Read The Yellow Feather Mystery Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Yellow Feather Mystery (2 page)
“Dad has mentioned that the enrollment's fallen off,” Joe spoke up.
“But with certain new ideas I have, I believe it would pick up again,” Greg answered. Then he added, “I'm afraid the Yellow Feather is in some way responsible for the missing will. That's why it's so important to find him.”
By this time all three had started down the river. Fanning out with the borrowed flashlights, they searched from the boathouse all the way to the scene of Skinny Mason's mishap.
“No envelope here,” Joe called.
There were negative responses from Frank in the middle and Greg on the other side.
Refusing to give up, they scanned the riverbank, thinking the wind might have blown the letter up on the shore. No luck!
Frank was about to suggest that he and Joe start for home and return in the morning when they heard the noise of a motor.
“Where's that coming from?” Greg asked.
The buzzing sound seemed to be coming closer. As the boys peered toward a bend in the river, waving their flashlights, Frank shouted, “Hey, look out!”
With a shove he sent Greg and Joe sprawling to one side. As he did, a shadowy bulk bore down on them and whisked past in the darkness.
“Wow!” Joe exclaimed. “What kind of iceboat was that?”
Before anyone could answer, Frank gave another cry of warning.
A shadowy bulk bore down on them
“Here it comes back!”
But this time the iceboat was moving slowly. Just before it reached them it scraped to a complete stop.
“Hi, fellows! Thought I recognized your voices.”
“Chet Morton!” the Hardys cried out.
“What kind of gimmick is that?” Joe asked.
“It's a cross between a bobsled and an iceboat,” said Chet as he hopped from the weird contraption. “I just finished putting it together a little while ago.”
The heavy-set boy was a loyal friend who had faced danger with the Hardys in many of their exciting adventures ever since he had helped them unravel their first mystery,
The Tower Treasure.
The Tower Treasure.
With a sheepish grin Chet said, “I sure didn't mean to come so close to you fellows, but I couldn't see very far ahead. Besides, the rudder's not working right.”
Frank introduced pug-nosed, freckle-faced Chet to Greg, then examined the strange-looking craft with his flashlight.
“No sail,” he observed. “But you certainly were moving along, Chet. Sayâwhat's this back hereâa propeller?” Chet nodded.
“Almost like a catamaran,” Joe commented, “but for travel on ice. It's a pretty swell idea.”
Proudly Chet admitted to being the inventor.
“Not only for ice,” he corrected Joe, “but for snow. It has interchangeable runners.”
Greg was impressed and said so.
“It works fine,” Chet told him. “That is, I was moving along pretty well until some guy on skates crossed right in front of me. I almost turned myself inside out to avoid hitting him.”
Chet pointed to the rudder, which was bent out of position.
“And then he had the nerve to bawl me out,” the boy complained. “I thought he'd shake his goatee right off onto the ice.”
Greg started. “You say he wore a goatee? Was he a man in his late thirties?” Chet nodded, and Greg went on, “That must have been Henry Kurt, the assistant headmaster I was telling you fellows about. The court appointed him to be in charge of the school until the year's over.”
“He looked more like an absent-minded professor to me than a headmaster,” Chet remarked. “Skating along, trying to read some piece of paper by flashlight, instead of watching where he was going.”
Greg and the Hardys looked at one another. Could Kurt have picked up the missing letter?
Frank and Joe decided they would certainly try to find out the next day. After a few minutes' further conversation, Greg excused himself to return to the Academy, saying he would see the boys in the morning.
“Sure thing,” they agreed.
After Greg had left, Frank said, “Let's get this contraption started and head back to Bayport.”
“Yes, crank her up, Chet,” Joe demanded. “You can tow us all the way to townâand a late dinner.”
But when their stout friend attempted to spin the flywheel of the small motor which ran the craft's propeller, there was no response. Grunting from the exertion, Chet tried again and again.
“Something's wrong!” he wailed. “It won't catch! Well,” he added with a resigned sigh, “I guess you fellows will have to tow
me
home.”
me
home.”
“What!” Joe protested. “We can't drag that thing five miles to Bayport. It would take all night.”
Frank offered the only possible solution. “Biff Hooper's folks have a summer place up here, you know. We can pull your gimmick over to their dock, Chet, and tie it up for tonight. Tomorrow you can come back and do a repair job.”
“Okay,” Chet agreed. “But you'll have to help me.”
It took only a few minutes to find the Hooper cabin. After Chet had lashed his craft to the dock, he put on the skates he had brought along and the trio headed for Bayport.
It was well past the usual dinner hour at the Hardy home when Frank and Joe trotted up the front steps. Mrs. Hardy met them at the door.
“I'm glad you're home!” said their mother, a slim, pretty woman, who had been watching anxiously for her sons. “Your dinner's in the oven.”
Another voice, pleasant but firm, broke in. “You're lucky we saved you something. How come you boys are so late?”
The speaker was their father's sister, who lived with the Hardys. Each time her nephews got involved in a new case, she predicted dire consequences. But despite their Aunt Gertrude's constant chiding about the risks they ran, the boys were extremely fond of her.
Before Frank and Joe could explain the reason for being late for dinner, a deep male voice boomed out, “Hi, boys. Good thing you're here. I want to talk to you before I catch a plane.”
Fenton Hardy, their tall, dark-haired father, smiled broadly as he came downstairs. He led them into the dining room, and while Aunt Gertrude served them roast lamb and vegetables, the young sleuths reported their adventure.
When they had finished, Mr. Hardy grinned. He reached into his pocket and drew out a white piece of paper.
“Have a look at this,” he said and held it up.
In the upper left-hand corner the name Hardy had been printed by hand. Below it were a series of rectangular cutouts!
Both boys stared dumbfounded, then cried out, “Where'd that come from?”
“Henry Kurt, the headmaster of Woodson Academy, brought it to me a little while ago.”
“What!” the boys shouted in astonishment.
“Kurt,” Mr. Hardy went on, “wants me to solve the mystery of the Yellow Feather!”
CHAPTER II
A Three-cornered Puzzle
“KURT asked you to solve the mystery of the Yellow Feather?” Frank gasped.
“Yes,” Mr. Hardy replied. “He left here just a short time before you arrived. He had a pair of skates tucked under his armâmust have skated down from the school.”
Joe asked breathlessly, “Did he say where he got the paper?”
The detective shook his head. “No, that never came up. I told him I was leaving town for a weekâthat I'd help him when I returned. He gave me the sheet of paper and urged that I get on the case as soon as possible.”
“Same thing Greg asked us,” Frank said.
Mr. Hardy smiled. “I see no reason why we couldn't combine our sleuthing. You can work on the case while I'm away.”
The boys nodded.
“Before I leave, though,” the detective went on, “I'll get off a telegram to the FBI, asking if they have any listing of a criminal known as the Yellow Feather.”
“In the meantime, we can try to find out who he is,” Frank said.
“And also the significance of the paper with the cutouts,” Joe added.
“But remember,” their father said, “the courts will take care of the legal aspects of the inheritance, pending the appearance of a will. You won't have to worry about that.”
It was decided that the following day Frank and Joe would inform Greg Woodson and Henry Kurt of the Hardys' decision to work together.
Next morning, as the boys sped along in their convertible with Frank at the wheel, they discussed what the reaction would be to their announcement about the Hardys combining their sleuthing.
“I wonder how Greg and Kurt will take the news,” Joe remarked.
“It's my guess that Greg will be a good sport about it,” Frank replied, “but Kurt might not like the idea.”
“We know Greg's story,” said Joe. “Let's tackle Kurt first and see what he has to say.”
Reaching the site of Woodson Academy, Frank turned into the winding driveway. Ahead of them in the snow-covered landscape stood a long colonial-type brick building partially covered with ivy. From it rose a circular bell tower.
Frank parked in front of the main entrance and the boys hopped out. A student just coming out of the building gave directions to the headmaster's office.
The door was opened by a slender, graying man, who carried himself very erect, with an almost military bearing. His dark eyes were keen and he wore a well-trimmed pointed goatee.
As soon as introductions had been exchanged, Henry Kurt said crisply, “Have you boys brought me a message from your father?”
“Yes. He asked us to speak to you and Greg Woodson together,” Frank replied.
“Greg and me? Together?”
“Yes,” Frank answered. “We find you're both interested in the same mystery.”
A trace of annoyance crossed the man's face. “Umph! Well, if that's what your father wants ... certainly. Just a moment.”
Kurt sent a messenger to the Academy's guest room to summon Greg. Then he said, “I understand that your father is an alumnus of our school.”
“He is,” Frank replied. “And he's very much concerned about what happens to Woodson Academy.”
“Naturally,” Kurt remarked. “That's why I believe we can work together.”
It took only a few minutes for Greg Woodson to join them. The young man looked puzzled at seeing the Hardys in the headmaster's office but greeted them pleasantly. Frank, as spokesman, explained the boys' mission. Both Kurt and Greg showed an immediate antagonism toward each other.
To break the tension, Greg said, “It's all right with me if Frank and Joe work for both of us. The quicker this mystery is solved the better.”
Kurt surveyed the young detectives icily, but finally he said in a flat tone, “I suppose if your father thinks you're capable of handling an affair as important as this I'll have to trust his judgment.”
“Dad knows what he's doing, Mr. Kurt,” Frank replied. “Now, would you mind clearing up one point?”
“What is it?”
“We've been wondering where you got the sheet of paper you left with Dad last nightâthe one with the rectangular cutouts.”
“It was given to me by Elias Woodson just before he died. He didn't have time to tell me what the cutouts meant. So I took it to your father to decipher.”
“Why did you wait so long?” Joe asked.
“I've been busy reorganizing the school,” Kurt reminded them. “I want to talk to you boys alone. Greg, would you please step outside?”
The young man looked annoyed but left. Then Kurt leaned forward confidentially.
“I thought it best not to upset Greg about what I'm going to tell you,” he said. “Greg's a nice enough fellow, but he has no head for business. His grandfather knew that. At one time Elias Woodson planned to leave the school to him but changed his mind.”
The Hardys were astonished at the statement. This certainly complicated matters.
“When did Mr. Woodson make this decision?” Frank asked.
“Oh, I don't know exactly,” Kurt answered. “But soon after I'd come to work here, he recognized my ability and decided to bequeath it to me.”
Frank and Joe looked at each other. A feeling of distrust was building in their minds.
“I'm worried about two things,” Kurt continued. “First, the will of Elias Woodson has not been found. This hampers my efforts. And second, a mysterious character who uses a yellow feather as an insigne constantly threatened old Mr. Woodson, and now me, with both bodily harm and the burning of the school. Recently he sent me notes claiming that the school rightfully belongs to him!”
“This makes a three-cornered puzzle,” Frank thought. He kept silent, however, as did Joe, waiting for Kurt to continue.
Other books
Kingdom of Shadows by Barbara Erskine
Fire After Dark by Sadie Matthews
1 Dewitched by E.L. Sarnoff
Love Restored by Carrie Ann Ryan
Hostage by Kay Hooper
Star Dust by Emma Barry & Genevieve Turner
Lizzie Lynn Lee by Night of the Lions
Entangled Souls by Waits, Kimber
The Blind King by Lana Axe
A Real Cowboy Knows How to Kiss by Stephanie Rowe