The Viking Symbol Mystery
Page 2
But when they arrived, the lieutenant greeted Chief Collig with the news that there were no fingerprints matching Kelly’s in the police file. A quick teletype check with the FBI, using the Henry system, had also been fruitless.
“A blank wall, all right,” Joe observed in disgust. “But he sure looks guilty.”
“We’ll keep on the alert for other clues,” Frank declared.
Chief Collig promised that he in turn would circulate a description of Kelly and let the boys know if he learned anything. They said good-by and were driven home by a patrolman.
The brothers found their petite, pretty mother and their Aunt Gertrude waiting for them in the living room. The women looked worried.
“I hate to see you two get mixed up in another dangerous mystery—and your father is still out on his case.” Mrs. Hardy sighed.
“Yes,” sniffed Aunt Gertrude. “I just know you’ll be hurt one of these days.”
Frank and Joe gave both women a hug, and Joe said, “We’re still alive and able to eat.” He grinned and added, “You know we can take care of ourselves.”
It was true. The boys had been involved in many risky adventures since their first case—The Tower Treasure. Recently they had challenged a ruthless band of hijackers while tracking down The Clue of the Screeching Owl.
Despite the women’s concern for the boys’ safety, they obviously were interested as the brothers told of their visit to the hospital. They, too, thought it was significant that there was nothing on the injured man giving an address When Frank mentioned that the man’s worn clothing did not fit him, Aunt Gertrude looked thoughtful.
“There was a man at our guild sale today who bought some used clothing!” she exclaimed. “He didn’t seem like the type we usually have as a customer.”
Joe broke in eagerly, “Can you describe him, Aunt Gertrude?”
“I remember him clearly. He was very pale and thin. Acted sort of furtive—he’d look away whenever anyone caught his eye. He was well dressed in a black-and-white checkered sport jacket and gray slacks, but the clothes he bought were almost threadbare. I was sure they’d be too big.”
Frank burst out, “That could have been Kelly. He’s pale and thin. His clothes were worn and certainly didn’t fit him!”
“Sure!” Joe put in excitedly. “A rummage sale would be the perfect place to buy used clothing if someone wanted to make sure it wouldn’t be traced.”
“If we could find his regular clothes,” said Frank, “maybe we’d learn where Kelly comes from.”
“You can look for that evidence in the morning,” their mother announced quietly. “It is late.”
Admitting that it had been a long day, the brothers said good night and went to bed. They were sound asleep almost instantly.
At breakfast the next morning Frank and Joe briefed their father on the hospital trip and their suspicions of Kelly. The detective frowned. “I’d certainly like to find out,” he said, “what the fellow is up to.”
Just then a cheerful whistle sounded from the front lawn, and a moment later Biff Hooper and Tony Prito appeared in the hall.
“We’re all set,” cried Biff. He waved two plane tickets for that afternoon’s flight to Alberta.
“At Edmonton, the capital of the province,” Biff explained, “we’ll change for Hay River. There we’ll pick up a plane going across Great Slave Lake to Yellowknife.”
“That’s where Sam Radley will meet us. Right, Mr. Hardy?” Tony asked.
“Yes. I’ll telegraph Sam your schedule,” the detective replied. “He’ll give you the necessary orders when you arrive.”
“Great!” Tony grinned, and Biff added, “We’ll do our best to carry ’em out.”
Both boys thanked Mr. Hardy for the chance to work on a case and said good-by.
“Maybe we’ll all get together on these two mysteries,” Joe said to his brother as Biff’s car pulled away.
“Could be,” Frank replied, “but in the meantime let’s look for Kelly’s discarded clothing. He may have put them in a trash can.”
“Right. First place to hunt is the Bayport dump,” Joe suggested. “All the town refuse was collected yesterday.”
The brothers ran out to the garage and climbed into their newly polished yellow convertible. Frank drove along River Road to the edge of Bayport, where the city dump was located.
As they neared the surrounding fence, the boys could see smoke from the smoldering refuse piles. The Hardys stopped at the main gate, and Joe asked the seated attendant, who was reading a newspaper, where the trash collected the previous day had been dumped.
Pointing to a section of the huge yard, the man said, “Over there!” then returned to his reading.
The boys left their car near the entrance and picked their way across the accumulation of cans, paper, and ashes to the corner area.
“Whew!” Joe looked at the huge pile of trash. “What a job!”
The two young detectives separated and started their search at opposite edges of the mountain of refuse. They worked their way toward the center of the heap. When they met there, neither boy had found a clue.
Joe looked glum. “Guess we’re just out of luck,” he said, kicking an old carton.
His brother was about to agree, when the carton turned over and out fell a rolled-up pair of gray slacks. Both boys grabbed for the carton and Frank pulled out a black-and-white checkered sport jacket.
“Wa-hoo!” Frank exulted, holding up the jacket and turning it inside out. “Look at this label—Toronto, Canada!”
“The slacks are from Quebec,” Joe said, looking puzzled. “Do you think Kelly is from Canada?”
“He could be,” Frank answered, greatly excited. “Between the ruined aerial and this evidence I’d certainly say Kelly has something to do with Dad’s case up there!”
The discussion was suddenly interrupted by a piercing zoing-g-g as a rifle bullet whined past them into the dump pile!
“Down!” cried Frank. Both boys dived to their stomachs behind a dusty mound of ashes. They lay still, their hearts pounding. Who could be shooting at them?
After a few minutes Frank cautiously raised his head. Coming across the edge of the dump toward them was a man carrying a rifle. A fat brown beagle trotted behind him.
The Hardys leaped to their feet, and Joe started forward, his face flushed with anger. Frank grabbed his brother’s arm. “Just a minute, Joe. I don’t think the man was shooting at us deliberately.”
The man now was running toward the brothers. “D-did I hit anybody?” he quavered. “I was shooting rats and—and I didn’t see you two—honest!”
Frank and Joe relaxed somewhat. “No,” Frank said tersely, “you didn’t hit us. But you’d better be more careful after this when you’re aiming a gun.”
The relieved rifleman stuttered an apology as the Hardys picked up the slacks and jacket and hurried off to their car.
“Let’s go to the hospital right after lunch,” Joe urged as they drove away, “and see Kelly’s reaction to this clothing!”
After a quick lunch, the boys asked Aunt Gertrude to go with them to identify Kelly, and headed for the hospital. When they arrived, it was too early for regular visiting hours, but the nurse, knowing of the Hardys, led the way to Kelly’s first-floor room. The door was closed.
As they neared it, Frank said, “Hold the clothes behind you, Joe. I’ll try to catch him off guard first with some questions!”
Joe nodded and turned the knob, pushing the the door open. The boys and their aunt stared aghast. The hospital room was empty! The nurse wheeled and hurried down the hall to get help.
Frank pointed wordlessly to the open window and the brothers darted toward it.
“There goes Kelly with someone!” exclaimed Frank.
He pointed to a thin man in a long overcoat, pulled-down hat, and loafers hurrying across the lawn with a red-haired companion. They were heading toward a waiting green car. Kelly opened the door and both men quickly got in.
CHAPTER III
Rune Stone Curse
JOE jumped out the hospital window and joined Frank who by now was sprinting across the grassy lawn after the escaped patient. They were too late to capture Kelly. The getaway car was already roaring off down the tree-lined street.
“Let’s chase them!” Frank cried out.
He ran up the block to the boys’ convertible and jumped behind the wheel. Joe hopped in beside him. Frank turned on the ignition, swung the yellow car out from the curb, and raced after the speeding sedan. It turned a corner.
For a while the brothers were afraid the car had eluded them, but suddenly they spotted it a few blocks ahead. “Let’s hope we don’t get any red lights,” Frank murmured.
The chase continued through Bayport and onto the main highway out of town. Frank pressed the accelerator to the floor. Soon they were out in the open country. The green sedan was still in sight.
“We’re in luck!” Joe exclaimed, pointing to the left.
A long freight train was rumbling down the railroad tracks which crossed the road just ahead. The crossing gates were starting to lower.
“Now we’ll catch Kelly and find out what’s going on,” Frank gloated.
The green sedan was almost at the crossing. Putting on an extra burst of speed, the car raced across the tracks. It avoided the gates by inches. Seconds later, the train roared by.
“We’ve missed our chance,” Frank groaned as he braked to a stop.
“The freight’s at least eighty cars long!” Joe grumbled over the noise of the wheels and the shrill sound of the train’s whistle.
The brothers shifted impatiently in the front seat of their car while they watched the boxcars go by—clickety-clack, clickety-clack. Finally the caboose passed them and the gates were raised.
Frank started the car again, and drove across the tracks. As they expected, the green sedan was nowhere in sight.
“Those guys have a big lead on us now,” Joe said. “But let’s follow, anyway.”
About five miles farther on, Frank brought his car to a halt. “It’s no use, Joe,” he said quietly, and turned the convertible back toward Bayport.
“They could have turned off onto any of these side roads.”
“I wonder who Kelly’s pal is?” asked Joe. “Kelly must have got word to him somehow.”
“The redheaded man could have come to the hospital and roamed around until he found Kelly,” Frank suggested.
“Kelly’s leaving that way sure makes him suspect,” Joe remarked.
The boys had almost reached the railroad tracks when Joe, glancing out his window, exclaimed, “Stop! There’s the green sedan!” He pointed to a tree-shaded culvert running at right angles to the road.
Instantly Frank came to a halt. The boys leaped from the convertible and ran across the macadam road for a better look. The car was well hidden by the bushes and trees.
A quick glance told the Hardys that the sedan was empty. “Kelly and his friend must have jumped onto the train,” Frank commented, as he wrote down the car’s license number. “If only we could stop the train!”
“Why not?” asked Joe. “Chief Collig can arrange that!”
The boys ran back to their car and drove on quickly until they reached a gasoline station, where Frank called the police chief.
“Here’s news for you, Frank,” said Chief Collig. “That sedan was stolen this morning.”
The chief said he would call ahead to the stationmaster at the next stop—ten miles ahead—to have the freight train delayed until the Hardys could search it. “Good luck!” the official said.
With Joe taking a turn at the wheel, the yellow convertible sped along a narrow dirt road which was a shortcut to the next station.
“It’s here!” Frank cried out.
The freight train was slowing to a halt at the small platform. It took the Hardys only a moment to explain to the stationmaster and the train conductor what they wanted.
“No use looking in the locked cars,” the conductor said, “but there are some empties.”
Led by the two men, the brothers hurried down the tracks, searching the open, empty cars. There were half a dozen of them, but none contained the suspects.
“Guess you’re out of luck, fellows,” said the conductor, who was about to wave the engineer on.
“Wait!” Joe called, as he ran around the caboose to check the other side of the freight train. A door of one of the supposedly closed cars was open.
Frank followed and both boys climbed inside. At one end of the sawdust-covered floor was a huge pile of empty grain sacks. The brothers ran forward eagerly, hoping to find their quarry hidden behind them. But neither Kelly nor his accomplice was there. Disappointed, Frank went to the boxcar door and hopped down. Joe walked over, slowly shaking his head in perplexity.
Suddenly Frank called, “Jump, Joe! Jump!”
At that same instant the train gave a forward lurch ahead. Joe hurled himself toward the opening and leaped out just as the heavy sliding door slammed shut.
“Wow!” Frank watched the train slowly gather speed. “Guess the conductor didn’t hear you. The weight of that door could kill someone!”
“And I was nearly the one!” Joe said wryly.
The boys walked back to their car and started for Bayport. Each was thinking, “Was Kelly ever on the freight. If so, when did he get off? Or did he flee in some other direction after abandoning the stolen sedan?”
When the boys reached home, Frank called police headquarters and reported their failure to find Kelly to Chief Collig.
Next, they gave their father a full account of the fugitive’s disappearance, and the discovery of the clothes from Toronto and Quebec.
Mr. Hardy immediately wired the Edmonton police a description of the fugitive and stressed the possibility that the man might be wearing a bandage on his head.
Then the detective turned to the boys and smiled. “Which makes you all the more eager to start for Canada, I’ll bet!”
“Right, Dad!” Frank said, grinning.
“May we leave tomorrow morning?” Joe asked excitedly.
“Sorry, son,” said Mr. Hardy. “You’ll need the next few days to get ready.”
“That long?” Frank looked dismayed.
His father’s eyes twinkled. “Yes. You see, boys, your pilot’s licenses are for land planes—and you’re going to require seaplane ratings for this trip. I want you to know how to handle a float plane, if the necessity arises.”
“We already know how to fly,” Frank protested.
Mr. Hardy smiled. “And skillfully, too. But take-offs and landings are a bit different with a seaplane, since you’re dealing with a variable runway—water—which may be rough.”
“When do we start?” Joe asked.
“Jack Wayne said he could begin your training tomorrow,” Mr. Hardy replied. “You’re to meet him at the field.”
Jack was a private pilot whom the detective often used on long trips in the Hardy plane. He had taught Frank and Joe to fly.
“Oh—oh,” came the voice of Aunt Gertrude from the doorway. “More trouble. Now you’re talking about landing on the water. It sounds very dangerous!”
“How about a ride while we try it?” Joe teased.
“No, thank you. I prefer cooking. I came to tell you dinner’s ready.”
After the meal of juicy, tender roast beef, buttered baked potatoes, fresh asparagus, and chocolate cake, the boys excused themselves to study the Canadian map in their atlas. Just as they turned to the proper page, a rattle of metal and a short beep from the street made the boys smile. “Chet’s jalopy,” Joe said.
A minute later their chubby friend walked into the living room. “Hi, fellows!”
“You look worried,” Frank said. “What’s up?”
Chet shook his head. “I’d love to go to Canada with you, but I think I’ll change my mind
.”
“What!” the brothers chorused. “Why?”
Their chunky friend rolled his eyes dramatically. “I’ve been reading up on rune stones, and boy oh boy, are they unlucky!”
“Unlucky?” Joe echoed.
“Yes, sir,” said Chet. “And the Horkel stone, which is the the most evil of them all”—he paused for emphasis—“was found right near where you’re going!”
CHAPTER IV
Dangerous Solo
“AN evil stone!” Joe broke into a wide grin. “You don’t really believe all those superstitious legends, do you, Chet?” he asked.
“Well—I’m not sure—but I don’t believe in taking chances.”
“You can say that again,” Joe teased.
“Tell us about this Horkel stone,” Frank encouraged Chet. “It sounds interesting.”
“Yes, I’d like to hear the story, too,” said Mr. Hardy, who had just walked into the room.
Chet’s worried look disappeared, and, obviously enjoying himself, he began. “Well, I asked Miss Shannon at the library for some information, and she lent me a terrific book about the Vikings and their rune tablets. The word ‘rune,’ by the way,” Chet added importantly, “meant ‘secret’ in the Anglo-Saxon language.”
“How about the Horkel stone?” Joe questioned.
“Oh, that one was named after a Danish Viking called Horkel who settled in Greenland with the expedition of Lief the Lucky.” Chet warmed to his story. “The stone had been cursed centuries before by a Saxon priest when one of Horkel’s ancestors stole it from him. Its evil history was so well known that Lief made Horkel and his followers go in a different ship, and even settle farther up the fiord than any of the other families.
“Then”—Chet’s voice grew louder with enthusiasm—“ Lief and his men left Greenland, but they didn’t take Horkel’s group along. Nobody ever saw the stone again.”
“But—” Joe tried to break in.
“Until,” Chet continued, “a few years ago an Indian found a tablet bearing strange characters near the base of Alexandra Falls, on Hay River, up in the Northwest Territories. The characters were thought to be runic, and they were translated. There’s been a lot of disagreement over whether or not the stone is authentic, but one thing’s sure—it has brought terrible misfortune to all people who owned it.”