The Number File

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Joe nodded, then turned to his brother as the officers left.

  "Croaker!" Frank exclaimed in astonishment. "I bumped into him on deck, and — " "Tell me inside," Frank interrupted. "It's really rough out here."

  "Wait a minute," Joe said. He braced himself on the underside of the lifeboat. "Croaker decided to fight. He went down and hit his head against the railing there." "And went overboard?" "He was knocked cold. But his gun went overboard during the fight, and that gave me an idea." Joe climbed to the top of the lifeboat and started undoing the canvas cover. Frank stared at his brother's struggle to keep his footing for a second, then climbed up to help with the knots. "I realized if we held Croaker captive, Kruger would be tipped off about us as soon as he knew Croaker was missing. But if everyone thought that Croaker had gone overboard — "

  He pulled off the cover to reveal Croaker lying unconscious in the bottom of the lifeboat. "This seemed like a better idea. Now, help me get him out."

  Removing the unconscious Croaker from the lifeboat was not easy. Joe climbed in and handed the lifeless body down to Frank, all the while afraid that someone might walk out on the deck at any moment. But the rough weather let them work unobserved. Then the two brothers propped the thug between them, went inside, and walked him back to their cabin like two men escorting a drunken friend.

  "This is incredible," Frank said when they got Croaker back to the cabin. "You've managed to get an entire ocean liner to turn around! The crew will be searching for a body that doesn't exist."

  "There was nothing else I could do without spooking Kruger. Let's hope he doesn't think Croaker's accident was suspicious."

  "We should tell Montague." Frank furrowed his brow as he stopped to think out their next move. "We'd better stay in the cabin and have Montague tell the captain what happened. Then he can arrange to have Croaker locked in the brig."

  Frank knocked on the door adjoining the two cabins. A second knock brought Alicia to the door.

  "This rocking put me right to sleep," she said. "But it's put Dad right out of commission." The Hardys peered in the other cabin and saw Montague lying in bed, a white washcloth splashed across his green face.

  "That's too bad." Joe shook his head. Then he looked at Alicia. "We need you to do something for us." Joe described his encounter with Croaker briefly as he pressed a wet towel against his forehead. Alicia's pretty face had made him forget his aching head for a few seconds.

  "What happened to your head, Joe!"

  "Nothing." He winced. "I just bumped it."

  Alicia looked over at Croaker, whom she recognized as one of her captors. She grinned, pleased that he was now the captive. "Funny, your friend here has a forehead as red as yours. Must be something going around."

  "He's coming to," Frank observed. "You should go now, Alicia, and tell the captain."

  Alicia left. The Hardys used a sheet torn into strips to tie their prisoner's hands behind his back, and when Croaker regained consciousness, they began questioning him.

  "How many more of you are there?" Frank asked the stocky man.

  "There's just me. My mother didn't want no more children," he answered.

  "I can see why," Joe told him. "But I want to know about your gang. Are there any more of you on the ship besides you and Kruger?"

  "Will I get a shorter sentence if I tell you?"

  "Yeah," Joe said sarcastically. "We promise we won't use sentences with more than six words."

  Croaker looked confused. "There's nobody on this boat except me and Kruger."

  "And what cabin are you in?" Joe asked.

  "The one next to Kruger."

  "What number?"

  "Uh, B-twelve." Croaker's voice was like short bursts of machine-gun fire. Frank kept wanting him to clear his throat, but it was clear.

  "Did you charge things on my dad's credit card so we wouldn't be able to use it?" Joe asked, remembering the three thousand dollars the card was over the limit.

  "Yeah. It was Kruger's idea—to slow you down."

  "And how did Kruger — ?" A knock on the door interrupted Frank's question. It was Alicia with the purser and a rather large seaman dressed in khakis and a sailor's cap.

  "The captain is in my office explaining to your friend the circumstances under which his traveling companion went overboard." The purser spoke as though he were on the stage. "It would be best for us to remove this gentleman at the moment, while the other gentleman is occupied. That way we can ensure getting him down to the brig unnoticed." "Great," said Joe.

  "Now we're up to the hard part," Frank reminded them after the two crewmen left with the thug. "We've got to stay out of sight until we land. Then we've got to be right on top of Kruger when he makes his move."

  "Oh, dear," Alicia said, like a heroine from an old movie. "And to think I'm practically confined to my cabin like a prisoner for two whole days with no one to talk to but a seasick father and you two boys!"

  The two days went quickly, and once the storm subsided, it was a relaxing voyage. Joe enjoyed the time he spent with Alicia—even if they did have a chaperon. Montague felt better the second day of the voyage, and he shared adventure stories with the two detectives. And they weren't cooped up for the entire trip. The captain, the purser, and the ship's doctor advised the group of Kruger's whereabouts. When Kruger was eating, they found it possible to spend some time out on deck. Kruger, meanwhile, spent most of his time in his cabin. He seemed to accept the captain's story about "poor" Croaker.

  By the time the ship docked in New York City, Kruger was visibly nervous — he'd have been more nervous if he knew what was waiting for him: Fenton Hardy and a host of federal agents. But Kruger was smart—and cool. When he walked off the ship into customs, he looked like any other passenger.

  Fenton Hardy and the others—three undercover feds—were stationed at different points in the large customs hall, past the customs checkpoint.

  Joe stayed on board with Alicia, where he had a good view of the customs checkpoint set up on the dock below. Frank, meanwhile, followed Kruger, staying far back and out of sight.

  Kruger, still in disguise and using a forged passport, passed through customs without any difficulty. He walked straight toward a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman in a gray suit, carrying an umbrella which he used as a cane. The New York ringleader lifted his head in a slow nod and proceeded into the large customs hall. Kruger followed him to the center of the large room. The head of the credit card scam in the United States and the chief of the counterfeiting operation in Bermuda shook hands, never suspecting that they were being observed.

  Just then, a scratchy voice bellowed out above the din of the crowded customs hall: "Kruger, it's a trap! A trap!" It was Croaker, shouting from the side of the room. He was under the guard of two uniformed police officers who were leading him through the large building. Though his movements were restricted, his grating voice was not. "Run for it!" he shouted again before the officers could quiet him.

  The distinguished-looking man lifted his umbrella like a sword and ran swiftly in the direction from which he had just come. Kruger froze, staring in the direction of Croaker.

  Joe heard Croaker inside the shed and immediately swung into action. Literally. He leaped over the railing, grabbing on to one of the ship's mooring lines. Then he rode the cable down onto the dock below, avoiding the crowd that was choking the gangway. Landing squarely on two feet, he rushed toward the checkpoint.

  In the crowded hall, a commotion erupted as the dapper man carved a path for himself with his umbrella. The two federal men pursued him, but their progress was hampered by the curious onlookers. The crook passed through the door leading out of the large room—only to be tackled some three feet later by Fenton Hardy.

  Meanwhile, Bernhard Kruger, still cool and still composed and looking completely innocuous, turned, walked slowly, and disappeared into the crowd that had stopped to watch the spectacle.

  Chapter 15

  KRUGER'S NEW YORK CONTACT was in
the hands of the police, but the big man himself was walking to freedom. Frank tried to race after him but was held back by the crowds.

  Joe was stopped at the checkpoint by the customs officer on duty. Before he had a chance to explain, a blue-suited gentleman ran up, flashed a badge at the official, and motioned for Joe to go through.

  Montague and Alicia were still on the ship, trying to push their way through the crowd. They were too far back to participate in the chase, but they wanted to get into the main terminal in case Kruger tried to outsmart his pursuers and double back.

  Frank was rushing through the crowd, with Joe not far behind. Every once in a while he thought he caught a glimpse of Kruger, but he couldn't be sure. Still, there was only one direction the gang leader could have gone.

  Frank ran through a large double door leading into the main terminal. The customs area seemed calm and orderly compared to the turmoil here. At least in customs everyone was moving in the same direction. Here people were coming and going, with patterns of cross-traffic merging and blocking the way.

  Frank saw a couple of federal officers handcuffing the man with the umbrella. They were in a hallway. Kruger wouldn't have gone in their direction, Frank thought, turning toward the main exit.

  Then he caught sight of Kruger. "Hold it!" His loud voice rose above the din of the crowded terminal. "The police have the exits covered."

  Kruger peered over his shoulder at his pursuer. He knew he couldn't outrun the young detective, so he looked for the area with the most people. He turned right, away from the main exit, and darted down a corridor marked Taxis & Buses. Once again he disappeared into the crowd.

  Frank ran as fast as he could without knocking anyone over. But there was no sign of the master criminal. Just when he thought he had lost Kruger for good, the counterfeiter came rushing out of the crowd—heading straight for him!

  Frank was startled. He stood his ground, planting his feet firmly, wondering what the slick German was up to.

  Then he saw it. Right behind Kruger was Fenton Hardy, running faster than Frank had ever seen him go. His father had a gun, and it seemed Kruger would rather face a youthful, unarmed athlete than a gun-toting private eye.

  "I've got him, Dad!" Frank shouted, positioning himself in the middle of the corridor.

  "Get out of the way, everyone!" Fenton ordered as he continued his pursuit.

  The crowd thinned out, with people pinning themselves against the wall to avoid getting involved. Kruger knew he couldn't get past Frank, so he tried the next best thing — he ran smack into him!

  Kruger was a heavy man, and he was in motion. There was no way Frank could brace himself. The impact knocked him off his feet. Kruger was down on one knee, but like a football player who doesn't believe the ball is dead, he scrambled up and continued his escape down the corridor.

  Then he stopped short. Joe Hardy stood at the end of the corridor, blocking Kruger's avenue of escape, and he was braced and ready.

  Kruger couldn't try the same trick again. But there was the crowd behind Joe. Fenton Hardy couldn't fire a gun where a bullet might hit an innocent passerby.

  Kruger kept coming, passing a couple who had been on the boat and were now huddling against the wall. Sticking out of one of the bags they clutched were two bottles of duty-free rum. Kruger grabbed one of the bottles, smashing its bottom against the wall. He moved up the corridor toward Joe more slowly now, holding the broken bottle firmly by its neck. Then he whipped around as Frank came up behind him. The jagged edges of his bottle gleaming, Kruger pointed them at his challenger.

  Frank backpedaled, whipping off the light windbreaker he had been wearing and wrapping it around his left arm. He was about four feet from Kruger now. The two began to circle around in the middle of the passageway, like two wrestlers preparing to get into a clinch.

  "Give it up," Frank said, staring his opponent squarely in the eye.

  "Never!" Kruger replied. "I have nothing to lose now—and you're responsible for everything I've lost already. You should be dead, and before they grab me, you will be."

  Frank faked a charge to force Kruger into action. Kruger stepped back and to the side, then lunged at Frank with the broken bottle.

  The sharp-edged glass ripped into Frank's jacket.

  Kruger thrust again. This time Frank moved his arm quickly upward, and the bottle gouged out a piece of Frank's sleeve, coming close to his chest. Having drawn his opponent in toward him, Frank turned his left hand and grabbed Kruger's wrist. He pushed down on the man's hand, shoving the bottle away. Then, with his right hand, Frank delivered a mighty blow to Kruger's jaw, stunning him.

  The bottle fell from Kruger's hand, crashing to the floor. Frank let go of his assailant's arm, wound up, and sent a smashing left hook into the side of Kruger's face, bringing the criminal to his knees. With both hands, Frank lifted him off the ground by his lapels. Kruger was beaten.

  Frank was unhurt but winded. Joe and his father reached the fight from different directions at the same time, and Joe stepped in to put an armlock on Kruger while Frank unwound his windbreaker from his arm.

  "Got you at last." Joe stopped as he saw Alicia and Montague running down the corridor, with two FBI men not far behind. He grinned when he saw Alicia's smile.

  The Port Authority police and FBI took charge of the defeated criminal. They escorted him away in silence, leaving Fenton Hardy in charge of the rest of the group.

  Frank and Joe turned to their dad. "Good to see you," they said.

  "And you." The senior Hardy smiled. "So—how was Bermuda?"

  Frank and Joe both laughed. "Well, hello, Fenton." Montague beamed. And after a hearty handshake, he added, "This is Alicia."

  "I've heard a lot about you," the elder Hardy said. Then he noticed the twinkle in Joe's eye as his young son gazed at this attractive girl. "And I guess I'll be hearing a lot more." Joe turned slightly red, and everyone laughed.

  "I have a message for you from your pals," Frank told his sons. "Chet, Tony, and Biff are waiting at the pizza parlor. I think they ordered a pie with 'Welcome Home' written on it in anchovies."

  "Sounds good to me," Frank said.

  "Yeah. What do you say we get moving," Joe added.

  "Wait a minute," Montague said. "There's the problem of Alicia."

  "Alicia?"

  "At first, immigration wouldn't let me off the ship," Alicia explained, "because I didn't bring a passport. In fact, I don't even have any identification — Kruger's men took everything I had. They let me through because of your father's reputation with the FBI. But we have to go back to immigration now in order for a U.S. citizen to take responsibility for me."

  "Can you be put in my custody?" Joe asked, trying to keep a straight face.

  "Never mind them," Fenton Hardy said through a smile. "I'll take care of everything."

  "Oh, and there's one more thing," Montague interrupted with a more serious look on his face. "The FBI told me that Kruger and the New York head man are under indictment in the U.S. and will be arraigned here. But Croaker will have to be extradited back to Bermuda to stand trial along with Mickey, Gus, and Del."

  "I hate to tell you this," Montague continued, trying to suppress a growing smile, "but it looks as if Joe and Frank are going to have to return to Bermuda in a few weeks to testify."

  Frank gave a very loud—and phony—sigh.

  Alicia broke into a big grin—and Joe blushed again.

  "Well," Joe said as he took Alicia's arm, "these are the sacrifices a crack detective has to make."

  The End.

 

 

 
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