Read Mystery of the Flying Express Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Mystery of the Flying Express (13 page)
“Oh my head!” Chet groaned. He was sitting up, none the worse except for a bump on his head and a pained expression on his round face.
“Okay, Chet?” Chassen inquired anxiously.
“Okay, thanks to you. I'm told you fished me out of the drink. Remind me to do as much for you someday!”
Frank, Joe, and Chet went back to the cottage, where Chet changed into dry clothes, and Joe phoned Mr. Hardy in Shark Harbor.
“Dad, you were right about Zigurski. Here's the pitch.” Joe reported the hydrofoil theft, and the clues they had found in the dock area. “The marked dollar bill and Sam Radley's wallet floating in the bay point to the conclusion thatâ”
“Hooks Zigurski's gang has Sam Radley!” the Bayport sleuth broke in. “No need to spell it out. We'll have to move fast now. I'll ask the Miami police to put Zigurski under surveillanceâif he's still there.”
“What do you think we should do at this end?”
“Go to the state prison. Talk to the warden. Since Zigurski did time there, the warden may have a clue about what he's up to.”
“Okay, Dad,” Frank said. “What'll we do about Sam?”
“Keep mum for a while. Let Zigurski's gang think they have me. It may backfire on them.”
“That all, Dad?”
“All for now. And incidentally, my compliments to you and Frank for some expert detective work!”
Frank and Joe hurried to police headquarters to find out if there were any new developments. There were none.
They were about to leave when they heard a loud commotion. A police escort came in with Big Malarky. He was to be booked on a charge of harassing Given.
The head of the Fidelo Corporation scowled fiercely as the charges were read. Suddenly he raised his hands and stiff-armed the officers on either side of him. They went over like tenpins in a bowling alley.
Malarky lunged for the door, but Frank hit him with a flying tackle, and Joe landed on his shoulders. The policemen pulled the big man to his feet and he stood there foaming with rage.
Turning to the Hardys, he shouted, “I'll get even with you if it's the last thing I ever do!”
CHAPTER XVII
Zodiac Zig
FRANK drove Callie's car to the prison, located in hilly country about fifty miles away.
“I'd hate to try a jailbreak here,” Joe commented, pointing to the high walls with watch-towers and armed sentinels.
“Even Hooks Zigurski couldn't escape,” Frank said. “He did most of his time and waited for a parole before setting out to get Dad.”
The guard on duty at the outer gate examined their credentials. “Fenton Hardy's sons, are you? That name's as good as a free pass. Your father helped us capture an escapee once.”
He waved them on through to the administration building. A secretary escorted them into the office of Warden Scott Ogburn, who motioned them to a couple of chairs.
“What can I do for you?” the warden asked.
Frank explained. “Sir, it's about a former prisoner who served his time here.”
“Name?”
“Zigurski.”
The warden smiled grimly. “You boys are playing in a fast league! Hooks Zigurski is one of the most dangerous criminals we've ever had. Sorry I can't introduce you to him. He's out on parole.”
“We know that,” Joe said, “but Zigurski is a hot suspect in our current case. However, we can't prove anything unless we learn more about him. Perhaps you can give us some inside information.”
Warden Ogburn went to a filing cabinet, pulled out a thick manila folder, and began thumbing through a sheaf of papers.
“Zigurski's dossier,” he said and briefed the Hardys on the man's background. “When he got out, he went to Miami, Florida,” he concluded.
Nothing in the file was new to the boys, and Frank looked disappointed. “Can't you tell us anything about his personality?” he inquired. “Or his friends, for instance?”
“Well,” Ogburn said thoughtfully, “Zigurski had a hobby which took up lots of his time here in prison. Astrology.”
The young detectives looked at each other in amazement. “If only Chet were here nowl” Joe thought. Aloud he said, “Astrology, sir?”
“Yes, Zig was a student of the star and planetary influences,” Ogburn explained. “He was so interested in the signs of the Zodiac that the other prisoners nicknamed him Zodiac Zig. He used to say he wouldn't make a move without consulting his horoscope.”
“He was really that serious about astrology?” Frank inquired.
“Come with me and I'll show you how serious he was.”
Ogburn led his visitors out of his office, through the administration building, to the cell blocks. Inmates glowered from behind bars as they passed by along the corridor.
The warden conducted the Hardys into an unfurnished cell. “This one hasn't been occupied since Zigurski was here. He certainly left us a memento of his stay. Take a look in this corner.”
On the wall was a row of drawings in black ink. “The signs of the Zodiac!” Frank exclaimed.
“They're all accurate,” Joe added, “from the rough Y that stands for Aries to the rough H that stands for Pisces.”
Ogburn nodded. “Zigurski showed exceptional interest in the subject and, of course, had plenty of spare time to read up on it. Let's go over to the library. You'll see the books he borrowed.”
The assistant librarian on duty at the time was a trustee who looked more like a college professor than a convicted forger.
“Zigurski?” he said to them. “I remember him well. Came in regularly. Always wanted books on astrology, horoscopes, that sort of thing. I even borrowed some books from other libraries for him.”
“Did he have a favorite book he read more than the others?” Joe queried.
“Yes, indeed. Here it is.” The trustee took a volume from a shelf and handed it over.
Joe looked at the printing on the spine. “It's called
Basic Astrology.”
He leafed through the pages. “What sign of the Zodiac did Chet say Zigurski was born under?”
Basic Astrology.”
He leafed through the pages. “What sign of the Zodiac did Chet say Zigurski was born under?”
“Cancer,” Frank recalled.
Joe found the chapter on Cancerians. Near the heading a note was inscribed in pencil.
It read: ZIG,
Milwaukee,
July 20, 11 P.M.
Milwaukee,
July 20, 11 P.M.
“That's Zigurski's handwriting,” the librarian remarked. He spoke tartly to indicate that he disapproved of borrowers writing in library books.
“Zodiac Zig must have been describing himself,” Joe observed. “The place where he was born, the day of the month, and the hour.”
Frank agreed. “Take a look through the chapter, Joe, and see what kind of advice he might have gotten from it.”
Joe read from the book. “ âA Cancerian is not impulsive. He plans carefully for future action, no matter how long it may take. Being ruled by the moon, the sign of the Crab is favorable to enterprises involving water, especially bays and inlets where the moon governs the tides. He bides his time, and then acts vigorously.' ”
Joe closed the book. “That could explain why Zigurski never tried to break jail. He was biding time until his parole.”
Frank nodded. “And his horoscope foretold success for his enterprises when he got out. He headed for the coast to set up another racket.”
While the boys were talking, another trustee hovered near them on the other side of the row of bookshelves. Pretending to read a book, he listened intently to the remarks about Hooks Zigurski.
Joe noticed him, and was about to say so when the warden spoke. “I'll show you around the prison when you're finished. You can tell your famous father that the criminals he catches are in good hands!”
They left the library and went through the dining room, past the laundry, and into the recreation area. Glancing back, Joe noticed the trustee tagging along. Realizing he had been seen, the man slipped into another room.
When the group moved on, the man reappeared, staying close behind them during the tour of the prison.
Joe decided that the warden ought to know. “We're being shadowed,” he said, jerking a thumb in the direction of the trustee.
“Martin?” Ogburn said. “Pay no attention. He used to be Zigurski's crony. Never gives us any trouble. He's probably on some assignment that brings him to this part of the prison.”
The warden pushed open a door. “Here's something we're very proud ofâthe workshop.”
The huge area was abuzz with activity. Convicts were busy with power tools, heavy wrenches, and mechanical screwdrivers. Some were carving pieces of wood into shape for furniture and lawn decorations. Others were fitting parts together to form tables, chairs, bookcases and book ends.
“This is good training for civilian life,” Ogburn explained. “Every man has an opportunity to go straight and make a good living when he gets out of here.”
Frank was attracted to a shear that no one was using. The long blade hovered motionless above a sheet of metal on the plate beneath. He admired the beautiful clean lines of the machine and leaned over for a better view.
The blade began to move!
“Look out, Frank!” Joe yelled. He grabbed his brother by the arm and hurled him to the floor. Just missing Frank's head, the blade plunged down in a wicked flash of steel biting into steel!
As Frank rose shakily to his feet, Joe looked accusingly at the convicts nearest to the shear.
The warden whirled around and faced them. “Who started that machine?” he demanded.
“Look out, Frank!” Joe yelled
No one answered. There was a scuffling of feet outside the door. Two guards appeared, dragging Martin between them.
“We saw him trip the release and then run out of the room,” one guard explained.
“Tell me why you did it!” Ogburn commanded.
The trustee stood with a hangdog look. “I ain't spilling nothing,” he spat out viciously.
“Take him to my office,” the warden ordered the guards. “Sorry, boys,” he said to Frank and Joe. “I was wrong about Martin. Looks as if he's still on Zigurski's side. Anyway, that's one more piece of information you can take back with you.”
“I trust Martin isn't due for parole very soon,” Frank commented.
“No fear of that,” the warden stated emphatically. “He'll be in residence here for a long time!”
“That's some comfort,” Joe remarked as he and Frank drove back to the cottage. “Martin's got too much imagination to be loose. Who else would have used a shear as a weapon?”
Frank nodded. “By the way, remind me to give you an assist if you're ever in a hairy situation like that.”
“Sure will, Frank. Now let's go over to the marina and give Chet the low-down on Zodiac Zig!”
Chet exploded with excitement when he heard the news. “Jumping Gemini! This changes everything. Now I know what Hooks is going to do!”
Joe was skeptical. “How's that again?”
“Look. Zigurski's birthday is coming up. No Cancerian in his right mind would go into action now. I'll bet you ten to one that Zodiac Zig is lying low until the hour of his birth is over. Right after that would be a good time for him to act andâ”
“All right,” Joe interrupted, “let's assume that everything stays quiet until his birthday. What happens then?”
“Anything can happen!” Chet declared.
Frank became serious. “This gives us a fix on the timing. Zigurski was born at eleven at night. He may strike around midnight, then. That's when his sign of the Zodiac becomes favorable, and he's not the type to wait any longer than he has to.”
Frank went to the phone, dialed Spencer Given, and was informed that no trace of the
Flying Express
had yet been found. Then he put in a call to his father in Shark Harbor.
Flying Express
had yet been found. Then he put in a call to his father in Shark Harbor.
“Zigurski has dropped out of sight down in Florida,” Fenton Hardy reported. “The police tailed him to the Miami airport and lost him. You and Joe get down there and see if you can pick up a clue.”
“To Miami?”
“Yes, and as fast as you can.”
The Hardys roared away from the cottage in Callie's car, parked it at the Starfish Marina where she could pick it up, caught a taxi to the Providence airport, and flew to Miami.
“We'll check with the reservation clerks first,” Joe suggested as the big plane taxied up to the terminal. “Suppose you take the domestic flights, and I'll take the foreign.”
They drew a series of blanks until Frank reached the desk of Coastal Airways, a company flying between Miami and Canada. The clerk shook his head at the name Zigurski, but Frank's description of the criminal rang a bell.
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