“Out looking for you,” Laura Hardy replied.
“Did he talk to Sam over the radio before he left?”
“Yes. It seems Sam had some success in his surveillance.”
“Let’s get in touch with him right away,” Joe said.
They used the set in their car and called Radley. There was no reply. They tried again. Nothing!
“Either his set’s out of order or something’s happened,” Frank declared.
Chet, meanwhile, had wandered into the house looking for food. Aunt Gertrude, who had anticipated their need for sustenance, had ham sandwiches ready for them. Chet phoned home, then called out, “Come on, fellows. Let’s eat!”
“Forget it,” Joe replied. “Something might be wrong at our surveillance post. We’re going over there right away.”
“Wait for me!” Chet grabbed a fistful of sandwiches and wriggled into the back seat.
The three boys ate on the way. When they reached the street behind the old building, Frank turned off the lights and they crept cautiously toward the alley leading to the back entrance.
Armed with flashlights, which they used only sparingly, they ascended the crooked, creaking stairs. The rotting rooms smelled damp and unpleasant. All was quiet.
On the third floor Frank’s light flashed into the room where Radley was stationed.
The boys gasped. Sam lay unconscious on the floor, a deep gash on the side of his head.
Chet said, “I think he’s dead!”
“He’s breathing,” Frank assured his pal. As the Hardys administered first aid, Frank noticed that blood had congealed around the wound.
“Joe, this must have happened a while ago,” he said and ripped off a shirttail. He tore it into strips and fashioned a bandage. As he applied it, Radley moaned and his eyelids fluttered.
“He’s coming to,” Joe said.
They helped the man gingerly to his feet and Frank said, “Chet, grab my flashlight and round up the equipment while we take Sam to the car.”
“Will you be back?”
“Sure. You can’t carry it all yourself.”
Chet listened to their creaky footsteps fade away on the stairs. Then he shone the light around the room looking for the cameras.
“Holy crow!” he murmured. “I can’t see them anywhere. They’ve probably been stolen.”
He got down on his hands and knees and felt about the wooden floor until he came to an old door. It had been broken down and lay propped against the wall in one corner. Chet lifted it. Underneath was the still camera, its long lens sticking out like a telescope!
“Sam must have had enough time to hide it,” he thought as he picked it up. Then he froze. Were those voices drifting up from below?
He did not move a muscle, hardly daring to breathe. Now he could hear voices distinctly. They were not Frank’s and Joe’s. There were quiet whispers, interspersed with oaths!
Then everything was silent for a while, until footsteps sounded again. “The Hardys must be coming back!” Chet thought.
All at once angry shouts filled the old house, punctuated by scuffling and banging.
Chet grabbed the camera and raced downstairs. On the second floor landing he found Frank and Joe dazed and sprawled out on the dirty floor.
The Hardys pulled themselves to their feet slowly. “What a blitz!” Frank murmured, rubbing his head.
“How many of them?” Chet asked.
“Four dirty bums.”
Joe grasped his jaw and moved it from side to side. “Nothing broken, I guess,” he said. Then he felt in his pockets. “But my wallet’s missing. And so’s my watch!”
“Mine, too,” Frank said. “Those rats. Probably the ones who conked Radley.”
“I found one camera under a door,” Chet said. “But the movie equipment’s gone.” He handed the instrument to Frank.
Frank and Joe decided there was no point in chasing the hoodlums in the darkness. They had too much of a head start. The three boys walked down the rickety stairs to go home. Suddenly an ominous rumble filled the old building. The next moment plaster began falling on their heads. One wall of the stairway was moving inward!
“Run, fellows!” Chet yelled and braced himself against the wall. “I’ll hold this till you’re out!”
The Hardys dashed down to the rear entrance. Then Chet took his shoulders from the wall and ran. But he did not have enough time. Wood and plaster filled the stairway.
Frank and Joe turned in horror to see their friend imprisoned in the debris! Only his head showed above the rubble!
The dust and dirt made Chet cough, but he managed to shout, “Help! I’m stuck!”
“Hold on. We’ll get you out,” Joe cried out.
They clawed at the debris but could make little headway. They needed assistance! While Joe stayed with Chet, Frank raced to the car. On the way to the nearest alarm box, about two blocks down the road, he told Radley what had happened.
“I’ll call the police, then drop you off at the hospital,” Frank said. “How do you feel now?”
“Not too hot,” Radley said weakly.
“By the way, the movie camera’s gone. The other one was under a door.”
“I hid it there.”
“Did you take any photos?”
“Quite a few. Hope they’re the ones you want.”
Minutes later sirens screamed as Chief Collig and the fire department rushed to the dilapidated building. The men carefully worked their way through the rubble.
Frank returned half an hour later. He and Joe helped under the direction of the fire chief. Huge lights illuminated the area.
“It’s touch and go,” the official said. “One false move and the whole building could come tumbling down.”
Chet’s good humor began to abate as the work went on painstakingly slowly.
“I’ve got an awful pain in my arm,” he said. “Maybe it’s broken. Frank, better call my parents.”
Half an hour later Mr. and Mrs. Morton arrived with Iola, Chet’s sister. She was a pretty dark haired girl who often dated Joe. At the same time, reporters and photographers rushed to the scene where firemen were shoring up the sagging walls with stout beams. Others picked away at the pile of wood, bricks, and plaster.
The Hardys were questioned about the accident. Why were they in the building? Didn’t they realize the danger? How did they manage to escape unhurt?
Frank and Joe tried to avoid direct answers, knowing anything they said might tip off their enemies. Joe did, however, tell about Chet’s heroic action.
An onlooker, who knew the Hardys, said, “You must be on some detective work. Was it a surveillance?”
“We’d rather not talk about it now,” Frank replied. He turned to his brother. “Look, Dad just arrived!”
Mr. Hardy came directly to his sons, who briefed him on the frustrating events. Meanwhile, Chet’s spirits had been lifted greatly by the appearance of his family, though he looked pale and wan.
It was long after midnight when the rescuers pulled him from his miserable prison. Two attendants arrived in an ambulance and verified Chet’s suspicion about a broken arm. They applied a splint before lifting him into the ambulance, then whisked him off to Bayport Hospital.
His family followed and the Hardys hurried home. In their lab they developed the film expertly, then started to make prints.
“Hey, these are just great!” Frank said as Mr. Hardy looked over his shoulder. Two persons, photographed entering and leaving the premises of Associated Jewelers, were indeed Smith and Jones!
“Now we know for sure they’re all in together,” the detective said.
After a few hours’ sleep and a quick breakfast Mr. Hardy phoned the hospital and learned that Chet was in satisfactory condition and Sam would be released about ten o’clock. Then he and his sons took the photographs to Chief Collig. They were compared with mug shots of known criminals in the area, but to no avail.
“I’ll send copies to the FBI in Washington,” Col
lig said. “Maybe they can identify them.”
Then the chief drove with the Hardys to Associated Jewelers. The area across the street had been roped off, while workmen razed the remainder of the structure.
The chief tried the door of the office building. It was locked. Frank and Joe went around to look into the windows. “Holy crow!” Frank exclaimed. “They’ve cleared out. The place is empty!”
The workmen were questioned but had seen nothing.
“Obviously our friends left through the back door,” Frank declared.
“Well, Bayport is lucky to be rid of those scoundrels,” Chief Collig said.
“But we still have to keep on their trail,” Mr. Hardy stated. “I’m sure they’ll go to another city, probably even another state, and start all over again with their fraudulent business.”
By the time the Hardys returned home, the Bayport Times had trumpeted the bravery of Chet Morton all over the front page. Pictures and stories described the disaster and hailed the Hardys’ friend as the hero.
“He probably saved our lives,” Frank commented.
“And he certainly didn’t think about his own safety,” Joe added. “Let’s hope his arm gets better soon.”
The boys notified the Motor Vehicle Bureau of the loss of their driver’s licenses and Aunt Gertrude drove them to the agency to get new ones.
Mr. Hardy, meanwhile, called Conrad Greene and spoke to the chess champion’s father. When his sons returned, the detective said, “The senior Greene was rather unfriendly and his son won’t talk to anyone!”
“Maybe we’d better drive out there and see him personally,” Frank said.
Joe nodded. “But first let’s visit Chet in the hospital.”
The Hardys were surprised to find Krassner sitting at their pal’s bedside.
“Hi, Mr. Krassner,” Joe greeted him. “What do you think of our hero?”
“He’s got plenty of guts,” Krassner said admiringly.
“I’ve also got a cast on my arm that’s heavy enough to sink a ship,” Chet said. “Here, take a look at this!”
Just then two pretty young nurses entered the room. “Chester, we came to autograph your cast,” one of them said.
“Oh sure. Right over here!”
While the girls were inscribing their names, Chet said, “What about the surveillance, fellows? Get any good shots?”
“I’ll say so!” Joe replied. “Great close-ups of Smith and Jones!”
At that moment Frank happened to glance at Krassner. At the mention of Smith and Jones, a fearful expression came over his face!
CHAPTER IX
A Gathering Storm
FRANK gave his brother a nudge. But Joe had already realized that he should not have talked about their case in front of Krassner.
The man’s look of concern now turned into a subdued smile. “I’m glad to see Chet’s coming along so well,” he said, leaning forward to write his name on the plaster cast. Then he turned to the Hardys. “How about setting a date for visiting me, boys? You wanted to see the Ruby King.”
“Sure,” Frank said. “Is tomorrow okay with you?”
“That’ll be fine. Late in the afternoon.”
The young detectives said good-by to their friend, waved to Krassner, then hastened down the hospital corridor. As they were climbing into their car, Frank said, “Krassner must know Smith and Jones. Did you see the look on his face when you mentioned their names?”
Joe nodded. “Sorry I didn’t keep my mouth shut.”
Frank shrugged. “He seemed to be frightened,” he said. “I wonder why.”
When they reached home, Fenton Hardy was waiting for them in his study.
“I think we’ve hit pay dirt,” he said. “The FBI has records on Smith and Jones. Smith’s real name is Peter Lee Fong. He comes from Hong Kong.”
“And Jones?” Joe asked eagerly.
“He’s Cyril Eggleby from Kowloon.”
“That’s near Hong Kong, isn’t it?” asked Frank.
“Yes. Right across the harbor. These two are being sought for smuggling operations.”
“Smuggling?” Frank looked amazed. “Seems we’re on to a big-time racket.”
“And a very disturbing one,” Mr. Hardy said. “Krassner is a well-known and trusted citizen. How he fits into the picture might prove very embarrassing to him.”
“He sure fits in somewhere,” Joe said, and mentioned their observation at the hospital.
Mr. Hardy was thoughtful. “Let’s review what we know so far. Krassner is afraid of Smith and Jones and has been shot at in the air. Were his attackers Smith and Jones? And why do those two want to bug Conrad Greene’s phone? Maybe because he might win the Ruby King. Someone threatens Krassner’s life unless he gives up the Ruby King—”
“So it stands to reason,” Frank put in excitedly, “that Smith and Jones are Krassner’s enemies who are after the chess piece!”
“Wow!” Joe said. “That is the logical conclusion. But what do Smith and Jones have to do with Associated Jewelers?”
Mr. Hardy shrugged. “We don’t know. And we’re not sure if our deductions are correct. Let’s think about our next step.”
“I’d say we better see Conrad Greene,” Frank said.
“What if he won’t talk to us?” Joe asked.
“You’ve got to make him listen somehow,” Mr. Hardy said. “Also, I think a surveillance of the area where you saw the serpent balloon is in order.”
“Aerial surveillance, Dad?”
“That would be fine. Maybe you can discover its home base. I have to go to New York for a few days. Perhaps I can find out more about Krassner from Wall Street friends while I’m there.”
In the interest of speed, it was decided that Frank would go to Ocean Bluffs to see Conrad Greene while Joe would do the surveillance. Frank phoned Biff Hooper, inviting him to come along, and Joe contacted Tony Prito and asked him how he would like to do some flying.
“Sure, when?” Tony asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“Something to do with your case?”
“Right. Aerial reconnaisance. I want to look for that serpent balloon.”
“What about Frank?”
“He’s busy on another angle.”
“Okay,” Tony said. “When do we meet, and where?”
“At the airport, about ten o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.’
When Tony showed up at the airport the next morning, he found Joe busy reading weather conditions in the communications office.
“Good flying weather,” Joe said. “There’s a cold front due later this afternoon, but I don’t think it’ll bother us.”
Outside, Tony squinted up at the clear blue sky. “We’re going to have some fun. I’m glad you asked me along.”
“Listen, this is no joy ride,” Joe reminded him. “We’ve got a lot of looking to do—but not at the scenery.”
When they were airborne, Joe headed first to the area where he and Frank had seen the serpent balloon land at the old farmhouse.
There was no sign of the craft anywhere. “Now what, skipper?” asked Tony from the right-hand seat.
“We’ll go to the spot where the shooting took place. Keep your eyes peeled on the ground.”
The two scoured the area, but there was not a trace of the serpent balloon.
Joe crisscrossed back and forth, finally droning over the Morton farm. He flew low and dipped the wings.
“Look, Iola’s running out of the house,” Tony said.
“I think she knows the sound of our engine,” Joe said with a grin as the girl waved up to them. Then he pulled back on the yoke and the plane reached for more altitude.
“Hey, I see something!” Tony cried out suddenly.
Far in the distance a balloon-shaped object seemed to be rising up from the trees. Joe made a beeline for it. Coming closer, both boys started to laugh.
“It’s a water tower.” Joe chuckled. “Tony, you’re a great detective.”
They lapsed into serious silence once more. “Can’t we get a little rest from all this?” Tony asked finally.
“Okay. I’ll take her up high for a while.”
The plane gained altitude as Joe flew through a gorgeous cloud which had begun to form in the west. In the brilliant sunshine he guided his craft deftly along the cloud’s tumbled slopes, following the ridges, then dropping down to gaps in the fluffy walls.
“Boy, this sure is beautiful,” Tony said.
Along the cloud edges, small puffed balls had broken away and Joe felt the wind nudging the plane even higher.
It was then that he noticed a warning sign. In the distance the cloud wall had become black.
“Tony, we’d better get out of here,” he said.
“It does look like a storm,” Tony agreed, “but it’s a long way off.”
“Not as far as you might think.” Joe glanced down. The ground no longer stood out clearly as before. Long streaks of clouds had slid between the plane and the green woodland. “Oh, oh,” he said. “We may be headed for trouble!”
The wind had become rather severe. Joe had to apply extra pressure on the stick and rudder to keep it in level flight. Finally he saw a long cloud canyon ahead of him. It looked like a deep, narrow valley and was what he needed to get down safely. He knew the landmarks well, having flown this area many times before.
Joe glanced at Tony, whose mouth now was set tensely. “Don’t panic, we’ll make it,” he said and pulled on a knob.
Warm air flooded the carburetor system. “That’s so we won’t ice up,” Joe explained. He slid the throttle control back and the roar of the engine became a throaty hum. Then he eased the stick forward and slightly to the left, at the same time applying pressure with his left foot to the rudder pedal.
They were boxed in between two thunderheads!
The plane rolled into a wide curving spiral, dropped her nose, and sailed along in a controlled turn toward the earth.
As it rounded the corner of the cloud canyon, Joe suddenly experienced a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
There was no way out! He was boxed in between two mighty thunderheads—giant cumulonimbus clouds with howling winds and forked spears of lightning!
The Clue of the Hissing Serpent Page 5