The Stone Idol (6 page)

Frank and Joe reached the opposite side of the canyon and pulled themselves up onto solid ground. They collapsed on the soft earth to catch their breath. Meanwhile, the bridge began to swing again. Staring across the gorge, they saw that Santana and a group of natives were trying to turn it right side up.

“Let's get out of here!” Joe exclaimed. “They'll be coming across in a minute!”

The boys rushed into the underbrush and concealed themselves beneath some tall bushes. They were still too exhausted from their ordeal to run very far. Peering through the branches, they could see the bridge hurtling back and forth in a wide arc. Finally it reached its peak and fell down into its original position.

Santana and his companions ran over it as fast as they could and began to scout through the underbrush for the Hardys.

“We can't stay here!” Frank said in a hoarse whisper.

“We don't have to!” Joe whispered back. He pointed to a spot where a cave extended into the mountainside.

Hitting the ground, the Hardys crawled into the cave and pulled small bushes and twigs over the entrance. Then they lay flat, gasping for breath and waiting to see what would happen.

Their pursuers had split up and were running in all directions. Suddenly Frank and Joe heard Santana's voice. “They got away!” the chauffeur complained in English.

“Perhaps you were foolish to come here,” another man said.

“It was an obvious choice. I wanted to stay with you until we could go on.”

“It was too dangerous,” his companion declared.

Frank and Joe could hear his footsteps as he came closer to the cave. Then they saw the outline of his figure through the brush. He stretched out his hand and the Hardys froze in terror.

Had he discovered their hideout?

But the man only plucked a few berries from a bush, popped them into his mouth, then said, “What will you do now, Julio?”

“I will return to Santiago with the idol and hide out at Ernesto's until you are ready. The Hardys will search the village and the mountains for me and they will never suspect I went back to the city. ”

“Good,” the other man agreed. “I will find you at Ernesto's when the time comes.”

Both men walked off. Frank and Joe remained in their hiding place for a long time. Then they finally emerged cautiously, hoping that all the Indians had returned to the village after their futile search.

“Now what?” Joe asked.

“Let's go back to our car and drive to Santiago,” Frank advised.

“Too bad we can't follow Santana,” Joe said. “But I'm sure he's left already. I wonder where he plans to go with the other fellow.”

Frank shrugged. “I have no idea.”

The boys followed the return route along the ledge and through the mountain pass. They hurried to the Indian village without encountering any hostile natives, and quickly made their way to Ata Copac's house, where they told him what happened.

“I am sorry you did not catch the thief,” the village leader said.

Frank nodded. “Well, at least we know he's headed back to Santiago,” he said. The boys thanked Ata Copac for his help and washed off the dark dye they had used to disguise themselves. Then they exchanged their Indian garments for their regular clothes, said good-bye to their host, and drove off with Joe at the wheel.

As they reached the steepest segment of the mountain road, he stepped on the brakes to slow their speed. Nothing happened. The car careened crazily forward!

“The brakes don't work!” Joe shouted.

“And we're going too fast to jump out!” Frank judged. “Keep steering, Joe!”

Gripping the wheel, the boy struggled to stay on course. Rocky walls threatened the Hardys on one side, plunging cliffs on the other! Joe veered around curves at top speed, dodging boulders and potholes, while the speedometer of their car went up and up!

As he rounded one corner, Joe saw another car racing directly toward them. Realizing there was no room for both, he made a split-second decision. Wrenching the wheel to one side, he steered off the road and the other car whizzed past.

The Hardys bounced into an open area and slowed down as the wheels became entangled in grass and bushes. Joe swung around in a circle, and his vehicle gradually came to a stop.

Bruised and shaken, the young detectives stared at one another. Joe mopped his forehead with a handkerchief.

“That was a close call,” he said in a trembling voice.

Frank nodded. “I want to look at those brakes. I bet—”

Just then a familiar voice called out, “Are you boys all right?”

Gloria Nemitz came running up, followed by Professor Yates. Without realizing it, the Hardys had reached the area of the American archeological dig.

“I saw you drive off the road,” Gloria continued. “It looked like you were in trouble. ”

“We were,” Joe admitted, as he and Frank climbed out of the car. “Our brakes didn't work. ”

“You can get them repaired here,” Yates declared. “We service all our own vehicles.”

“Thanks. That's great, Professor,” Frank said. “But first I want to find out what went wrong. ”

He crawled under the car and inspected the machinery. Then he emerged with a grim face. “The connecting rod is nearly filed through,” he reported. “It snapped when Joe stepped on the brakes at the top of the hill!”

“Somebody tried to kill us!” Joe exclaimed.

“But who would want to do that?” Gloria questioned.

“Julio Santana, the man from Easter Island,” Frank replied, and described their adventures since their visit to the dig, and the reason they had come to Chile.

“I'm sorry to hear you have such a dangerous assignment, Yates said. ”Why don't you walk over to our supply tent? We've got spare connecting rods.”

The boys accepted his offer and repaired their car.

“Why don't you stay for some food?” Gloria invited when they were finished.

Frank shook his head. “Thanks, but we can't. We have to go back to Santiago as fast as possible.”

“We don't want to let Santana's trail grow cold,” Joe added.

Soon afterward, the Hardys were on the road again. They reached Santiago, turned their car in at the renting office, and walked to South American Antiquities. Bertrand was in his office inspecting some Incan artifacts.

“Did you catch Santana?” he asked eagerly.

“We caught up with him,” Frank replied. “But he got away again.”

Bertrand stared at them in disappointment when they explained what happened.

“Well, that leaves me no choice,” the antique dealer said finally. “I'll have to call the police.”

“Mr. Kimberley didn't want that,” Joe objected. “Why don't you give us another chance to look for Santana in Santiago?”

Bertrand was doubtful. “I'll let you know tomorrow morning,” he said with a sigh. “It's late now, and I want to go home.” Wearily, he escorted the Hardys to the door.

The boys discussed the case in their hotel room that night. “All we have to go on is a name—Ernesto,” Joe said.

Frank nodded. “We might be better off asking the police for help, as Bertrand suggested,” he said. “Kimberley didn't want the authorities involved, but that was because he signed the release for the idol and would have been the prime suspect. Now we know he didn't take it. And the police might have some idea who Ernesto is, or even have a record of Santana!”

“You're right,” Joe admitted. “Let‘s—”

Just then the telephone rang. Frank answered, and his face broke into a smile. “Hi, Dad,” he said. “What's happening?”

“You tell me first,” Fenton Hardy replied, and the young detective explained their adventures in the Easter Island idol case.

“You did fine work,” his father commended him. “But as far as Santana is concerned, I'm afraid you'll have to let the police handle him.”

“We were thinking of asking the authorities for help,” Frank admitted. “But we want to keep searching for him, too. We have the Ernesto clue.”

“I know,” his father said. “But I'd like you to put the case on the back burner and help me for a while.”

“Why, Dad? Do you need us?”

“I do. I'd like you to leave Santiago as soon as possible.”

“Where are we going?”

“The Antarctic!”

Frank and Joe stared at one another. They could hear their father chuckling over the phone.

“I thought that would interest you,” the detective said. “I can't tell you any details at this point. Just catch a flight to Punta Arenas. It's in Tierra del Fuego at the southern tip of South America. Belongs to Chile. There's a plane out of Santiago tomorrow. I've already made reservations for you.”

“What do we do after we land?” Frank wanted to know.

“You'll find out when you get there. An advisor will meet you at the information booth. I have to go now. Bye.” With that, Fenton Hardy hung up.

“Dad's really being mysterious,” Frank observed. “I wonder where he is.”

“Probably in Washington,” Joe said. “Anyway, we won't be going back to New York for a while. What do you say we call Kimberley?”

“Good idea. He must be wondering if we've found the idol. But it's too late now. Let's do it in the morning. ”

After breakfast the following day, Joe phoned South American Antiquities in New York.

“What have you found out?” Kimberley demanded. “Any progress to report?”

“That strange message you gave us was a clue,” Joe responded. “It showed us where to look for the idol—in a secret compartment. ”

“Oh?”

“Behind a photo of the Andes in the outer office of your Santiago branch. A small panel slid back when we lifted the photo off the wall. The peg worked as an automatic control. ”

“I've seen that compartment!” Kimberley thundered. “It was there when we rented the office.”

“I know,” Joe said. “Mr. Bertrand told us most of the staff were aware of its existence.”

“But what about the idol. Was it there?”

“It sure was. We were about to take it out when your chauffeur ran up to us and grabbed it.”

“Julio? Are you talking about Julio Santana?”

“Yes, sir. ”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally Kimberley spoke again. “I can't imagine that Julio is a thief. Do you know if—if he was the one who put the idol there in the first place?”

“No. But he
could
have done it,” Joe said. “Mr. Bertrand left to get ice when you were picking up your watch that night in the Santiago hotel. Santana could have sneaked into the room and removed the sculpture from your case with a duplicate key.”

“That must be it, then,” Kimberley said. “Where's Santana now, in jail?”

“No,” Joe replied and reported what had happened in the mountain village.

Kimberley grunted. “You let him escape? What kind of detectives are you? I'm going to ask my partner to call the police!”

“We wanted to suggest the same thing, sir,” Frank said evenly. “Our father needs us to help him on his case and we have to interrupt our activities here temporarily.”

“Temporarily!” Kimberley sneered. “By the time you come back, I hope Santana will have been caught!”

“So do we,” Frank said politely.

After the conversation ended, Frank spoke with Bertrand and explained that he and Joe were leaving Santiago to help their father.

“We'll return as soon as we can to help find the idol if the police aren't successful,” he promised.

“Okay,” Bertrand said. “I'll call the chief and tell him the whole story.”

The Hardys packed their things, checked out of the hotel, and left for the airport. Suddenly, Frank had an idea. “We're headed for Punta Arenas,” he said. “That's where Santana once worked in the oil fields. Maybe he's planning to go back there, take his old job, and lie low until the heat's off and he can sell the idol!”

“He might even be on the same plane as we are,” Joe added excitedly. “He and the other fellow!”

At the terminal, the brothers boarded their flight and took their seats. Holding magazines before their faces to conceal themselves, they pretended to read while furtively watching the passengers coming aboard. But they saw only strangers.

The plane took off on a flight that lasted several hours. Finally Punta Arenas came into view. The Hardys could see oil rigs spotted around the oil fields. Incandescent flames flared atop tall towers and showed where superfluous gas was being burned off. Trucks were carrying barrels of oil down toward the port where tankers waited at anchor for their cargo.

The plane landed at the airport outside the city, and the Hardys filed out with the other passengers.

“I wonder who the advisor is who's meeting us here,” Frank commented.

“Since we don't know, he'd better recognize
us
,” Joe chuckled.

They entered the terminal, collected their suitcases, and walked to the information booth, waiting expectantly for their contact to arrive.

Suddenly they heard a familiar voice behind them. “Hi, boys!”

Whirling around, they saw Fenton Hardy!

“Dad, you're the advisor we're supposed to meet!” Joe exclaimed.

“What are you doing here?” Frank inquired. “We thought you were in Washington.”

“It's a long story. I'll tell you during our flight to Antarctica. We'll be boarding a U.S. Navy plane in a few minutes. It's standing by on one of the runways. You see, the American and Chilean governments cooperate in the air transport from here to bases near the South Pole.”