A Figure in Hiding (5 page)

“Great! We'll go there on the Sleuth first thing tomorrow,” Frank promised.

By eight o'clock the next morning the Hardy boys were steering their motorboat out of Barmet Bay into the mouth of the river. As they neared the bridge, the brothers saw a tow truck hoisting the movie thief's getaway car out of the ditch.

“Let's see if there's any news of the holdup man,” Frank proposed.

Joe swerved toward shore and they moored the boat to the bridge abutment. A police detective named Reilly was supervising the hoisting operation.

“Find any clues?” Frank asked.

Reilly shook his head. “The cash box was in the car with the money spilled out, but I guess you fellows know that. No fingerprints.”

“We noticed the thief wore gloves,” Joe remarked.

“His gun must've been lying on the seat—it fell out the window when he tipped over,” the detective added. “It was under the car.”

“Lucky break for us, I guess,” Frank said. “Have you traced the car yet?”

“It was stolen from a new-car storage lot. The company is Izmir Motors over in Ocean City.” Reilly gestured toward the tow truck which bore the name of the same firm. “The license plates were stolen too.”

The car was a brand-new Torpedo V-8.

“Too bad it had to get banged up that way,” Joe said, admiring its sleek lines.

As the
Sleuth
proceeded upriver, Frank noticed a shiny green sedan parked on the road overlooking the shore. Farther on, he saw it cruising along slowly. As their boat passed a grove of trees, he was surprised to find it parked again.

“That car must be tailing us!” he exclaimed.

As Joe gunned the
Sleuth
toward shore for a closer look, Frank snatched up binoculars. The car sped off and he had time to spot only the first part of the license number—DZ 7.

“That's odd,” he muttered, lowering the glasses.

“What's odd?”

“Joe, it may be just a coincidence, but that job was a brand-new Torpedo V-8!”

 

 

 

 

“Dm you get a look at the driver?” Joe asked.

Frank shook his head ruefully. “I was trying to focus on the license, but got only part of it—DZ 7. I think there was a man at the wheel waiting, and another fellow jumped in.”

Puzzled, the Hardys continued upriver. Forty minutes later they reached the little village of Brockton and tied up at the public boat landing. A little boy with a sunburned nose who was fishing off the dock with a bamboo pole scowled at them.

“Can you tell us where Mrs. Lunberry lives?” Frank asked him with a smile.

“That gray cottage over near the woods.” The lad indicated the direction with a jerk of his head and kept on scowling. “You guys realize you just scared off a big fat bluegill?”

Joe grinned. “Sorry, pal. Next time we'll keep our big fat boat out of your way.”

The Hardys strode to the cottage. Their knock was answered by a silver-haired, elderly woman, bent and careworn.

“We're Frank and Joe Hardy,” Frank explained. “You called our father about the Jeweled Siva.”

“Oh, yes! Come in, come in!” she replied. “Will Mr. Hardy be able to take the case?”

“Not yet. But he asked us to get the facts.”

Mrs. Lunberry invited the boys to sit down. Frank and Joe glanced about the small living room. The furnishings were comfortable but meager. They noticed well-worn books, some antique-looking pottery, and framed photographs of people apparently in outdoor foreign scenes.

“I can imagine what you're thinking,” said Mrs. Lunberry as she seated herself on the faded chintz-covered sofa. “You're wondering how someone as poor as I am ever happened to own such a priceless object as the Jeweled Siva. Well, there's a long story attached to it.”

“We'd like to hear it,” Joe murmured.

“My late husband, Clarence Lunberry, was an archaeologist,” the woman began. “He went on expeditions all over the world, to dig among ancient ruins. Often I went with him.”

“Did he bring the Jeweled Siva back from one of his expeditions?” Frank asked.

“Yes, from a remote jungly part of India called Tripura. He had heard of a lost temple there and after many hardships he found it. The temple had fallen into ruins, but a beautiful little jeweled carving of the god Siva was still inside. The natives told him a curse would fall on anyone who disturbed the figure, but Clarence ignored their warnings and got permission to take the idol with him.”

“The curse didn't come true, I hope,” said Joe.

Mrs. Lunberry shook her head sadly. “Indeed, it did. Two members of the expedition died—one from malaria and one from being mauled by a leopard. Clarence himself had all sorts of bad luck after that. He was crippled in an accident and had financial troubles, but he always refused to give up the Jeweled Siva.”

The widow said that she had kept the figure after her husband's death. But with her funds almost gone, she had finally been forced to put it up for sale. The tiny idol had been on display in the shop of an art and antique dealer named Fontana in New York City.

“Won't Fontana's insurance company pay you for the loss of the figure?” Frank queried.

“Ordinarily the company would pay for such a theft, but not in this case,” Mrs. Lunberry replied. “You see, when I arranged to let Mr. Fontana handle the sale of the Siva, a business contract was drawn up to cover our agreement. But I know little about such things and I was slow in getting the papers signed.”

“You mean, there was no contract in force when the Jeweled Siva was stolen?” Frank asked.

“Exactly. And the insurance company requires one on all items that Mr. Fontana takes into his store to sell for an outside owner. So, I shan't get a penny. I don't know what I'll do if your father or the police don't find the Siva!”

Mrs. Lunberry's voice broke and she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “Oh, dear! I almost believe there is a curse on that figure!”

Frank and Joe did their best to comfort her.

“Dad will certainly do everything he can, Mrs. Lunberry,” Frank promised. “And so will we.”

Suddenly the woman's face went white. She sucked in her breath sharply, then gave a piercing scream!

“What's wrong?” Joe cried out. Both boys sprang up from their chairs.

“The window! I saw something!” she gasped hysterically. “Like a head with no face! It was horrible!” The elderly woman was trembling.

“We'll see who's out there!” Frank told her, and the boys dashed outside.

“There he goes!” Joe yelled, pointing as they rounded a corner of the cottage.

A man with a stocking mask over his head was running toward the woods! Frank and Joe sprinted in pursuit. They plunged in among the trees. At first they were guided by faint sounds of rustling shrubbery and steps trampling dry leaves. Then, as the Hardys groped and darted about in the forest gloom, the sounds faded. The boys were forced to slow down and search the crushed underbrush for signs of the fugitive's trail.

“It's hopeless,” Frank groaned at last. “He could be a mile from here by now!”

Disgusted, the Hardys walked back to Mrs. Lunberry's cottage. Frank stopped short.

“Look there, Joe! Under the window!”

The crude drawing of an eye had been chalked on the gray clapboard siding! The oval pupil and spark lines were instantly recognizable.

“Just like the glass eye and the drawing on Zatta's card!” Joe said grimly.

When the brothers went back to the cottage, they found Mrs. Lunberry pale but much calmer. She offered the boys some tea.

“No, thanks,” said Frank. “We'd like to show you something if you're feeling all right.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Lunberry sounded a bit apprehensive, but she accompanied the boys outside. The sinister drawing of the eye seemed to frighten her again.

“Ever seen anything like it before?” Joe asked.

“Yes, I'm almost certain I have,” she said shakily. “Perhaps it was in connection with my husband's work, but—oh, dear, I just can't think right now. It may come back to me later.”

Frank promised that their father would get in touch with her as soon as he was free to work on the case. He also asked Mrs. Lunberry to let them know if she recollected where she had seen such an eye.

“I'm sure it signifies something terrible!” she said uneasily. “It's probably connected with the curse on the Jeweled Siva!”

Frank and Joe said good-by and walked back to the boat landing. They hoped the fisherboy would be there. The mysterious man might have quizzed him. But the lad was gone. The Hardys got into the
Sleuth
and headed for Bayport.

“Do you suppose that guy in the stocking mask was the same one who trailed us in the green Torpedo car?” Joe mused.

“I don't know,” Frank replied, “but let's check on that auto dealership in Ocean City.”

When working on a case, the brothers usually kept the
Sleuth's
radio turned on to pick up any calls from home. Just as they neared the mouth of Barmet Bay, Tony Prito's voice came over the speaker:

“Napoli
calling
Sleuth!
... Come in, please.”

The
Napoli
was Tony's own speedy little craft.

“Sleuth
at mouth of river,” Frank replied, picking up the microphone. “What's happened, Tony?”

Their chum asked, “When will you be back?”

“We're on our way now. Why?”

“Somebody was asking for you. I'll tell you all about it when you get here,” Tony replied. “Over and out.”

“Hmm. Wonder what
that
was all about,” Frank muttered as he put down the mike. Joe shrugged.

Rounding out of the river into the bay, the
Sleuth
bounded over the waves toward their boathouse. As they neared it, another motorboat put-putted out to meet them.

“It's the
Napoli!”
Joe remarked.

Tony drew alongside. “Chet Morton wants to see you two as soon as possible,” he reported.

“He's the one who was asking for us?” Frank inquired.

“Right. Chet says it's urgent. He wants you to meet him at Doc Grafton's Health Farm at eleven-thirty.”

Frank glanced at his wristwatch. “Only a quarter to eleven. What say we stop at the hospital first and see how Bill Braxton's making out?”

“Good idea,” Joe agreed as he berthed the
Sleuth.

The boys drove to Bayport General Hospital and went to Braxton's room.

“Hi, fellows!” he greeted them. The mechanic was lounging in a chair, reading a magazine.

Frank grinned. “You don't look very sick.”

“Me? I'm rarin' to go. Luckily I have a very thick skull—from being a racing driver, I guess.”

“No aftereffects from that clout on the noggin?” Joe asked.

“Not a bit. The doctor was afraid I might have suffered a concussion, so they kept me for observation. But they're discharging me today.”

The boys discussed with Bill the mysterious attack on him. “So Lambert's a crook named Spotty Lemuel,” Bill said. “Wonder why he picked on me!”

Frank asked, “How did Spotty first hear about your hydrofoil, by the way?”

Bill wrinkled his forehead. “Don't know exactly. I met him at the track once in Ocean City. I drive stock cars over there, you know—for Izmir Motors.”

lzmir Motors!
Frank and Joe looked startled at hearing the name of the auto dealership.

“Something wrong?” Bill asked, puzzled.

“We're not sure,” Frank said. “But it happens we were planning to check on that same place.”

Leaving the hospital, the Hardys drove out of town to the health resort. It was located on a hillside overlooking the bay. Its wooded rolling acres were enclosed by a high wire fence. Brass letters arching over the driveway proclaimed: DOC GRAFTON' S HEALTH FARM.

Chet was waiting at the entrance for the Hardys. His usually calm face looked excited.

“I just found out you guys are going to be kidnapped!” he said.

 

 

 

 

“KIDNAPPED?” Joe echoed. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I'm serious!” Chet retorted.

The chubby youth was wearing white trousers and a green gym shirt with the name of the health resort in white letters across his chest.

“Okay, tell us,” Frank said.

Chet gave a worried glance behind him. “I can't talk about it here,” he whispered. “I quit at noon. Wait and I'll tell you the whole story.”

“If you're not going to tell us till twelve o'clock,” Joe said, exasperated, “why'd you get us up here at eleven-thirty?”

“‘Cause you two are always chasing around on some goofy mystery case, that's why. I wanted to make sure you'd be here in plenty of time.” Chet regarded the young sleuths somberly. “Boy, if this tip I got is right, you fellows have really got yourselves in a spot. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes!”

“Stop looking so smug,” Frank said. “What are we supposed to do—park here and just worry?”

“Come on inside and I'll show you around,” Chet invited. “Wait a second.”

He hurried over to a small stone gatehouse and spoke to the uniformed gatekeeper. The man gave Frank and Joe a brief once-over and nodded. “Okay. Just this once.”