A Figure in Hiding (6 page)

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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: A Figure in Hiding
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The Hardys hopped from the convertible and the three boys started up the curving graveled drive.
“How come you get off so early?” Joe asked.
“Well, it's my first day,” Chet replied, “so all they had me come in for was to learn my way around and get a uniform and stuff like that. Besides, I have an after-dinner athletic period tonight.”
The emerald lawn swept upward to a large white porticoed building. On a stone-flagged terrace in front, guests were sunning themselves in deck chairs. Several outbuildings could be glimpsed, set back among tall oak trees.
“Some layout,” Frank murmured admiringly.
“You bet! It's strictly for guys with big bankrolls,” Chet boasted.
As the boys stood chatting and looking around, a burly man with a shock of thick black hair came toward them. He also wore a green gym shirt, revealing sloping, muscular shoulders and furry, apelike arms. His nose was flat and almost shapeless. Cauliflower ears stuck out of his bulletlike head.
“Good grief, who's he?” Joe muttered.
“The bouncer, probably,” Frank said. “I'll bet he's coming to give us the heave-ho.”
“Relax—he's harmless,” Chet assured them.” ”His name's Rip Sinder. Used to box heavyweight when Doc Grafton was a fight manager and trainer. Now he's sort of a general handyman. Incidentally, don't be surprised at the noises Rip makes. He got punched in the Adam's apple and it damaged his vocal cords so he can't talk.”
The ex-pug approached and handed Frank a note penciled in spidery handwriting. It read:
I'd like to talk to you about
Braxton's hydrofoil.
Z. Mudge
Frank looked surprised. “Where is Mr. Mudge?”
Rip Sinder gave a guttural grunt and made stabbing gestures toward the terrace.
“Thank you.” Frank restrained a start as he took in the boxer's huge, sausage-fingered hands.
“Come on. Let's go see him,” Joe said. He whispered to his brother, “What's wrong?”
“Did you get a look at Sinder's hands?”
“Big, aren't they?” Chet said.
“I'll say they're big,” Frank retorted under his breath. “Just like the pair of hands that tried to throttle me last night!”
Chet shuddered. “You don't mean Rip did it?”
Frank shrugged. “Probably a coincidence. But I'd like to get
my
hands on the person—whoever he is.”
The pudgy lad groaned. “Remind me to keep away from you two. You
attract
trouble!”
Zachary Mudge was seated in a deck chair with his spindly legs stretched out. As before, he was clad only in shorts and a straw hat.
“Did you want to see us, sir?” Frank said.
“What? Speak up, boy!” As Frank repeated his words in a bellow, Mr. Mudge fiddled with his hearing aid. “All right, all right! You don't have to shout—I'm not deaf. Certainly I want to see you. Why do you think I sent for you?”
“Well, here we are, sir,” Joe said, grinning.
“What about that fellow Braxton? Is he out of the hospital yet?”
“He's getting out today, sir.” Suddenly Joe snapped his fingers. “Frank! We forgot to tell Braxton about Mr. Mudge!”
The elderly man snorted contemptuously. “Typical! You young whippersnappers wouldn't remember to come in out of the rain if someone didn't remind you. How about Lambert? Has he made Braxton an offer yet?”
“No, sir. Braxton hasn't seen him,” Frank replied.
Mudge cackled and rubbed his hands in glee. “Fine! Then there's still time to sew things up! All right, sonnies.” Settling back, Mudge pulled his straw hat down over his face.
“What a character!” Chet Morton whispered as the boys walked away.
Chet hurriedly showed Frank and Joe through the splendid gymnasium building. This included a pool, steam room, tiled showers, and handball courts. The main room was equipped with exercise mats, trampolines, pulley weights, and other apparatus. Chet dropped several broad hints about his prowess as a gymnast.
“Okay, let's see you perform on that,” Joe challenged, pointing to a leather horse.
“Not now. I have to change.” Seeing the Hardys' grins, Chet burst out, “Okay, if you think I can't! I'll show you!”
Seizing the steel grips, he hoisted himself off the floor, getting somewhat red in the face. Then he tried to swing his legs around the horse. But as he let go with one hand, his grip with the other loosened.
“Oops!” Frank cried, and Chet landed heavily on the mat in a sitting position.
“That doggone handgrip was slippery!” Chet explained, wincing as he got up.
“Sure.” Joe repressed a smile. “Anyhow, it was a good try.”
Chet changed clothes in the locker room and the three boys walked back down the drive.
“Well, it's noon and you're through here,” Frank reminded Chet. “How soon do we get briefed on that kidnapping tip?”
Just then Chet's yellow jalopy drove up outside the gateway. Two girls sat in the front.
“Hey! Iola and Callie!” Joe exclaimed.
The girls waved gaily and the trio hurried to meet them. Chet was chuckling as he ran.
“Well, fellows, it's like this,” he said. “You're about to be kidnapped by two dangerous dolls—for a beach party!”
Frank and Joe stopped short, their jaws dropping open in surprise. Chet, Iola, and Callie burst into peals of laughter.
“Man, did I ever have these guys going!” Chet informed his two conspirators. “They were expecting some big underworld trap!”
“Who's complaining?” Frank retorted with a grin. “Callie can kidnap me any day.”
“They even brought our surfboards!” Joe said.
“And your trunks and
two
picnic hampers!” Chet added, peering into the back seat. “Let's go!”
Callie rode with Frank in the convertible, while Joe piled in with Iola and Chet. They drove to a spot just north of Barmet Bay, called Gremlin Beach, which had become popular for surf-riding because of its high swells.
“What a day for surf-birds!” Joe cried as the foursome jumped out onto the clean white stretch of sand. An onshore breeze was blowing, and the waves from some distant storm were piling into high-crested breakers. Two boats came into view, kicking up plumes of spray.
“Tony and Biff!” Frank exclaimed. Biff Hooper was another Bayport High pal.
The
Napoli
and Biff's boat, the
Envoy,
soon arrived. Both boys had brought dates. In a few minutes the young people were frolicking in the water. Frank and Joe, expert surf-riders, brought screams of delight from the girls. They soared and dipped like skimming sea gulls.
Biff tried and did a “wipe out,” coming up from the spill with a mouthful of salt water.
Presently the girls went ashore to broil hamburgers and frankfurters. Joe, glancing shoreward, noticed a youth with sun-bleached hair talking to Iola. She looked annoyed. Suddenly Joe's pulse skipped a beat.
“Hey, Frank!” he called. “It's that wise guy who checked our ‘pass' at the empty house last night!”
The Hardys bounded out of the water. The stranger saw them coming and beat a hasty retreat. But Joe grabbed his arm. “Hold it, Buster! You have some explaining to do!”
In answer the youth swung a surprise blow at Joe's jaw, knocking him off balance. But Frank darted after the attacker and tackled him.
“Now start talking!” Frank ordered, letting him get up.
The youth said his name was Fred Hare and that he was spending a week at a resort hotel in Bayport with his parents. He told the Hardys he had been paid five dollars to act as lookout at the house on Malabar Road.
“By whom?”
“Some man I met on the street. I never saw him before,” Fred Hare whined. His description of the man was vague.
“Could have been Spotty Lemuel,” Joe said.
At a call from Tony, the Hardys turned their heads. Fred seized his chance and sprinted toward a sand dune. Frank and Joe took after him, but as they topped the dune they saw him leap into a boat.
“I fed you guys a pack of lies!” he jeered, and gunned the motor. “I know plenty more!” The boat sped off.
Joe was furious, but Frank calmly strode back to their convertible to call Chief Collig. As the radio warmed up, the Hardys were startled to hear Aunt Gertrude's voice over the speaker.
“Boys! Come home at once!” she said. “I've caught the scoundrel who's behind this mystery!”
CHAPTER VIII
DZ7
—
 
 
 
 
“THIS is Frank, Aunt Gertrude! Who is the fellow you've caught?”
“I've no time to explain!” Miss Hardy's voice snapped back. “Just get home here at once and help me attend to him! Your mother is out. Over and out!”
The Hardy boys looked at each other in stunned surprise.
“Good night!” Joe gasped. “I wonder who it is she's nabbed.”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Frank said. “Whoever it is, we'd better blast off in a hurry!”.
Iola and Callie looked stricken when the Hardys announced they had to rush home. But Iola quickly recovered her impish good spirits. “Even detectives must eat!” She quickly handed hamburgers to Frank and Joe.
The Hardys ate quickly, then sped off along the highway. Reaching town, they wove their way through traffic to the house at Elm and High.
Frank and Joe dashed inside. The place seemed strangely quiet.
“Aunt Gertrude! Where are you?” Joe yelled.
The boys hurried downstairs to the basement where the Hardys' short-wave set was located. No one was there.
“Something must have happened to her!” Frank said fearfully.
They ran up from the basement, then mounted the hall stairway two steps at a time. Faint noises drew Frank to their father's study. He burst in and stopped short with a gasp.
“She's in here, Joe!” he called.
Miss Hardy was bound to a chair. Her mouth was covered with a man's handkerchief, but her eyes flashed fire. A warning had been lettered on a piece of paper and clipped to the collar of her blouse:
TAKE MY ADVICE AND KEEP THIS
BLABBERMOUTH GAGGED ALL THE TIME!
Frank and Joe hastily untied their aunt.
“Well! It's about time you two got here!” she fumed as the handkerchief was removed. “Thank heavens you finally did!”
“What happened, Aunty?” Frank asked.
Miss Hardy was not ready to tell her story just yet. Declaring that she felt faint, she sank into an easy chair and called for smelling salts and a cup of strong tea. At last she began to tell what had happened.
“Your mother went downtown this afternoon,” Aunt Gertrude began. “Then a bit later a meter reader from the lighting company knocked at the back door and went down into the basement. I was busy straightening up and didn't hear him go out. But I assumed he had left after a couple of minutes.”
“Go on!” Joe urged.
“Would you believe it, I discovered him here in your father's study trying to crack open the safe!”
For the first time, the boys looked over at the steel safe.
“Leapin' lizards!” Joe cried.
Chalked on the door was the same drawing of an eye that Frank and Joe had found under Mrs. Lunberry's window!
The safe door seemed to be securely closed, but the metal showed deep gouge marks and a broken drill bit lay on the floor nearby amid fragments of metal and some pottery.
“Looks as though he never did manage to get into the safe,” Frank remarked.
“Indeed he didn't!” Gertrude Hardy retorted. “I snatched up a vase from the hallway table and struck him over the head with it. The man was—out cold, I believe you two would say.”
Frank's and Joe's faces broke into broad grins. “Nice work, Aunty,” said Frank. “Is that when you went downstairs and called us over the radio?”
“Yes,” Aunt Gertrude went on, “but when I came back up to check on him, the scoundrel had revived. This time he waved a small bottle of nitroglycerine that he'd brought to blast open the safe, and threatened to blow up the house. I—well —became faint with nervous shock and that was when he tied me up. But not before I gave him a good piece of my mind!”
The two boys darted a glance at each other. They admired Aunt Gertrude's spirit, and pictured her scolding the intruder roundly as long as she could. No wonder he had clipped on the blabbermouth sign!
“I guess he cleared out suspecting you'd called for help,” said Frank. “What did he look like?”
Miss Hardy replied promptly, “The man was clearly a criminal type—I could tell that from the shape of his ears!”
Joe smiled. “And the fact that he was cracking a safe,” he said innocently.
“Never mind the jokes, young man. Features do reveal character.” Miss Hardy asked for pencil and paper and sketched the intruder's ears. She added, “He was about five feet eight, blond, broad-shouldered, and had a tooth missing in front.”
“You're very observant, Aunt Gertrude,” Frank said sincerely. Turning to his brother, he remarked, “It sure wasn't Spotty Lemuel.”
Joe agreed, suggesting the intruder might have been the masked man who had eavesdropped at Mrs. Lunberry's house. Suddenly Joe slapped his forehead. “Boy, we're really batting a thousand today! We never did call the chief about Fred Hare!”
“We'd better phone him right now.” Frank made the call, giving Collig a complete rundown.

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