The Secret Warning (12 page)

Both boys felt a chill of awe at their first view of the dead ship. Already coated with barnacles and scum, it lay upended on the ocean floor, stacks and superstructure rammed deeply into the mud. The high bow of the
Carona
had knifed clean through into the
Katawa's
bridge and deckhousing, and the resultant wreckage had evidently crumpled further under the weight of the foundered vessel.

“No wonder Rollie has to go in through that hole in her side!” Joe thought.

The diver waved to them as he stepped off the platform, then plodded slowly toward the hulk, trailing his air hose and lifeline. The Hardys saw him close his outlet valve slightly to make his suit more buoyant so as to float himself upward toward the gaping hole. A startled school of fish came darting out as Perry made his way cautiously inside.

Frank and Joe swam closer. Dark swirls of oil were rising from the engine room, churned up by Perry's movements, and they could see little except the glow of his portable undersea lamp.

Meanwhile, the boys were flutter-kicking their way around the ship, peering at it from all sides. Somewhere in the sunken freighter was the strong room—did it still contain the gold Pharaoh's head?

The Hardys' air supply was getting low when Perry finally emerged. He made a thumbs-up gesture to return topside. Pausing at intervals to decompress, they made the ascent.

As soon as Frank and Joe were hauled aboard, they could see from the excited faces of the diving crew that Perry had telephoned important news from the wreck. The young sleuths waited impatiently until his helmet was removed.

“What's the dope, Rollie?” Joe asked eagerly.

“Whoever cut that hole in the
Katawa
stole her engine-room telegraph and tachometer—the only evidence that can prove who's responsible for the collision!”

 

 

 

 

 

“T
HE telegraph and tachometer—gone!”

Joe gave a startled whistle and glanced at Frank. The discovery of the missing instruments below boded ill for Transmarine Underwriters and could result in heavy claims!

Chet had already heard the diver's telephoned report from the bottom. “Say!” the stout lad spoke up. “Isn't there another telegraph and tachometer on the bridge?”

“Sure,” said Perry, “but they wouldn't amount to much now, except scrap metal—even if I could pry them out. The bridge is nothing but a mass of junk, and the whole ship's perched right on top of it.”

“How about the strong room?” Frank asked.

“That's probably pretty badly smashed, too,” the diver said. “I couldn't get to it from the engine room—at least not yet. A lot of debris will have to be cleared away first.”

The Hardy boys went below to change out of their scuba dress.

“What do you suppose Rollie will find when he gets to the strong room?” Joe mused aloud. “Think the gold Pharaoh's head is still there?”

“I don't know. Looks as if we'll have to wait a while to find out. The question is, Why were those indicators stolen?”

Joe shot his brother a surprised look. “That's obvious, isn't it? Whoever took them was trying to cover up responsibility for the collision.”

“Maybe. It could also be a red herring—to cover up the theft of the head! Remember, the thief knew that hole in the
Katawa's
side was bound to be seen by any salvage diver later on.”

“Yes!” Joe said excitedly. “Then, if nothing was touched in the engine room, that would practically
prove
the thief had gone down for the head. Which, in turn, might touch off a big search by the police!”

“Right. So he may have figured that by misleading the insurance company, he'd have more time to dispose of the head safely.”

“But all this is assuming the thief could get to the strong room,” Joe pointed out.

“Rollie said the way to it is blocked.”

“From the engine room it's blocked,” Frank corrected. “Maybe there's some other way to get at the room.”

When the Hardys returned topside, they learned that Shane, Perry, and Captain Rankin were holding a meeting in the captain's cabin to map salvage plans. The three Bayporters were invited to attend.

Around the oval wooden table, Frank told his theory that the instrument thief's real objective might have been the Pharaoh's head.

“Is there any other way he could have reached the strong room?” the young sleuth asked.

Roland Perry hesitated. “He might have worked his way in through a deck hatch or companionway—I' d have to check. But offhand I doubt if that would have been any easier.”

“Besides, lad,” Captain Rankin put in, “would he have bothered to cut the hole in her side? The hole is the only tip-off that a thief was down there at all.”

“That's true,” Frank conceded.

“There could still be a reason,” said Joe. “Maybe he figured the hole would throw us off the track for a while—at least long enough for him to sell the head.”

Shane remarked wryly, “I'd say we're up against a pretty shrewd operator.”

“Rollie,” said Frank, “is there any chance the thief could have gotten the head—and
then
himself blocked access to the strong room?”

The three salvage men were startled by this idea.

“By George, I guess that's possible,” Perry admitted. “With a small explosive blast, he might have shifted the debris inside the ship quite a bit. It'd be hard to tell now.”

The Hardys and Chet exchanged quick glances. They had already found out—almost at the cost of their lives—that someone on Whalebone Island knew how to handle explosives!

“Well,” Frank said, “to sum up, it looks as if there are four possible answers to the question of who cut that hole in the
Katawa.”

“Let's hear 'em,” said Matt Shane.

“One: the thief may have been someone hired by the owners of the
Carona,
to help them duck responsibility for the collision. Two: he may have been a free-lance diver after the head—or maybe just after brass scrap. Three: he may have been hired by Mehmet Zufar, the owner of the head, to help him gyp the insurance company.”

“You don't have to name the fourth,” Perry broke in. “That I can already guess.”

Joe nodded. “You mean Gus Bock?”

“I do. Bock's been my candidate for the thief ever since I first saw that hole.”

“I realize Simon Salvage is not famous for square dealing,” Captain Rankin said, frowning. “But do you believe even they'd risk such a maneuver?”

“Sure,” Perry reasoned. “What else can they be doing around Whalebone Island? We know they wouldn't pass up any chance of big loot.”

Before the discussion could continue, there was a knock on the door of the captain's cabin.

“Come in!” Rankin barked.

A deckhand stepped inside. “Sparks says there's a radiotelephone call from shore for the Hardy boys, Cap'n.”

Frank and Joe excused themselves and hurried to the radio shack, Chet puffing along eagerly behind them. The call was from Sam Radley in Philadelphia.

“What's up, Sam?” Frank asked his father's operative.

“A couple of news items I thought I'd pass on to you fellows. For one thing, your dad has found out, through Interpol, who sent that warning cablegram from Egypt.”

Frank's eyes lighted with interest. “Who?”

“The Egyptian police traced it to a Dutch goldsmith named Van Hoek who was living in Cairo.”

“Was
living?”

“That's right. He seems to have disappeared.”

Frank glanced at Joe and Chet, who were listening in. Chet gulped.

“A goldsmith!” Joe exclaimed. “Sounds as if there might've been some funny business with the Pharaoh's head. Van Hoek may have made a duplicate!”

“And he may also be another victim of the Pharaoh's curse,” Chet croaked gloomily.

“What's the rest of your news, Sam?” Frank asked, turning back to the telephone.

The detective hesitated before replying. “The truth is, your dad's missing, too. At least I haven't heard from him for over twenty-four hours.”

“What! Haven't you any idea where he went?”

“None,” Radley admitted worriedly, “except that he was following up on that lead from Zufar. Look, I'd rather not talk too much over the phone. Do you think you boys could break off what you're doing and fly here to Philadelphia?”

Alarmed for their father's safety, the Hardys readily agreed. Radley promised to arrange a special charter flight with the Ace Air Service, which would be standing by as soon as the youths could get back to Bayport.

Chet was sympathetic and immediately offered whatever assistance he could give his pals.

Frank gave him a grateful slap on the back. “Thanks, Chet. You've been a swell sport to help us this far. You deserve a break. We'll drop you off in Bayport, but stand by.”

“You bet.”

After a hasty farewell to their friends on the Petrel, the boys embarked in the
Sleuth.

It was evening when they finally reached home. Here Frank and Joe ate a quick supper with Aunt Gertrude. Not wanting to worry her, they made no mention of Fenton Hardv's disappearance, saving only that they were needed urgently in Philadelphia to help on his current case.

“Any word from Mother?” Joe asked.

“Her friend is better, but Laura plans to stay on in Bartonsville a few days,” Miss Hardy replied. “Don't eat so fast, boys! You're as bad as Tivoli.”

Frank grinned. “How's Tivoli's appetite these days?”

“Humph! He does eat rather a lot, but he's proving to be a very well-behaved dog. I'm seeing to that!” Aunt Gertrude added with pride.

The two boys sped to the airport in their convertible and were soon taking off into the dusk aboard the charter plane.

Sam Radley met them at the Philadelphia air terminal, but waited until the Hardys were settled in a hotel room before telling them the whole story

“When your dad and I opened that airport locker,” he began, “we found a walkie-talkie inside.”

“A walkie-talkie!” Frank exclaimed.

“Yes—with a note saying to keep listening in. But it wasn't till Saturday that anything came through.”

“What did you hear?” Joe asked.

“Not much the first time. The voice that spoke sounded pretty suspicious—wanted to know why Zufar himself didn't answer. Your dad said he was acting as Zufar's agent or go-between for the pickup of the head.”

“Then what?” Frank inquired.

“He was told to stand by for instructions—while the gang did some snooping around, I suppose, to make sure there was no trap.”

“Then,” Sam went on, “early yesterday morning another message came. Fenton was told this time to grab a taxi immediately, have the driver go down Market Street, and then turn north onto Johnson Avenue. The voice said he would receive further instructions en route.”

The sandy-haired, muscular detective rose from his chair and paced anxiously about the room.

“I tried to follow him in another cab, but lost him in traffic. I haven't heard a word from him since.”

Frank said, “Have you told the police?”

Radley nodded. “Yes, your father kept them informed all along, but there was no time to rig a trap. A police operator was tuned in on the same frequency, but he heard nothing.”

“Some of the gang probably got close behind Dad's cab and broadcast at very low power, so the transmission wouldn't carry far,” Joe declared.

Both boys felt sick with worry, but knew there was little they could do except await developments. Frank told Radley about Captain Early's cane and passed on the description of the “helpful” motorist and his car. Radley promised to have this circulated by the police.

“Better get some rest, fellows. We may need all our energy tomorrow,” the operative advised after they had listened to the eleven-o' clock news report on TV.

Radley left to return to his own room. Frank and Joe undressed and went to bed. Exhausted by their strenuous day, they fell asleep quickly.

Joe awoke suddenly some time later. Was the floor creaking—or had he only imagined it? He raised his head from the pillow and peered around.

 

 

 

 

 

J
OE was out of bed in a flash. He sprang clear across his brother's bed and leaped at the intruder in a flying tackle.

With a snarl, the man kicked backward. His heel connected full force with Joe's jaw and the boy crashed to the floor in a daze.

By this time Frank had awakened. He jumped out of bed just as the man was disappearing through the window. Frank ran over and stuck out his head. “Stop! Thief!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. The intruder was already darting down the fire escape into the pitch-dark alleyway below.

Frank raged in frustration. He had started to put on his bathrobe, in order to give chase. But he checked himself, not daring to leave Joe alone.

Dashing to the room telephone, he signaled the operator. “A man just broke into Room 3211 He got away down the rear fire escape and went through the alley!”

Hurrying to his brother's assistance, Frank was relieved to find Joe groggily raising himself from the floor.