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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

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BOOK: The Viking Symbol Mystery
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“I'll go!” each boy volunteered.
Mr. Hardy smiled at the response. “I'll need only two of you for the job. Biff and Tony, you can be on your way tomorrow. All expenses paid. If you solve the mystery,” he added, “there'll be a bonus!”
Frank, Joe, and Chet looked puzzled. Why weren't they going along? Mr. Hardy smiled, and continued, “Don't worry, you three, you're going to Canada too! I need
your
help on another important case!”
“What's that, Dad?” Frank asked eagerly, his face brightening.
“A few days ago,” Mr. Hardy explained, “I had a cablegram from a Mr. Black, curator of the City of London Museum in England. Because I'd been successful in solving a case in Canada a few years ago, I had been recommended to Mr. Black.”
“Yes?” Joe prompted.
“This mystery,” his father went on, “concerns an invaluable Viking rune stone that was stolen recently in Edmonton, Alberta.”
“Wow!” exclaimed Joe. “That's near the edge of the Northwest Territories.”
“Those old Scandinavian mariners really covered a lot of water in their far-flung travels,” said his father, “often ranging inland for great distances. The runic alphabet was copied from Latin and Greek letters by the Teutonic peoples about the third century. They left permanent messages on stones, and for many centuries afterward, this stolen one had special significance.”
Mr. Hardy went on, “It seems a French-Canadian trapper named Pierre Caron found a stone bearing Viking symbols near the shore of Great Slave Lake. After revealing his find to the press, he contacted the London Museum and the officials there sent an expert on runic symbols, Peter Baker-Jones, to Edmonton to buy the stone for the museum collection. The thieves probably read all about it in the newspapers. A few minutes after Mr. Baker-Jones had paid Caron, both men were attacked and robbed. Baker-Jones lost the rune stone, and Caron, his money.”
“What about the Edmonton police?” Chet asked. “Are they working on the case?”
“Yes. But despite their efforts and all the help they have had from Caron, they haven't been able to come up with a clue. Baker-Jones is still in a coma.”
“Did the cablegram say anything else?” Frank asked.
“That's all, Frank. I put through a transatlantic call to Mr. Black in London and suggested that the stone probably was already in a museum in Cairo—or some other faraway world capital. But the curator didn't think so because, just before Baker-Jones lost consciousness, he told a doctor that the rune stone symbols contained directions to a Viking treasure hidden in the area.”
“And Mr. Black thought the thieves would stay around there to look for it?” Frank asked.
“Right!” his father said, smiling.
“Great!” exclaimed Joe, leaping to his feet. “Then we're on the Viking rune stone case?”
“Right again,” replied the detective.
The five boys began talking excitedly about the two mysteries. Finally Biff said, “Tony and I had better take off—we have a lot to do getting ready.”
“Good idea,” Mr. Hardy agreed.
Frank, Joe, and Chet hurried downstairs with the two boys.
“Let's cut through the backyard and over the hedge,” Tony suggested to Biff as they went outside.
“Sure thing. It's the fastest way home.”
The Hardys and Chet waved good-by to their friends, who hurried off across the yard. The three boys had just turned to go into the house when suddenly they heard a shout.
“Help! Help!”
“It's Biff!” Frank cried out. “Come on, fellows!”
CHAPTER II
A Mysterious Label
FRANK, Joe, and Chet leaped down the back-porch steps and dashed to the rear hedge. Both Hardys vaulted it in one fluid motion, while their stout friend pushed his way through.
“Wow!” said Frank. Biff and Tony were kneeling over the motionless form of a man.
Joe pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and beamed it on the victim. He was a brown-haired man of medium height. “Never saw him before,” he said, studying the man's pale face with its pinched features. “And say! He's wearing gloves!”
“Guess he's the pole climber, all right,” Frank said.
Noting that the unconscious stranger had a deep gash in his head, Frank whipped out his handkerchief and placed it on the bleeding wound.
“Do you suppose the antenna fell on his head?” Joe asked. “He might be the guy who pulled it down. Started escaping but couldn't make it.”
“Anyway, he's hurt,” Frank declared. “Let's get him to the hospital right away.”
Joe and Chet went to phone for an ambulance, then call Chief Collig and give him a report.
A few minutes later Mr. Hardy hurried outside with the two boys to look at the victim. He said that the injured man was unknown to him also.
Chet told Frank that an ambulance was on its way. “Chief Collig will meet you at Bayport Hospital,” he said.
Mr. Hardy said he had to go out on a case, so he could not accompany the boys.
When the ambulance arrived, an intern hopped out and ran to the scene. He quickly examined the unconscious man, then the patient was placed on a stretcher and carried to the ambulance. Frank and Joe received permission to ride with the stranger. Tony, Biff, and Chet said good-by.
With siren wailing, the ambulance roared through downtown Bayport. In the back, Frank, Joe, and the serious young intern sat with the patient. A search of the man's pockets produced nothing that would identify him. No wallet, no cards!
As the driver turned the ambulance into the hospital driveway leading to the emergency ramp, the injured man stirred. Frank leaned over. “Can you tell us your name?” he asked.
“J-J-John Kelly,” the pale, thin stranger said in a weak voice.
“How were you hurt, Mr. Kelly?” Frank queried, as the ambulance came to a halt.
The man grimaced and shook his head. There was no time for further questioning. Two hospital attendants pulled open the rear doors and lifted out the stretcher. They carried it into the emergency treatment room, where nurses were waiting for the patient.
Frank and Joe hurried to the reception lobby, where they found Chief Collig pacing the floor impatiently. He and a police lieutenant rushed up to the Hardys.
“So you found a man you think might have been the trespasser,” the chief said. “Who is he?”
Frank reported the man's name, and the fact that he would say no more. The officer scowled. “Let's go.”
He started down the corridor toward the nurses' station. Here he showed his identification and introduced the Hardys. After a twenty-minute wait the pleasant, efficient head nurse led the callers to a first-floor, four-bed room, where the injured stranger, the only occupant, lay in bed.
“The doctor says it will be all right for you to see him,” the nurse reported and left the room.
Chief Collig looked thoughtful. “John Kelly could very well be an alias,” he told the boys. “Since there is no other means of identification, we must lift his fingerprints. Want to help me?”
Frank and Joe were efficient at this task and the chief knew it. Frank pressed the sleeping man's thumb and first finger against the edge of a clean water glass. Then the young lieutenant hurried off with the tumbler to check the fingerprint files at headquarters.
Chief Collig and the Hardys returned to the nurses' station to examine Kelly's clothing. The laundry marks and labels in the nondescript tweed jacket and well-worn gray slacks indicated they had been purchased in Bayport.
“Nothing unusual about his clothes,” said Frank, disappointed. “It doesn't tell us anything more about him... except that he appears to be poor.”
“The outfit certainly didn't fit him very well,” Joe added. “He probably hasn't eaten much lately.”
The chief and the boys thanked the nurse for her help, then left the hospital and walked to the waiting police car outside.
“Maybe the fingerprints will be on record,” Joe said hopefully, as they drove downtown to headquarters.
But when they arrived, the lieutenant greeted Chief Collig with the news that there were no fingerprints matching Kelly's in the police file. A quick teletype check with the FBI, using the Henry system, had also been fruitless.
“A blank wall, all right,” Joe observed in disgust. “But he sure looks guilty.”
“We'll keep on the alert for other clues,” Frank declared.
Chief Collig promised that he in turn would circulate a description of Kelly and let the boys know if he learned anything. They said good-by and were driven home by a patrolman.
The brothers found their petite, pretty mother and their Aunt Gertrude waiting for them in the living room. The women looked worried.
“I hate to see you two get mixed up in another dangerous mystery—and your father is still out on his case.” Mrs. Hardy sighed.
“Yes,” sniffed Aunt Gertrude. “I just
know
you'll be hurt one of these days.”
Frank and Joe gave both women a hug, and Joe said, “We're still alive and able to eat.” He grinned and added, “You know we can take care of ourselves.”
It was true. The boys had been involved in many risky adventures since their first case—The
Tower Treasure.
Recently they had challenged a ruthless band of hijackers while tracking down
The Clue of the Screeching Owl.
Despite the women's concern for the boys' safety, they obviously were interested as the brothers told of their visit to the hospital. They, too, thought it was significant that there was nothing on the injured man giving an address When Frank mentioned that the man's worn clothing did not fit him, Aunt Gertrude looked thoughtful.
“There was a man at our guild sale today who bought some used clothing!” she exclaimed. “He didn't seem like the type we usually have as a customer.”
Joe broke in eagerly, “Can you describe him, Aunt Gertrude?”
“I remember him clearly. He was very pale and thin. Acted sort of furtive—he'd look away whenever anyone caught his eye. He was well dressed in a black-and-white checkered sport jacket and gray slacks, but the clothes he bought were almost threadbare. I was sure they'd be too big.”
Frank burst out, “That could have been Kelly. He's pale and thin. His clothes were worn and certainly didn't fit him!”
“Sure!” Joe put in excitedly. “A rummage sale would be the perfect place to buy used clothing if someone wanted to make sure it wouldn't be traced.”
“If we could find his regular clothes,” said Frank, “maybe we'd learn where Kelly comes from.”
“You can look for that evidence in the morning,” their mother announced quietly. “It is late.”
Admitting that it had been a long day, the brothers said good night and went to bed. They were sound asleep almost instantly.
At breakfast the next morning Frank and Joe briefed their father on the hospital trip and their suspicions of Kelly. The detective frowned. “I'd certainly like to find out,” he said, “what the fellow is up to.”
Just then a cheerful whistle sounded from the front lawn, and a moment later Biff Hooper and Tony Prito appeared in the hall.
“We're all set,” cried Biff. He waved two plane tickets for that afternoon's flight to Alberta.
“At Edmonton, the capital of the province,” Biff explained, “we'll change for Hay River. There we'll pick up a plane going across Great Slave Lake to Yellowknife.”
“That's where Sam Radley will meet us. Right, Mr. Hardy?” Tony asked.
“Yes. I'll telegraph Sam your schedule,” the detective replied. “He'll give you the necessary orders when you arrive.”
“Great!” Tony grinned, and Biff added, “We'll do our best to carry 'em out.”
Both boys thanked Mr. Hardy for the chance to work on a case and said good-by.
“Maybe we'll all get together on these two mysteries,” Joe said to his brother as Biff's car pulled away.
“Could be,” Frank replied, “but in the meantime let's look for Kelly's discarded clothing. He may have put them in a trash can.”
“Right. First place to hunt is the Bayport dump,” Joe suggested. “All the town refuse was collected yesterday.”
The brothers ran out to the garage and climbed into their newly polished yellow convertible. Frank drove along River Road to the edge of Bayport, where the city dump was located.
As they neared the surrounding fence, the boys could see smoke from the smoldering refuse piles. The Hardys stopped at the main gate, and Joe asked the seated attendant, who was reading a newspaper, where the trash collected the previous day had been dumped.
Pointing to a section of the huge yard, the man said, “Over there!” then returned to his reading.
The boys left their car near the entrance and picked their way across the accumulation of cans, paper, and ashes to the corner area.
“Whew!” Joe looked at the huge pile of trash. “What a job!”
The two young detectives separated and started their search at opposite edges of the mountain of refuse. They worked their way toward the center of the heap. When they met there, neither boy had found a clue.
Joe looked glum. “Guess we're just out of luck,” he said, kicking an old carton.
His brother was about to agree, when the carton turned over and out fell a rolled-up pair of gray slacks. Both boys grabbed for the carton and Frank pulled out a black-and-white checkered sport jacket.
“Wa-hoo!” Frank exulted, holding up the jacket and turning it inside out. “Look at this label—Toronto, Canada!”
BOOK: The Viking Symbol Mystery
4.64Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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