The Shattered Helmet (5 page)

S
AFFEL
fell to the floor, then scrambled to his feet, red-faced.

“Welcome to our room,” Joe said. “Why didn't you knock?”

“I know why,” Chet said. “He had his ear to the keyhole.”

“That's not true!” Saffel protested. “I was just about to knock when the door opened.”

“All right, cut the baloney,” Frank said. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk to Jeff.” Saffel admitted that he had seen the Hardys and the instructor leaving the cafeteria together.

Riker seemed more amused than annoyed. “Okay, Saffel, what is it?”

“You know I've got connections,” Leon replied. “I know where we can get those rushes done very cheap.”

“We already have a good film lab,” Jeff said. “Even if I could get a lower price, I wouldn't want to change at this point.”

Saffel shrugged. “I'm only trying to help.”

“Thanks just the same,” Jeff said as Saffel left.

“Why is he spying on you?” Riker asked the Hardys. “Do you have any idea?”

Evan told of the unpleasant scene at the airport. “I don't think he likes us because of that,” he said.

“But that wouldn't explain the eavesdropping,” Jeff said with a frown.

“'He's trying to harass us for some unknown reason, perhaps,” Joe said, and told about their room being ransacked.

“I don't like to see things of this sort going on at Hunt,” Jeff said. “If there's any more trouble, please let me know.”

“Roger!” said Frank. “Thanks for the information about Betty Love. We'll fly to New York and talk with her.”

“I'll come with you,” Evan offered.

“Me too,” said Chet. “I'd rather stay here and shoot some film, but I don't want to be the only one.”

“But you'll have Thelma,” Joe needled.

Evan rubbed his chin. “Okay, Chet, we'll both stay. But, Frank, can't we help in some way?”

“Sure,” Frank said. “See what Saffel's up to. And remember, lock the room and the window when you leave.”

“Just as Aunt Gertrude told us,” Joe added with a wry grin.

The next morning the Hardys rose first. “We're off to see Lady Love,” Frank said. “Dress neatly, Joe.”

Chet rolled over in his bunk, rubbed his eyes, and sat up on one elbow. “Quit kidding me about my lady love,” he said.

The Hardys laughed and Frank threw a pillow at Chet. “Down, boy. We're not talking about your Thelma.”

Evan was awake by now and wished the Hardys good luck.

The boys said good-by, drove to the nearby airport, and parked the car. Their flight would leave in half an hour and return from La Guardia Airport early in the afternoon.

They picked up their tickets, had a quick breakfast, and boarded the plane. Soon they were winging over the green countryside.

The pilot set his course along the Hudson River, which glistened like a silver ribbon. But near New York City, the atmosphere became cloudy.

When the buildings of Manhattan loomed out of the haze, Frank checked the address which Jeff had given him.

“Let's take a taxi direct from the airport,” he suggested.

On the way to the city, the driver was talkative.

“That address is in a good neighborhood,” he said. “Nice old brownstone houses. You gonna visit your grandmother?”

“How did you know?” Joe asked.

“A lot of nice elderly ladies live in them buildings,” the driver replied. “Most of ‘em have dogs. They gotta be careful. Lots of burglaries around here.”

The taxi stopped in front of a quaint building. The boys paid the driver, mounted the front steps, and Frank pushed the button under the name B. Love.

Soon a buzzer sounded and the Hardys entered. Halfway down the hall a door opened a crack, and a high, trilling voice said, “Who's there?”

It was accompanied by the sharp barking of a dog.

Frank announced who they were and that they would like to talk about old movie posters. The dog yapped some more and Miss Love commanded silence. “Are you from Hunt College?” she asked.

The boys were taken aback. “Yes,” Joe said. “But how—?”

“Come on in,” she interrupted. “Greta won't hurt you.”

The door opened wide to reveal a fragile woman. Betty Love's face still retained traces of the beauty of her youth. She was short, prim, with fading blond hair and a small straight nose.

Greta proved to be a saucy Pekingese. She
sniffed the boys' trouser legs, then curled up on a velvet hassock and eyed them suspiciously.

“Have a seat,” Miss Love said cordially. “This Is just the strangest coincidence. An hour ago I sold a number of my posters to a very nice young man. He was also from Hunt College. Why do you look so startled?”

Frank tried to gain his composure, “We were looking for
The Persian Glory.
Did you—?”

“Yes. That was among them. Are you the young man's friends?”

“Was he tall, blond, and a little on the heavy side?”

“Oh, yes. And he had such delightful manners. He was so fond of Greta—even guessed she was named for Garbo.” The actress petted the dog. “His name was Segal—Oh no, Sapphire—”

“You mean Saffel? Leon Saffel?” Joe spoke up.

“Yes, that's it. He's already a film director and intends to produce a spectacular.”

“That sounds like him,” Frank muttered. “Well, we were trying to find an authentic Greek helmet used in that old movie. We don't know what it looks like. And now—”

“
Persian Glory
was one of the finest,” Betty Love said. “In fact, it was my very favorite. I played the princess.”

“Then you remember the director?” Joe said.

“Certainly,” the actress said. She knew not only
the director, but the entire cast and the production people.

As Frank made notes, Miss Love rattled off name after name, then gave a big sigh and let her hand fall limply into her lap. “That was yesteryear, I'm afraid. Only one person from all of those is still alive.”

“Who's that?” Joe asked eagerly.

“Buster Buckles.”

“Oh, we know about him,” Joe said. “His movies are being revived right now. Can you tell us where he lives? Maybe he has a copy of the film.”

Betty Love laughed and her hands fluttered. “Oh, that's impossible,” she said. “There are no more copies of
The Persian Glory.
But Buster—I think you might find out something about him from Actors Equity, even though he's retired.”

She jotted down the name, address, and phone number. “They keep tabs on those old-timers,” she said.

“Miss Love, you've been very helpful,” Frank said as the boys rose to leave.

“Good-by, Greta,” Joe said and received a growl in reply.

On the street, Frank remarked, “Leon Saffel is one up on us, Joe.”

“That's because he was so nice to Greta. But we've got the information we wanted!”

Frank chuckled. “The great director probably
heard our plans when he listened at the door last night.”

“No doubt about it,” said Joe. “We're kind of early for the plane. What say we walk over to Times Square?”

The boys strolled to the busy intersection. Then they went down to the piers to look at the ships. They ate a snack of hot dogs and sauerkraut at a street vendor's cart before taxiing back to the airport and boarding the plane.

When the Hardys arrived at Hunt, the first thing they saw was a group of young people gathered around Leon Saffel's display of old posters which were spread on the grass.

“What'd I tell you?” Joe said. “He's gloating already.”

They walked closer and Saffel flipped over one of the posters so the Hardys could not see it. He gave them a sarcastic look.

“Something tells me you've been to the big city,” he said. “That's my turf. Country hicks should stay away.”

There was no reply, and Leon went on, “I hear you like to visit old ladies. Did Betty Love give you my regards?”

“Yes. By the way, what's that spectacular movie you're going to make?” Joe needled.

This time there was silence on Saffel's part. The Hardys coolly walked around the display and Frank said, “You know, Joe, I can see right
through the back of this poster here. Behind it is the one about
The Persian Glory.
”

“Yep,” said Joe. “I can see it, too.”

The onlookers became interested, and Frank continued. “Oh yes. There's the name of the director—Bart Lund, and the producers, Soderbeg and Lister.”

“And don't forget the cast of characters,” Joe said, and proceeded to rattle off the list of names.

The students started laughing as Frank clapped his brother on the shoulder. “You'll get an A in clairvoyance, Joe.”

Then one of the girls said, “Say, Leon, I thought you weren't going to show that poster to the Hardys. They seem to know all about it!”

Saffel picked up his posters and walked away with a scowl on his red face.

“I guess that evens the score,” Joe said.

Frank grinned. “Right. Now let's go find Chet and Evan.”

They were not in their room, so the Hardys had dinner alone. Shortly after dark Chet wandered into the dormitory, starry-eyed.

“Don't tell us,” Frank said. “You had a date with Thelma.”

Chet rolled into his bunk and heaved a sigh. “She's wonderful!”

“So she's the greatest,” Joe said. “Where's Evan?”

“There's nobody like her in Bayport, or anywhere
else for that matter. You know, she beat me at Indian wrestling three times out of five! You know, the hand-type.”

“I'm sure she can also lift you off the ground with one hand,” Frank said. “Now listen to me, Chet. Where's Evan?”

“What biceps!” Chet hugged his pillow. “She'd be great working on a farm!”

Joe grabbed Chet's legs and pulled him onto the floor. He hit with a soft thud.

“What's the idea?” Chet complained.

“You're not listening to us!” Frank said. “Would you mind coming back to reality for just a moment?”

“Okay, now I'm listening,” Chet said, finally roused from his daydream.

“Have you seen Evan?”

Chet jumped to his feet. “Gosh, no. Not since this afternoon. Do you think he's in trouble?”

“D
ON'T
panic,” Joe said. “I doubt if he's in trouble.”

Frank looked serious as he thought about it. “With Gerrold's gang after us,” he reasoned, “I wouldn't be too sure about that.”

Chet told them that he and Evan had spent nearly all day together making films. “Then I had this date,” he concluded, “and Evan went into town.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Let's hunt for him,” Joe suggested. “Chet, why don't you stay here just in case he comes back while we're gone.”

“Okay.”

As the Hardys left the room, Chet picked up a film manual and began to study.

The Hardys had not quite reached the parking lot when they heard whistling in the darkness
ahead. The figure coming toward them was in a happy mood.

“It's Evan!” Joe exclaimed, running toward their friend.

“We were worried about you,” Frank called out. “Where've you been?”

“I met some Greeks!” Evan said. He had a white bag in his hands and held it up.

“What's in it?” Joe asked.

“Baklava, Greek pastry. It's delicious. But you'll have to eat it with a fork. It's sticky.”

On the way back to their room, Joe said, “Say, who were the Greeks you met?”

Evan told them that he had gone to town for a long walk and had become hungry. “I found a Greek restaurant,” he explained. “Their special today was dolma, grape leaves stuffed with rice and meat.”

“Sounds delicious,” Joe said.

“It is. The proprietor's name is George Kolouris. He has a wife and a son, and all three were very cordial. They're from Sparta. That's on the Peloponnesus near my hometown.”

When the three arrived in their room, Chet was very much relieved.

“I'm sorry you worried, Chet,” Evan said. “Here, this will make you feel better.” He offered Chet and the Hardys the sweet and sticky baklava.

“Hm!” Chet said, savoring the thin pastry with nuts and honey. “This is just as sweet as—”

“Thelma!” Joe put in.

Chet raised his eyebrows. “How do you know?”

“Just guessed.”

The next morning as the boys were finishing breakfast a messenger from the administrative office entered the cafeteria. He paged Evan.

“Over here,” Evan said and stood up.

“Cablegram for you.”

Evan read it and clutched the message in his fist. “Let's go back to the dorm,” he whispered. “It's important—and secret.”

Frank surmised that it in some way was connected with their case. His hunch proved correct.

Behind the locked door of their room, Evan read the cablegram from his Uncle Nick.

The shipping magnate said that the cryptic writing copied from the helmet had just been deciphered by an eminent Greek scholar. It indicated that the headgear might have belonged to King Agamemnon.”

“Agamemnon! He was very important!” Frank exclaimed.

“That means the helmet is of great value,” Joe added.

“Priceless,” Evan said. He refreshed the boys' memory about the Greek king. “Agamemnon had been away fighting the Trojan War for ten years, and shortly after he returned to his castle he was slain.”

“Maybe he was wearing the helmet on the day he was killed,” Chet conjectured.

“There are conflicting stories as to his death,” Evan stated. “For all we know, Chet's theory might be correct. Anyway, if Uncle Nick gets this helmet, he wants to give it to the Greek government. But anyone else could sell it for a fortune!”