Mystery of the Samurai Sword (17 page)

“Smart thinking, boys,” Mr. Hardy congratulated his two sons.

“A brilliant explanation, indeed!” Mr. Satoya agreed. “And now I think it is time to hear what my dishonest, worthless aide has to say for himself.”

Haruki Ikeda seemed to shrivel under his employer's scorn as Satoya berated him bitterly in Japanese.

He confessed that for some time he had been engaged in crooked double-dealing, selling company secrets to its business competitors-especially Gorobei Motors. The latter had used every means possible, including attempted murder, to keep the Satoya Corporation from merging its motorcycle division with the Road King Company.

In a last-ditch effort to prevent this from happening, Gorobei Motors had been pressing Ikeda to do something drastic. This had led to his clever scheme to have Takashi Satoya branded an impostor and removed from control of his own company.

The scheme had occurred to Ikeda partly because Toshiro Muramoto was worried that the company might already be in the hands of some crook who was merely impersonating the real Satoya. In fact, Muramoto had already been paying Ikeda for inside information on the company. He had done this in a sincere attempt to uncover any plot to take over the Satoya Corporation, without knowing that Ikeda was crookedly conniving with business competitors against his own firm.

But Ikeda admitted that the main motive for his scheme had been to make as much money as possible. He had planned to buy a lot of company stock after leaking the news story that Satoya was an impostor. This announcement would drive down the value of the company stock, so that he would be able to buy it cheaply.

He would then deliver the real sword to Satoya for a hundred thousand dollars in “ransom money.” Once Satoya was able to clear himself and prove that he was the rightful head of the firm, the value of the stock would rise again. Ikeda would then be able to sell at a huge profit.

“How do these two birds fit into the picture?” Sam Radley asked the boys with a jerk of his thumb toward Krunkel and Darbold. “I mean, why were they hanging around this area after they'd pulled the museum heist and delivered the loot to Ikeda or his hired gangsters?”

“He probably promised them a share of the ransom money, besides whatever he paid them to steal the sword in the first place,” Frank replied.

“Of course he'd have kicked in part of the ransom,” Krunkel growled. “You think we're stupid enough to let him keep it all for himself?”

“Being criminals at all is stupid enough,” Frank retorted coolly.

As Krunkel and his accomplice began talking, the Hardys learned that it was Sam Radley who had scared them into hiding the sword down the well. Once Krunkel started worrying that Sam might have identified him, the two thieves became alarmed that the sword might be found in their possession while they were waiting for Ikeda to take it to his employer under the pretense of having paid out the hundred thousand dollars in ransom money.

And as Joe had guessed, it was the news story about the recovery of the sword that had prompted Krunkel to check the well, because he and his partner had been told nothing about Ikeda's scheme involving the fake sword.

“Well, that seems to clear up the whole mystery,” said Fenton Hardy.

“Except for a certain document hidden in the hilt of Mr. Satoya's sword,” Frank put in with a glance at the Japanese tycoon.

“Which I am quite impatient to check on,” Satoya admitted.

After fleeing from the deserted farm in his rented station wagon, Ikeda had brought the sword into the house on Locust Road. It was lying in plain sight on the mantel.

The tycoon's expression was tense as he took down the sword. Frank and Joe watched in fascination as he gave the pommel cap a slight twist, then pressed two small metal decorations on the hilt, called menuki. Instantly the mother-of-pearl inlay on one side of the hilt swung open like a flap!

With a smile of relief, Satoya reached two fingers into the opening and plucked out a folded piece of paper. Without opening the paper, he borrowed a pipe lighter from Mr. Hardy and held a flame to the document. In seconds it caught fire and shriveled to ashes!

Frank watched him, suddenly feeling depressed. This was the end of their case. Would there ever be another one? He did not know that soon the boys would be called upon to work on
The Pentagon Spy
.

Suddenly a thought occurred to him, and he turned to his father. “Dad, you didn't happen to see a motorcyclist riding away from here, did you, or notice where he was going?”

“Matter of fact I did,” said Fenton Hardy, “and the answer is nowhere—at least not for a while, till he spends some time under a pump, cleaning up.”

“How come?” Frank queried.

“Because he ran into a farm truck and got trampled by a load of very annoyed pigs.”

Once again the detective was mystified as he saw his sons burst out laughing!