The Mysterious Caravan (9 page)

“Joe's an optimist,” Frank said, smiling. “It might not be all that easy.”

After laying the work out on the dining-room table, Callie and Iola made rubbings of the mask, using the original. Then they inked in the lines of the face and beard.

“Among all these squiggles,” Callie said, “might lie the secret.”

“That's what we're hoping for,” Frank said.

The four young people studied, compared, and repeated their efforts time and again. Finally Joe said, “I'm getting cross-eyed from all this.” He sat back wearily, as his mother walked over.

“You need some fresh air,” she said.

“Me, too,” Frank muttered.

“Why don't you go ice-skating on Iola's pond for a while? You just can't sit around fidgeting until two o'clock in the morning.”

The girls agreed and pulled Frank and Joe out of their seats. While Frank returned the mask to the safe, Joe gathered up the maps and tracings
and put them into a briefcase. “Let's take them with us,” he said. “Maybe we can work on them later at your house, Iola.”

“I'll chauffeur you,” Callie offered. “You boys can relax and rest your brains.”

When they arrived at the Morton farm, Chet was at the kitchen table, finishing a late lunch.

“I have some great news!” he said. “And some bad news, too.”

“Well, out with it!” Joe said.

“The good news is that school will be closed for another two weeks at least. Just heard it on the radio.”

“How come?”

“The steam boiler broke down. It has to be replaced and they can't get a new one right away.”

“I would say that's bad news,” Frank said.

“Oh, no. The bad news is that we'll have to make up the lost time at the end of the year.”

“That sounds logical,” Callie commented.

“But it'll be almost summer by then,” Chet protested. “Sun shining, birds singing—”

Mrs. Morton interrupted Chet's reverie by asking if the young people wanted some hot chocolate to fortify themselves. While they drank it, they told Chet their latest news.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “I hope everything goes all right! You know, sometimes kidnappers kill their victims!”

“Don't even think that,” Frank said.

When they were finished, the young people took their skates and walked out behind the barn.

“You were right,” Joe told Iola. “It's like a mirror.”

While Callie and Iola donned their skates, the boys collected some firewood and soon had a bonfire burning on a knoll beside the pond.

“Now we won't freeze to death,” Frank said as he put on his skates to join the others. They glided over the ice gracefully, doing figure eights and whizzing about the pond arm in arm. After a while they went to the fire to warm their cold hands and feet.

“I can't help thinking about William,” Frank said. “Here we are, having a good time. I wonder what he's doing right now?”

“You'll have him back soon,” Callie said kindly. “Worrying won't do you any good.”

After half an hour of skating, Chet said, “Who's for snap the whip?”

The girls were given first chance at the end of the whip. Iola was to start. The whip snapped her at high speed, and she sailed around the edge of the pond, screaming in delight. Callie followed. She nearly lost her balance, but remained on her feet to enjoy the ride.

With rotund Chet anchoring the end of the line, Frank and Joe spun away like cannon shots, their friends cheering them on.

When it was Chet's turn, the five skated fast.
Then Frank anchored the line. Chet spun off at the end at terrific speed, and somehow lost his balance. His feet went out from under him and he landed on his back, his head hitting the hard ice.

Callie and Iola screamed and raced to the supine boy. Chet was stunned momentarily and did not move, and Frank put a hand under his shoulder to lift his head from the ice. At the same time Joe felt the back of Chet's head through the yellow skating cap.

“He's got quite a bump,” Joe said. “Iola, will you bring a handful of snow?”

The girl skated to the edge of the pond and returned with the snow, which Joe applied to the contusion. Then they slid Chet carefully across the pond and carried him up gingerly beside the bonfire. There his sister rubbed more snow in his face and his eyes flickered open.

“Who—who turned out the light?”

“You got kayoed,” Joe said.

“Ow!” Chet winced. He tested his muscles. Everything seemed all right with the exception of the bang on his head.

“I guess I'll survive,” he decided. “But I've had enough skating. Let's go inside.”

Mr. and Mrs. Morton had left to visit friends, having told Iola they would return later in the evening.

“I'm in charge now,” Iola said, dimpling.
“Chet, you lie on the sofa until you feel better.”

They decided not to tackle the riddle of the mask again until after supper.

Callie and Iola busied themselves in the kitchen, and even before the meal was ready, Chet walked in, sniffing the aroma.

“Out!” Iola demanded. “No picking! Dinner'll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

The stuffed peppers the girls had made were eagerly devoured by the hungry skaters, and when the dishes had been cleared away, Frank spread the maps and tracings on the table.

“All right, let's start all over,” he said. “Chet, you want to help?”

“I think you could use my expert assistance,” the stout boy replied.

They worked for several minutes, overlaying the tracings onto the dozen or so ancient maps. Then Chet picked up one of the tracings. “Here, let me try.”

“You've got it wrong-side up, dummy,” his sister said with a chuckle.

“Hey! Wait! It matches!”

The young people looked dumbfounded at Chet's mistake.

“Good grief, he's right!” Frank said. “Would you believe it?”

“Chet, you're a genius,” Callie exclaimed. “The fall on the ice must have done you some good!”

The boys reasoned that in order to make the riddle even more difficult to decipher, the person who made the mask had deliberately reversed the lines.

“See here?” Frank said, as he put the upside-down tracing on several more maps. “The lines correspond. All except one.”

That one meandered up to the Atlas Mountains. “Today that would be southern Morocco,” Iola said. “Where do you suppose the line stops?”

“Probably at the end of the route taken by the mysterious caravan,” Joe guessed.

In high spirits the girls prepared duplicate copies on thin tissue for Frank and Joe, who folded them carefully and put them into secret compartments in their wallets.

“What about me?” Chet asked, hurt.

“The fewer of these around the better,” Frank said. “Don't worry, Chet. We're giving you credit for the greatest discovery!”

“I want a dish of ice cream instead. All that brainwork made me hungry.”

After another dessert for Chet, the friends parted, and Callie drove Frank and Joe home. Mr. Hardy was there when they arrived.

“Dad! We solved the riddle of the map!” Joe said, bursting into the house.

“Wait a minute,” Frank said as he shucked his gloves. “You mean Chet solved it.”

The three adults listened in amazement as the boys told their story.

“Well, what does all this mean?” Mrs. Hardy asked. “You're not going to Africa, are you?”

Frank and Joe looked at each other, and before they had a chance to reply, Aunt Gertrude spoke up.

“Laura, don't put such thoughts in their heads! Next thing you'll know they'll be off and we'll never see them again. Oh, dear! Pygmies and poisoned arrows, man-eating crocodiles, snakes—”

She clapped her hand to her forehead, and Mr. Hardy said, “Gertrude, please don't subject us to the horrors of your imagination!”

He turned to the boys. “Look, it's some time before two o'clock. I suggest we rest so we'll be fresh for the rendezvous.”

“Dad, I want to check with the police again,” Frank said.

“I've already done that,” the detective replied. “Chief Collig has received the message from Officer Kennedy. The FBI was notified, too. All we have to do is to be at the designated spot with the duplicate mask at two o'clock.”

Frank and Joe went to their room and lay down. Overstimulated, they lingered at the edge of sleep for an hour or so, never really dropping off to a deep slumber. They got up at one-thirty,
after hearing their father on the floor below. Their mother and Aunt Gertrude were up to see them off.

Fenton Hardy drove the car, with the two boys seated beside him. Frank held the mask on his lap. The temperature had dipped below freezing again and the air was nippy, with stars shining brightly.

“Mary's Quick Stop is just around the next curve,” Joe announced. The detective dimmed his lights and approached the place slowly. No one was in sight.

“I'll go around the back and we'll wait there,” Fenton Hardy decided. A driveway circled the place; and once concealed near the rear entrance, their car could not be seen from the road.

The detective shut off the engine. They waited tensely. Joe switched on the radio and turned it very low. The dim beat of rock music was the only sound in the stillness.

Frank kept looking at his watch. Finally he said, “It's two o'clock exactly, Dad.”

“They should be here any minute.”

Just then a flashlight blinked at the side of the restaurant. The detective answered by turning his lights on and off quickly. As the three got out of the car, a voice said, “Put your hands up, all of you!”

The Hardys did, Frank holding the mask high above his head.

Now the speaker appeared. He wore a ski jacket and a mask. Behind him stood the tall figure of William Ellis.

“You're covered, so don't make a false move!” the criminal said. “Give me that mask!”

Frank stepped forward and turned it over. To himself he thought frantically, “Where are the police? When is the trap going to be sprung? Now is the time!”

In the dim starlight the boy tried to make out the face behind the mask. But there was no chance of recognition.

Now the Hardys noticed that William was blindfolded, with his hands tied behind his back. The man shoved him in the back, and he stumbled into Frank's arms.

“He's all yours,” the kidnapper grumbled, and William gave a small sigh of relief.

“Don't worry, William,” Joe said. “You're safe now.”

As the kidnapper retreated along the side of the restaurant and out of sight, Joe said, “Dad, what happened to the police? They should have been here!”

“Somebody must have goofed,” his father replied. Seconds later a motor sounded, and with its lights switched off, the car drove away from Mary's Quick Stop.

“They're taking off!” Frank shouted and ran to the front.

M
R
. H
ARDY
waited a few more minutes, then turned on the engine, and was just about to drive away when three sets of headlights zipped down the road. Approaching Mary's Quick Stop, the lights were turned off and the cars proceeded more slowly.

“Jumping Catfish!” Joe declared. “It's the police!”

The silhouette of their domes became visible as the squad cars blocked the Hardys' exit. A number of men jumped out with flashlights illuminating the detective and the boys.

“What happened to you?” Mr. Hardy demanded as he stepped out of his car.

Chief Collig, who was in the lead, looked embarrassed. “We thought it was Tom and Mary's Diner down the road about a half mile.”

“Oh, nuts,” Frank said in disgust. “I wondered whether Kennedy got the message fouled up.”

“He's new on the force.” Collig tried to apologize. He turned to the other men, including three agents from the FBI and told them that obviously a mistake had been made in the location.

“Well, the kidnappers are gone now,” Mr. Hardy said. “That way.” He pointed. “We have the hostage, safe and sound. He'll be available for questioning later.”

“Fine. We'll get a statement from him tomorrow,” Chief Collig said, and the police took off in the direction of the kidnap car.

On the way back to Bayport, the grateful William described his ordeal. When he had reached New York, two men who claimed to be operatives for Mr. Hardy duped him into thinking that Frank and Joe were waiting in the city.

“They did not look at all like criminals,” the boy said.

“Not all of them do,” Mr. Hardy said. “Then what happened?”

William described how they had entered a small hotel, where he had been seized, bound, and gagged. “They pushed me into a closet near the reception desk. After about an hour, I was taken into a car and driven a long way to what seemed like the country. A quiet place, with not much traffic.”

“They probably hid you near Bayport,” Mr. Hardy surmised. “Did you overhear anything?”

“They talked about the mask. The reason why they want it so badly is that according to a legend they heard, the clue to the treasure on the
Africanus Rex
was on a mask. It seems that it was the secret hidden in the captain's cabin.”

“Right!” Joe said. “We arrived at the same conclusion!”

“They forced Ali to tell them about the inscriptions,” William went on. “Then they tried to figure out what they meant, but could not.”

“We did!” Joe said. He explained how the lines on the beard actually traced the route of the ancient Sahara caravans.

“That was very clever!” William said in admiration.

“Wouldn't it be great to go treasure hunting in Africa?” asked Joe as they approached Elm Street.

“You know, that's a super idea,” Frank said. “We could take William with us. His knowledge of Swahili might come in handy!”