“That’ll be all,” Frank replied.
Nettleton and Zinn exchanged glances as Frank walked off. He knew they were worried. He also realized that the airport should be kept under constant surveillance. Something fishy was going on. If enough eyes watched every movement at Marlin Crag, it might come to light.
Frank stepped into a phone booth and dialed Bayport. Joe answered.
“Hey, Frank, where are you?”
“Marlin Crag Airport.”
“How’d you get there?”
“Flew up from Morrisville in a rented plane. But listen, Joe, I’ll tell you all about that later.”
“Have I got a hairy story for you!” Joe said. “But it’ll have to wait. What’s up?”
“I don’t have any concrete evidence,” Frank stated, “but Nettleton and Zinn seem to be involved in those crashes.” He told what had happened and suggested that Joe help him stake out the airport.
“I’ve got an even better idea,” Joe replied. “Those fellows from the band are swell guys. I’m sure they’d come too if I’d ask them.”
“All right. Get in touch with them. What about the guys in Bayport?”
“They’re all helping Mr. Prito on a construction job and Chet’s too busy matching wings with the Red Baron.”
About two hours later Joe Hardy pulled into the airport with Bernie Marzi, Linc Caldwell, George Hansen, and Pete Guilfoyle.
Frank, who had kept an eye peeled for their convertible, hastened up and shook hands with everyone.
“I want you to know that I gave up a date with a real cute chick to come here,” Pete announced.
Frank grinned. “That’s greatly appreciated.” He took the boys aside behind a row of parked cars, where he told his suspicions regarding Nettleton and the aircraft.
“I really didn’t expect them to let me see the engine,” Frank said. “After all, why should they? But Zinn seemed almost eager for me to look at it. I think if we spy on them and the plane, we might find out what’s cooking.”
Frank and Joe assigned lookout posts. Dusk had fallen and partially concealed the young men as they took a circuitous route through the airport grass toward the edge of the runway.
“Keep your heads low,” Joe advised as they went to their places.
When it was completely dark, the Hardys inched up close to the edge of the runway. Fortunately the grass had not been cut for a while and provided good cover.
Frank and Joe heard excited voices from the same shed where they had eavesdropped the other night. Then two men walked out with flashlights and approached the plane.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier that they were missing?” said one of them, whom the boys recognized as Nettleton.
“I didn’t have a chance to check all afternoon,” replied the other man, who was Zinn. They hurried past the craft for several hundred yards along the runway, then stopped. Their flashlights bobbed about like fireflies in July.
“They’re looking for something,” Joe whispered.
Frank recalled the hard landing of the plane. Had a piece of the undercarriage broken off? Was that what the men were looking for?
Now the searchers got down on their hands and knees.
“It must be something small,” Frank surmised.
“Oh, oh, look what’s coming,” Joe said.
In the distance the landing lights of a plane blinked on, beaming down onto the runway. The men scrambled out of the way, running only a few feet past the place where the Hardys were concealed.
“Forget it,” Nettleton said. “We’re not going to find them in the dark. We can look again in the morning.”
“All right,” Zinn agreed. “And next time, if you can’t make a better landing, get somebody else to do the job!”
The plane touched down and taxied to the terminal. The men had disappeared and Frank rose, giving a small quiet whistle to attract the others. They crowded around him.
“Something was lost on that runway,” Frank said. “Come on. Let’s go and look for it ourselves.”
Frank and Joe carried pocket flashlights. All six hastened to the spot recently vacated by Nettleton and Zinn. They hunkered down and examined the concrete surface.
After a while Pete said, “Nothing here that I could see.”
“What are we looking for, anyway?” asked Line.
“There’s something!” Bernie exclaimed suddenly and picked up a gleaming object. “A piece of glass!”
“Here’s another one,” Joe said. He cupped both glinting pieces in the palm of his hand and shone the light on them.
“I don’t think they’re glass,” Frank observed.
“Well, they couldn’t be diamonds!” Bernie said emphatically.
“Why not?” asked Joe.
George Hansen chuckled. “In that case I’ll take my share and buy a new guitar.”
Joining in the levity, the boys had not noticed two men running toward them.
“Look out!” Pete warned suddenly.
“Run!” Frank cried out.
George, Bernie, Line, and Pete took off through the high grass. Frank and Joe brought up the rear. As the men raced up, the Hardys stopped short, spun around, and sent their surprised pursuers crashing to the ground with a judo assault.
Then the boys put on a burst of speed and caught up with the others at the car. They all piled in and Frank took the wheel.
“We shook ‘em off all right,” Linc said. “What happened?”
“We discouraged them,” Joe remarked. “I think those stones we found must really be diamonds or they wouldn’t have come at us like that!”
“We’ll find out for sure and let you know,” Frank promised.
After thanking the young musicians, he dropped them off at their homes and the Hardys sped back to Bayport. They arrived to find their father waiting for them.
Everyone sat down at the kitchen table, and Joe described his adventures at the Guilfoyle barn. He concluded with the episode on the mobile X-ray van. “I must have rolled off while it was taking a curve,” Joe said. “I landed in a ditch and woke up with a horrible headache.”
“Did you ever find the car keys?” Frank asked.
“Yes. They were in the barn.”
Mr. Hardy said, “I doubt that it was really an X-ray van. Probably some sort of coverup for an illicit scheme.”
“What do you think the racket is?” Frank asked. “Do you have any theory about the van?”
“Not yet.”
Frank described what had happened at the airport. The boy took the two stones from his pocket and handed them to his father. The detective looked at them absently, still mulling over Frank’s question about the mobile X-ray van.
“I’ve discovered something about rays,” Mr. Hardy revealed. “I contacted the Atomic Energy Commission after you told me about Scott’s radioactive engine. They told me there’s some radioactive contraband in this area!”
“What?” said Joe. “Contraband—what kind, Dad?”
“Uranium isotopes!”
“The stuff that goes into the atomic bomb!” Frank gasped. “Is someone making an atomic device?”
“Not necessarily. Uranium isotopes have a lot of uses. But the smugglers are using them illegally, according to the AEC.”
“Where are these isotopes coming from?” Joe inquired.
“England is the suspected point of origin. Scotland Yard is working on the case in London. And I wish we could crack it at this end.”
“Is there a tie-in with the Marlin Crag plane crashes? Did Scott’s vacuum pump housing become radioactive because of uranium isotopes?”
“Quite possibly,” his father replied.
“Maybe Mudd figures in the racket, too,” Joe said.
“Sam Radley’s checked him out,” Mr. Hardy stated. “He has broken the law a few times, but they were only minor infractions. If he’s mixed up with contraband isotopes, he’s going big time. Sam has no information to indicate that.”
The detective turned h
is attention to the stones in his hand, got a jeweler’s loupe from his desk drawer, and examined them minutely.
“They’re manufactured diamonds,” he said finally. “You can see they were made by the industrial method of subjecting carbon to high pressure and high temperature in a lab. Take a look.”
“But how do they come into the case?” Joe asked.
“Maybe that’s what Lefty was going to say!” Frank exclaimed. “I thought ‘die ...’ meant somebody was going to be rubbed out. But it could have been diamonds.”
“Hey, Frank!” Joe said excitedly. “Remember the conversation between Seymour Schill and Mudd when Chet was at the junkyard?”
“Wow! You’re right. Mudd said ‘No more rocks. Hard cash from now on.’ Maybe these are the rocks!”
The phone rang. Frank answered, then turned around. “It’s for you, Dad.”
An unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line caused the detective to frown. A man asked, “You Hardy the fuzz?”
“I’m a private investigator, if that’s what you mean,” the detective replied evenly.
“Well, you better take your investigatin’ some place else.”
“Who is this speaking? Please identify yourself.”
“Never mind who I am,” the caller said. “All you got to know is that we’ve caught Lefty.”
“Where is he?”
“That’s our secret.”
“Is he all right?”
“Yeah, but he won’t be if you don’t lay off!”
“What do you want?
“You been givin’ us a lot of trouble, Hardy. Me and my pals don’t like it. We’d be obliged if you’d stop leanin’ on us.
“And if I refuse?”
“There goes your stool pigeon. It’s a fast trip to the bottom of the bay for Lefty next time you give us any trouble. Think it over.”
The phone went dead. Mr. Hardy relayed the conversation to his sons. “I’ll have to play it cool,” he said thoughtfully. “Lefty’s life is at stake.”
“Joe and I can carry on,” Frank suggested.
“Okay, but you’ll have to be very careful,” Mr. Hardy said, looking proudly at his sons.
The next day Frank and Joe were busy with various chores at home. Early Saturday morning the phone rang and Joe answered. After a brief conversation his face fell and he hung up.
“What’s wrong?” Frank asked.
“That was Pete Guilfoyle,” Joe replied. “His combo has been fired by the Flickering Torch!”
CHAPTER XVI
False Alarm
“THAT’S a switch!” Frank exclaimed. “The Emergency Exit has had raving reviews in the papers. How come they got the boot so suddenly?”
“Pete doesn’t know. They played last night, and when they were through Bozar told them not to come back. Joe Clark, the emcee, got sacked, too.”
“I’ll bet the gang thinks the fellows know too much,” Frank said. “They were probably recognized at the airport Thursday night.”
“And Bozar’s in with the gang,” Joe added. He looked glum. “My first job with a red-hot professional combo and it blows up in my face.”
“Maybe not, Joe. I have an idea.”
Frank put through a phone call to Bernie Marzi, who confirmed that the Emergency Exit had been fired.
“Tough luck, Bernie,” Frank sympathized. “But maybe it’s good luck for us. I suppose the Torch will be looking for a replacement?”
“Sure.”
“Well, how does this sound to you? We’ve got a pretty good combo here in Bayport. Suppose we apply for the job?”
“Brilliant idea. If you’re all as good as Joe, you’ll be a big hit. Contact Arthur J. Mulholland in Beemerville. He’s the agent.”
The Hardys summoned Phil Cohen to do the talking. He came over in ten minutes and telephoned the agent.
Mulholland seemed pleased. Yes, the Flickering Torch needed a band immediately, he said. What a coincidence. He was checking through his files at that very moment. “And I don’t have a folk rock group on tap!” he concluded.
“Search no further, Mr. Mulholland,” Phil said confidently. “I have a great band that’s available.”
“What’s it called?”
Thinking quickly, Phil came up with a name. “The South Forty,” he answered.
“Never heard of them,” the agent replied.
“They’re big around Bayport,” Phil assured him. “Three guitars, drums, and organ.”
“What’s your name?”
“Phil Cohen.”
Mulholland asked some technical questions about music. Phil expertly fielded every one of them.
“Okay, you seem to know your stuff,” the agent said at last. “I’ll give you a shot at it. You’ll start tonight. Leon Bozar, the manager, will pay you.”
“We’ll be there with our gear,” Phil promised.
“Okay, but don’t bring any amplifiers. The manager of the Flickering Torch says they use only their own. They have an organ, too.”
Phil thanked the agent and hung up. Joe let out a whoop of triumph.
“Great going, Phil. From now on you’re our agent.”
The Hardys contacted Biff and Tony. Biff offered to drive them all in his father’s station wagon.
“Good,” Frank told him. “We’ll meet at our house about seven-thirty. We’re due on stage at nine o‘clock sharp. And by the way, Biff, Joe and I will wear disguises so don’t panic when you see us!”
While waiting for evening, Frank and Joe decided to use the afternoon to make an aerial search for the mysterious van that Joe had seen at Pete Guilfoyle’s place. They drove to the airport for their plane and Frank piloted the craft north along the coast. He flew in from the sea and drifted lazily over the Marlin Crag Cliffs. Then he circled low over Beemerville, where the Flickering Torch stood out clearly on the highway.
“See anything exciting?” Frank asked as he turned past Beemerville.
“Lots of cars, trucks, and trailers, but no big van,” Joe replied.
“Negative here, too. I’ll head back for Marlin Crag. The woods are bigger there. Good place to hide a vehicle that size.”
The cliffs loomed up on their horizon again. They saw the surf below pounding against the rocks and hurling spray high in the air. Frank flew out to sea and then back.
Suddenly Joe nearly jumped out of his seat. “I see it, Frank!” he exclaimed. “That van down there between the trees at the end of the lane! It’s the same shape and color as the one I hitched a ride on.”
Frank dived down and circled low over the vehicle. On the side of the van, gleaming in the sunlight, were the words: MOBILE X-RAY.
“No doubt about it now,” Frank agreed. “That’s the van we’re after!”
He headed toward the airport and asked the control tower at Marlin Crag for clearance. When he received it, he came in for a quick landing. After parking their craft, the boys raced to a car-rental office. Within minutes they were speeding toward the woods.
Joe was at the wheel. He turned off the highway onto a dirt road, the wheels picking up a cloud of dust. Reaching the lane, the car jolted into an open space and careened to a stop.
The place where the van had been was empty!
“It’s gone,” Joe said.
“Have we got the right location?” Frank asked.
“I’m positive.”
“Then it might be somewhere near here,” Frank said. “We’ll cruise till we find it.”
Joe swung the car around and they roared back along the dirt road, bouncing along and scouting the woods as they went.
Suddenly Joe cried, “There it is!” He stepped on the brakes and pointed up a side path where a big vehicle was parked facing them. The driver had raised the hood and was tinkering with the engine.
Joe drove straight to the spot and parked, facing the van, bumper to bumper. “This guy isn’t going to make any sneak getaway,” he muttered. “Unless he can fly that van over us!”
As the boys j
umped out, the man lifted his head. He was thick-set and had a rugged face.
“Hold everything!” Frank ordered.
“What’s this all about?” the driver asked in surprise.
“We’d like to know what you’ve got in your van,” Joe told him.
“What’s it to you?”
“Just say we’re curious,” Frank said.
“The police might be interested, too,” Joe added.
The man turned pale.
“Do we get to inspect the van, or don’t we?” Frank pressed.
The man shrugged. “I guess I can’t stop you. Go ahead.”
Frank and Joe ran around to the rear of the vehicle. Each grabbed a handle and swung the doors open, then stared at a cargo of tables, chairs and other household furniture.
Embarrassed, Frank looked at the name on the side—MIDWEST MOVING COMPANY.
Joe gulped and turned red. “Frank, I made a mistake.”
“You can say that again,” Frank replied, then turned to the driver who had followed them.
“Sorry, sir,” he apologized. “We thought you might be a crook.”
The man looked relieved. “Believe me, I was afraid you were a couple of shakedown hoods. Now that I’ve fixed the engine, I’ll be on my way.”
The Hardy boys went back to their car. “Am I mortified!” Joe confessed.
“You and me both,” Frank said with a rueful grin.
They cruised around for a while longer without spotting the van they were after. Frank, who was driving now, finally turned back to the airport. “It’s time to head for home,” he noted.
The psychological letdown was hard to overcome and the boys felt tense that evening as they put on their disguises. Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude looked on as Frank and Joe fixed cheek pads and eyebrows and donned wigs. Frank put on a false mustache.
“I do hope you’ll stay out of danger,” Mrs. Hardy said nervously.
“Nothing good can come of these disguises,” Aunt Gertrude added. “Gracious, you frighten me!”
“Don’t worry,” Frank assured the women. “There’ll be five of us at the Flickering Torch. We can take care of ourselves.”
Biff drove up in his father’s station wagon with Tony in the front and Phil in the back seat. The Hardys stowed their guitars in the back and slipped in next to Phil. The South Forty rolled north toward Beemerville.
The Flickering Torch Mystery Page 9