The Apeman's Secret (3 page)

“Does she work or go to school?”

“She just graduated from Shoreham High a few weeks ago. Her mother and I were hoping she'd go on to college in the fall, but Sue wanted no part of it. Actually, that was one of the things we quarreled about.”

“Have you talked to any of the girls she goes around with?” Joe put in.

Mr. Linwood nodded glumly. “We know most of her friends, but apparently Sue hasn't been in touch with any of them.”

“Does she have a boyfriend?” Frank asked.

“Yes, a nice lad named Buzz Barton. He's a year or two older than Sue. She had a spat with him, too, the same day as our family quarrel. No doubt that put her in a bad mood and had something to do with her running away—but let me hasten to add, I'm not blaming Buzz for what happened, not for one moment.”

“What about this Children of Noah cult?” Frank went on. “Dad said she might have joined it.”

“Yes, Sue brought home some brochures and messages they handed out. She seemed to take it all quite seriously. I called it a lot of nonsense, which naturally didn't help matters any.”

Joe said, “Suppose you're right, sir, about Sue joining the cult. Any idea where she'd go?”

“The cult owns a converted cruise liner, which their leader, Noah, calls his
Ark.
They keep it anchored offshore, and that's where all the new members are sent.”

Linwood added with a gloomy sigh, “Unfortunately the young people aren't allowed to have any contact with their parents, and since Sue's eighteen, she's old enough to do as she chooses. That's why your father thought you fellows might be able to find out more than an older detective.”

“We'll certainly try, sir,” Frank assured him.

The Hardys left after promising to let Mr. Linwood know immediately if they learned anything about his daughter's whereabouts.

Outside, Frank took the wheel of their car, and Joe slid in beside him.

“Any ideas on how we should tackle this case?” Joe asked as they pulled away from the curb.

His words were drowned out by a loud explosion! Almost at the same moment, their car lurched crazily out of control!

Frank grabbed the wheel tightly and slammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a noisy halt. A driver behind them honked angrily and swerved out of the way to avoid a collision. But an instant later in passing, he apologized with a wave of his hand as he saw their flat front tires.

“Blowout!” Frank called to his brother in disgust.

The engine had stalled, due to the abrupt stop. Frank revved it back to life and pulled over to the curb. Then the Hardys got out to inspect the damage.

Almost at once Joe spotted a good-sized nail protruding between the treads of the right front tire. “That's what caused one of them,” he announced. “But would two blowouts make that loud an explosion?”

“No way!” Frank declared. Frowning, he retraced their course.

In a few moments he came back, holding what looked like scraps of reddish paper. “There's the answer.”

Joe took one of the fragments from his brother for a closer examination and immediately caught on. “A firecracker!” he blurted.

“Right. Someone stuck it in our exhaust pipe. When we started up, the hot exhaust made it explode.”

“Which means that nail in the front tire was no accident, either!”

Frank nodded gloomily. “Either someone does not like us in Shoreham, or somebody must have trailed us here from Bayport.”

“Maybe the same joker who tried to scare us with those phony growls and footprints last night.”

“Could be.”

The Hardys got a jack and lug wrench out of their car trunk and dismounted the left front wheel. They found it had been punctured by two nails exactly like the one Joe had noticed in the right front wheel.

“Neat job,” Frank said, gritting his teeth. “Whoever did it must have propped them right into place between the tire and the pavement, so the first turn of the wheel would be sure to cause a puncture.”

“And we didn't even spot anyone keeping us under surveillance,” Joe fumed. “From now on, we'd better watch our step!”

Since they had only one spare tire, Joe wheeled the left flat they had just removed to a nearby gas station to have the tire repaired. Meanwhile, Frank switched the other front wheel with the spare.

Presently Joe came back with the patched and inflated tire. “Hey, the Children of Noah are putting on a demonstration in Franklin Square!” he reported. “Want to go have a look?”

“You bet! This may be a good chance to make contact with them!”

As soon as the Hardys had the wheel remounted, they locked the car and headed for Franklin Square on foot. Even from a block away, they could see the demonstration going on. The white-robed figures were chanting and clapping and rattling tambourines while several others played guitars and recorders.

“What's that song they're singing?” Frank wondered aloud.

“Search me,” said Joe. “I'm not even sure you'd call it singing!”

While most of the cultists, or “culties” as people often called them, were chanting, others handed out brochures and mimeographed sheets to the onlookers, including the Hardys. The brochures told about the cult and its leader, Noah. The mimeographed sheets announced that the young people who belonged to the cult could be hired for odd jobs by the day, and it also listed the hourly rate for different kinds of work.

The culties stopped chanting long enough for one shaven-headed youth to step forward and shout at the onlookers. “The old world of darkness and hate is passing away, and those who serve it will be destroyed!” he warned. “A storm of wrath shall sweep them away forever! Only the peace-loving Children of Noah will be saved to start a new world!”

He urged everyone listening to join the cult. Then the chanting and clapping and rather tuneless music began again. The culties who had passed out brochures now moved through the crowd, holding out tin cups for money offerings.

Afterward, as the demonstration ended and the crowd started to break up, Frank and Joe made their way closer to the group of white-robed cultists.

“We'd like to know more about becoming Children of Noah,” Frank said to the shaven-headed youth who had given the speech.

The boy scowled at the Hardys. “Why?”

“We were interested in what you had to say,” Joe replied. “If we're going to join your cult, we'd like to hear more about it.”

Instead of looking pleased, the youth turned to a couple of his companions. They whispered together and shot suspicious glances at the Hardy boys.

Finally, the youth said to Frank and Joe, “Okay, we'll be happy to tell you all about Noah and his wonderful message to the world. Our beloved leader is always happy to welcome new children into our family. We may even take you out to the Ark later. Have you heard about our
Ark?”

“Sure,” Joe nodded. “It's that converted cruise liner that your new members live on, isn't it?”

“Yes, it's anchored offshore. There'll be a boat going out to it sometime after five o‘clock. Do you know where Decatur and Front streets are?”

“Down by the harbor,” Frank replied.

“Right,” said the shaven-headed cultie. “On one corner is an old empty warehouse. Wait for us there. We'll be down soon.”

The Hardys strolled off through downtown Shoreham in the direction of the waterfront. A few blocks beyond Franklin Square they glimpsed the masts of fishing boats and the smokestacks of freighters tied up at the dock. By following Decatur Street to the harbor, they had no trouble finding the warehouse. It was a ramshackle building with broken and boarded windows. Signs announced that it would soon be torn down to make space for a new shipping-office building.

One of the street-level doors was sagging wide open, evidently with a broken latch and hinges. The Hardys went inside and looked around. In the shafts of sunshine slanting through the broken panes were swirling dust motes, and the concrete floor was littered with rubbish.

“Nice waiting room,” Joe remarked sarcastically. “Wonder why they wanted us to come here?”

Frank shrugged. “Don't ask me. Maybe the culties gather here before they go back to the Ark every evening.”

Frank's suggestion seemed to be borne out by several wooden crates that were grouped together as if they had been used as makeshift benches, while on the floor nearby were discarded candy and gum wrappers and empty soda bottles.

The two boys sat down to wait.

Frank looked thoughtful. “Did you notice how they acted at first when we talked about joining the cult?”

“I'll say I did!” Joe responded. “Not exactly what you'd call real friendly. You'd almost think the Children of Noah didn't
want
any new members.”

“Another thing—they're supposed to be such a sweet, kindly bunch, and they always talk about loving your fellow humans, but that guy we heard today sounded as if he was mad at the world.”

“Maybe what made him mad was seeing us in the crowd.”

Frank frowned and pinched his lower lip. “You know, you might just have something there, Joe.”

“But what could he possibly have against
us?”
the younger Hardy boy countered.

“Good question. We'll know the answer to that when we find out why he sent us here.”

Minutes later, as the Hardys sat waiting and talking, half-a-dozen white-robed figures burst into the warehouse. All were shaven-headed youths. One was the street preacher they had talked to.

“Now you're going to tell us why you
really
want to join the Children of Noah!” he blurted.

The Hardy boys sprang to their feet.

“What're you talking about?” Frank demanded boldly.

“You know what I'm talking about! You came to spy for the fuzz!”

“You're the sons of that big-shot detective, Fenton Hardy!” another shouted.

“Yeah! And now you're going to get what's coming to you!”

“Now wait a minute!” Frank started to retort.

“And watch whom you're shoving!” Joe added, stiff-arming one of the culties who tried to push them backward and make them stumble over the wooden crates.

Perhaps the blustering youths had really intended to cross-examine the Hardys. But tempers were flaring too fast. Two or three of the culties reached inside their robes and pulled out spray cans.

“Look out, Joe!” Frank warned. “They're going to squirt us!”

An instant later the Hardy boys were being splat tered from all directions! Mustard, catsup, hair spray, shaving cream, and shoe polish shot through the air. Some of the Noah culties had armed themselves with more than one can.

But the Hardys had no intention of offering fixed targets to their enemies. Frank lifted the leader off his feet with a left uppercut, and Joe doubled up another one with a punch to the midriff. Fists flying, the two Bayporters fought their way out of the warehouse.

By the time they reached the doorway, both had snatched spray cans from their opponents. Pausing just long enough for a final squirt at their white-robed tormentors, the Hardys dashed outside.

In the sunshine a block away, they stopped and looked each other over.

“What a mess!” Joe grumbled. “They really did a job on us!”

Despite their anger and embarrassment, the Hardys could not help laughing at their appearance. Their clothes, faces, arms, and hair were smeared in various colors.

“No use crying over spilled milk.” Frank grinned ruefully. “Come on! Let's go home and clean up!”

When they pulled into the driveway on Elm Street and walked into the house, Aunt Gertrude gasped in horror. “My stars! What have you two been up to? Some harebrained club initiation?”

“Guess you could call it a ‘cult initiation,”' Joe told her.

“Well, get upstairs this minute and clean up, both of you!”

“That's just where we're headed, Aunty,” Frank chuckled and winked at his mother who was sitting in the living room. But he paused on the stairway, suddenly noticing the two women's odd, anxious expressions. “Say, is anything wrong?”

“We've been getting nasty phone calls all afternoon,” Mrs. Hardy replied.

“Someone on the line growls and bellows like an animal!” Aunt Gertrude added. “Then the caller threatens that our house will be attacked and smashed by the Apeman!”

Frank and Joe were furious at the news.

“What did you do?” Joe exclaimed, clenching his fists indignantly.

“Hung up, of course,” his tall, sharp-nosed aunt retorted. “I hope you don't think I had any intention of standing there and listening to such silly nonsense.”

“Good for you, Aunt Gertrude!” Frank put in. He was tickled by the thought of any crooked caller being foolish enough to believe he could bully or overawe Miss Hardy with mere words.

Nevertheless, it was plain to see that both she and his mother had been upset by the calls.

“I meant what did you
do
about it?” Joe persisted. “Did you notify the police or try to get in touch with Dad?”

“Well, yes, dear, I rang up Chief Collig after the fourth call,” Mrs. Hardy said. “But of course there wasn't much he could do except promise to have the next one traced, if the caller stayed on the line long enough.”

“How many calls were there?” Frank asked.

The two women looked at each other.