The Clue of the Broken Blade (14 page)

“We'll have to be careful,” Frank said. “Looks as if nobody's down here. Let's go upstairs.”

They searched the whole house. It was empty. Returning from the second floor, the Hardys went into the kitchen, where they washed the dirt from their hands.

“Let's take a good look at that saber,” Frank suggested.

They had just begun to examine the blade when a car turned into the driveway, its headlights shining through the windows.

The boys peered out the rear door. By the light reflected from the garage, they could see Vincent Steele and his wife emerge from the car. She waited while he opened the garage door and drove the car inside.

“Shall we leave by the front way?” Joe asked.

“We can handle Steele,” Frank said. “Let's see what he has to say about our kidnapping. But we'd better get that saber out of sight.”

Taking it from his brother, Frank tucked the blade beneath his shirt and down under his belt.

Vincent Steele opened the back door, then let his wife precede him into the house. She did not notice the boys on either side of the doorway as she walked by. When the writer entered and closed the door behind him, Frank and Joe grabbed him.

“What's this?” Steele cried out and struggled to get free.

Wheeling around, Mrs. Steele let out a long keening wail. Her husband gave up his efforts and stood as though transfixed. Staring at her, he shouted, “For goodness' sake, be quiet!”

She stopped as abruptly as she had begun. There was a long moment of silence. Then the woman said in a high voice, “I knew all along these boys were thieves and weren't really Fenton Hardy's sons. I should have let the sheriff's men take them in!”

“We're not thieves,” Frank said. “And we are Fenton Hardy's sons.”

“Then why did you break in here while we weren't home?” she demanded.

“We didn't,” Joe told her. “We were kidnapped and brought here.”

After staring at them for a moment, Mrs. Steele said, “I don't believe that!” She strode into the central hallway and picked up the phone.

“Wait a minute!” her husband called after her. “Let's find out what this is all about before you go calling the sheriff again.”

Mrs. Steele hesitated, then hung up the phone. She came back to the kitchen.

“What do you boys want here?” she inquired.

In a grim tone Frank said, “We want to know why we were kidnapped and locked in that storeroom in your cellar!”

Steele stirred. “Do you mind letting me go while we discuss this? I assure you I won't run away.”

Frank and Joe released their grips on the screenwriter's arms, but watched him closely.

Fastidiously brushing both coat sleeves where he had been touched, Steele said, “Now what was that about kidnapping?”

“Two men captured us at Carson's Ski Lodge,” Joe said. “You must have been in on it, or they wouldn't have brought us to your house!”

“I know nothing whatever about it,” Steele stated indignantly. “And I haven't the slightest idea why you were brought here.”

“How could they get us in without your knowing?” Frank asked. “We must have been carried through the house. Unless your cellar has a secret entrance. Has it?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Who else has seen that cave in the cellar?” Joe asked.

Steele shrugged. “As I told you before, it's supposed to be a storeroom, but we've never used it. If the cellar has a secret entrance, I would like to find out about it too. Suppose we all go down there and search for one?”

Was this a trap? Joe wondered. He looked searchingly at Frank, who nodded imperceptibly.

“Okay, Mr. Steele,” he said. “But you'd better go first. Your wife, too.”

“You don't trust me,” Steele said flatly.

“No,” Frank replied.

They descended in single file, the Steeles first, then Frank, with Joe bringing up the rear.

Downstairs, the writer frowned when he saw that the oaken door was lying on the floor with its hinges cut.

Noting his expression, Frank said, “Sorry about that, but we had no choice.”

“What did you cut them with?” Steele asked.

“A knife,” Frank said vaguely.

The four of them searched the cellar thoroughly. They found no evidence of any secret way into it.

“We've both been gone all evening,” Steele declared. “If you were brought in through the house, your kidnappers must have picked the lock. They had no permission from us to enter the place.”

“The back door was open,” Mrs. Steele reminded her husband. “We don't usually lock it.”

“I still don't see why anyone would use the house of an innocent person,” Joe declared.

Steele shrugged. “It's an ancient building. Many people could know about the storeroom. Perhaps they figured we wouldn't have discovered you there until long after you had died of starvation.”

Mrs. Steele shuddered. “How awful!”

Joe said, “Frank, I guess we'll have to presume that they're innocent, since we can't prove otherwise. Let's get out of here.”

In a courteous voice Steele said, “You don't have any transportation. I'll drive you wherever you want to go.”

“Thanks, but we'll call a cab,” Frank said.

They started up the stairs in the same order that they had descended, Mrs. Steele in the lead. Halfway up, Frank felt the blade under his belt begin to slip. He made an attempt to hold it, but it was too late. It dropped down his pants leg and clanged against the stone step.

Vincent Steele turned quickly and picked up the broken sword. His wife looked over his shoulder.

“What in the world is this?” she asked in astonishment. “Where did it come from?”

“Under my belt,” Frank said.

“You mean you had it all the time? Or did you find it in the cellar?”

“It was buried in your so-called storeroom,” Joe said. “We found it while trying to dig our way out.”

“Then it belongs to us,” the woman declared.

Her husband interceded. “My dear, I think the law on treasure trove says that it belongs to the finder. But let's take a look at it in a better light before we all get excited.”

They continued into the kitchen, where the writer examined the blade under a strong light. After turning it over and over, he shrugged and handed it back to Frank.

“It isn't worth arguing about,” he said. “What good is half a sword?”

Frank said, “It's worth something to us. Our teacher may be able to use it in his magazine article.”

“Yes,” Joe agreed. “I'm sure he'll be interested in it. May we use your phone to call a taxi?”

When the cab came Steele accompanied the boys outside. He gave them a cordial good-by and apologized for their having been locked up in his house. Again he disclaimed any knowledge of how they got there.

The taxi pulled away. Frank told the driver to take them to the Northside Plaza Motel in Stockton.

Joe said, “Did it strike you as strange that Steele gave up the sword so easily? He must have known what it was!”

“What choice did he have?” Frank said. “We were two to one. He knew that if he didn't give it up voluntarily, we could take it away from him.”

“No doubt he's in with Homer and that bunch,” Joe said. “But what on earth would he have to do with the spectrograph gang?”

Frank shrugged. “It's a puzzle all right.”

When they arrived at the motel, they learned that Mr. and Mrs. Hardy were in Room 103. They knocked and their mother opened the door.

“Frank! Joe!” she exclaimed with relief. “I'm so glad you're safe! How did you get away from those kidnappers?” She put an arm around each boy. “Come inside and tell me all about it.”

The boys told her briefly what had happened, and showed her the broken saber. Then Frank asked how she had known about the kidnapping.

“Dad phoned from the sheriff's office. He and Chet are out with the deputies and city police searching for you two.”

“Then they escaped from that goon who took them in the car!” Frank exclaimed.

“Yes,” Mrs. Hardy replied and told how Chet had outwitted their captor.

“We'd better call and let the police know we're safe,” Joe said.

“I'll do it right now,” Mrs. Hardy offered.

While she was on the phone, Frank and Joe wiped the blade with a soft cloth and examined it closely. They held it under the light and slanted it at various angles.

Frank shook his head. “No wonder Steele let us have this without a struggle. There's no will inscribed on this blade!”

 

 

 

MRS. HARDY hung up the phone and said, “Your father and Chet are out in a patrol car. The sergeant I talked to said he would inform them by radio that you're safe.”

“Good,” Frank said. “But I don't think we should wait for them to get back here. I'm sure Steele is in with the thugs who captured us. Chances are he's called them to his house for a conference. Joe and I'll go back there to listen in.”

“We could use one of Dad's bugs for that,” Joe said. “Did he bring any with him, Mom?”

“He always does, no matter where he goes,” Mrs. Hardy replied. “I'll check his suitcase.”

She found two small metal disks about the size of shirt buttons which could be clipped onto window drapes or to the backs of upholstered furniture. The receiver was a small, oblong box about the size of a pocket transistor radio, and had a retractable antenna. When one of the tiny microphones was placed in a room, the metal ear would pick up all conversation and broadcast it to the receiver.

Putting the device in his pocket, Joe said, “We'll have to take your car, Mom, because Dad and Chet have ours.”

“All right,” Mrs. Hardy said. “But be careful. If Mr. Steele is part of the gang, prowling around his house could be dangerous.”

She gave Frank the keys to the Plymouth. They placed the guard end of the saber in the closet and left.

It was close to ten o'clock when the boys neared the Steeles' house. They parked a block away and walked the rest of the distance.

The front gate was locked. Frank was reaching for the split-rail fence when Joe stopped him. “Suppose Steele lied about disconnecting the electricity?”

“We'd better check,” Frank agreed. “Give me the receiver for the listening device.”

Joe handed him the small box. His brother extended the antenna to its full length of about three feet, then unscrewed it from the box. Setting one end on the ground, he dropped the other end against the fence.

A blue spark crackled along the narrow steel tube. Frank kicked the antenna away from the fence and screwed it back into the receiver.

“Well,” Joe said, taking the box and putting it back in his pocket, “what now?”

“We hurdle the fence,” Frank decided.

Backing up, he ran toward it and cleared it like a track hurdler. Joe followed suit. Silently they crossed the lawn to the large picture window. The drapes were drawn, but not completely closed. Frank and Joe peered in. The living room was empty.

Joe opened the window, reached in, and clipped one of the tiny microphones to the back of one of the drapes.

He had barely pulled the window down when Mr. and Mrs. Steele entered the room. The boys faded around the corner of the house to the back.

A light burned in the kitchen, but shades were drawn over both the window and the glass pane in the back door. Frank tried the door and found it unlocked. Inching the door open, he peered in. No one was in sight.

“Give me the other mike,” he said to Joe.

Joe handed it to him and Frank went inside. He clipped the disk under a kitchen curtain and slipped out again.

The boys retreated behind the garage. Joe flicked on the switch of the receiver. Both put their ears close to it.

Mrs. Steele's voice came through. “If your friends are coming here tonight, I'm going to my sister's. I can't stand them.”

Vincent Steele said patiently, “They're not friends, merely business associates. And they won't be staying long.”

“Even five minutes is too long to suit me,” his wife replied sharply. “When they arrive, I leave!”

Just then five shadowy figures moved past the garage. Obviously the other gate was not electrified. It was too dark to see the men's features. They entered the house by the back door. A few moments later the door opened again, then slammed shut. Mrs. Steele went straight to the garage and drove off.

The voices from inside the house came over the bug distinctly. Someone with an Italian accent said, “Why didn't you keep the blade, once you had your hands on it?”

“There were two of them,” Steele replied. “Besides, I examined it carefully. There was no will inscribed on it!”

“Then it can't be the Adalante,” a familiar voice spoke up.

Joe whispered, “I think that's Charlie.”

“Right,” Frank replied. “Listen.”

“Yes, it is the Adalante,” Steele insisted. “The letters A-N-T-E were clearly visible. But there was nothing else.”

“Why did you let them escape from the cellar?” Homer asked.

“Me?” Steele said. “I wasn't even here. You locked them in. You can't seem to do anything right. First you caused poor Ettore Rossi all that trouble for nothing, because you thought he was Russo. Then you can't even lock up a couple of kids so they stay locked up!”