The Great Airport Mystery (11 page)

Joe managed to catch Anchor in a tight head lock and tumbled across the floor with him. Barney reached for the shotgun, but Frank grasped it first and threw it a distance away. With his free arm he then swung at Barney, catching the ex-convict directly on the chin. His opponent fell back, stunned.

At that instant four state troopers rushed into the room and helped the boys drag the two men to their feet. The suspects were immediately handcuffed.

“Now how about answering a few questions?” Frank demanded.

The captured men glared at the boys malevolently.

“We don't know anything!” Barney growled.

“Who owns the airplane that's kept here in the cave?” Frank pressed.

“You won't get anything out of us!” boasted Anchor.

“Do the boxes in this room contain merchandise stolen from Stanwide?” Frank continued.

The men remained stubbornly silent. The Hardys guessed it would be a waste of time to keep on trying to elicit any information from them. So they decided to get in touch with Mr. Allen and ask him to come to the cave. The boxes would be opened in his presence with the police officers as witnesses. This might help to build an airtight case against the racketeers.

“We can reach headquarters on our car radio,” said one of the troopers when Frank explained the boys' plan. “Want to come along and send the message yourself?”

“Thanks.”

Leaving the others to guard the two prisoners, Frank and an officer walked to the police car, parked on the road. The trooper established contact with his headquarters and Frank described the situation to the chief. Shortly a response was received telling them that Mr. Allen had been reached and would leave at once for the cave. In order to save time, a police helicopter would bring the executive to the site.

Meanwhile, Frank and the officer returned to the cave. Barney and Anchor appeared increasingly nervous. The boys hoped they would break down and answer the Hardys' questions. They still refused to speak, however.

After what seemed like an eternity of restless waiting, the sound of a helicopter's whirling rotor blades was heard faintly in the distance. The Hardys darted from the cave and into the center of the pasture. They waved their arms vigorously as the craft passed overhead. In response, it turned into a descending spiral and the pilot set the craft down gently a few yards away from the boys. The door opened and Mr. Allen stepped out.

“You two have discovered something of great importance?” he asked eagerly.

“Yes, we have,” Frank answered. “We've captured two members of the gang we think is involved in the platinum thefts, and what may be the stolen merchandise.”

“Congratulations!” Mr. Allen said. “You don't waste any time when working on a case.”

“Thanks,” Frank replied. “But the mystery is far from being solved. There's a great deal more that we'll have to uncover.”

The sleuths took the executive to the cave. “Incredible!” he commented, awe-stricken. “How did you ever manage to discover this hideout?”

“We'll fill you in on the details later,” Frank said. “Right now, we'd like you to check out the contents of the wooden boxes we found here.”

As they came to the plane, he stared in astonishment, but did not pause. The three hurried on to the waiting group, and the executive was introduced.

As Mr. Allen and the two boys entered the storage room, Barney and Anchor looked very uneasy. The president of Stanwide took several folded sheets of paper from his coat pocket.

“These are copies of the bills of lading of the missing shipments,” he said. “I've checked off what materials made up the shortages.”

The Hardys lifted the lid of the box they had been opening, and Mr. Allen read off a list of items and quantities. The contents tallied exactly with some of the missing platinum parts! Two other boxes were opened, disclosing more of the items on the list!

Frank spoke to the officers. “I'd say there's enough evidence here to arrest Barney and Anchor.”

“You're right,” said one of the State Police officers.

Gripping each of the handcuffed men by an arm, two of the troopers began walking them out of the cave.

Suddenly Anchor broke his silence. “Wait a minute!” he shouted. “You can't do this! We're not the head guys in this racket!”

“Who else is in this with you?” Frank prodded. “Give us their names!”

Barney nudged Anchor with his elbow, signaling him to keep silent. “I don't know who they are,” Anchor mumbled meekly.

Refusing to say any more, the two suspects were led away. Mr. Allen clapped the Hardys on their shoulders. “This has been a great job on your part, fellows.” The brothers grinned.

With their help Mr. Allen checked several more boxes and found that they also contained stolen parts. Joe suggested that they load as many of them as they could aboard Mack's helicopter for transport back to Stanwide. One of the troopers offered the use of the police helicopter to aid in the operation. He also told the Hardys that several men would be assigned to stand guard over the cave.

Still amazed by the camouflaged hideout, Mr. Allen took a flashlight and scanned the surroundings. For the first time he took a close look at the airplane stored there. What he saw seemed to startle him.

“It's hard to believe!” the executive murmured. “But it is!”

“What is?” asked Frank, curious.

“‘This airplane!” Mr. Allen answered, playing the beam of light across its sleek lines. “This was Clint Hill's!”

“But I thought that crashed!” Joe said in amazement.

Mr. Allen beckoned the Hardys to step closer to the plane. He pointed a trembling finger at something on the side of the cowling. It appeared to be a small decal, in the shape of an eagle.

“Clint put this emblem here,” the executive said. “This was his personal airplane.”

The boys did not speak, noting that Mr. Allen's face expressed deep sadness. Slowly walking around the plane, he stopped at the cockpit door, opened it, then climbed inside. He sat there quietly, as if expecting the lost pilot suddenly to appear.

CHAPTER XVI

GLANCING at each other, the Hardys kept silent as Mr. Allen continued to stare sorrowfully into space. They were eager to ask him more about Clint Hill's plane, but out of respect did not disturb him. He sat quietly in the cockpit for several minutes, then finally climbed out.

“I assume the airplane was sold after Hill's accident,” Frank said. “Who bought it?”

“It wasn't sold to anyone,” Mr. Allen replied. “The plane was stolen soon after Clint crashed.”

“Stolen!” the boys cried out.

“Yes,” Mr. Allen answered. “I had almost forgotten the incident.”

He went on to explain that local and government authorities had investigated the theft, but had turned up nothing.

“We finally came to the conclusion,” Mr. Allen said, “that whoever stole the plane either crashed in it, or shipped it out of the country.”

“Maybe Hill's ghost stole it,” Joe muttered derisively.

Then another angle occurred to the boys. If Clint Hill had survived the crash at sea and was involved in the platinum racket, had he come back to steal his own airplane for use in the thefts?

Returning to the business at hand, Frank and Joe, aided by Mr. Allen and two troopers, dragged some of the boxes from the cave and the task of loading the stolen material aboard the police helicopter was begun. When the craft was packed to capacity, its pilot quickly departed for the trip back to Stanwide.

Meanwhile, Joe had hurried off to get Mack and his helicopter. Soon the craft arrived, landing on the pasture near the cave entrance. The pilot jumped out and went into the thieves' hideout to pick up more boxes for loading. As they emerged from the cave, an eerie, disembodied sound brought them to a stop. Someone unseen was whistling “High Journey.” Mr. Allen's face turned ash white.

The whistling stopped. It was followed by a ghostly sounding voice.
“You can't escape from a man you've killed!”

“That's Clint Hill's voice!” Mr. Allen gasped. He was trembling.

“Where is it coming from?” Joe asked.

“Listen!” Frank ordered as the whistling began again. He made an effort to determine its source. Suddenly Frank, followed by his brother, broke into a fast run toward the helicopter. They reached the craft just as the whistling ceased.

“It's coming from the radio receiver!” Frank shouted in amazement.

“What's going on around here?” asked Mack, completely baffled.

“I wish we knew,” Frank responded, staring at the receiver.

Mr. Allen now joined the boys and Mack. “If I wasn't so sure that it was Clint Hill's voice we heard, I'd say the whole thing is a hoax,” said Mr. Allen with a grimace.

“I don't believe it's just a hoax,” Frank assured him. “And now shouldn't we start loading the boxes aboard?” he suggested, hoping to take Mr. Allen's mind off Hill's ghostly message.

The work was arduous, but soon the helicopter was filled to capacity, reserving enough space so that Mr. Allen could return to Stanwide with his property. The Hardys asked Mack to pick them up later.

“While we're waiting, we'll do more sleuthing in this area.”

When all the cargo was secured, Mr. Allen shook hands with the boys, thanked them again, and boarded the helicopter. The pilot started the engine and set the rotor blades at a high RPM for take-off power. The craft lifted off the ground, then headed on a course to the southeast. It quickly disappeared beyond the crest of hills.

Frank and Joe returned to the cave. Two troopers had posted themselves at the entrance. The brothers went inside to take a closer look, beaming their flashlights at every inch of the rocky interior. They found nothing of significance.

Finally Joe went to the very rear of the cavern to search.

Frank, meanwhile, walked over to the airplane and climbed into the cockpit. Looking toward the rear, he spotted a small but powerful electric hoist mounted on rails that straddled a hatch in the floor of the cabin. Several hundred feet of light cable were wound around the hoist's spindle.

“What's a device like this doing in a passenger airplane?” the young detective puzzled. “And what's it used for?”

Making a mental note of the hoist, Frank turned his attention to other areas of the cabin and cockpit. He searched through all the compartments but all he found were some air charts and an old navigational plotter.

“Whoever stole this plane made sure he left nothing around to identify him!” Frank muttered.

He extracted a fingerprint kit from his pocket and dusted the wheel, instrument panel, throttle, and other normally exposed areas for telltale prints. As he had expected, there were none; the occupants had been clever enough always to wear gloves.

Frank now bent low with his flashlight and searched underneath the seats. Suddenly he noticed a small leather object jammed between those of the pilot and copilot. He had difficulty reaching it, but finally managed to grasp the object and pull it out. A leather glove!

The young detective examined the lining of the fairly new glove. What he saw caused him to shout in excitement. Marked on the lining with indelible ink were the initials L.P.

“Lance Peterson!” Frank exclaimed, bolting out of the plane.

Excitedly he called to Joe, who came running. “What's up?”

“Look!” Frank cried, thrusting the glove toward his brother.

Joe's eyes widened as he spotted the initials. “They must stand for Lance Peterson!”

“Right! Mr. Allen should know about this as soon as possible!”

The boys hurried from the cave and told the troopers of their discovery. One of the policemen took his walkie-talkie radio out of its case, pulled the telescopic antenna from its housing, and flipped a toggle switch.

“These units can't transmit more than a mile or two,” the trooper said. “But one of our patrol cars might be within range somewhere. They can get a call through to Mr. Allen.”

The trooper succeeded in reaching a patrol car and transmitted the message. While awaiting a response, the boys discussed Peterson's connection with the racket.

“He must have stolen Clint's plane himself,” Joe surmised.

“It sure looks that way,” said Frank. “But if Peterson is using the plane to fly in the stolen loot, I wonder where he makes the pickup. It certainly couldn't be Bayport. The airplane would be recognized there at once.”

A crackling sound from the trooper's walkie-talkie signaled them that a message was about to come in. The policeman put the receiver to his ear and listened intently. After a couple of minutes he put down the instrument and turned to the boys.

“Mr. Allen has just arrived back at Stanwide. He has received your message and congratulates you on the new clue. Also, he wants you to know that he checked with Bayport tower and was told that nothing new has turned up on the whereabouts of Peterson and Lieber.”

“Thanks,” said Joe.

He suggested to his brother that since it would be another couple of hours before the helicopter returned to pick them up, they do some investigating outside the cave.

“Good idea, Joe. Say, do you remember the small cabin I spotted when we flew around here with Randy Watson?”

Joe nodded.

“I'd like to take a look at that place for clues,” Frank told him. He pointed off across the road, in the direction of the heavy woods there. “If I remember correctly, the cabin should be located about a mile from here.”