The Yellow Feather Mystery

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “A minor?” Frank puzzled.

  “Wait a minute!” Joe cried. “I wonder if Benny misunderstood Kurt. Did he mean miner instead of minor—is there a mine mixed up in this case?”

  “Elias Woodson may have owned some stock in a mine,” Frank mused.

  “If the stock has any value, it would be the real reason why the Yellow Feather—and Kurt—are making such a big thing out of the inheritance,” Joe observed.

  “What kind of mine could it be?” Frank reflected, “and where is it?”

  “I think that cutout paper might give us the answer,” Joe replied. “I’d like to get to work on it now, but I suppose we’d better get some sleep.”

  He flipped off the light switch, then moved to the window to open it for the night. As he did, a vague shifting of shadows below caught his attention.

  Joe stared at the moonlit scene outside. Not one, but two figures were moving in the dark protection of the trees and hedges.

  He called to Frank, who was out of bed and at his side in an instant. One figure was close to the house now, almost under their window. The other seemed to be following him.

  “Out the back door!” Frank suggested.

  In a flash, the boys were rushing barefoot down the back stairs.

  “Joe, I’ll sneak out and get the second guy,” Frank said. “When you see me tackle him, snap on the porch light and nab the first one!”

  “Okay.”

  They opened the door silently and Frank padded softly along the edge of the back porch in the shadows, while Joe stood poised with his hand on the light switch.

  A moment later Frank made a headlong tackle for his man. Joe snapped on the light and went after the other!

  CHAPTER XVII

  A Startling Story

  FRANK’S slashing tackle crashed the silent figure to the ground. The man rolled with the force of the boy’s dive, then bounced to his feet.

  “Dad!” Frank cried.

  At this outburst, Joe stopped in his tracks and whirled about with a look of incredulity on his face.

  “Holy crow!” he said. “What’s—?”

  “Tell you later!” his father cried. “Joe, get that snooper. Don’t let him escape!”

  Joe dashed toward the front of the house, where the intruder had fled. Mr. Hardy and Frank followed. But the five-second delay had been enough for the fugitive. He had vanished into the night!

  “Let’s spread out and search the area,” Frank said. But before he had time to race off, his father countermanded the proposal.

  “Nothing doing,” Mr. Hardy said. “You boys are shivering. Go into the house. I’ll try to trace the prowler alone.”

  As Frank and Joe went inside they were met by Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude. Upon learning that the prowler had not entered the house, the boys’ mother sighed in relief and said she would fix hot cocoa for them and Mr. Hardy.

  Aunt Gertrude, however, burst into a tirade. “Burglar or no burglar,” she said sternly to her nephews. “The idea of your running out in pajamas in the middle of the night! And in bare feet!”

  By the time the cocoa was ready, Mr. Hardy was back. He reported that the intruder had made a clean getaway. Then he looked at Frank.

  “That was a great tackle you made, son.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I was sure you were a prowler.”

  “How did you happen to be trailing that guy?” Joe asked him.

  “I was just coming home,” Mr. Hardy answered, “when I saw somebody slip across the hedge at the rear and head for the house. Naturally I followed, and was just about ready to challenge him when Frank hit me.”

  “It’s too bad I picked on the wrong man,” Frank said ruefully.

  Mrs. Hardy served cocoa and cookies to the entire family. As they ate, Frank and Joe told the others the latest developments in the case— the chase after Benny and the yearbook, the clue of the miner or minor, and the recovery of the original cutout sheet.

  “Tomorrow we’ll go back to the Woodson library and start looking again for a clue,” Joe said.

  “And in Dad’s yearbook, too,” Frank added.

  Suddenly the older detective’s eyes lighted up. “Boys,” he said, “I believe you’ve solved this mystery!”

  Frank and Joe stared at him in astonishment. “How?” they asked together.

  “Let me see that sheet,” Mr. Hardy requested. “And bring the yearbook down with you too.”

  “Sure thing.” Frank dashed from the kitchen and ran upstairs for the two objects. In a moment the detective was flipping through the yearbook’s pages, with his sons looking over his shoulders. As he paused to gaze at a certain page, the boys saw a picture of Mr. Hardy in a Woodson basket ball uniform, and a short account of his prowess on the court.

  “I believe,” Mr. Hardy went on, “that Elias Woodson’s message to Greg is in this article. That’s why he printed the name Hardy on the corner of the cutout sheet.”

  Deftly he placed the sheet of paper over the page. With a pencil he drew sharp black lines around the words and parts of words that were showing. Everyone waited breathlessly to see what the message would be. When Mr. Hardy removed the sheet, the page looked as follows:FENTON HARDY

  Woodson’s high-scoring forward set the pace with 26 points to help theand Black beat Craigly. Anotherin Hardy’s cap was theen opportunity he seized to sink the winning basket that deterd the state championship one week later.of the yearn athletics.theyport Ace and our winning team, congratulations!

  Quickly Frank read aloud the special message: “‘Yellow Feather Gold Mine Manitoba.’ ”

  “Then there is a mine—a gold mine in Canada!” Joe cried. “Wait until Greg hears this!”

  “Yes, but we must be careful about telling him,” Mr. Hardy cautioned both his sons. “One thing I’m sure of. Even if Kurt knows there’s a mine, he doesn’t know where it is and we don’t want him to get any inkling of the location.”

  “After that prowler’s visit—and I believe it might have been Kurt—we’d better lock both the paper and the book in your safe, Dad,” Frank advised.

  “We’ll do it at once,” said Mr. Hardy, rising from the kitchen chair. He and the boys went upstairs. “When you tell Greg about the mine,” the detective warned them, “be sure there are no eavesdroppers around.”

  Joe remarked that the easiest way out would be to have Kurt arrested. It was obvious that he was trying to steal the Woodson estate.

  “We don’t have enough on him yet,” Mr. Hardy reminded his son. “I’m just as concerned as you are that he’s mixed up in the case for selfish reasons, but we must let him tip his own hand.”

  “How?”

  “Well, I’d guess Kurt is delaying a final move for two reasons. First, he knows about the mine. He probably got that much out of Elias Woodson. But as I said, he doesn’t know where it is. And secondly,” the investigator pointed out, “he must find the old man’s will and destroy it. Then, when there’s no danger that someone else will inherit the property, Kurt will produce a forged will, leaving everything to him, and pretend it has just been found.”

  The three discussed means of foiling Kurt’s evil scheme. Mr. Hardy decided the best thing for him to do was fly to Manitoba and look for the mine.

  “There must be some record of ownership which could be produced in court. In the meantime, you try to get some more information on Kurt’s relationship with this Dilleau,” the detective suggested as the discussion broke up for the night.

  By the time the boys arose the next morning, Mr. Hardy had left for Manitoba on an early plane.

  “We’d better get back to work on restoring that article about Dilleau,” Frank said to Joe.

  As soon as breakfast was over, he and Joe headed for their laboratory in the garage loft. Picking up the experiments that had been interrupted the night before, they again subjected the charred remains of the papers to various chemicals. Finally they found the right combination.

  “Look—some of the printing is reappear
ing!” Joe exulted.

  Bit by bit, most of the material on Harris Dilleau became legible. The article had been published in one of the monthly school bulletins.

  “Dilleau was president of the school’s Science Club,” Frank remarked. “And here it says he had a touch of genius. That’s why he got such terrific grades in all the sciences,” Joe added.

  Just then they heard Aunt Gertrude calling them to the telephone.

  “I’ll take it,” Frank offered and hurried to the house. Returning a few minutes later, he said, “It was Chet.”

  “What did he want?”

  “Asked us to help him put some kind of reverse gear on that propeller sled,” Frank explained. “But I told him we were going right back to the Academy and he offered to drive us out there in his jalopy.”

  “Swell, only I hope it gets us there.”

  Chet arrived fifteen minutes later. Squeezed in the front seat with the stout youth, Frank and Joe clung to the dashboard of the topless car to steady themselves. Between the jouncing and the racket, conversation was impossible.

  When they reached the Academy, the Hardys hopped out, thanked Chet, and hurried into the main building. First they checked on the whereabouts of the headmaster and learned from Mr. Teevan that Kurt had taken a party of younger boys some distance into the woods to build a snow fort. Benny Tass, too, was out of the building. Frank and Joe went upstairs to see if Greg was in his room.

  “We can talk to him without having Kurt or Benny spying on us,” Joe remarked.

  Fortunately, Greg was there. When informed of the discovery that the Yellow Feather was a gold mine and not a person, he gasped in amazement.

  “If only it’s a producing one,” he said excitedly, “I’ll be able to use the money to put the school back on a paying basis!”

  “Take it easy,” Frank said, trying to calm their enthusiastic friend. “First we’ll have to find your grandfather’s will and the deed to the mine. My dad has gone to Manitoba to work on it from that end.”

  “What’s the first move for us?” Greg asked.

  “I think we should get in touch with Skinny’s uncle—the one who was in Dilleau’s class here,” Frank suggested. “If we could locate Harris Dilleau, maybe we’d find out why he wanted revenge—”

  Luckily, Skinny had not left yet to help with the snow fort. He called his uncle John Mason and after a few words handed the phone to Frank.

  “Last I heard about Dilleau,” Mr. Mason said, “his name had been added to the list of wanted criminals in his home state.”

  “Why?”

  “He escaped from prison while serving a long term as a swindler. Through some clever invention that had to do with spring propulsion he managed to get out.”

  “How long ago was that?” Frank questioned, his excitement mounting.

  “Oh, about three years. And I read in the paper recently that there hasn’t been a trace of him since.”

  Thanking Mr. Mason for his assistance, Frank hung up and stepped outside the booth. Smiling at Skinny, he said:

  “Your uncle was a great help. I guess that’s all we need now. Don’t you want to go out and help with the snow fort?”

  “Yes, I do,” Skinny replied. “So long, fellows.”

  After Skinny had gone, Frank repeated the phone conversation to Joe and Greg, and added: “I’m sure now that Harris Dilleau and Henry Kurt are the same person!”

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Cannonballs of Ice

  GREG’s face registered shock. “You mean a hunted criminal is running this school?”

  “There are several reasons that point to it,” Frank said. “First, we know that Kurt has a flair for inventing things.”

  “And so did Dilleau,” Joe burst out. “That yearbook mentioned that he was head of the Science Club.”

  “But what about school pictures of him around here?” Greg asked. “Even though he’s older, it wouldn’t be too hard to identify him and no one ever has.”

  “The night after you and Frank discovered Kurt looking at the desk with Harris D on it,” Joe said, “he ordered all the old records burned.”

  “That’s right,” Greg conceded. “But I still can’t see why my grandfather didn’t recognize him.”

  “All Kurt needed to do in order to hide his identity was to have a plastic surgery job and grow that goatee,” Frank pointed out.

  Now that the case against Kurt looked so strong, Greg was determined to call in the police. But the Hardys tried to talk him out of a rash move.

  “We haven’t enough evidence yet,” Frank cautioned him.

  “Besides,” Joe added, “how about the reputation of the school? Every pupil in the place might leave if the authorities came charging in here and caused a lot of unfavorable publicity.”

  “When Dad gets back,” Frank said, “he can arrange that everything be taken care of quietly.”

  Greg was convinced, but suggested they keep a twenty-four-hour watch on the headmaster. Frank thought this unnecessary. With the will missing, the man would not be likely to leave Woodson.

  “But we might go and see what he’s doing now. He may be up to something more than directing the building of a snow fort.”

  Greg put on his heavy boots and jacket, then the three hurried outside. As they rounded the corner of the administration building a husky figure approached them.

  “Hi, you guys!” Benny called. “What angles are you working on today?”

  Warily Frank glanced at Joe. Had this boy really turned over a new leaf and joined their side? Frank decided to be sure before revealing any information.

  “Nothing much so far,” he replied in as friendly a voice as he could manage.

  “Where are you heading?” Joe asked, just to make conversation.

  “They say that’s quite an ice fort the kids are building out in the woods. I thought I might watch them for a while.”

  Frank, wanting to keep an eye on Benny, sug gested that they all walk over together. Deep in the woods, they came upon the nearly finished fort. Set back against a knoll, and surrounded by high trees, it looked unassailable.

  “Those walls must be three feet thick,” Joe said in amazement as he studied the snow fort.

  “It looks more like a giant igloo than the kind of open snow fort we used to build when we were kids,” Frank remarked, his attention focused on the vaulted roof which covered the entire structure. The entrance was a narrow slit in one side.

  Under Kurt’s direction, students were busy carrying buckets back and forth to a nearby stream. Through a hole chopped in the ice, each boy lowered his pail, filled it, and emptied the water on the fort.

  “The water freezes almost immediately,” Greg commented as they watched the process. “The fort must be as hard as granite.”

  “The whole thing is on the grim side. It’s not like a play fort and the boys don’t seem to be having much fun,” Joe said.

  “Hey! Look at Kurt!” Benny spoke up. “He’s moving up some kind of cannon.”

  As the Hardys turned, they saw the headmaster swing a harpoon gun on its tripod. The Hardys exchanged significant glances, but the students shrieked in delight.

  Kurt was loading it with giant icicles! He took dead aim at the side of the fort and fired. There was a twanging sound like that the Hardys had heard the night of their harrowing experience at Rocky Point. One more bit of evidence against the headmaster!

  The spearlike weapon rocketed toward the fort and landed on the roof. But the icicle hardly made a dent in the solid exterior.

  Again and again, Kurt sent his “ammunition” whistling toward the fort. The giant icicles exploded into tiny, gleaming fragments as they hit.

  Although several students asked to shoot off the gun, Kurt would not permit this. Soon he ordered the whole group back to the Academy and walked off.

  “But we haven’t had a snowball fight,” Skinny objected. “You promised—”

  “It’s too late,” the headmaster replied sternly. “Your lunch
will be ready. Hurry now, all of you!”

  Disappointed, the boys marched sullenly back to the school. Frank and Joe, together with Greg and Benny, went to inspect the fort at close range.

  “Can you imagine being trapped in a thing like this?” Frank asked. “If that door were ever sealed up, anyone inside would be a goner!”

  After a complete inspection of the fort, the four headed back to the school. When they reached the main building, Benny said good-by cordially.

  “Looks as if reform is really taking hold,” Joe commented.

  After lunch Greg and the Hardys decided on going directly to the school library since no one would be in it at that time of day.

  “This time we must find a clue,” Greg said. “I’m worried that Kurt will do it ahead of us.”

  They were halfway up the stairs when a student called to Frank and Joe from below.

  “Hey! You Hardys! There’s a long-distance telephone call for you. Make it snappy!”

  “Dad!” the boys said in unison as they turned and ran down the steps.

  Together they squeezed into the hallway booth. Frank picked up the phone.

  Mr. Hardy’s voice came over the wire clear and strong. After a quick exchange of greetings, he reported on the work he was doing in Winnipeg.

  “I’ve been talking to authorities up here about the location of the Yellow Feather Mine,” he said. “They tell me that there isn’t any such operation listed in the province, and no one has ever heard of it.”

  The boys’ hearts sank. They asked him if the mine angle was a dud.

  “No, not at all,” Mr. Hardy assured them. “I was lucky enough to run into an elderly hotel man up here named Davis. He knew Elias Woodson well. He often stayed at the hotel. Woodson was very fond of this province, it seems. Davis said the old gentleman once told him that he owned a producing gold mine.”

  “Did he say where it was?” Frank asked eagerly.

  “Yes. Colorado. I’m going to fly there and find out what I can.”

  “When, Dad?”

  “I’ll leave here in a couple of hours,” his father replied. “Now so much for that, son. Mr. Davis gave me another important piece of information. The tower has a secret—”