The Stone Idol (10 page)

Ambrose came in and sat between Frank and Joe.

“This is great goulash,” Joe said as he downed a mouthful.

“A bit too hot for me,” Frank muttered and took a long drink of water.

“The other guys like it hot,” Ambrose explained.

After dinner, the three went into the dorm and talked for a while about the rigors of life in the Antarctic. Frank stretched and yawned. “I think I'll hit the hay,” he declared. “I'm bushed.”

“It's bedtime for us all,” Ambrose stated. “We get up early here, and we need all the sleep we can get. ”

Frank crawled into his cot and fell sound asleep. One by one the others turned in. Joe noticed Ambrose snap out the overhead light just before he dozed off.

He was awakened in the middle of the night by a hand shaking him. A voice whispered into his ear, “Joe, this is Al Ambrose. Commander Noonan wants to see you. Frank's with him now and he says it's important. Put on your clothes and come along with me.”

Instantly wide awake, Joe got off his cot and donned his clothes. Then he followed Al along the corridor, which was dimly lit by a small, yellowish bulb in the ceiling. Reaching the end of the hallway, Ambrose unbolted the door and opened it. A blast of frigid arctic air rushed in.

Ambrose pointed out the door. “There are Frank and Commander Noonan,” he said.

Joe advanced to the doorway and looked out. Suddenly something struck him on the head, and he was pushed out into the snow!

Joe hit the ground and lay there motionless for a second. Then he struggled to his feet. His head swimming, he pounded on the door, which had locked itself behind him.

“Open up! I can't get in!” he yelled as loud as he could. But the howling wind carried away the sound of his voice, and no one in the back of the building could hear his pounding.

The frigid cold bored through his light clothing and he shivered violently. He felt dizzy and blacked out momentarily, collapsing in the snow.

He came to when a hand slapped his face and a familiar voice shouted, “Joe! Come on, get up!”

The boy opened his eyes and saw his father standing over him!

“We're locked out,” Joe muttered weakly.

“It doesn't matter,” Fenton Hardy replied. “We'll spend the night in my Sno-Cat.”

The Bayport sleuth helped his son across to the vehicle, pushed him in, and followed him into the cabin. The warmth soon brought Joe around. He stared in surprise when he saw his brother huddled in a corner with a blanket around him.

“Frank! How'd you get here?”

“Same as you,” Frank responded. “I bet Ambrose told you Noonan wanted to see you, and then conked you on the head.”

Joe nodded. “He figured he could get rid of both of us this way. In the morning, everyone would have thought we went outside and locked ourselves out by mistake.”

“But Dad, what about you?” Frank inquired.

“I arrived just at the right time,” Mr. Hardy replied. “I saw Frank being kicked out the door, so I brought him in here. Then Al pulled the same trick on you.”

“What made you come to Outpost I?” Joe asked, while covering himself with a blanket his father handed him.

“Since I couldn't raise you on the radio, I decided to see whether you had arrived safely.”

“We almost didn‘t,” Frank said and reported what happened. “I think Muller sent us the wrong way deliberately!” he added.

“That only confirms my suspicion of him,” Mr. Hardy said. “Here's what I found out. Muller wrote Admiral Langton a memo shortly after he arrived. Langton read it and put it in his desk. When he took it out the next morning, the writing had disappeared! He thought he must have made a mistake and put a blank sheet of paper in his desk. Since it was unimportant, he didn't pursue the matter.”

“Muller wrote the note in disappearing ink,” Frank concluded.

“Yes. The story interested me because a navy lab where Muller worked previously used pens containing disappearing ink for security reasons. But no one's authorized to take those pens anywhere else. Apparently Muller brought a few when he came here. I felt he might have wanted them to write messages for the theft ring.”

“But why would he use such a pen on Langton's memo?” Joe inquired.

“He made a mistake,” his father said. “I also found out he was stationed in San Diego for a while, and I suspect this was the headquarters of the gang for a long time.”

“Al Ambrose is from San Diego!” Frank cried out.

Mr. Hardy nodded. “When the two got leery about being caught, they volunteered for service in the Antarctic. Now Muller is running the operation from here. I wasn't convinced that my theory was correct until I came here.”

“You're right on target, Dad. When we left Byrd Base, Muller marked the location of Outpost I on our map. Later, the mark disappeared. We know the mark was in the wrong place to mis lead us.”

“We must have Muller arrested at once!” Joe urged.

“I've been working on that,” his father said. “Unfortunately, the man left on an army transport plane for Punta Arenas this morning. Admiral Langton tells me it's all on the level, and that Muller was to go to San Diego on official business. But I suspect he'll use the opportunity to escape. Once we arrived on the scene, he must have sensed he was in great danger of being discovered. That's why he tried to get you two out of the way as fast as he could. I doubt he'll ever arrive in San Diego, but if he does, he'll be arrested.”

“He must have radioed Al Ambrose before he left,” Frank surmised. “Then, when we got here, Al realized that Muller's scheme to get rid of us had failed. So he tried on his own.”

Mr. Hardy nodded. “We'll confront Ambrose with the evidence in the morning. Right now I suggest we all get some sleep.”

The trio huddled together, putting on every bit of clothing they could find to keep from freezing. Mr. Hardy turned the engine on every so often to warm up the cabin, but the rest of the night was far from comfortable for the Bayport sleuths.

In the morning, one of the men spotted the Sno-Cat through the window, and opened the door for them. After taking off their heavy clothing, they went into the dining room, where the crew of Outpost I was just arriving for breakfast.

Al Ambrose came in with a steaming pot of coffee. When he saw the Hardy boys, he stared at them as if they were ghosts, and the pot almost fell out of his hand.

“Morning, Al,” Joe greeted him. “I can sure go for some ham and eggs.”

“Especially after you kicked us out the door last night and we almost froze to death,” Frank added. “If our father hadn't arrived in time, both Joe and I wouldn't be alive this morning!”

Ambrose gulped and began to tremble. Commander Noonan stared at him in surprise, then turned to the Hardys. “What on earth are you boys talking about?”

“I suggest that you put this man under arrest for attempted murder of my sons, to which I was a witness,” Mr. Hardy spoke up. “Then I'll tell you why I'm here.”

Al dropped the coffee pot on the table and tried to run out of the room.

“Stop!” Noonan commanded. “Where do you think you're going? Out into the cold?”

Al realized that there was no way to escape. He meekly submitted to being handcuffed and was led out of the dining room.

The commander and Mr. Hardy disappeared into Noonan's private quarters and the detective reported what had happened. Noonan was dumbfounded and regretted deeply that one of his men was involved in the theft ring. An hour later, the three Hardys were on their way back to Byrd Base.

The Bayport detective drove his Sno-Cat with Ambrose locked in the rear. Frank and Joe followed in the vehicle they had brought to Outpost I.

Joe, who was at the wheel, commented, “It sure is easier going back than it was coming out. Of course, we know where we're going this time, and we have a better driver. Me.”

“Don't run through a red light!” Frank quipped. “You might lose your Sno-Cat license.”

When the group reached Byrd Base, Ambrose was taken into Admiral Langton's headquarters. The young man confessed to being in league with Muller. He did not know, however, where Muller had gone.

“We tracked down the plane he was to take out of Punta Arenas,” Langton said. “Apparently he never made the connection and disappeared.”

“Well, it seems I have my next assignment cut out for me,” Mr. Hardy said with a smile.

Langton nodded. “We're counting on you to find the man,” he confirmed.

“Can we help?” Frank asked.

Mr. Hardy shook his head. “I can handle it on my own. Why don't you two go back to Santiago and see what you can find out about Julio Santana.”

“We'll be glad to supply your transportation,” Admiral Langton offered. “You've been a great help to us, and I regret that your lives were in such danger while you were here.”

Frank grinned. “That's happened before,” he said. “It's part of the job.”

Early the next morning, the Hardy boys arrived in Punta Arenas. Before going any further, they decided to get in touch with Bertrand. The antique dealer told them that Santana had not been found yet.

“The police have had no luck so far,” Bertrand said. “We're up against a blank wall. If you want to try again, why don't you come here and see what you can do?”

“We will,” Frank promised. “But first we'd like to do a little sleuthing in Punta Arenas. Santana might be back here on his job as an oil driller. ”

After finishing the conversation with Bertrand, Frank called the local authorities and the company Santana had worked for. Nobody had seen or heard from the Easter Islander.

“What'll we do now?” Joe asked.

“We might as well go back to Santiago,” Frank advised.

While waiting for a connecting flight, the boys walked through the lobby. Suddenly, Frank grabbed Joe by the elbow and pointed to a row of seats at the end of the room facing the wall. Two dark men were sitting on the aisle with passengers near them. They had their heads together and were holding an intense conversation.

“That's Santana!” Frank hissed. “And the other one's the guy who helped him overturn the bridge when we nearly fell into the gorge!”

“What do you think he's doing in Punta Arenas?” Joe whispered.

Frank shrugged. “Let's follow him. Maybe we'll find out.”

Adopting a casual air, the Hardys strolled across the waiting room, bought newspapers, and sat down behind Santana and his companion. They raised their papers as if reading, and strained their ears to hear what was being said.

However, the men were speaking Spanish in such low tones that the only thing they could make out was
Isla de Pascua,
which Frank knew meant Easter Island.

Suddenly Santana rose to his feet and walked past the Hardys without noticing them. They got up and followed him through the waiting room, screening themselves by mingling with the crowd and staying just close enough to watch him.

Santana walked to the elevator, where he punched the button for the mezzanine. Realizing he was going up one flight, the boys immediately ran up the stairs. They positioned themselves against a low wall overlooking the waiting room, again shielded by their newspapers, and waited to see what would happen.

The elevator door opened and Santana emerged, walking over to a row of lockers. He took a key from his pocket, opened one, and removed a leather case. Then he walked away.

“Maybe he has the idol in there!” Joe hissed.

The boys hurried after the man, who seemed to sense their presence and looked back over his shoulder. When he recognized them, he rushed to the opposite side of the wall overlooking the waiting room. Frank and Joe followed, but at that moment, passengers flooded into the mezzanine from a plane that had just landed. The crowd crossed between the boys and Santana, who raced to the wall, called out something in Spanish, and tossed the case to his companion below in the waiting room.

The man caught it, clasped it tightly under his arm, and ran out an exit, while Santana headed for the stairs on the opposite side of the mezzanine.

Still held up by the crowd, Frank and Joe followed as fast as they could.

When they reached the stairs, they could see the fugitive going through a revolving door leading to the runways outside. Vaulting down the stairway, they dashed to the door, only to be stopped by two small children who got there first. They wedged themselves in with their mother behind them and moved the door slowly.

At last, the boys found themselves outside the terminal. Many planes were being serviced and a few were taxiing into position for takeoff. One was coming in for a landing.

A small craft stood on the nearest strip. On its side were stenciled the words
Inca
Chief. The Hardys could see the pilot preparing to leave.

“He's Santana's pal!” Joe gasped.

A passenger, whose face they could not distinguish, sat behind the man. Santana, running at top speed, reached the plane while the pilot revved the motor. He jumped in and slammed the door shut, then tapped his friend on the shoulder, pointing through the window at Frank and Joe. Obviously, he was telling his friend to hurry. At once, the plane began to move. A rush of exhaust fumes and dust deluged the boys as they raced up. Then the craft gathered speed, became airborne, and zoomed off into the sky!

The boys stopped in disgust and watched it vanish into the clouds.

“We've lost him again,” said Joe. “He's as slippery as an eel in Barmet Bay.”