The Clue of the Hissing Serpent (2 page)

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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: The Clue of the Hissing Serpent
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Suddenly both were startled by a voice behind them.
“The world's full of trouble!”
Frank and Joe whirled to confront Albert Krassner.
“W-what are you doing here?” Joe asked.
Krassner smiled blandly. “Chet told me where I could find you. He also told me you're the famous Hardy detectives.”
“We're not famous,” Frank said. “But our father is.”
Actually, Frank and Joe had become as famous as Fenton Hardy, who had retired from the New York Police Department to set up his own private practice. Starting with a mystery called The Tower Treasure, the Hardy boys had solved many baffling cases themselves. Their previous one was known as The Shattered Helmet.
Joe said, “Mr. Krassner, if you want us to join your balloon club, we can't talk about it now.”
“No, no. It's not that. I want you to help me!”
“How?” Frank asked.
Suddenly Krassner's face contorted with pain. He grabbed Joe by the shoulders. Before the boy could move, both landed on the floor with a thud.
CHAPTER II
A Custom-made Rocket
JOE pushed the man away and sprang to his feet, but Krassner did not move.
“He's out cold,” Frank said. “Must have had some kind of attack!”
The Hardys knew that ill people sometimes carry instructions on them in cases of emergency. Joe went through the man's pockets. “Here's a bottle,” he said. “And a note wrapped around it!”
They read it quickly. If Krassner suffered a heart seizure he was to be given one tablet under his tongue.
Frank administered the medicine. Seconds later Krassner opened his eyes. The Hardys helped him up and to a comfortable position on a sofa.
Joe ran out to get a glass of water. When he returned, some color had come back into Krassner's pale, puffy face.
He spoke in a shaky voice. “Sorry to be such a nuisance, boys. Guess I had too much excitement for one day. And I'm sure glad you found my pills.”
“Think nothing of it,” Frank said. “Why don't you just rest here a while? We'll be right back.”
Krassner nodded and the two walked out of the conference room. “This is all very strange,” Frank whispered. “We'd better find Dad fast.” They hurried through the lobby and up to the second floor.
In front of Room 211 they stopped and listened quietly. At first they heard nothing. Then there was a thump and a low moan.
“Let's break down the door,” Joe said.
“Wait,” Frank replied.
He tried the knob. It turned and he pushed the door wide open. Inside, midway between a bed and a dresser, lay Fenton Hardy. He was bound hand and foot and gagged. The boys rushed over and freed their father. Stiffly the detective sat up and rubbed the back of his head.
“I thought you'd never get here,” he murmured.
“Sorry,” Frank said. “We were delayed by a balloon.”
“What?”
“We'll tell you later, Dad. Get up now. Easy.”
As they helped Mr. Hardy to a nearby chair, Joe noticed a piece of paper stuffed into his shirt pocket.
“What's this?” he asked.
“I don't know,” Mr. Hardy replied.
Joe took it and read the message. “Dad, it says, ‘Keep your mouth shut.' ”
“Fat chance!” Frank exclaimed. “Dad's a pretty hard man to intimidate.”
The detective smiled wryly and told his sons what had happened.
“It all started with a telephone call to Sam Radley,” he began, referring to an operative who had often helped him in his investigations. “The caller wanted Sam to bug the home of Conrad Greene in Ocean Bluffs.”
“The United States chess champion?” Frank asked.
“That's the one.”
“But why?” Joe queried.
“The world championship is coming up soon,” Mr. Hardy said. “It might have something to do with that. Anyway, when Sam told me about it, I went in his place to see his so-called client.”
“And met with him downstairs,” Frank concluded.
“Correct. When I arrived, there were two men in the room. Obviously there must have been a group of people who had just left. I don't know whether the two men had any connection with them or not. They told me their names were Smith and Jones.”
“Sounds as phony as a three-dollar bill,” Joe said. “What did they look like?”
“Smith was short, slender, with long pointed fingers. He had a slightly Mongolian look. The other fellow, Jones, was strictly Anglo-Saxon. Long face, typically English, I'd say. Narrow thrusting chin. Both were in their late thirties.
“What I wanted you boys for,” Mr. Hardy went on, “was to tail these men.”
“Don't worry. We'll find them if they're anywhere in this area,” Frank assured him.
“Anyhow,” Joe said, “you told them it was no go on the bugging deal.”
“Right. Then they invited me to Room 211 to talk it over some more. I excused myself on the way out because I forgot my briefcase. That's when I put the message on the blackboard.”
“Good thing you did,” Frank said.
Mr. Hardy nodded. “When I entered Room 211, a third person conked me from behind.”
“Do they still think you're Radley?” Joe asked.
“I don't know. In any case, this illegal wire-tapping must be stopped. If Smith and Jones find some dishonest detective to put a tap on Greene's phone, it could lead to real trouble.”
Mr. Hardy felt better now and they went downstairs. Krassner was not in the meeting room, so they questioned the clerk at the desk.
He said that 211 had been rented as a hospitality room for a sales meeting of Eco Incorporated. “I've never heard of that company,” he told them. “But one of the salesmen mentioned Associated Jewelers. They're a house-to-house operation with headquarters in Bayport.”
“Did you see the gentleman who came in after us?” Frank asked.
“Oh yes. He left a little while ago.”
The Hardys thanked the man and went outside. Frank and Joe explained about the delay on the highway and how Krassner had suffered a heart seizure.
“He sounds like an odd character,” Mr. Hardy said. “Wanted help and didn't tell you why.”
“Maybe he changed his mind,” Frank said. “What now, Dad?”
It was decided that Frank and Joe would investigate the assault, because Mr. Hardy was occupied with a case involving Hong Kong custom tailors.
“The Association of Menswear Retailers wants me to track down this gyp operation,” the detective said. “About half a dozen men are involved. They take orders for custom-made suits from Hong Kong, request a fat down payment, and disappear. It shouldn't take too long to crack it. Crooks like this usually aren't too bright.”
Mr. Hardy drove out of the parking lot and the boys followed in their car. At home, Mrs. Hardy met her three men, as she called them, and asked, “What's this big mystery Gertrude was telling me about?”
Frank gave her the gist of what had happened and added, “Don't worry, Mother. Things are under control.”
Mr. Hardy made a few phone calls, then said to his sons, “Eco Incorporated and Associated Jewelers are not listed in any trade register I can get hold of, but Associated Jewelers are in the phone book. I think Eco was just a phony cover for that company. I suggest you check it out.”
“Will do,” Frank said.
“I also called Conrad Greene's home to warn him about the wiretap, but no one answered.”
“We'll have to try again,” Frank said. “Let me see if I can get in touch with Chet to quiz him about Krassner.”
Chet was home and took Frank's call. “Boy, Krassner was full of praise for you,” he reported. “I just saw him a little while ago. Said you helped him when he had an attack.”
“Do you have any idea what he wanted to talk to us about?” Frank asked.
“No. But why don't you drop by the balloon club tomorrow and ask him? He usually comes over early. Besides, I want to show you the setup.”
“We'll be there.”
Right after breakfast the next morning the Hardys started out for the club. Near Oak Knolls they turned off the highway at a sign announcing
Lone Tree Balloon Club.
A narrow lane led through the woods and to an open meadow. Off to one side was a frame structure no larger than a two-car garage. A single, large oak tree stood next to it.
Out in the field Chet Morton and another youth were busy unfolding the envelope of a red-striped balloon. Joe parked beside the clubhouse and the Hardys walked up to their friend.
“Hi, guys,” Chet greeted. “I'd like you to meet Ken Flippen. Just call him Fearless. That's his nickname.”
Frank and Joe shook hands with a slightly built boy of sixteen. A shock of black hair hung over his eyes and he tossed his head occasionally.
“Sure glad to meet you,” Fearless said with a friendly grin. “Chet's clued me in on your detective work. Says you're on another important case. That must be exciting!”
Frank gave Chet a slit-eyed look. “What have you been telling people?”
“Can't I brag about my friends—a little?”
“Very little,” Joe said, and turned to Fearless. “Don't believe everything this big panda tells you. By the way, what are you fearless about?”
“Aw, nothing.”
“I know,” Chet said. “When he was a kid, he hung onto a rope and got pulled into the air by a balloon. Hung on for ten minutes until it came down.”
Fearless looked embarrassed, and Frank said, “There you go again, bragging about your friends!”
They all laughed and Chet said, “Fearless knows a lot about balloons. His father and two other men own this one. We're practicing inflation.”
Fearless was pleased to tell the Hardys about his balloon. It had a two-man aluminum gondola or basket, and was lifted by hot air. Two propane gas tanks lay on the floor of the basket, and from each a stainless-steel tube led to a multiple pilot-light structure mounted on a metal framework above the gondola.
“When the pilot pulls this cord,” Fearless said, “the blast valve releases propane which is ignited by the pilot light.” He demonstrated, and a roaring blast of flame shot upward.
“This goes into the open mouth of the balloon,” the boy went on, “keeping the air inside hot, or heating it more if it's cooled.”
“Hey, that's keen!” Joe said. “You can carry your own hot-air furnace with you.”
“Right. This balloon is made of flame-resistant nylon. If by accident the flame melts a hole in the fabric, it will not burn the balloon up.”
Chet and Fearless proceeded to shoot hot air into the huge bag, and Chet said, “If you want to descend gradually, you don't shoot any more air in and the balloon will come down.”
“There sure is a lot to know about ballooning,” Frank said. “Chet, when will you get your pilot's license?”
“Maybe in a month,” Chet said proudly.
Joe changed the subject. “Where's Krassner?”
“He didn't show up.” Chet said. “That's unusual. I expected him early this morning. But maybe he doesn't feel too well. Why don't you wait a while?”
Frank shook his head. “No, we have some work to do. We'll catch up with him later.”
“So long, Fearless,” Joe said.
“Come back for a ride someday!”
“We will.”
The Hardys went to their car, looking back once toward the balloon which was now partially inflated.
“Chet sure does latch on to some good hobbies,” Frank said as they drove back to Bayport to investigate Associated Jewelers.
Their office was near the waterfront, and turned out to be a relatively new one-story building. Across the street stood an ancient three-floor wreck of a house bearing a sign:
Danger. Building Condemned.
The boys parked and entered the jewelry company. In an anteroom were three chairs and a writing table. The door at the far end opened and a woman appeared.
“Are you answering our ad?” she asked.
Frank hesitated, “Why—er—”
“Then come right in. Mr. Jervis will talk to you.”
The inner office contained four filing cabinets, a number of chairs, and a cluttered desk. Behind it sat a pale, thin man wearing thick-lensed glasses. A nameplate on the desk read:
Reginald Jervis
.
“Have a seat,” he said with an ingratiating smile. “You're rather young, but we could use two men right now. What is your experience in door-to-door sales?”
Before either had a chance to reply, Jervis went on, “We have a fine line of jewelry, and if you succeed in selling it, we have another most attractive offer.”
Finally Frank interrupted. “We don't want a job, Mr. Jervis.”
“What? Then why are you here?”
“To ask some questions.”
“About what?”
“About Smith and Jones. Who are they?”
“Never heard of them!” Jervis snapped.
“And you've never heard of Eco Incorporated, either, I suppose,” Joe put in.
Jervis rose from his chair and pointed a finger at the door. “Get out!” he said.
“So you don't know Smith and Jones?” Frank said coolly. “Well, there are other ways to find out about them.”
The boy's calm demeanor infuriated Jervis. “I said get outl” he yelled. “Or I'll throw you out myself!”
CHAPTER III
Tricky Surveillance
THE man pushed back his chair and took a step toward Frank and Joe.
“You don't have to get physical,” Frank said. “We'll go.”

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