Mystery of the Samurai Sword (10 page)

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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: Mystery of the Samurai Sword
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“Nope.” Sam Radley shook his head in disgust. “Not even out of the corner of my eye. He just grabbed my coat long enough to slow me down, then let me have it with a blackjack, or whatever it was he hit me with. All I remember after that is waking up here in the hospital emergency room.”
Sam speculated that his assailant might have been hiding in a doorway as he passed.
Frank and Joe started back to Bayport in a somewhat grim mood. Both were disturbed over the attack on Sam Radley. Partly to get their minds off the subject, Joe switched on the radio and tuned in the police frequency.
The first calls were routine and not very interesting. Then the boys heard the dispatcher say, “Car Seven, proceed to 119 Ardmore Avenue, corner of Dean Street. Investigate report of an escaped monkey.”
“Escaped monkey?” The man responding from the scout car sounded startled.
“That's right. It got loose from a pet shop.”
There was a burst of static and a blurred mutter of voices. Then the man exclaimed, “That must have been what we saw!”
“What do you mean ‘what you saw'?” the dispatcher queried irritably.
“A man running down the street with a monkey on his head!”
“What?”
“We saw this guy running down the street with a monkey on his head,” the officer repeated. “He did look kind of excited, and we wondered what was going on, but....”
“For crying out loud!” the dispatcher sounded angry. “What did you
think
was going on—that the monkey was prospecting for coconuts?”
“No. We figured the animal was the fellow's pet, and they were just having fun, or else he was taking it out for exercise, something like that.”
“Listen! Next time you see someone with a monkey on his head,
find
out what's going on, understand? Now get moving and round up the critter before it attacks someone else!”
“Roger.”
Frank and Joe were shaking with laughter as they neared the outskirts of Bayport. Before driving to their house on Elm Street, they stopped off at the Morton farm, where they found their chubby friend, Chet, squaring off against lanky Biff Hooper in the barnyard.
“What's this? A grudge match?” Frank asked, noting Chet's intense scowl of concentration. Although he spoke half jokingly, he was ready to step between the two youths instantly if the fight turned out to be real.
“No, haven't you heard?” Biff asked, not taking his eyes off his pudgy opponent.
“Heard what?” Joe asked.
“Chet's taking up the martial arts,” Biff explained. “He's showing me the fine points of karate or kung fu or wing ding or something.”
“Think I'm kidding, huh?” Chet retorted. “Well, watch this, wise guy! It's a combination. First a feint, then a move backward to draw you off balance, then a series of blows to finish you off, using a mixture of two different Oriental fighting styles.
On guard!”
Chet took a couple of quick, shuffling dance steps and flailed out with both arms before leaping backward out of range. The next instant Biff's long left snaked out in a fast jab, and their plump chum landed flat on his back!
“No fair!” Chet grumbled loudly as he scrabbled back up on his feet. “You weren't supposed to get that close!”
“How do I know what I'm supposed to do?” Biff retorted. “I'm just defending myself.”
“Then do it right, meatball!”
“Meatball, eh? Look who's talking!”
The Hardys, who had a hard time to keep from howling with laughter, hastily intervened before the exhibition could, indeed, turn into a grudge match.
“Listen, you guys!” Frank said. “How'd you like a chance to show off your fighting styles tonight?”
“What's up?” Biff asked.
“A ransom stakeout. Joe and I are going to try and catch a thief. If he makes a run for it, we may need help in stopping and subduing him.”
The Hardys explained about the anonymous call Warlord had received, offering to sell him the stolen samurai sword, and the meeting that had been set up at Seaview Park.
“Count me in!” Chet exclaimed. “Boy, this'll really give me a chance to show you how they do it in the Orient. If this guy makes one false move, I'll have him hollering uncle so fast that his head'll swim.”
“Great! But don't take any chances,” Frank cautioned. “If the man's armed, or comes with pals who may be armed, none of us makes any move. Just watch for a signal from me.”
Biff was as eager as Chet to lend a hand in the nocturnal trap baiting.
That night, after a final phone check with Warlord to coordinate their movements, the Hardys picked up Chet and Biff in their car. Then, shortly after 10:30, the boys headed down Ardmore Avenue. It connected with a cinder road that wound through the full length of Seaview Park.
The park itself was a pleasant wooded stretch, bordered on one side by the coastal highway and on the other by the water. Officially it closed at eleven every night, but there was no gate or roadblock. Youngsters and dating couples often sneaked in later by moonlight or stayed after the official closing time.
Frank, Joe and their two friends parked the Hardys' yellow car out of sight among some trees. Then they found a comfortable spot where they could sprawl and listen to music on Biff's transistor radio or tell yarns to pass the time.
At about a quarter to twelve, they took up hiding places around the point where the meeting had been set up. It was a short dirt turnoff which ended in a parking site near two or three picnic tables.
Shortly before midnight, they heard the low hum of a car engine and saw a glow of headlights. They were doused as a sleek white car pulled to a stop on the parking site.
“Warlord,” Joe hissed to his brother, who was crouched in a crevice between two rocks.
Soon afterward, the
putput
of a motorboat drifted over the water. It died away abruptly, as the engine was shut off, but moments later the boat could be heard pulling alongside the shore embankment. Apparently its operator had allowed the craft to coast toward the park.
At that moment there was a loud commotion from a tree a dozen yards away, where the Hardys' chubby friend was perched among the branches.
“Something's wrong with Chet!” Frank exclaimed.
13
Masked Riders
In the shadowy moonlight, the Hardys could clearly see the tree in which Chet was hiding. Its branches were swaying violently.
“What is going on?” Joe gasped.
“Help!” their fat chum yelled in fright.
Before either of the Hardys could respond, there was an explosive
crack
as one of the tree limbs snapped under its heavy load. The next instant, Chet tumbled down into view!
Frank and Joe hesitated no longer. They knew their stakeout would be ruined, but they ran to help their friend. Warlord was jumping out of his car at the same time.
“Chet!” Frank cried. “Are you all right?”
Their roly-poly pal struggled painfully to his feet and dusted off the seat of his pants. “D-D-Don't ask me!” he stuttered. “I was attacked by some wild animal up in the tree!”
“Wild animal?” Joe gaped at Chet, not quite sure he was serious.
“You heard me!” Chet retorted. “Boy, it was really savage! Is my face all clawed up?”
“Not a scratch as far as I can see!” Joe declared.
“Well, stop staring at me as if I were nuts! I'm telling you th—”
Whatever Chet was about to tell his baffled audience was drowned out by the sudden roar of a motorboat engine being revved into action.
At the same instant something plopped out of the tree onto Chet's head.
It was a live monkey!
Chet screeched in fright and hopped about, clutching wildly at his excited furry rider!
Frank and Joe did not wait to watch the uproarious spectacle. Half amused, half furious at the wreckage of their carefully laid plans, they turned and darted down the park's wooded slope toward the water's edge.
Too late! The motorboat they had heard was already speeding off into the darkness. Its pilot cautiously hugged the shadow of the hillside in order to avoid being silhouetted in the moonlight. The Hardys could not even tell whether the boat held more than one occupant.
“Great!” Frank fumed. “So much for our stakeout!”
“Not
only
didn't we
catch
the thief,” Joe added in disgust, “we didn't even get the sword back!”
“Never mind. Maybe the whole thing was a con job anyhow, just to help someone get his hands on ten thousand dollars.”
“Guess you're right.” Joe did his best to emulate his brother's example and swallow his disappointment. “Blowing our stacks won't do us any good.”
The Hardys headed back up the slope toward the meeting place. Biff had joined forces with Warlord to try and pry the chattering monkey loose from its perch on Chet's head.
A passing policeman, who had heard the noise, hurried into the park to investigate.
“What's going on here?” he demanded suspiciously. Then he did a double take as he recognized Frank and Joe. “Hey! You two are the Hardy boys, aren't you?”
“That's right, officer,” Frank replied. “We're working on a case for our dad. We had a trap set for a suspected thief, but then another fugitive showed up and spoiled everything.”
Grinning, he pointed at the monkey, who was now nestling contentedly in Biff's arms, scratching itself and staring at the circle of faces watching it.
“Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle!” said the policeman. “You mean that's the one that escaped from the pet shop?”
“Must be,” said Joe. “The last time it was seen, I believe it was heading down Ardmore Avenue, which leads right into the park.”
“People's heads must be its favorite mode of transportation,” Frank added with a chuckle. “That's how it was proceeding on Ardmore Avenue when last observed.”
“Next time it tries hopping up and down on my noggin,” Chet steamed, “I'm going to tie a knot in the little creep's tail!”
“Relax, and knock on wood, pal,” said Joe, patting Chet on the head. “That's probably what confused the poor critter. It thought that round thing on top of your shoulders was part of the tree!”
Joe's wisecrack brought a general round of laughter. Even Chet joined in, with his usual good nature.
The policeman used his walkie-talkie to report the monkey's capture to the station house. The sergeant on duty promised to dispatch a squad car to pick up the escaped animal, so the officer took the monkey and headed back to the park entrance to await its arrival.
Yvor Killian had remained silent in the policeman's presence, which might have been one of the reasons the officer had not recognized him.
“Sorry our trap didn't work,” Frank apologized as the boys accompanied the dancer to his car.
Warlord grinned wryly. “Doesn't matter. To tell the truth, I'm a bit relieved. If we had caught the crooks, it might've made the headlines, but I'm not sure how I'd have ended up looking in the eyes of the public. A lot of people might figure I was crooked myself. Plus, I'd be worrying about the thief's pals trying to get even with me for setting him up.”
“We'll nail him eventually,” Joe promised.
“I don't doubt it.” Warlord offered the Hardys and their friends a handshake and added, “Are you coming to see my show?”
“Joe and I'd like to catch the matinee tomorrow,” Frank said. “If we can get in.”
“No problem. There'll be tickets waiting at the gate for you and your dates.”
Frank and Joe looked forward to the performance enthusiastically. Joe invited Iola Morton, and Frank brought Callie Shaw. Arrangements had been made to stage the show in the auditorium in case of rain, but sunshine prevailed so the outdoor performance was to go on as planned.
Since Bayshore College had no football stadium, chairs and a stage had been set up in the grassy quadrangle at the center of the campus.
The show began with two numbers by the college symphony. Then Warlord and his troupe bounded on stage, amid excited shouts and handclapping.
“Ooh, what gorgeous costumes!” gasped Iola.
Warlord was garbed somewhat in the style of a Japanese samurai knight, though in much more brilliant colors. His face was whitened with powder and streaked with war paint, and he was literally armed to the teeth with a variety of knives and a long-bladed sword. The other dancers looked equally stunning and barbaric.
From the first note of their opening number, they held the audience spellbound. The whole troupe formed a pulsing spectacle in color, but Warlord especially riveted all eyes with his breathtaking leaps and twirls as he brandished his blades in gleaming arcs.

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