The Secret of the Caves (3 page)

“I don't see how it could have been aimed at us personally,” Joe said.

“I agree,” his brother replied. “Could've been a weak coupling. Or perhaps the trailer brakes didn't hold. The claims investigators will find out.”

The brothers stopped for a quick lunch along the way, and arrived at the outskirts of Kenworthy an hour later with Frank at the wheel.

“Keep an eye open for a place to stay,” he said as he reduced speed.

They passed several motels, none of which looked particularly inviting.

“Hey, Frank, what about that place up ahead?” Joe suggested. A large billboard announced that the Palm Court Motel offered the traveler the latest luxuries.

“Not a bad-looking place.” Frank pulled into a driveway which led to a cottage with a simulated thatched roof. It bore the sign OFFICE. To the left stretched a long, low building made up of the motel units. Before each door stood an artificial palm tree. Frank and Joe got out and looked around. To the right of the office they counted twelve neat little cottages of the same thatched-roof variety. The ubiquitous palm tree stood before each one.

“Kind of corny,” Joe remarked.

“But comfortable looking,” his brother said. “We might do worse.”

In the office they were greeted by a middle-aged man with a thin fringe of hair circling his head an inch above the ears. He stroked his bald head and greeted the boys with a smile. “College students visiting from somewhere else?”

Frank evaded the question and asked the price of a motel room. When he was told, Frank registered for himself and his brother, took the proffered key, then drove the car in front of Unit Seven.

As the boys entered with their baggage, Joe grinned. “Some people are pretty nosy.”

“The less people know about our business the better,” Frank said as he put his suitcase on a rack, then opened it.

After they had refreshed themselves, the boys went out, locked the door, and hopped into the car.

“First port of call,” Frank said, “will be the police station.”

“Good idea.” Joe nodded. “Let's learn what the local cops found out.”

Police headquarters was in the basement of the newly built town hall. The chief was out of town so the boys introduced themselves to the desk sergeant and asked for background regarding the Todd case.

“Morgan Todd just walked out and disappeared,” said the sergeant. “Absent-minded professor kind of stuff, you know.”

“Any clues at all?” Joe asked.

“Nope, nothing,” the sergeant replied. “But we'll probably hear from him in a few days.” He leaned forward. “Confidentially, I think he was one of these overworked eggheads. You know, studying all the time. Too much strain!”

The boys did not comment, but thanked the officer and left.

“Talk about jumping to conclusions!” said Joe when they were in the car again. “The sergeant takes the cake!”

They decided next to talk with the dean.

After getting directions from a passer-by, Frank drove to the outskirts of town, where the small college nestled on a wooded knoll. Frank stopped in front of the administration building. He and Joe climbed the marble steps and entered the lobby.

They quickly found the office marked DEAN EASTLAND, and went inside. After telling a receptionist that the nature of their business was confidential, the Hardys were ushered into the official's private office.

Dean Eastland was a tall, spare man with a shock of unruly gray hair. He rose as they entered. “Be seated, young men. You say your mission is confidential? That sounds mysterious.”

The brothers took chairs before the dean's desk, and Frank began by saying that they were trying to find Morgan Todd.

“Yes, yes, good for you,” the dean said. “Matter of fact, we're all trying to locate him.”

“Our father, Fenton Hardy, has taken on the case,” Frank explained “and we are here to do a little spadework.”

“Ah, yes, yes. I hope you have better luck than we have had,” the college official said. “Strange! Very strange, indeed!” He shook his head.

“How's that?” Frank asked.

“Well, I mean, the circumstances surrounding his departure.” As the boys listened intently, Dean Eastland told how the instructor apparently had prepared an examination for his students, left it on his desk, and disappeared into the night.

“We found the test there next morning,” the dean said, “or rather a colleague found it, had it mimeographed, and Mr. Todd's students took the examination that day.”

The dean picked up a pencil and tapped it on his desk. “But, as you know, Mr. Todd never returned. Quite disturbing.”

“Who found the exam?” Joe asked impetuously.

The dean looked up in surprise. “Mr. Quill did. Cadmus Quill is Mr. Todd's colleague and close associate.”

Frank and Joe exchanged meaningful glances. They would have to question Cadmus Quill.

“Well, that is about as much as I can tell you, boys,” said the dean, rising. “Morgan Todd, I'm afraid, is suffering from loss of memory.”

“We'd like to meet Cadmus Quill,” Frank said, “and also examine Todd's room if we may, Dean Eastland.”

The educator jotted down the address and handed Frank the slip of paper. He walked to the window and pointed across the quadrangle. “Shelly Row is behind that building. It's where we house graduate students and instructors.”

The boys thanked the dean and hurried out. As they walked across the quadrangle, they passed groups of students who had just registered for the summer session.

Presently the brothers found themselves behind a short man in his early twenties, noticeable because of his tiptoed bouncy gait and a loud sports jacket. Joe could hardly keep from imitating the peculiar walk as he fell in behind him.

Frank nudged his brother, and as they stepped past the man, Joe could not restrain himself from taking a backward glance at the fellow's intelligent, round face.

Quickly finding Shelly Row, the boys made their way to Number 19 and rang the doorbell. They were so intent on listening for someone inside that they did not hear a person walking up behind them. “Looking for me?” asked a cheerful voice.

Frank and Joe whirled about to face the bouncy fellow with the sporty clothes. “Are you Cadmus Quill?” Frank asked.

“Yes, I am. May I help you?”

The boys introduced themselves, and Quill ushered them into his room. Frank quickly told all that they had learned about the case and asked Quill if he knew anything further.

“I do indeed,” he replied, “but the local police think it isn't important!”

“Do you have more facts?” Joe asked eagerly.

“Not exactly,” Quill replied. “You might say it's confidential information.” He motioned the boys to be seated, then drew up a chair close to them. “Todd was going to be married soon. Did you know that?”

Taken by surprise, the Hardys said No.

Quill told them that Todd had confided in him that he was going to return to Europe to marry a girl he had met while studying in the unfriendly country. “He didn't even tell his sister for fear she might object.”

“Then you don't believe he lost his memory,” Frank said.

Quill shook his head. “Not at all.”

The graduate assistant had no further information to offer, whereupon the Hardys asked if he would show them to Todd's quarters.

“Indeed,” Quill said with an officious little smile. “Right next door.”

He produced a key and entered the adjoining apartment.

“You see? Everything is neat and orderly,” he pointed out. “It's very obvious to me that Morgan deliberately planned to leave.”

“What's this?” Frank asked, bending down to look at some mimeographed sheets on Todd's desk.

“I put those there,” Quill replied, “—a few of the examination papers which were left over the day after Morgan disappeared.”

The young sleuths scanned the room, but did not wish to examine it closely with Quill present.

“Thank you,” Frank said. “Guess that's all for now. May we come back later and check the room further?”

“Indeed, yes, be my guests,” Quill said, and he handed the key to Joe.

As they returned to their car, Frank teased his brother. “Joe, you nearly made a
faux pas
when we first saw bouncy Quill walking across campus.”

Joe laughed. “He's kind of odd, but I suppose a very smart cooky.”

The boys stopped for supper at an inn near the campus, then returned to their motel. Frank opened the door and gasped. Inside was an elderly couple. The man was reading a newspaper while the woman primped her hair before the mirror on the dresser.

“Excuse me!” Joe said. “We must be in the wrong room!”

“No, we're not,” said Frank. “This is ours—Number Seven.”

The woman turned and smiled. “Oh, you must be the Hardy brothers,” she said. “The manager moved your baggage out.”

“What for?” Frank asked, puzzled and annoyed. “We're registered here overnight.”

Then he realized there was no use in arguing. It apparently was not the couple's fault. Frank and Joe hastened to the manager's office. The man smiled broadly. “Well, I've done as you asked. You have a very nice little bungalow and I know you'll enjoy it.”

“Wh-what?” asked Joe.

“Your college friends relayed your message,” the man said, stroking his bald head.

The Hardys were dumfounded but listened to the manager's explanation. “Three boys came here and told me you Hardys wanted one of the cottages where it would be quieter. So we moved you in there bag and baggage.” The man added, “It only costs two dollars more a night. You're getting a bargain.”

“Where is this cottage?” Joe asked.

“Over there,” the man said, pointing to one of the little houses. It was lighted inside.

The boys hastened over, and as they passed the window they saw a stocky youth standing inside. Frank flung open the door. “What's the meaning of this?” he demanded.

The young man whirled around. Frank and Joe saw that he was wearing a black half-mask. At the same time, the closet door burst open and out jumped four other masked youths.

“Hey, what kind of a joke is this!” Joe cried out as the intruders jumped both Hardys. They struggled furiously, but the combined weight of the masked boys finally bore Frank and Joe to the floor. They were bound and gagged, then tied securely to two long planks.

Without saying a word, the Hardys' assailants loaded them into a station wagon parked behind the cottage. They were driven out of the motel grounds and along the main highway for several miles. Then the driver turned left onto a dirt road and stopped a mile farther on.

The brothers were lifted out, carried a short distance through some low brush, and laid crosswise on a railroad track. Then the masked quintet vanished into the darkness.

Frank squirmed and tugged at his bonds. Joe did too, but neither boy could loosen the ropes which secured them. Beads of perspiration stood out on their foreheads. Then came a sound which struck terror into their hearts. In the distance they heard the ominous growl of an approaching diesel locomotive!

CASTING hopeless glances at each other, Frank and Joe struggled desperately at their bonds while the diesel locomotive drew closer.

The rumble of the wheels grew deafening. But then, as if by a miracle, the engine throbbed past, leaving only the clickety-clack of freight cars trailing in its wake.

Unscathed but shaken, Frank and Joe continued to work at the ropes which secured them to the planks. By straining until his muscles ached, Frank stretched his bound wrists to where he could dimly see a spike protruding from a railroad tie. Over and over he snagged the knot upon the spike. Each effort loosened the rope a little more. Finally it fell open.

With his wrists released, Frank tore out his gag and reached over to do the same for Joe.

“Whew!” Joe gasped. “I thought our goose was cooked!”

“It would have been an awful way to say good-by to mother earth,” Frank replied grimly, quickly freeing himself from the plank.

Then he released his brother. The two boys stood up and stretched painfully, massaging their cramped muscles. Twenty yards away the polished rails of another railroad line glimmered in the moonlight.

“Look, these tracks we were on are rusty,” Frank noted.

“Must be a spur line,” Joe said, “which isn't used any more.”

“A great way to give a guy gray hair at a tender age,” Frank remarked.

“It wasn't funny,” Joe said, between clenched teeth.

“I'll say not,” his brother agreed. “I'd like to find the nut who planned this trick!”

“If I see him first, I'll take care of that joker,” Joe said.

After walking along the tracks some distance, the boys came to the highway. There they flagged a friendly trucker, who readily agreed to drive them to their motel.

Jouncing up and down in the cab beside the driver, the Hardys continued to speculate.

“You suppose what happened to us was just a crazy mix-up?” Joe asked in low tones. “Why should those fellows pick on us?”

Frank frowned. “I have a hunch the whole thing was intended to scare us away from Kenworthy before we could find a good clue.”

“Then you think Todd could have been kidnapped?”

“Let's not rule out that possibility,” Frank said.

As the truck approached the Palm Court grounds, Joe suddenly chuckled. “If Chet and Biff wanted excitement—they should've been with us tonight. Honeycomb Caves must be pretty tame compared with the Kenworthy capers.”