The Twisted Claw

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “You two are spending the night in the brig,” Rawlin growled.

  “Why?” Joe demanded angrily. “What’ve we done?”

  “Shut up!” He summoned four members of the crew. “Take them to the lockup.”

  The men escorted the Hardys below, secured them in the brig, and hurried off.

  “Now we are in a spot!” declared Joe. “Do you think Rawlin found out about our plan?”

  “I doubt it. He’s probably being cautious. He’s not sure we can be trusted not to jump ship.”

  A few minutes later a faint shuffling sounded outside the brig. Frank and Joe made out the vague figure of a man approaching.

  “Frank! Joe!” Clay Ellis whispered.

  The boys sighed in relief.

  “I saw what happened,” Ellis went on. He produced a small crowbar. “I’ll have you out in a jiffy.”

  The radioman pried away at the door, and it finally sprang open.

  “Follow me,” Ellis ordered. “The meeting is working out slightly ahead of schedule. We’re about a quarter of a mile off Tambio Island.”

  “Clay—thanks a lot,” Frank murmured.

  “Any time.”

  Ellis led the Hardys up on deck and to their previous meeting point amidships. At that instant the Yellow Parrot’s engines stopped.

  A shout came from the bridge. “Let go the anchor!”

  There was a clatter of heavy chains, followed by a loud splash as the anchor plunged into the water.

  “You’ll have to swim for it,” Ellis said. “The shore isn’t far off. Think you can make it?”

  “Easily,” Joe said.

  Ellis pointed to a coil of rope he had stowed near the rail. “It will be better if you lower yourselves into the water. If you dive overboard, the crew might hear you.”

  Frank nodded. “We appreciate all you’re doing for us and won’t forget it. But I think you’re in some kind of trouble.”

  “You don’t seem to belong aboard this ship any more than we do,” Joe put in. “Why don’t you come with us?”

  “I—I can’t,” the radioman stammered.

  Frank pulled a pencil from his pocket and scribbled something on a scrap of paper. He handed it to Ellis. “We have a radio setup in Bayport. Can you transmit on this short-wave frequency?”

  “Yes,” Ellis replied. “Why?”

  “We’ll listen in every evening from seven to midnight,” Frank told him. “If you should need help or want to give us any information about the activity of the Parrots, will you promise to contact us?”

  Ellis hesitated for a moment. “I—I promise,” he muttered finally.

  The Hardys removed their shoes, tied the laces together, and hung them around their necks. Then they knotted one end of the rope around the railing and fed the balance over the side.

  “Good luck!” Ellis said in a hushed voice as Frank and Joe quietly lowered themselves into the water.

  They waved in response, then began swimming toward the island. In less than half an hour they were trudging up onto a sandy beach.

  “Well, we made it,” Joe said triumphantly.

  Frank gazed silently at his surroundings. The island was covered with trees and thick brush. Finding a couple of fallen branches, he handed Joe one of them. “We’d better start erasing our tracks. Otherwise they’ll stand out like road signs when daylight comes.”

  When the job was finished, the boys walked into the brush and found a clear spot where they could rest. It was not long before they were sound asleep.

  Morning was ushered in by a bright, hot sun. The boys woke up to the sound of chirping birds and the rustling of palm trees stirred by an offshore breeze.

  Then they became aware of another sound. Men’s voices I

  “Hear that?” Joe whispered excitedly.

  Frank nodded. Stealthily they crawled toward the edge of the brush. On the shore they spotted a dinghy. Several men were scattered along the beach nearby.

  “I don’t see any sign of ’em!” one of them said to his companions. “No tracks, either. I doubt that they came ashore. They’re probably hidin’ on the Parrot somewhere.”

  “Yeah!” said another. “Rawlin worries too much. So the kids escaped from the brig. Who cares? And even if they did make it here to the island, what’s the difference? They can’t cause us any trouble.”

  “I’m hungry!” exclaimed another man. “We had to miss breakfast because of those brats. Let’s go back and get some chow.”

  The crewmen piled into the dinghy and began rowing toward the Yellow Parrot. Frank and Joe looked out to see its sister ship the Black Parrot anchored a short distance away.

  “Those guys must’ve been looking for us while we were still asleep,” Joe said.

  “Lucky you don’t snore,” Frank quipped.

  Eager to locate the hermit, they immediately started trekking easterly across the island.

  “Shouldn’t take us too long,” Joe stated. “Tambio doesn’t seem to be very big.”

  But the thick brush made the going extremely rough. More than three hours passed before they came to the opposite shore. Barely five hundred yards away stood a crude hut, set well back from the high-water mark.

  It looked no larger than four by four feet and its door was of sturdy oak.

  “What do you think of that?” Joe asked as they came closer.

  “It’s strange, all right,” Frank admitted.

  “Should we call out?”

  “No, we’d better not. If we startle the guy, he might react violently, especially if he’s some kind of unstable recluse.”

  Frank and Joe walked cautiously around the hut. To their surprise, it had no windows.

  “There’s no sign of a human being here anywhere,” Frank remarked.

  “Maybe our hermit left a long time ago.”

  Frank stopped short in his tracks. “Look, Joe, footprints,” he said, pointing to the sandy soil partly covered with tufts of coarse grass.

  Joe bent over. “They’re headed toward the beach. Maybe the fellow’s out nshing!”

  Frank grinned. “In that case, perhaps we could peek inside.” He took hold of the door handle and pulled. It did not budge.

  “Here, Joe, give me a hand!”

  Joe grabbed the handle, too, and they both tugged. With a creaking noise, the door came open. It took a few seconds for the boys’ eyes to adjust to the dim interior. There was nothing but a flight of steep stairs leading into the ground.

  “Hey! What’s this?” Joe asked.

  “Come on. We’ll find out.”

  With Frank in the lead, they carefully descended ten stairs until they came to another door.

  Frank knocked gingerly. No one replied.

  “Let’s go in,” Joe whispered.

  Frank nodded and opened the door. At the same instant, lights went on in a large room. The boys gasped!

  CHAPTER XIII

  Trouble on Tambio

  ON the far side of the room sat a man in a huge high-backed chair. He did not move, did not even bat an eyelash.

  “Hello!” Joe blurted out There was no reply.

  Joe looked at Frank. “Is he for real?”

  Frank shrugged, and they walked closer.

  There was a frozen grin on the man’s ebony face and he did not seem to breathe at all. He was attired in a red-and-white-checkered sport shirt, ragged slacks cut off at the knees, and white tennis shoes.

  “Wow!” Frank whispered. “He must be right out of Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum!” He stepped forward and touched the man’s face. The next moment he yelled, “Joe! He’s alivel”

  “Of course,” said the man. “What made you think I was not?” The grin disappeared from his face and suddenly he looked menacing.

  Despite their usual coolness and presence of mind, the Hardys shrank back before the recluse.

  “Please do not break into my home again,” he said.

  With that, a trap door sprang open and the boys were dropped into a shallow pit. H
alf stunned, they were set upon by the powerful hermit, who sprang at them like a cat. He tied their hands with a piece of rope which he pulled out of his pocket, then brought them back into the room.

  It was filled with all sorts of modern appliances. There was an electric stove, a refrigerator, ventilation system and many other devices.

  After he had tied the boys by one wrist to sturdy oaken chairs, their captor said, “You are impressed with my home, yes? Perhaps you are wondering how I receive the electrical power for all my treasures? Well, there is an underground generator located just behind the hut.”

  “Why are you holding us prisoner?” Joe asked.

  “As a precaution. First let me ask what you are doing on this island,” the man countered.

  The Hardys did not want to tell him that they had escaped from the Yellow Parrot. There was a possibility, after all, that he was connected somehow with the ship.

  A trap door sprang open and the boys were dropped

  into a pitl

  “Er—we were sailing our ketch on a long voyage,” Frank replied. “A storm came up, blew us off course, and finally shipwrecked us not far from here.”

  “Ah, I see,” the man said. “My name is Katu.”

  The Hardys introduced themselves by their aliases, Frank and Joe Karlsen.

  “It is not often that I have guests,” Katu went on. “I am about to prepare lunch. Will you eat with me?”

  Eagerly the boys accepted his invitation. They watched with mixed feelings of surprise and amusement as Katu took a package of hamburgers from the freezing compartment of his refrigerator, then switched on the electric stove.

  Joe was overwhelmed with curiosity. “How did you come by all these gadgets?” he asked.

  “That is not for you to know,” Katu answered, displaying annoyance.

  He avoided further conversation during the meal. When he finally spoke, it was to announce that they would remain prisoners until his amphibious friend returned.

  “Amphibious friend?” Frank repeated. “What do you mean?”

  “He flies a plane that can float on the water like a boat,” Katu explained proudly, “or roll on the land with wheels.”

  “An amphibian aircraft!” Frank exclaimed. “It comes here to the island?”

  A blank expression spread over Katu’s face. He looked as if he had unintentionally revealed some deep, dark secret.

  Before Frank and Joe could ask any more questions, they heard an airplane overhead. It passed low, then seemed to turn toward the sea. Katu left in a hurry.

  “Must be the amphibian he told us about,” Joe declared.

  Frank sighed. “I sure hope he’ll let us out of here!”

  Twenty minutes later the door to the room opened. A tall, wiry man with sandy-colored hair entered. He was wearing coveralls and leather flight boots.

  “Hello,” he said, smiling broadly. “My name’s Dan Tiller. Katu tells me you fellows were shipwrecked.”

  The boys nodded. “You must be the pilot of the amphibian,” Joe put in.

  “That’s right,” said Tiller. “And who are you?”

  Frank and Joe introduced themselves. On a hunch they decided to play it straight and did not use their aliases.

  The pilot’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you the sons of Fenton Hardy, the famous detective?”

  “Yes,” Frank replied. “But—”

  “Say!” Tiller interrupted. “I’ve heard lots about the Hardys. An airline friend of mine met you and your father once. It was on one of his flights that you caught a couple of smugglers aboard the plane.”

  “Oh, yes. I seem to remember that,” Frank muttered, hoping to avoid a lengthy discussion of the case.

  “Sorry about the way you were treated. Katu was being a bit overcautious,” Tiller said as he loosened their bonds. There was a worried expression on his face.

  “Were you fellows really shipwrecked?” he asked. “Or did you come to Tambio to investigate me?”

  “Investigate you?” Joe asked curiously. “Why? Have you done anything wrong?”

  “No. At least I don’t think so. But I don’t pay any real-estate taxes.” Tiller explained that two years before he had been caught in a storm and was blown off course. When the weather finally cleared, he had spotted a capsized dugout canoe below him. A man was clinging to the craft.

  “I landed the amphibian to rescue the fellow,” he continued. “It was Katu. I flew him back to my base on Cambrian Island, which is about six hundred miles north of here.”

  “I’ve heard of it,” Joe interjected. “It’s become a popular place for tourists, and its capital is one of the most modern cities in the world.”

  “Right. Katu liked it there and stayed for a year and a half. He went to school, learned English, and worked in a hoteL We became great friends and flew a lot. One day we discovered this island and decided to make it our Shangri-la, some place where we could get away from the world. It’s pretty good, don’t you think?”

  “Terrific!” Joe said.

  “But I don’t know if this land belongs to anyone. This underground complex was already here you see. We might be trespassing on someone’ property. But I thought as long as we’re not being chased off, it’s ours.”

  “I don t believe you’ll have any trouble,” Frank assured him.

  Now Katu joined them. He grinned as the Hardys praised him for his tricky defense of Tiller’s hideout.

  The boys took a liking to the pilot and decided to tell him about their escape from the Yellow Parrot.

  He listened to their story with great interest. “I’ve never heard of the Parrots before,” he said. “Ships are a bit out of my line.”

  “There’s something fishy going on with those two,” Joe told him. “They’re anchored near the west side of Tambio right now.”

  “How soon will you be flying back to Cambrian?” Frank asked.

  “This afternoon.”

  “Will you take us with you?”

  “Of course. From there you can get one of the scheduled flights to Florida.”

  The Hardys talked a while longer to Tiller and Katu, until the pilot finally said, “Come on, fellows. I want to make it back before dark.”

  Katu paddled them out to the amphibian, and waved good-by.

  “All aboardl” Tiller cried as he led the young detectives through a small hatchway and into the cabin of the plane.

  Then he climbed into the cockpit and started the first of the craft’s two engines. When it was running smoothly, he fired up the second.

  “Here we go!” he shouted and eased the throt tles forward. The idling engines erupted into a loud steady roar. The plane bounced across the water and then lifted gracefully into the air.

  As the amphibian gained altitude, Frank dashed into the cockpit. “I know you’re in a hurry to get back to Cambrian,” he said to Tiller, “but I just had an idea. Would you fly to the other side of the island? We’d like to see if the Parrots are still there.”

  “Sure,” Tiller answered as he turned the plane to a westerly heading.

  Soon they had reached the coast. A look of disappointment spread over Frank’s face when he saw that the ships were gone.

  “Too bad,” he mumbled. “I thought we might pick up some kind of clue.”

  “Wait a minute,” Joe exclaimed, and pointed to an object in the distance. “That looks like a ship over therel”

  Tiller swung to the direction Joe had indicated. As the distance closed, Frank shouted, “It’s the Yellow Parrot!”

  As they started to circle the ship, thin trails of smoke streaked past the aircraft.

  “Tracers!” Joe cried out. “They’re shooting at us!”

  An instant later a column of thick black smoke began to stream from the plane’s left engine!

  CHAPTER XIV

  Morton’s Geyser

  “FIRE!” Frank exclaimed.

  Tiller turned the plane sharply away from the Yellow Parrot. Then he pulled a knob marked “Extingu
isher.” Immediately faint trails of frozen carbon dioxide streamed from beneath the engine cowling. The boys were relieved to see the black smoke gradually disappear.

  “Are you going back to Tambio?” Joe asked.

  “No!” replied Tiller. “We can make it to Cambrian on one engine. However, it’ll take longer than usual because our speed is reduced.”

  Hours ticked by. The young detectives were dozing off when Tiller leaned forward for a closer look at one of the instruments on the panel.

  “Oh, oh,” he muttered. “The right engine’s starting to overheat.”

  “Is it serious?” Joe inquired anxiously.

  “Not yet,” the pilot answered. “But I’ll have to reduce the power setting slightly.”

  As he eased back on the throttle, the amphibian gradually began to lose altitude.

  “We’re going down,” Frank observed nervously.

  “I’ll let the plane settle,” Tiller decided. “The air is thicker below. It will help to develop a bit more power and lift. Also, we’re getting lighter every minute as the fuel burns off.”

  This statement was of little consolation to the Hardys. They watched the altimeter slowly unwind. Then, at 1,000 feet, the plane acquired new life. The instruments no longer indicated a descent and the engine was now operating at normal temperature.

  “Whew!” Joe sighed. “For a while I thought we were going to have to paddle the rest of the way.”

  “We can relax,” Tiller remarked with a wide grin. “The worst is over. I estimate we’ll reach Cambrian in about another hour.”

  It was dark by the time the island came into view. The lights of its capital city twinkled like a small cluster of stars on the horizon.

  “I’ll use the wheels and land at the airport rather than set down on the water,” announced the pilot. He contacted the control tower and was cleared for a straight-in approach.

  The landing was smooth, and after parking the aircraft, Tiller obtained a ladder. He climbed up to the left engine, removed the outer cowling, and inspected the damage.

  “We’re awfully sorry about what happened,” Frank said apologetically. “It’s our fault and we’d like to pay for repairs.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said the pilot. “As far as I can see, we received one hit in the crankcase. Oil was being splashed over the engine. That’s what caused the smoke.”