying to tell me something, young man?”
“Only that I hope you use it very often!”
At Chet’s remark Frank and Joe burst into laughter, totally unaware that at that moment a sinister plot was brewing for them in The Arctic Patrol Mystery.
Suddenly the doorbell rang. Mrs. Hardy went to answer it. She returned with a man whose skin was weather-tanned, whose head was topped with a shock of sandy hair, and whose cheeks were covered with a full, flowing beard.
“I ... I’d like to introduce Elmer Hardy to you,” she said in a faltering voice.
Frank and Joe looked blank for a moment, then Frank grinned. “I can’t believe it. Our real cousin!”
Elmer Hardy stared at them in bewilderment. “I beg your pardon?”
Frank chuckled, strode forward, and shook the man’s hand. “I’m delighted to meet you, Cousin Elmer. Come sit down and I’ll explain everything to you. It’s a whale of a story!”
Mystery of the Whale Tattoo Page 11