“You mean to get all those little holes in exactly the same arrangement? I don’t know. It’ll be tough, but I’ll try, Frank, if you really think it’s important.”
“I sure do.”
Frank found Chet and they talked about the case, interspersing their conversation with remarks about Joe’s long absence. Their worry increased with the passing hours, but when bedtime arrived, Chet tried to reassure Frank.
“Probably Joe is on the trail of that crook,” he said. “Just wait and see.”
The two boys retired to the school guest room. Chet took Joe’s empty bed and slept soundly. But Frank tossed and turned a good part of the night because of his concern over his brother. Next morning his worry became intensified when Kurt, with Benny Tass behind him, strode into the dining hall.
“Good morning,” they both said heartily.
“Where’s my brother?” Frank asked.
Kurt looked surprised. “Isn’t Joe here?”
After explaining that they had stayed at the hut overnight because of the storm, Kurt went on to say that he and Benny had been awakened early that morning by cold air blowing in through the open door of the cabin.
“I assumed that Joe had made a head start to the school. His skis were gone,” the headmaster reported.
Frank leaped up from his half-finished breakfast. “I’m going out to find him!” he exclaimed. “Something has happened to Joe!”
“We’ll organize a search party,” Kurt proclaimed.
But Frank and Chet did not wait to hear more. Rushing from the dining hall, they almost bumped into Skinny Mason.
“Say, you know how to get out to that camp hut,” Frank cried as he halted the boy. “Get your coat and lead the way, will you?”
Chet and Frank borrowed skis and poles, and before Kurt had even begun to gather an official search party, they were off through the woods with Skinny Mason. Fortunately, Skinny had a keen sense of direction and guided them easily to the hut. Winded and excited, they quickly determined that Joe had not returned to the shelter since the departure of Kurt and Benny.
“Where’d he go?” Skinny asked, wide-eyed.
“Say, look at this!” Chet called from near the woodpile. “There must have been some kind of commotion here.”
Frank’s sharp eyes surveyed the scene. The newly fallen snow of the blizzard was stomped down all around the stack of firewood.
“Something was dragged away through the woods!” he exclaimed, pointing to a trail of deep footprints in the snow. “Come on! Chet, Skinny, hurry!”
With ski poles working furiously, the boys made their way through the clearing into the woods again, and out onto the bank of the frozen Willow River.
“Looks as if the tracks lead to that old boathouse over there,” Chet puffed as he followed Frank across the snow toward a rickety, unpainted shack near the river’s edge.
One narrow door, half off its hinges, marked the end of the trail. Kicking off his skis, Frank yanked the door open and strode inside. The other boys waited tensely. In the dim light he saw a figure face downward, lying motionless in one corner. Frank turned the bound and gagged person over.
Joe!
With quaking heart Frank felt his brother’s pulse. He was alive!
“Chet, help me bring him to!” Frank cried.
“Help me bring him to!” Frank cried
He removed the gag and with a pocketknife cut the bonds that had held his brother for so many hours. Then he and Chet gave him first aid. Finally Joe was restored to consciousness. He smiled feebly but could not speak.
“You must be half-frozen,” Chet groaned in sympathy.
He and Frank carried Joe to the cabin. Skinny ran on ahead and by the time they arrived he had kindled a blaze in the fireplace.
After drinking some hot broth which Chet had prepared, Joe recovered from his ordeal sufficiently to tell the others of the attack upon him.
“You don’t think Mr. Kurt or Benny did it?” Skinny asked, aghast.
Frank and Joe exchanged glances but did not reply.
“It must have been the Yellow Feather,” Chet decided.
“I don’t know,” Joe replied glumly. “I wish I’d seen him, but I didn’t.”
An hour later he declared that he was able to start back to the school.
“My skis ought to be somewhere outside,” he said.
“Unless they were stolen,” Chet remarked.
Skinny, taking a quick turn around the cabin, found the skis half-buried in the snow and soon the four boys were ready to start back. Plodding along with Frank and Chet on either side of him, Joe proceeded steadily.
As they approached the school, Frank caught a glimpse of the headmaster moving about in his office.
While Chet and Skinny continued across the campus, the Hardys entered the building. As they walked in on Kurt, he whirled to face his unexpected visitors. His face was a mirror of astonishment.
“You’re back, Joe!” he exclaimed in a flustered tone. After a pause he added, “Fine! Fine! I was rather worried. The way you went off, I didn’t know—Joe, I’m really glad to see that you’re safe. I sent out a search party but they couldn’t find you. What happened?”
As the young detectives explained, they watched Kurt’s face but all it showed was incredulity.
“Terrible, terrible!” Kurt exclaimed. “The Yellow Feather really means business. This case is getting completely out of hand. I think you had better let your father take over.”
“Not a chance!” Joe burst out. “We’re solving this mystery for Greg Woodson! And what’s more we want a key to this building.”
“Have it your way, then,” Kurt said, and reluctantly handed him an extra key. “But I’ll not be held responsible for the outcome.”
Leaving the office, the Hardys ran into Benny Tass who also appeared surprised to see Joe. He gave him a half-hearted welcome and added:
“You guys must be crazy to play around with that Yellow Feather. He may be a killer!”
“We’ll take that chance,” Frank said as he and Joe moved off.
The Hardys went to the dining room. They enjoyed Chet’s good lunch and Frank told Joe about finding the key to the study. They had just finished eating when Greg Woodson came in. He explained that he had been given several days’ leave from college.
“I’ve been appointed administrator of my grandfather’s estate!” he announced proudly. “The court handed down the decision yesterday.”
“Has Kurt heard this yet?” Frank asked, immensely pleased at the news.
“I don’t know, but here he comes.”
When the headmaster heard Greg’s news, he broke into a torrent of complaints against the legal decision about which he had just been informed by telephone.
“You—you—” He pointed a menacing finger at Greg. “You’re young, inexperiencedl What do you know about business? Nothing!”
Greg was furious. “Mr. Kurt,” he said, his eyes blazing, “if you weren’t older and headmaster here, I’d punch you right in the nose!”
The angry, raised voices instantly drew all the students from the tables. They gathered in a circle around the two men, expecting a fight.
“Greg can lick him!” one whispered.
The remark seemed to bring Kurt to his senses. He ordered the boys back to their tables, then turned on his heel and left.
After telling of the attack on Joe, the Hardys informed Greg of their growing suspicion against Kurt and that he might even be trying to harm them.
“We haven’t been able to figure out why,” Frank admitted, “but we’re going to keep a closer watch on him from now on.”
“And on Benny Tass,” Joe added.
Frank asked Greg if he had made a copy of the cutout letter.
“Not yet, but I’ll do it right now,” he replied.
Seated in the guest room with them, he painstakingly penciled a series of small rectangles on a sheet of stationery, then cut them out.
“This is about
as close as I can make it from memory,” he said hopefully and held it up.
The Hardys studied the sheet carefully for several minutes, then Frank said, “I believe that your grandfather designed the sheet to cover a certain page in a book. The cutout places will reveal a message.”
Greg was impressed. “But what book?” he queried.
“Well, if your grandfather was working on it in the school library the night before his death,” Joe declared, “the book is probably there.”
‘Let’s start a search,” Greg proposed.
“How about the size of the book page?” Frank asked. “Is this sheet about the same size as the one you lost?”
Greg examined it for a few moments. “I’d say this might be a trifle larger than the other sheet.”
Frank recommended that they wait until evening when no students would be in the library. Around eight o’clock, with Chet on guard at the door, Greg and the Hardys went to work. Greg chose the size volumes on which they would start, and a systematic search began.
They fitted the cutout sheet over page after page. Half an hour later, Chet, nodding in a chair, suddenly became aware of a figure moving behind the stacks about ten feet from the spot where he sat. Instantly he was wide awake.
He leaped out of his chair, and dashed toward the eavesdropper. A sudden beam of light through the stacks revealed the identity of the intruder.
“Benny Tass!” Chet cried.
With Chet after him the bully raced out the door, slamming it in Chet’s face.
“Tail him, Chet!” Frank ordered.
With Joe posted at the door, the others continued to try the improvised sheet over the pages of several books. Nothing that indicated a message turned up.
“I guess I didn’t get the layout right,” Greg said finally in disgust. “It looks as though we’re on a wild-goose chase!”
“You can’t be sure,” Frank told him encouragingly. “Maybe we just haven’t found the right book. We’re not going to stop until we’ve gone through every book this size.”
They had just started on another volume when Chet burst in. He was red-faced and excited.
“First Benny went to see Kurt in his office!” he finally managed to say. “Benny didn’t shut the door tight. They talked for a long time. Then through the crack I saw Kurt take a sealed envelope from his pocket. Without another word he handed it to Benny, who came out. I hid so he didn’t see me.”
“Where’s Benny now?” Frank asked.
“He just ran out the front door and jumped into his car. I heard him tell someone he was driving to Bayport.”
“Let’s follow him!” Frank cried to Joe.
The Hardys hurried from the building and raced off in their convertible in pursuit!
CHAPTER X
A Puzzling Ad
IT seemed as if Benny had wings on his car. He sped over the country road at a reckless pace, and only because Frank handled the convertible with the skill of a racing driver was he able to keep the other car in sight.
When Benny hit the downtown area and ran into a series of traffic lights, he proceeded at a more reasonable rate of speed.
“Do you think he knows we’re following him?” Frank mused as he drove along about a block behind Benny.
“Doesn’t act like it,” Joe answered. “He’d be turning corners, trying to lose us.”
Benny was taking the most direct route toward the center of town. He drove into the main business section, found a parking place, and hopped out of his car.
“He’s going into the office of the Bayport Times,” Frank noted with interest.
“That envelope Kurt gave him must be for someone in there,” Joe surmised.
Before the Hardys had time to trail Benny into the building, he reappeared, got into his car, and drove speedily away.
“Shall we follow him back?” Joe asked.
Frank shook his head. “I think it would be better to find out what he was doing.”
In the newspaper office they found that the clerk on duty was a portly old gentleman they knew well.
“Well, if it isn’t the Hardy boys,” Mr. Brown greeted them. “What are you two sleuths up to now?”
“We’re looking for a little information,” Frank answered.
“I suppose you’re working on a case. Well, what can I do for you?”
“Just a minute ago,” Frank explained, “a heavy-set fellow came in here with an envelope. Could you tell us which department it went to?”
“The envelope contained an ad.”
“What did the ad say?” Frank queried.
“Now that”—Mr. Brown chuckled—“I can’t tell you. It would be against the paper’s rules. But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you that it was a Personal.” Then he added, “Even if I dared let you know what it said, I couldn’t, because I sent it right through.” He tapped a delivery chute alongside him.
The Hardys thanked Mr. Brown for the information and returned to their car.
“At least we know where to look when we check tomorrow’s paper,” Joe said hopefully.
“Let’s stop home and get the cutout sheet of paper that Kurt left with Dad,” Frank remarked as he swung the car from the curb. “We can say hello to Mother and Aunt Gertrude and pick up some fresh clothes.”
Upon reaching their house, the boys received the usual friendly reprimands from Aunt Gertrude.
Mrs. Hardy looked at her sons, an anxious expression in her eyes. “I can’t help feeling concerned when you’re at the Academy. Especially since your father’s warning of danger there.”
The boys smiled reassuringly at their mother, and promised that they would take no unnecessary chances. Just then Aunt Gertrude called that a snack was ready.
After they had eaten, they changed their clothing and stowed a few extra things in an overnight bag. As they started back to the Academy, Frank patted his jacket pocket to make sure that the folded paper of rectangular cutouts, which he had taken from his father’s desk, was still there.
“It will be interesting to see how this sheet compares with the one that Greg made this afternoon,” he said to Joe. “Even if it should be a fake, as Dad suspects, the difference between it and the one Greg made might provide a clue.”
“Maybe so, but the idea of looking through all those books in the library again makes me want to scream.” Joe groaned.
Back at the school, they found that Chet and Greg were in a double room next to theirs. Greg was getting ready for bed. Chet, head propped up on three pillows, was reading a magazine.
“What happened?” he demanded.
Briefly, the Hardys recounted the chase which had led to the newspaper office. Then Frank produced Kurt’s sheet of cutouts and checked it against the one Greg had made.
“They’re certainly different,” Greg observed. He was eager to try Kurt’s copy on the library books.
Frank suggested that Joe go to bed. “You’ve had a rough day,” he said.
“Guess I could use some shut-eye,” Joe admitted.
Chet yawned. “How about me? I’m bushed, too, making meals for a hungry wolf pack all day long.”
Frank grinned. “Okay. And listen, in the morning I’ll have breakfast in bed, sausage, pancakes, plenty of syrup.”
“And coffee with a yellow feather,” Chet said as he rolled over to go to sleep.
Frank and Greg, armed with flashlights, tiptoed down the deserted corridor carrying both copies of the cutouts. They entered the library and closed the door behind them. There was not a sound but the ticking of the old-fashioned clock on the wall. Its hands stood at midnight.
The two settled themselves at a large table. With the aid of their flashlights they re-examined many of the books they had checked earlier that evening, trying to find a clue in the difference between the two sheets. For more than an hour they looked for a combination of words that made sense.
Finally Frank gave up. “I think it’s hopeless,” he said. “And we still don’t know if Dad is right
about Kurt’s sheet being a fake.”
Greg yawned. “We have no guarantee that mine is correct, either. I’ve got a pretty good memory, but who knows? I might have left something out, or moved one of the cutouts either to the left or right of its designated place. Well, let’s head for bed.”
Frank followed him out of the library.
Their eyes accustomed to the darkness, the boys moved silently through the wing. Just before they reached the main part of the building, Frank suddenly stopped short.
“Sss-s-t! Greg—wait—”
Frank was staring upward at the frosted-glass transom of one of the classrooms.
“What’s up?” Greg whispered.
“I’m sure I saw a light flickering in there!”
Frank gripped the knob and flung open the door. Almost with the same motion, his other hand found the switch for the overhead light. Illumination flooded the room.
A man in a dressing gown, his back to them, stood in the middle of two rows of desks. He was holding a small flashlight and seemed frozen into immobility. But in a second he turned.
“Mr. Kurt!” Greg and Frank cried.
The headmaster glared at them balefully. “Why are you wandering about at this hour?” he thundered.
“We saw a light in here,” Frank explained, “and came to see who the burglar was.”
“I’m just inspecting the classrooms,” Kurt explained testily, walking toward them. “You needn’t trouble yourselves by snooping.”
On a hunch Frank moved quickly toward the spot where Kurt was standing. Casually he glanced down at the nearest desk.
Crudely carved into its polished surface was:
REVENGE HARRIS D.
Kurt, apparently upset that Frank had seen the strange message carved into the desk, tugged nervously at his beard.
“Who was Harris D?” Frank inquired.
“I don’t know,” Kurt snorted.
Frank looked hard at Kurt to see if the man were withholding information, but the headmaster did not flicker an eyelid.
He urged Frank and Greg into the hall and on toward their rooms. In the morning Frank told Joe what had happened.
The Yellow Feather Mystery Page 6