The Clue of the Hissing Serpent (14 page)

“But size alone is not enough,” Chet said. “I have made myself indispensable in other ways!”

“Such as?” Frank had a hard time keeping a straight face.

“I learned Chinese! Listen: Ho-La-Ma, Mmm Goy, Ngor But Duck Lew Ah-h-h, Gau Miang Ah-h-h, Mau Sot Ah-h-h-h!”

“Those were the words on the paper!” Frank said.

Chet's lips curled in a supercilious smile. “Of course. My gag worked. I dropped it on purpose.”

Frank and Joe slapped Chet on the back. “Now tell us what all that means!” Joe asked.

Chet took a deep breath. “Hello—please, I'm in trouble—help—murder!”

AT a signal from Phil Cohen, the combo broke out in a catchy tune. Everyone started to sing:

Joe laughed at the serenade, and Frank recognized the tune Phil had been composing on his piano. Then came a rousing refrain:

The merrymaking still rang in the minds of Frank, Joe, and sleepy-eyed Chet when they set off from Bayport at six o'clock the next morning. After the first two transfers the flight became monotonous and the boys were weary by the time the big plane landed in heavy rain at Kai Tak Airport the following evening. They retrieved their baggage, then went through customs.

“Before we leave the airport,” Frank said, “let's check on the rug.”

They made their way to the freight terminal and inquired about the shipment. The clerk told them he did not know the name of the man who had picked up the rug but would check it out and call them at the hotel.

“Thank you,” Frank said and they left. Outside the terminal they hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address of their hotel, the Star Termi nal, in Kowloon.

As they approached the city, Chet said, “Wow, this is a big place!”

“What did you expect?” Frank needled. “A dreamy little fishing village? Take a look across the bay!”

Part way up the Hong Kong hill, white high-rise apartments rose like sentinels, looking down on modern glass-and-steel office buildings in the harbor area.

Finally they arrived at their destination. “Boy, I'm beat,” Chet complained.

“We'll hit the sack as soon as we get upstairs,” Joe said.

They checked in and half an hour later were sound asleep.

The next morning they woke up refreshed and excited by prospects of adventure in the Orient. Joe pulled open the curtains. “Hey, take in that view!” he said, pointing to ferryboats plying their way back and forth in the harbor among the many junks, sampans, and small fishing boats.

“Give me breakfast before any view,” Chet said.

“Not a bad idea,” Frank agreed. “After we eat we'll go to visit Mrs. Krassner's parents. I'll call them right now and tell them we're coming.”

An hour later the boys hastened down to the ferry slip to await the next boat to Hong Kong. They joined the good-natured, jostling crowd that elbowed onto the craft like a colony of ants.

Frank, Joe, and Chet sat on the upper deck and watched as the teeming shore of Hong Kong came closer and closer. The ferry glided smoothly into its slip and the three debarked.

Frank hailed a taxi and told the Chinese driver to take them to Moy Chen-Chin's house.

“Ah, so.” The man nodded and smiled, obviously impressed with the importance of his riders.

The higher the road snaked up the hill, the more luxurious the homes became. Finally they reached the estate of Moy Chen-Chin and were amazed by its opulence.

Formal gardens bordered both sides of the drive and gave the grounds the appearance of a royal park. Men were trimming, pruning, and tending the flower beds.

The taxi stopped in front of a beautiful house with a wide terrace. An elderly couple came out to meet them and introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Moy.

As they led the boys to the veranda, Chet whispered to Frank, “I thought their name was Chin.”

“In Chinese the last name always comes first,” Frank replied.

As soon as tea was served, the Moys plied the boys with questions about their daughter Mrs. Krassner and her husband.

After the Americans had told them all about Bayport and their life at home, Mr. Moy said seriously, “We know you have come for the Ruby King. Will you take some advice from a wise old man?”

“What is it?” Frank asked.

“Drop your case. It will bring you only misery, even death!”

The awkward silence that followed was broken by Chet, who said “
Daw Jer
” which meant “Thank you.”

Mrs. Moy smiled. “Oh, you speak our language. Where did you learn it?”

“At Paul Goo's laundry,” Chet said and told his story, which the Chinese couple found very amusing.

“You must see all the sights,” Mr. Moy said. “Spend a week or two and have a good vacation. Then return home.”

“We'll tour the area to get our bearings,” Frank said. “But really, Mr. Moy, we can't take your advice. We have an obligation to Mr. Krassner and the insurance company which is paying for our trip.”

Mr. Moy shrugged slightly. Then he said, “Our chauffeur Daniel will take you on a tour. Shall I send him to the hotel tomorrow, say, at ten o'clock?”

“That would be great!” Joe said.

A few minutes later the boys thanked the cordial couple and went back to their hotel. On the way Frank said, “I wonder why Mr. Moy made that remark about the Ruby King. He sounds like Conrad Greene's father!”

“He must know about the curse, too,” Joe said.

At the hotel they found a message from the airport. The name of the man who had picked up the rug was Choy Bok. But there was no address.

“Let's look in the telephone book,” Joe suggested.

After thumbing through the directory he was perplexed. “Six people are listed under that name,” he said.

“We'd better check out each one,” Frank said.

“I don't know if that's such a good idea,” Joe countered. “We may tip off the real Choy Bok in the process.”

“I'm aware of that,” his brother replied. “But we have to start somewhere. If any of these men react to the password
Shah mat
, at least it will give us a lead.”

The boys left the hotel again, hired a taxi, and were on their way. The first two Choy Boks lived in the poorest section of town, and neither spoke English. The driver acted as an interpreter while Frank talked to the men. They looked blank when he mentioned the password, and the Hardys were convinced that they were not involved with the serpent gang.

The young detectives were no luckier with the next three, who were also poor, elderly men. The last Choy Bok lived in a high-rise apartment, seemed reasonably well-to-do, and spoke good English.

He greeted the boys affably, and when Frank mentioned the password, he said, “Oh, you play chess?”

Frank nodded. “We have a chess club in Bayport, where we come from. One of the members is Chinese. Told us to visit his friend Choy Bok in Hong Kong.”

“Oh? What's your friend's name?”

“Fong,” Frank said. He watched the man intently.

Choy Bok raised his eyebrows. “I don't think I know him.”

“Well, he forgot to give us the address. We looked in the phone book, but must have made a mistake.”

“I think you did. But have a cup of tea, anyway.”

Mr. Choy called his wife and the friendly couple served them a snack. They talked amiably to the Americans for quite some time, then Frank rose. The boys thanked the Choys and left.

Tired and discouraged from the long day's sleuthing, they returned to their hotel.

As they trudged up to their room, Joe said, “I'm afraid the whole thing was for the birds. I'm sure none of the men we talked to is a member of the Serpents.”

Frank nodded. “I'm inclined to agree. Whoever comes up with a good idea on what to do next gets a prize.”

“Let's have dinner and call it a day,” Chet said. “And I'll take the prize.”

“That kind of idea doesn't qualify,” Frank said. “But we'll follow your advice.”

The next morning at ten o'clock sharp Mr. Moy's chauffeur arrived. “I'll take you through town and out to Aberdeen,” he said. “Then if we have time, to the New Territories, which overlook the Peoples' Republic of China.”

For many miles the road led along a barren shoreline. Then they came to a bay with hundreds of sampans lying side by side.

“Do people live on the water like this?” Chet asked.

Daniel, the driver, nodded. “This is Aberdeen. The government is trying to get the sampan dwellers to move into new developments, but their way of life is hard to change.” He stopped for a few minutes while the boys took photographs with a palm-size camera Frank and Joe had brought along.

As they clicked away, a small boy climbed up a steep embankment to the road. “Me Kim-Kim. I help you,” he said.

“I don't think we need you,” Frank replied, but the ten-year-old was not to be deterred.

He attached himself to Chet. “I help
you!
” he said. “You big man. I carry your camera.”

Kim-Kim wore tattered shorts and a discarded army jacket, its long sleeves hanging down over his hands. As the Americans returned to the car, he slipped in beside Chet before anyone could stop him.

“Out!” Daniel commanded.

But Kim-Kim refused. He kicked and struggled, and clung to Chet's neck.

“Okay,” Frank said. “We'll take him back with us, give him a square meal, and turn him over to the police.”

The little fellow grinned. “I bring you good luck!” he promised.

After Daniel had been driving a while, Frank noticed a semicircular wall built into a hillside. He asked about it.

“It's an armchair grave,” Daniel replied. He explained that the deceased were buried in such graves for one year. Then their bones were disinterred and placed in earthen jars. He pointed. “There's one now.”

In a farm field stood a mud-colored container about three feet high.

“It looks like my mother's cookie jar,” Chet commented.

“A little gruesome, isn't it?” Joe said.

Then suddenly the monsoon rains hit. Water came down in torrents and the road ahead of them turned into a river.

“This could be dangerous,” Daniel said, and turned the car around.

Traffic moved along slowly. As they edged past the hillside, a wall of mud slid down, nearly blocking the road. But Daniel drove skillfully over the sheet of yellow slime, finally guiding the car safely back to Kowloon.

“So that's a monsoon!” Chet said as they entered the hotel.

“Well, Kim-Kim, you got us through that,” Joe said, opening the door to their room. “And now into the shower with you!”

By dinnertime Kim-Kim, who said he was an orphan, had convinced the boys to let him stay with them as an interpreter as long as they were in Hong Kong. After breakfast the next day, while Chet bought him some new clothes, Frank read about the storm in the morning English newspaper.

“Hey, look at this!” he said suddenly. “Ming Do's obituary!”

The world-famous collector of chess pieces had died two days before. The funeral was to take place the next afternoon. The article said that Ming Do was the oldest member of the Royal Chess Club of Hong Kong.

“Ming Do!” Joe exclaimed. “That cable we found mentioned that a man by that name was very ill!”

“Right. He must have been the customer who wanted the Ruby King!” Frank said.

They told Chet the news when he returned. “Wow!” he said. “Who's going to buy it now?”

Frank shrugged. “Maybe we can learn something at the Royal Chess Club.”

They discussed strategy. Chet and Kim-Kim would stay outside the club, which was located not far from their hotel. The Hardys would go in and investigate.

Frank and Joe entered the plush interior thirty minutes later and looked about. A chill of recognition ran down Joe's spine. He nudged his brother.

Sitting at a table at the far end corner was Fong, playing chess with another man!

The Hardys approached as close as they could without being seen. Then they slipped behind a heavy drapery to eavesdrop.

The men talked in low tones, and the name Ruby King could be heard now and then.

“Who do you suppose that other guy is?” Joe asked.

Suddenly the Hardys became aware of a commotion. They peered from their hiding place to see Kim-Kim running into the club with Chet chasing him!

“Frank, Joe!” Kim-Kim cried out.

“Good grief,” Frank said. “Now we're in trouble!”

“COME here, Kim-Kim! Wait!” Chet called as surprised club members looked askance at the intruders.

But the small Chinese boy did not stop. His sharp eyes searched the room until they alighted upon the feet of Frank and Joe showing beneath the drapery. He revealed their hiding place, took both by the hand, and pulled the embarrassed Hardys out into the room.

“What are you doing?” Joe muttered.

“No time to lose!” Kim-Kim said. “Big danger!”

His eyes glinting with anger, Fong rose from his chessboard and confronted the eavesdroppers. He beckoned two attendants and spat out some Chinese, whereupon the men grasped the boys by the arms.