THE CLUE OF THE BROKEN BLADE

FRANK and Joe Hardy become involved in an intriguing mystery which revolves around their fencing master, Ettore Russo. Proof that Russo is the rightful heir to his grandfatherâ€™s estate hinges on retrieving the guard end of a broken saber lost many years ago in California.

The young investigatorsâ€™ quest is complicated by a bank robbery during which some of their fatherâ€™s important records are stolen. Using Mr. Hardyâ€™s recently purchased scientific device, a sound spectrograph, the boys identify the voiceprints of the leader of the masked robbers. A chase ensues that takes Frank, Joe, and their pal Chet Morton to the grape-growing region of California and involves them in a dangerous game of hide-and-seek with the bank robbery gang, who also are searching for the broken saber.

A startling discovery at a movie location leads to the solution of this thrilling, fast-paced mystery.

Frank was pushed directly into the path of the motorcycle

Copyright Â© 1977, 1969, 1942 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Pumam & Grosset
Group, New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.
THE HARDY BOYSÂ® is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 73-119043

eISBN : 978-1-101-07635-4

13-Digit: 978-1-101-07635-4
579 1086

http://us.penguingroup.com

CHAPTER I

Foiled

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FRANK and Joe Hardy, masked and gloved, confronted each other with crossed foils. Ettore Russo, the slim, erect fencing master, was coaching them. He seemed nervous.

âFrank, you attack. Joe, you parry. On guard. Bend your elbow a little bit more, Frank. Now thrust. Lunge!â

While Frank carried out the instructions, he murmured to himself, âSomethingâs bothering Russo. Heâs not himself today.â

âLook, Frank,â came Russoâs voice. âThrust first until your arm is fully extended, then lunge. Okay. You can take a break now.â

Dark-haired, eighteen-year-old Frank and his blond brother Joe, who was a year younger, removed their masks and gloves. They were about to join a group of friends when Russo called them aside.

âWhatâs on your mind, maestro?â Frank asked as they walked up to him.

âI wonât be here for the tournament,â Russo said glumly.

Joeâs eyebrows shot up. âHow come?â

âMy grandfatherâs will is being probated in Switzerland. Iâll have to be there.â

âYour grandfather just died?â Frank asked.

âNo, many years ago. Itâs my step-grandmother who just died. She was in her eighties.â

Russo smoothed his wiry black hair with his hand and continued, âYou see, Granddad married a young girl late in life. In his will he left his fortune in trust, the income going to her during her lifetime. But the capital was to revert to his blood heirs after her death.â

âAnd now youâll get an inheritance?â Joe asked.

âMaybe. My grandfatherâs will states that upon her death the estate is to be divided according to the terms specified on the sword Adalante.â

âNow what does Adalante mean?â Joe wanted to know.

âAdalante is a championship saber that grandfather owned. Unfortunately it was broken and lost in a duel he had in California in the late eighteen hundreds. The tip end was found and is now in the possession of a cousin in Tessin, the Italian part of Switzerland. But there is no will etched on it, so it must be on the guard end.â

âDo you think your grandfather was playing a joke?â Frank asked. âHow could he expect anyone to find the other half of the broken blade?â

âHe was eccentric all his life,â the maestro said. âMaybe his idea was to test the ingenuity of his grandsons.â

âCould be. Now what happens?â

âMy grandfather often told my father that his first grandson would get three-fourths of the estate, the balance to be divided among his other grandchildren. Iâm the eldest grandson.â

âThatâs terrific!â Joe said.

Russo shrugged. âMy father is no longer alive to testify. And my cousin Fabrizio Dente, based on a claim by his mother, who is still living, declares that he is the sole heir.â

Frank shook his head. âIt certainly leaves you in a fix. Unless you find the other end of the saber, of course.â

Russo sighed. âDid you ever look for a needle in a haystack? All I can do is go to Switzerland and fight my cousin in court. That means Iâll have to close the school.â

The Hardysâ friends, Biff Hooper, a blond six-footer, and olive-skinned Tony Prito, joined them.

âClose the school?â Biff said. âThat means we canât take part in the tournament!â

Russo nodded sadly. âIâve no one to replace me.â

âWe could keep the school open for you,â Biff offered. âWe canât give lessons, but we can supervise training a few evenings a week!â

Frank grinned. âThatâs a good suggestion. Weâll mind the store for you, maestro!â

Russo looked rather relieved. âMaybe it would work,â he said. âI donât know when Iâll be back, and if I close down too long, I might lose most of my students.â

Phil Cohen and rotund Chet Morton, the Hardysâ best pals, had joined the group and Chet spoke up. âStop worrying, maestro. Iâll pitch in, too. But I want a handicap from now on!â

Russo looked puzzled. âWhy?â

âWell,â Chet explained, âIâve got a lot more surface to touch!â

Everyone laughed, and Biff needled Chet about his giant-sized appetite.

âWeâll work the extra weight off you!â Russo promised. âCome on. You and Tony have a practice bout.â

The two donned their wire-mesh masks and suede single gloves worn on the weapon hand. They took positions on the salle strip which was quite close to regulation size, six feet wide and forty feet long.

The maestro acted as bout director, taking his place about eight feet from the strip and halfway between Chet and Tony.

âBiff and Frank, start out by watching Chet,â he said. âPhil and Joe, watch Tony.â

Frank and Joe had studied the rules for fencing with foils, which were slightly different from those for Ã©pÃ©e and saber. In foil, the first to score a total of five touches was the winner. Touches were counted only if they were on the trunk of the body. Those on arms, legs, and head were off target. The latter incurred no penalty, but did not score, either.

If a contestant was hit, the judges would raise an arm and call out hit or touch.

The boys made a few lunges, bent the blades to the floor to test their flexibility, then saluted each other by raising the blades vertically in front of their masks.

âReady?â the director said.

Tony and Chet assumed their guard positions, right foot forward, knees slightly bent, sword arm bent into a V, foils crossed and touching. Both boys answered, âYes.â

âFence!â the director commanded.

Chet advanced, making a feint as he did. Tony retreated one pace, guessed that Chetâs move was a feint rather than a real attack, thrust and lunged instead of parrying.

Biff and Frank raised their right arms and said, âTouch!â

âHalt!â the director ordered and called one against Chet.

The next two touches were off target, one off Chetâs right shoulder, the other on Tonyâs left arm. Although they were not counted as penalties, the director halted the action each time, just as he did for good touches.

At the command âFence!â Chet immediately moved to attack. Tony retreated, the blades clashing as lunge was met by parry, and parry by counterparry.

Chet scored the next two good touches, then Tony made three in a row. Chet took three more to win!

âBout!â the director said. âChet, you donât need a handicap!â He turned to Tony. âYou failed to anchor your left foot when you made that last advance lunge. Next time hold it flat on the floor and youâll keep your balance if youâre parried.â

âYes, sir,â Tony said ruefully, âIâll remember.â

The fencing lessons were one hour for each group. Frank and Joe got home in plenty of time for dinner. As they turned into the driveway, they saw a truck backed up to the stairway leading to their laboratory over the garage. Two men were unloading a large crate.

The boys got out of the car and went over to them. The wooden crate was about two feet square and more than two feet high. It was marked âFragile.â

âWhatâs that?â Frank asked the men.

âMr. Hardy ordered it,â one of them replied. âHe told us to put it in the lab.â

Tony thrust and lunged

Frank and Joe looked at each other. Their father had been out of town for two weeks. As a famous private investigator Fenton Hardy had many enemies, and this would not be the first time someone had used a ruse to get into their expensive lab and damage it.

Joe asked, âWhatâs in that crate?â

The man who had spoken shrugged. He and his colleague dragged the crate off the truck and began to carry it up the stairs. It looked as though it weighed well over a hundred pounds.

âWait a minute!â Joe said, following them.

Frank ran after Joe. The men continued on, paying no attention to them. Then, halfway up, one of them missed a step.

The heavy crate teetered dangerously toward Joe!

CHAPTER II

Curious Strangers

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JOE grabbed the man about the waist to steady him. At the same time Frank reached past his brother to catch a corner of the crate and keep it from falling. After a heart-stopping moment, the man recovered his footing.

From below a voice called up, âCareful there. That equipmentâs quite expensive!â

They all looked down. A taxicab was backing out of the driveway and Fenton Hardy, a suitcase in one hand and a small package in the other, stood at the bottom of the stairway.

Frank ran down. In a tone of relief he said, âAre we glad to see you, Dad! We didnât know if these deliverymen were on the level or not.â

âTheyâre only carrying out my instructions,â Mr. Hardy replied. âIâll be back as soon as I take my suitcase inside. Meantime you can uncrate my new acquisition. But be careful. Itâs delicate.â

By the time Fenton Hardy returned to the lab, the deliverymen had left in their truck and the boys had uncrated the object.

âThis is a complicated piece of equipment,â Joe remarked as they set it gently on the floor.

Four dials were on the front panel. Three were labeled Monitor Level, Scan Playback Level, and Recording Level. The fourth could be turned to any of three stops, which were marked Mark Amp, Scan Plbk, and Rec Amp. There were also four plug-in holesâScan Output, Line In, External Speaker, and Microphone Input.

Joe wondered whether it was a special radio or a secret decoder.

âNeither,â said Frank. âLook here.â He pointed to a small, round speaker, a meter with a needle pointer, a pair of tape-recording spools, three rows of push buttons, and a drumlike contraption with heavy white paper rolled onto it.

Mr. Hardy came in, still carrying the small package.

âWhat is it, Dad?â Joe asked. âSome new outer-space device?â

His father set down the package and gave the machine a fond pat. âItâs a sound spectrograph,â he said. âThe latest gadget to combat the world of crime.â

âWhat does it do?â Frank wanted to know.

âIt converts voices into picture patterns,â Mr. Hardy explained, âand records them on that roll of paper in the form of graphs. It is based on the fact that no two persons have identical vocal cavities. That is what gives each personâs voice its distinctive tone.â

Joe said, âCouldnât a criminal beat it just by disguising his voice?â

Mr. Hardy shook his head. âThe spectrograph canât be fooled. Experiments have been conducted with the best voice imitators in show business, and the device always instantly identifies them.â

âWhat do you intend to use it for?â Frank asked.

Mr. Hardy opened the package. It contained several reels of sound tape. âI have collected recordings of the voices of top criminals in the country, and plan to make spectrograms of all of them and keep them on file. Just like fingerprint files are kept.â

âDonât the various police departments have records like this?â Frank asked.

âSome do, with great success. In cases of kidnapping, for instance, the kidnapperâs voice can be taped when he phones a ransom demand, and then be checked against the file.â

âSay, thatâs great!â Joe exclaimed. âWill you show us how to use it?â

âI insist,â Mr. Hardy said with a smile. The detective had tutored his sons in anti-crime technology ever since they had shown an interest in the subject. Fenton Hardy, his skills honed to a fine edge in the New York Police Department, had gained renown as a super sleuth. He left the force to set up a private practice, and when Frank and Joe grew old enough, they assisted him. Their first case was known as The Tower Treasure, and their latest success was called the Mystery of the Flying Express.

Both boys were eager to learn more about the sound spectrograph.

âLetâs start right away!â Joe said.

âTake it easy,â Mr. Hardy replied. âItâs quite complicated. The manufacturer conducts a two-week training course in New Jersey. Iâll phone to Somerville in the morning and arrange for you to attend.â

Frank and Joe were enthusiastic.

âIncidentally,â their father added, âby the time you come back from Voiceprint School, your mother and I wonât be here.â

âNew case?â Frank asked.

âNo. Just a plain old vacation. Donât you think we deserve one?â

Frank grinned. âWhere are you going, Dad?â

âGrand Canyon. Aunt Gertrude will be here, however; so the house wonât be empty when you return.â

âOh, donât worry about us, Dad. And have a good time,â Joe said.

The Voiceprint Identification Course, as it was officially called, began the following Monday. The boys arrived in Somerville on Sunday evening and registered at a motel next to the school.

When they reported to their first class at the Voiceprint Laboratories early the next morning, they learned that the course involved seventy hours of classroom lectures and laboratory work, plus twenty hours of homework.

âLooks as if we wonât have much spare time,â Joe said during lunch.

Frank nodded. âMy headâs spinning already with all the new info. They really cram it into your skull!â

The boys spent the next few days either in class or in the lab, and did not relax until evening when they had dinner in the motelâs restaurant.

On Thursday night they called their father. He told them that he had completed the voiceprint records and stored them with the tapes in the Bayport Bank and Trust Company for safekeeping.

âThat was a good idea,â Frank said. âEspecially since you wonât be home for a while.â He told his father of their progress, wished him a good trip, and hung up.

âOkay, letâs get some chow,â Joe suggested.

They had just settled themselves for dinner in the dining room, when two men entered and took a table next to their booth. One was tall, thin, and had a sad face, the other was burly with a swarthy complexion.

At the same time the boys heard someone slide into the booth next to theirs on the other side of the dividing partition.

After the waitress had taken their orders, the burly man smiled at Frank and said, âEvening, boys.â

They politely returned the greeting.

âWeâve noticed you in here before,â the man continued. âAre you staying at the motel?â

âYes, sir,â Joe said. âWeâre taking the Voiceprint Identification Course next door.â

âOh?â the man said. âI thought that was only for people in police work. Arenât you a little young for that?â

âWell, our Dad...â Joe started to reply when Frank kicked him under the table.

To Joeâs relief the waitress interrupted the conversation by bringing the food. They all ate in silence for a few minutes.

Then the burly man said, âIâll bet those machines are quite expensive.â

âNearly fifteen thousand dollars,â Frank said.

The thin man asked, âCan anyone buy them?â

Frank and Joe looked at each other. Were they being pumped? Had the two men followed them into the restaurant on purpose?

Even though he was suspicious, Frank decided there would be no harm in answering the thin manâs question. He said, âThe machines are sold chiefly to law-enforcement agencies and government offices. But a few have been purchased by private individuals. People who apply for machines are thoroughly investigated, however. If they are found to have any criminal connections, theyâre turned down.â

The strangers asked no more questions. They finished eating before the Hardys, gave them polite good-bys, and left.

Frank said, âI think they were fishing for information, donât you?â

âYes,â Joe said. âBut I wonder why. Do you think they are some kind of criminals?â

âIâm pretty sure of it. Did you see how they looked at each other when I told them anyone who wanted to buy a spectrograph was investigated? In the morning we had better warn the people at the Voiceprint Lab to take extra precautions against burglary.â

âBut why would criminals want a sound spectrograph?â Joe asked.

Frank shrugged. âI donât know. Anyway, itâs a good thing you didnât spill the beans about Dadâs project.â

âRight,â Joe said. âFirst time Iâve ever been thankful for a kick in the ankle.â

They discussed Mr. Hardyâs catalog system. âIâm glad he put it in the Bayport Bank and Trust Company,â Frank said.

Just then they heard the sound of someone leaving the booth on the other side of the partition. Suddenly realizing that whoever had been there had heard their conversation, the boys rose and peered over the top.

They could only see the manâs back as he went out the door. He was broad-shouldered and thin-hipped, and wore a dark-blue suit. A black Homburg was perched on the back of his head.

As the Hardys sank back into their seats, Frank said, âI hope he wasnât a crook, too. We sure gave him an earful.â

The boys were in bed by ten that night, but at three oâclock in the morning Joe suddenly sat up. He shook Frank and whispered, âHey! I think I just heard a truck pull in behind the lab next door!â

Frank got up at once and put his trousers on over his pajamas. In less than a minute both boys were dressed and out of the motel room. Silently they moved toward the back of the Voiceprint Laboratories.

As they reached the corner of the building, they saw the outline of a truck. Even though it was a moonless night they could make out the figure of a man sneaking into the back entrance.

âCome on,â Joe whispered. âLetâs get him.â

âNot yet.â

âWhy?â

âWe donât know how many are inside. If thereâs a half dozen of them, theyâll clobber us.â

âThen Iâll go for the police.â

Frank put a hand on his brotherâs arm. âLook, theyâre coming out.â

One man emerged slowly, walking out backwards and straining under a heavy load. Then a second figure came into sight. Between them they hefted a large crate.

âHurry,â one of them said hoarsely. âThe woodâs cutting into my fingers!â

âShut up,â came the reply. âWhat about me? My backâs breaking!â

Frank whispered, âOn your mark, Joelâ

CHAPTER III

The Legacy

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THE men set the crate down, apparently to rest before lifting it onto the truck. As they stooped to pick it up again, Frank signaled Joe and the two moved forward.

âWhat are you doing here?â Frank called out.

The men dropped the crate and whirled. One swung a fist at Frank. The other leaped toward Joe.

Ducking, Frank drove a left, then a right into his attackerâs stomach. The man doubled over with a gasp and his hat fell to the ground.

Meantime Joe and the other man were standing toe to toe, trading blows. In the darkness they could not see each otherâs faces. The man grunted when Joe landed a hard blow on his chest. But then he caught Joe in the middle of the forehead and knocked him down.

Frank was ready to finish off his man when he saw Joe fall. He turned to attack Joeâs opponent, whereupon his adversary hit him from behind with a rabbit punch, driving Frank to his hands and knees.

âLetâs get out of here!â the thug shouted.

Though dazed, Frank was aware of both truck doors being slammed shut. Then his head cleared and he looked up just as the vehicle started to pull away. The driver switched on his lights. This illuminated the rear license plateâNew Jersey, FHB-548. Frank memorized it.

As he scrambled to his feet, Joe also got up. âAre you all right?â his brother asked.

âOkay,â Frank mumbled. âHow about you?â

âIâll live,â Joe said, fingering a growing lump on his forehead.

Frank went over to look at the crate the thieves had left behind. Its label showed that it contained a sound spectrograph of the same model owned by their father.

Joe whistled. âHey, one of those guys left his hat,â he said, picking it up.

âBring it along,â Frank said. âWeâll go back to the motel and call the police.â

When they returned to their room, Joe exclaimed, âThis is the same kind of hat as the one the man was wearing in the restaurant tonight!â

Frank took the black Homburg. He examined the inside. He lifted out a hair and studied it closely. It was thick, red, and rather greasy. Taking an envelope from the writing desk, he placed the hair inside and slipped the envelope into his pocket.

âWeâll save that for the police,â he said, picking up the phone.

While Frank was calling, Joe examined the hat further. From inside the band he pulled out a folded newspaper clipping.

When his brother hung up, Joe said, âLook at this, Frank!â He showed the clipping, headlined KIDNAPPER TRAPPED BY VOICEPRINT. âIt tells how a guy was arrested on account of a spectrogram,â Joe went on. âHe kidnapped a young boy and telephoned the father for ransom. His voice was taped by the police and later the boy was found unharmed!â

Frank put the clue in his pocket next to the envelope. âThe police will want this, too,â he commented.

Two officers arrived in a squad car five minutes later. When the boys explained what had happened, one of them put out an all-points bulletin for the truck. Then they drove the police car behind the Voiceprint Lab and illuminated the scene with their spotlight.

Along with the boys, they searched for further clues. The rear door had been jimmied, but the burglars had left no other marks.

âA robbery squad officer will be over shortly,â one of the policemen told Frank. âHeâll make the investigation inside.â

Soon a tall, leathery detective, who introduced himself as Lieutenant Howell, arrived at the scene. Frank and Joe described their encounter with the thieves, then accompanied him to their room, where they gave him the hat, the news clipping, and the strand of hair.

âIâve called the lab manager,â Lieutenant Howell said. âHeâll be right over. Weâll go and check the building with him.â

They went back to the lab and met the manager at the door. He thanked the boys for their alertness and led them through the building. The alarm system had been cleverly disconnected, but nothing aside from the spectrograph had been disturbed.

One of the policemen came in to report that a bulletin had just come over the radio about the truck. âIt was reported stolen earlier in the evening,â he said, âand has just been found abandoned at the airport.â

âWell, thatâs that,â the lieutenant said gloomily. âIf it hadnât been too dark for you boys to see the faces of those men, we could have all flights checked for persons answering their descriptions.â

He told the lab manager he would arrange for a police guard until morning, since the rear door lock was broken, then left.

During the following week Lieutenant Howell had no news for the boys on the would-be thieves. Frank and Joe finished their course and received certificates attesting to the fact that they were qualified voiceprint operators.

The boysâ plane landed at the Bayport airport at noon on Saturday. Chet Morton picked them up in his jalopy. It backfired as usual, sounding like a gang war in progress. When he pulled into the Hardy driveway, the uproar brought Aunt Gertrude to the front door.

Fenton Hardyâs unmarried sister, who lived with the family, was tall and lean and had a heart as soft as a marshmallow under her decisive demeanor. She was also the best cook in Bayport, and that made her one of Chetâs favorite people.

Aunt Gertrude showed how glad she was to see the boys back safely by making a flurry of dire predictions.

âWell,â she declared as they carried their suitcases into the house, âyou survived another trip in Chetâs mechanical monster, I see. Youâll all blow up in it yet, if you donât get yourselves stabbed at that fencing school first. Or killed by robbers like those in Somerville.â

âHowâd you hear about that, Aunt Gertrude?â Frank asked.

âThe Somerville police phoned your father. He and your mother got away on their vacation, incidentally, so there will be only the three of us for lunch. Unless youâve invited guests.â

She looked pointedly at Chet, who sniffed the aroma of freshly made chili coming from the kitchen. He grinned. âIâm available if youâre looking for somebody to invite.â

âThen wash up and hurry,â Aunt Gertrude commanded. âLunch is in ten minutes.â

Shortly before three that afternoon Frank and Joe were on their way to the Russo School of Fencing.

âYou know,â Frank said, âIâve been thinking about the maestroâs problem. I wonder if we couldnât give him a hand in finding the missing piece of that saber.â

Joe grinned. âYou just want to have a little vacation on the West Coast!â

âWell, if he has any idea at all of the area where the saber was broken, it might be a good idea!â

They parked the car and went inside. Biff, Tony, and Phil came in a few moments later.

Russo beckoned to the Hardys while the others were changing to fencing suits. âIâll have to leave tomorrow for Switzerland,â he announced. âAre you boys still willing to keep the school open for me?â

âMr. Russo,â Frank began, âIâm sure the others can handle that. How would you like my brother and me to find the Adalante?â

âHow do you expect to do that?â

âWe thought if you had any clue at allââ

Russo shook his head. âI just donât know. All I can tell you is thereâs an old recluse named Miguel Jimenez who lives in the delta region of northern California. He is supposed to know the details of my grandfatherâs duel and also where the tip end of the broken sword was found.â

âHavenât you asked him about it?â Frank put in.

âHe refuses to talk to me,â the fencing master said. âI donât know why.â He scratched his head and looked thoughtfully at the boys.

âIf I paid your fare to California, perhaps you could get the old man to tell you!â

âWhatâs his address?â Joe inquired.

âI donât know. I only met him once in Stockton. He lives near there on a houseboat.â

After some discussion, the Hardys decided to leave for California on Monday.

âYouâll find that my grandfather was well known in that area,â Russo said. âThereâs a book in the Stockton Public Library about him. His name was Giovanni Russo, and he was one of the richest men in the delta at the time he died. He made his fortune from the extensive vineyard he owned there.â

âOkay, maestro,â Joe said with a grin. âYou just hired yourself a couple of detectives.â

Russo smiled. âGood luck,â he said. âAnd now youâd better change. This will be your last lesson before I leave.â

That evening Chet stayed for dinner at the Hardy home. Aunt Gertrude had baked rhubarb pie, which was his favorite, and he ate three pieces. Miss Hardy pretended to be worried that he would burst, but secretly she was pleased that he liked the pie so much.

When the boys told her they were flying to California on Monday, her concern was not feigned. She imagined all kinds of dire things that could happen to them, including getting caught in an earthquake.

Fortunately Bayportâs Chief of Police Ezra Collig stopped by after dinner and allayed her fears. The husky, keen-eyed friend of the family told her that he did not believe the doomsday prophets who kept predicting that California would slide into the ocean. âTheyâre the same ones who always predict the end of the world.â He chuckled. âAnd neither event is likely to happen in the near future.â

Collig assured Miss Hardy that the boys were well able to take care of themselves.

He had come by to see the sound spectrograph. The boys took him and Chet to the lab to demonstrate it. After recording all their voices on tape, they made spectrograms of them.

âSo thatâs my voice!â Chet said in amazement. âLook at those funny shapes.â

âYour voice isnât the only thing about you that has a funny shape,â Joe needled.

âLay off,â Chet grumbled. âIâm still growing, thatâs all.â

On Monday morning Frank and Joe were packing when the phone rang.

âMaybe itâs Dad,â Frank said hopefully. They had tried to reach their parents to tell them about their trip, but with no success.

Frank scooped up the phone. It was Chief Collig.

âBad news,â Collig said curtly. âThe Bayport Bank and Trust Company was just robbed. They got three hundred thousand dollars in cash, plus the box your father had in the storage room!â

CHAPTER IV

A Phony Voice

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FRANK and Joe rushed downtown to meet the chief at the bank. They found the place in an uproar. Everyone was talking at once, trying to tell what happened.

Holding up both hands for silence, Collig said, âTake it easy. First I want to hear Mr. Dollingerâs story.â

Plump Henry Dollinger was the bankâs vice-president. He said, âThere were four bandits, all with nylon stockings over their heads. How they got in I donât know, but they were concealed in various places inside the bank when we got to work.â

âWhen was that?â Collig asked.

âAt eight-thirty. The bank doesnât open until nine, but employees get here a half-hour early to prepare for business. One of the gang was hiding in my office closet. I was dictating a letter into my dictaphone about a quarter of nine when he stepped out, put a gun to my head, and said, âThis is a stick-up. Make a wrong move and youâve had it!ââ

Dollinger mopped his forehead and went on. âHe made me open the vault. Iâm sure he must have known the time lock was set so it could be opened at a quarter of nine.â

âWhere were the rest of the bandits hiding?â the chief asked.

âI donât know. When we came out of my office, they were covering the other employees with guns and making them lie face down on the floor.â

A woman teller said they had been hiding in the bank presidentâs office.

A squat, muscular man who spoke with an accent said, âThat was a good place for them to hide. The president is on vacation.â

Chief Collig peered at him. âWho are you?â

Mr. Dollinger answered. âHe is Signor Zonko, from the Ticino Bank in Bellinzona, Switzerland. Heâs here on an exchange program to study United States banking methods.â

While the Swiss and the chief were shaking hands, Joe whispered to Frank, âHis accent sounds Italian to me!â

âHeâs from the Italian section of Switzerland,â Frank whispered back. âThatâs where Mr. Russo is going. Ticino is Italian for Tessin.â

Chief Collig asked Zonko what he knew about the bank robbery, but the man said he had arrived after it was all over, a few minutes past nine.

The chief turned his attention back to the bankâs vice-president. When he asked for descriptions of the bandits, Mr. Dollinger said the man hiding in his closet had been heavy-set, about five feet eight, and a hundred and eighty pounds. He had not particularly noticed the other three men.

The woman teller spoke up again. âOne of them was tall, wide-shouldered, and had narrow hips. I noticed a wisp of red hair where the stocking was tied together over his head. It looked kind of greasy.â

Joe blurted out, âOur eavesdropper in Somerville!â

âYour what?â Chief Collig looked blank.

Joe quickly explained about the man who had been sitting behind the partition in the motel restaurant and how later that night they had found a hat left at the spectrograph burglary scene.

âA strand of hair Frank found in the hat was red and greasy,â Joe concluded. âWe turned it over to the Somerville police.â

Chief Collig agreed that it could be the same man. Then bank employees described the other two bandits. One was tall and thin, the other a heavy-set, burly man. Frank and Joe said the description fitted the two strangers who had pumped them about the Voiceprint Identification Course. When they described the men, the chief sent an officer to put all four descriptions on the air.

Frank now voiced a question that was uppermost in his mind. âWhat happened to the alarm system?â he asked.

âIt was put out of commission,â the chief replied. âTelephone lines were cut, too.â

âI had to send one of my people out to call the police from a pay phone,â Mr. Dollinger told them.

âTherefore,â Chief Collig went on, âthe thieves had been gone from the scene a full ten minutes before we even heard about it. And apparently no one saw the car they escaped in.â

Frank turned to the bankâs vice-president. âMr. Dollinger, tell us about my fatherâs records.â

âThe box was in our storage room in the basement,â the man began. âThings like that are not kept in the vault. The basement is protected by iron bars and locked, of course.â

A detective came over to report that there was no sign of forced entry.

âLooks as if they had inside help,â the chief said. âKnowing how to put the burglar alarm out of commission and knowing when the lock on the vault was to be opened makes it almost certain. Iâll want a complete rundown on all your employees, Mr. Dollinger.â

Joe said, âWhy donât we tape their voices and make voiceprints, Chief?â

âWhat for, Joe?â Frank asked. âWe couldnât compare them with anything because Dadâs catalog is gone!â

âWell, maybe weâll get it back,â Joe said.

Chief Collig said, âIt wonât hurt. Weâll also fingerprint everyone and have their prints checked by the FBI in Washington. Do you have your tape recorder with you?â

âNo, sir,â Joe said, âbut we can rush home and get it while youâre taking the fingerprints.â

En route to the house, the boys discussed whether or not to get in touch with their father.

âIâd hate to spoil his vacation,â Frank said. âBesides, what can he do?â

âYouâre right,â Joe agreed.

They also decided to postpone their trip to the Coast until they found out the results of the police dragnet for the bank robbers. While Joe was getting the tape recorder, Frank called the airport and canceled their flight reservations.

When the boys got back to the bank, the police had finished fingerprinting all employees. Frank and Joe asked everyone to speak into the microphone of the tape recorder, saying the words: it, me, you, the, on, I, is, and, a, and to. These were the ten standard sounds used in making voiceprints.

When they had finished taping the last voice, Frank suddenly had an idea. He turned to the bankâs vice-president. âMr. Dollinger, didnât you say you were using your dictaphone when the bandit stepped from your office closet?â

âThatâs right.â

âWas the dictaphone still on when he spoke to you?â

Mr. Dollinger said thoughtfully, âI see what youâre getting at. Yes, it was. I switched it off before I got up from my desk, but it was on when he told me it was a stick-up.â

âThen his voice would be recorded!â

âCome on, letâs see!â Dollinger said eagerly and led the boys and Chief Collig into his private office. He set the dictaphone on playback.

After the last two sentences of the letter a guttural, obviously disguised voice broke in. âThis is a stick-up. Make the wrong move and youâve had it!ââ

âGreat!â Joe exclaimed.

Frank asked Dollinger to run it once more so they could record it.

âThatâs just fine,â he said when he was finished. âIf the stick-up man is one of your employees, weâll find out soon!â

When Frank and Joe got home, it was lunch-time. They took a sandwich to their lab and made spectrograms of all the employees on the tape, including the one on the dictaphone.

The latter matched the voiceprint of the visiting Swiss, Signor Zonko! Obviously the manâs Italian accent had been assumed, because the voice on the dictaphone was American.

âHow do you like that for nerve?â Frank said in amazement. âHe helped rob the bank, then took off his mask and walked right back in. No doubt he was the heavy-set member of the gang that Dollinger described.â

Frank phoned Collig to report their discovery. The chief thanked him and said he would call back as soon as Signor Zonko was under arrest.

The phone rang an hour later. Frank answered.

âZonko didnât return to the bank after lunch,â Chief Collig reported. âWe raided his apartment, but it was empty and all his belongings gone!â

âOh brother!â Frank said. âAs soon as we mentioned voiceprints, he must have known the jig was up.â

âRight. And hereâs another piece of news. I telephoned the president of the Ticino Bank in Bellinzona. They were closed, because itâs nine oâclock at night there now, but the operator got him at home. Thereâs a bank officer there named Zonko, but he never left Switzerland. Our Zonkoâs credentials were faked.â

âLooks as if weâre dealing with international criminals,â Frank said. âSince the only real evidence we have against them is the fake Zonkoâs voiceprint, I think weâll put it and the other spectrograms in Dadâs safe-deposit box at the bank.â

âGood idea,â Collig replied. âYouâd better hide that sound spectrograph somewhere, too. After failing to steal one in Somerville, the gang may try for yours!â

âI hadnât thought of that,â Frank said. âThanks for the suggestion.â

When Frank hung up, he and Joe carried the spectrograph into the master bedroom and hid it behind a secret panel in their fatherâs closet. Then they drove down to the bank and put the tape and voiceprints they had made that day into Fenton Hardyâs safe-deposit box.

Next morning, after breakfast, the boys went to the lab to get some notes they had left there. When Joe opened the door, he stopped dead in his tracks and gaped.

The place had been torn apart. Every cabinet door stood open, the locks broken, and papers were strewn all about!

CHAPTER V

Gang War

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âGOOD night!â Frank exclaimed. âAnd we never heard a thing!â

Joe shook his head. âIâm glad we didnât leave that tape and the voiceprints here.â

âThe spectrograph, too,â Frank added. âWhoever did this obviously never thought of looking in the house for it.â

âWell, letâs clean up the mess,â Joe said. âAnd then weâd better check on a flight to California!â

When the boys finished putting the laboratory back in order, Frank phoned Chief Collig, who had no news, then called the airport and made reservations for the ten-oâclock flight the next morning. He had just hung up when a well-dressed young man looked in the door.

âHi, Scoop,â Frank said. âCome on in.â

Cub reporter Scoop Scales of the Bayport 35 Times entered the living room. âMy editor sent me over to do a feature story on you guys,â he said.

âOn us?â Joe said in surprise. âWhat for?â

âYouâre too modest,â Scoop replied with a smile. âThe way you two identified that fake Swiss at the Bayport Bank and Trust Company as one of the robbers deserves a special story.â

âLook, Scoop,â Frank began, âweâre not too keen on any publicity. We donât want the whole world to know what weâre doing!â

âDonât worry, Iâll keep it general enough. No trade secrets. Just the regular stuff, you know. Whether you like baseball and chocolate shakes, et cetera.â

Frank sighed. âAll right. Go ahead if you must.â

The boys answered questions about their recent activities, including their attendance at the Voiceprint Lab, but said nothing about their impending trip. Scoop told them he would like to have a newspaper photographer take a picture of the Hardysâ house the next day.

âAunt Gertrude will be here,â Frank said. âJust contact her.â

The following morning Callie Shaw came by in her car to drive the boys to the airport. Slender, blond Callie was Frankâs steady date. With her was Iola Morton, Chetâs dark-haired sister, whom Joe regarded as his best girl. Chet did not come along because he was on duty at the fencing school.

When it was time to say good-by at the loading gate, Callie said, âYou boys stay out of trouble, hear!â

âYou know they never do that,â Iola remarked with a laugh. She turned to the Hardys. âJust get out of any trouble you get into!â

As the plane passed over Denver, Joe was commenting on the amazing speed of jet travel compared to the covered wagons of a hundred years ago.

Suddenly Frank interrupted him. âI just thought of a possible motive for the bank robbers going after those tapes and voiceprints!â he said excitedly.

âWhat?â

âWouldnât the criminals whose voices are recorded gladly pay to have the tapes and their spectrograms destroyed?â

After thinking it over, Joe said, âThe old shakedown racket, you mean?â

âExactly. The gang could make big-shot crooks all over the country pay through the nose for those parts of Dadâs catalog that apply to them!â

âYou may have hit it,â Joe agreed.

When they landed at San Francisco they were paged over the public-address system. âFrank and Joe Hardy please come to the United Air Lines counter,â a pleasant voice said.

While the announcement was being repeated, the boys were already entering the terminal. At the reservation desk they found a message to call Aunt Gertrude immediately.

âThatâs strange,â Joe commented. âI wonder whatâs so urgent.â

âLetâs find out,â Frank replied, pointing to a telephone booth. The boys squeezed in and Frank called home.

Aunt Gertrude sounded panicky. âCome back immediately!â she demanded. âSomeoneâs going to blow up our house!â She spoke so loud that Joe could hear her too.

âWhat?â Frank asked incredulously. âWhoâs going to blow up the house?â

âI donât know. A man called a little while ago. What should I do, Frank?â

âDid you call Chief Collig?â

âN-no. Didnât think of it. All I could think of was getting in touch with you!â

âAll right. Call him immediately. Weâll be at the Occidental Hotel. Phone us there. Thereâs nothing we can do for you from here, but the chief can give you police protection. Okay?â

âYes,â Aunt Gertrude said weakly. âIâll do it right away.â

Frank hung up. âTrouble,â he muttered glumly.

âWhoâs going to blow up the house?â
Frank asked

Joe nodded. âLetâs get to the hotel and wait for her call.â

While the boys were getting settled in their room at the Occidental, Joe had an idea. âIâll call Chet,â he said. âMaybe he can run over to our house and see whatâs going on.â

Chet answered the phone. When Joe explained the situation to him, he promised to check on Aunt Gertrude right away.

A half-hour later Chet called back. Joe held the receiver so Frank could listen in.

Chet was laughing so hard he could hardly get out what he wanted to say. Between guffaws he wheezed, âAunt Gertrudeâthe paperâshe misunderstoodââ

Joe said to Frank, âI take it she isnât in any danger.â Then he spoke into the mouthpiece. âThis is probably costing you about a dollar a minute, Chet!â

This instantly sobered their pal. âIt was Scoop Scales,â Chet said. âHe phoned your aunt because he wanted to take a picture of your house for the feature heâs writing. When he said he was going to shoot the place and blow it up, she panicked and hung up on him. He meant blow up the negative into an enlargement!â

Relieved that Aunt Gertrude was not in any danger, Frank and Joe could not help laughing, too.

âThanks, Chet.â Toe chuckled.

âThatâs only one of the things I called about,â Chet went on. âMy father says heâll pay my fare out there if you need me.â

âWhy should we need you?â Joe asked.

âAw, come on,â Chet said. âI have him all talked into it. Tony, Phil, and Biff will handle the fencing school without me. You need my help, donât you?â

âAll right,â Joe said, relenting. âI guess we could use you.â

âIâll be in tomorrow on the same flight you took. Meet me at the airport.â

âWeâll be there,â Joe told him.

Since they would have to drive to Stockton, which was eighty-three miles from San Francisco via the freeway, the boys decided to rent a car. They got a new Ford sedan and drove to police headquarters to check in as visiting detectives.

When the officer on duty at the information desk learned they were the sons of the famous Fenton Hardy, he took them to see Chief of Detectives Henry Copeland.

Copeland was a muscular, ruddy-faced man. He greeted the boys cordially and inquired about their father, whom he knew well. Frank told him Mr. Hardy was in fine health and was presently on vacation at the Grand Canyon. Then he explained their reason for being in California.

âYou may have trouble locating this Miguel Jimenez if he lives on a houseboat,â Copeland said thoughtfully. âDo you know anything about the delta region?â

Both boys shook their heads.

âItâs a triangular area of about five hundred square miles between Stockton, Sacramento, and Antioch. Once it was all under water, but many years ago it was partially drained, leaving hundreds of small islands surrounded by about a thousand miles of waterways.â

âGood grief!â Joe said. âWeâll never find him.â

âThe thing is,â Copeland went on, âif heâs a recluse, he might not be listed at the Stockton Post Office.â

Frank looked glum. âIt would take us a year to search all the waterways.â

âTry the mailman,â Copeland suggested.

During the conversation the boys mentioned that they had recently attended the Voiceprint Laboratories school in New Jersey. Copeland was greatly interested, since the San Francisco Police Department had just acquired a sound spectrograph.

They discussed voiceprint technology for a while, then Frank and Joe thanked the detective for his advice and left.

When Chet Morton arrived by jet the next afternoon, he brought with him a cablegram addressed to the Hardy boys from Bellinzona, Switzerland. It read:

OLD BOOK IN LIBRARY HERE HAS PHOTO TIP END OF ADALANTE WITH ADAL ON IT. GUARD END SHOULD HAVE ANTE. HAVE NOT LET COUSIN KNOW I AM HERE BECAUSE FEAR FOUL PLAY. CABLE ME HOTEL ANGELO IF YOU FIND GUARD.

ETTORE RUSSO

âAny news, so far?â Chet asked his friends.

âNone, except that we might have trouble locating our man.â

âWell,â Chet said breezily, âyou didnât expect this job to be easy, did you?â

When they got back to the Occidental Hotel, a uniformed policeman was waiting for the Hardys in the lobby. He said he had been sent by Chief of Detectives Henry Copeland.

âWhatâs up?â Joe asked.

âOur voiceprint identification expert is in the hospital with a broken leg,â the officer said. âThe boss wants you to look at the spectrogram of a suspected extortionist.â

He drove the three boys to headquarters in a squad car. The Hardys introduced Chet to the detective chief, then were led to the crime lab. It took Frank and Joe only a few minutes to decide that the voice of the extortionist was not that of the suspect who had been arrested.

âWell, that leaves the case still open,â Copeland said ruefully. âBut Iâm glad to be able to free an innocent man. Thanks for your help, fellows.â

The Hardys were about to leave when a call came over the âhotshotâ speaker, saying: âAttention all units in vicinity of Chinatown. Gun battle between rival gangs reported across from Fat Chingâs Chinese Theater.â

âGang war!â the chief exclaimed. âIâd better get over there.â

âMay we come along?â Frank asked eagerly.

Copeland hesitated, then said, âAll right, but letâs get rolling!â

He and another officer jumped into a squad car. The three boys squeezed into the back and they were on their way, with siren squealing.

Soon they reached the northeast corner of the city, where San Franciscoâs famous Chinatown was located. Its narrow streets were crowded with restaurants, theaters, temples, and small shops selling everything from herbs to dried fish.

âThereâs Fat Chingâs Chinese Theater,â Copeland said, pointing, as they turned into a narrow street.

At that moment a machine gun began to fire from a nearby building. Bullets blew out both front tires of the squad car!

CHAPTER VI

A Pretty Welcome

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THE car slewed out of control, skidded sideways through the street for about fifty yards, and halted with a jolt when its left rear side slammed into a lamppost.

Both doors on that side popped open. All five passengers dived through them and crouched behind the car for protection.

Copeland and the policeman driver drew their guns.

The building from which the shots had come was a warehouse which looked deserted, directly across the street from Fat Chingâs Chinese Theater. Four figures ran from the warehouse.

They were too far away for the boys to make out their faces. All wore hats. One was tall and thin, one squat and muscular, the third was heavy-set and burly, and the fourth had broad shoulders and narrow hips. The latter two carried Thompson submachine guns.

The tall, thin man and the squat man jumped into the front seat of a black sedan parked in front of the abandoned warehouse. The burly fellow sprayed the Chinese theater across the street with another round of fire. The broad-shouldered man threw a burst of shots at the wrecked police car.

The boys and the two officers flattened themselves against the pavement as bullets ripped into the vehicle from one end to the other. Then there was the roar of a motor. Cautiously getting to their knees to peer over the hood and around both ends of the car, they saw the black sedan speeding away.

On his feet now, Detective Copeland said, âLetâs see who they were shooting at in the theater.â

Gun thrust out before him, he led the way toward the building. The driver followed, his pistol ready, too. The Hardys and Chet brought up the rear.

Squad cars with sirens screaming roared to a halt from both directions as they reached the theater. Officers armed with riot guns spilled from them. Copeland ordered the team from one car to check the warehouse and to send out an alert for the black sedan. Then he sent the other team around back of the theater to cut off the escape of anyone who might still be inside.

Ordering Frank, Joe, and Chet to stay outside, the chief and his driver went into the theater. Moments later the driver came out and motioned the boys to come in.

In the lobby Copeland was bending over the figure of a small, ferret-faced man. He was bleeding from a bullet wound in his chest.

Looking up, the chief said, âZiggy Felton, a member of the Rocky Morgan gang. He says three of his buddies were with him, but they ran out the back way.â Glancing at the driver, Copeland said, âGo call an ambulance.â

As the policeman moved away, Copeland turned back to Felton. âWhat was it all about, Ziggy?â

In a weak voice the little man replied, âItâs a new mob from the East Coast. Theyâve got a tape of Rockyâs voice and also his voiceprint. They wanted fifty grand, or else they were going to turn both over to the cops.â

Ziggy wheezed. âWe got the word they were holed up in that warehouse across the street, and Rocky decided to hit them instead of paying off. They were too tough, though. Drove us in here, then they got meâ

Joe said to Frank, âDid anything seem familiar about those four men?â

Frank nodded. âSame sizes and shapes as our Bayport bank robbers. The thin man who drove the getaway car and the burly machine gunner could have been the pair who quizzed us in the restaurant in Somerville. The other machine gunner could have been the guy with the red, greasy hair. And the squat one looked like Signor Zonko!â

Under further questioning Ziggy Felton denied knowing the identities of any of the East Coast mob. However, he admitted having heard via the underworld grapevine that gangleaders in Chicago and New Orleans had also been shaken down.

By the time the ambulance arrived, the police, who had checked the warehouse, reported no one was there now. The theater building also was empty.

Copeland had one of the squad cars at the scene take him and his driver back to headquarters. En route the Hardys and Chet were dropped off at their hotel.

The following morning the three boys drove to Stockton in the rented Ford. The post office had no record of a Miguel Jimenez, but they were told by a clerk that mailman Herbert Shay would probably know him.

On a map the clerk showed them Shayâs sixtyfive-mile route and pointed out a waterway. âIn about an hour you should catch up with him around here,â he said. âThereâs a marina where you can rent a boat.â

The boys thanked him and a short time later were chugging along in a twelve-foot skiff at barely fifteen miles an hour.

Frank sat in the stern, running the fifteen-horsepower engine, Joe sat in the bow, and Chet was amidship.

âIâd prefer the Sleuth,â said Chet, referring to the Hardysâ fast, sleek motorboat.

Joe nodded. âEspecially since someoneâs been following us ever since we left the marina,â he said apprehensively.

The others glanced back at an eighteen-foot inboard boat about a quarter mile behind them. It was idling along at a speed no greater than theirs. Through the windshield they could see only one person, but they were too far away to make out his features.

The boysâ skiff had chugged to about the center of the lakelike area, a good three hundred yards from shore, when the speedboat suddenly roared with power and came leaping after them.

Traveling at about forty miles an hour it took their pursuer less than a minute to close the quarter-mile gap. It shot past on their left only twenty feet away, then swung across their bow so close it barely missed ramming them.

The pilot was hunched low and had a peaked white yachting cap pulled down to hide his face. As he swung in front of them the yachting cap blew off, and they had a brief glimpse of red hair.

A wave caused by the speeding boat hit them simultaneously from the left side and the front. Frank made a valiant attempt to head the bow into it, but the skiff handled too sluggishly. The boat rode up the wave sideways to its crest and overturned.

The boys struggled to the surface a few yards apart just as the capsized boat sank from sight. They treaded water for a while until the waves subsided. The speedboat was rapidly disappearing in the distance.

When it was out of sight, and the water had calmed, Chet sputtered, âNow what?â

âWe swim for shore,â Frank said. âBut first letâs take some sightings so we can find this spot again.â

Looking east toward a large island, he saw a flagpole before a row of small cottages. Glancing west, he noticed that the south edge of a boat dock on a smaller island exactly lined up with the flagpole. Then he looked north and south and fixed his position by means of trees on islands in both directions.

âOkay,â he called. âLetâs head for that larger island.â

Weighted down by clothing, it was a long swim. Finally they waded ashore and walked across the sandy beach.

Suddenly Chet, who was in the lead, stopped dead in his tracks. Behind a sandy dune, stretched out on a blanket, were three girls in swimsuits. They looked up in surprise, and the brunette on the left said, âLook whoâs here. Neptune and two of his mermen!â

âWow!â Chet said, a grin spreading over his face. âWe sure came to the right place!â

The plump blonde in the middle laughed. âI doubt it. This is a girlsâ camp.â She added impishly, âBoys arenât allowed.â

âSorry about that,â Joe said. âWeâre shipwrecked.â

The slender redhead on the right gave Chet a searching look through long lashes.

âIâm Chet NeptuneâI mean Morton,â Chet introduced himself. âThese two mermen are Frank and Joe Hardy. Weâre from Bayport back East.â

âHi, there,â said the blond girl, whose name was Susie Wade. The redhead introduced herself as June Fall, and the brunette was Kay Dover.

âYou look pretty sad,â Kay decided, eying the boysâ dripping clothes. âCome on. The Murrays might help you out.â

âWho are they?â Frank asked.

âThe camp owners.â

The girls led the way to a large building surrounded by small cottages.

âLook what we found,â June said to the tall, friendly woman inside.

Mrs. Murray shook her head in mock horror. âYou find boys everywhere!â she said with a chuckle. Then she produced three pairs of swim trunks for the visitors to wear while she dried their clothing. Mr. Murray loaned them a canoe, a coil of stout rope, and a pair of pliers.

âThis might help you get your boat ashore,â he said.

Frank grinned. âThanks. We sure appreciate it.â

Frank sat in the stern of the canoe with one of the paddles, Joe scrambled amidship with the other, and Chet sat down in front. When they neared the point where the boat had sunk, Frank asked Joe to let him handle the canoe alone. He went back and forth, checking his landmarks, until all four lined up exactly.

Shipping his paddle, he said, âOkay, this is it.â

Chet rose to a crouch and dived over the bow. It was about half a minute before he came up again.

âWeâre right on top of it,â he sputtered. âGive me the pliers and the end of the rope.â

Joe handed him both. Chet dived again. This time he was down for a full minute. A moment after he came up, the boat, minus its motor, rose to the surface upside down. Gasping for air, Chet dropped the pliers into the canoe and hung on to its side.

Joe pulled on the rope from the other side and hauled the outboard motor up. They righted the boat and attached the motor and towed the disabled craft ashore.

âGood work, Chet,â Frank praised.

âAdmit it, youâd be lost without me!â Chet began to sing. âBack to paradise...â

âListen, Don Juan, weâre here on a job,â Joe reminded him.

âWho says you canât combine work with pleasure?â Chet replied loftily.

When they reached the beach, the boys received a very pleasurable surprise. The girls had prepared a delicious picnic lunch. There were plenty of sandwiches, and a good thing too, because Chet and the plump blonde ate four each. She kept urging more food on the husky boy, obviously having picked him as her particular companion.

âTheyâre sure suited to each other,â Joe whispered to Frank. âIâd hate to pay the grocery bill, though!â

Kay, overhearing the whispered remark, giggled.

Frank asked June if the mailman had been there yet. She told him that he stopped at the camp on his return trip and would be along about two in the afternoon.

The boys decided to wait for him there rather than trying to catch up with him on his route.

After lunch they drained the mixture of gasoline, oil, and water from the outboardâs tank and cleaned the motor. Mr. Murray supplied them with fresh gas and oil.

By then their clothing was dry. When the mailman arrived, they were ready to leave. Herbert Shay was a well-built, middle-aged man. His boat was a sixteen-footer with a powerful seventy-five-horsepower outboard motor and front-seat controls.

He told the boys that old Miguel Jimenezâs houseboat was moored in a secluded lagoon off Hankâs Tract Lake, and described how to get there. The lake, he explained, had once been the site of numerous farms and orchards. But in 1936 the levees surrounding the area broke, flooding the tract so badly that attempts to redrain it had to be abandoned.

âThe lake can get awfully rough,â he warned. âAnd if fog comes up, you can get lost without a compass. Do you have one?â

When the boys confessed they did not, he suggested that if there was any sign of fog when they reached the lake, they should stay near the shore instead of crossing directly to the lagoon.

Then the mailman moved on. The Bayporters thanked the girls and the Murrays for their hospitality and resumed their journey. They reached Hankâs Tract Lake without incident, and, since the sun was shining, headed directly across to the shallow lagoon.

There was only one houseboat in sight, a rickety old contraption tied to a tree. They beached the motorboat and climbed out. A plank led from shore to the wobbly porch of the houseboat.

As they approached, a tiger-colored cat emerged from a nearby clump of tules, padded up the plank, and stood before a hole in the screen door. The feline paid not the slightest attention to the boys, but peered intently into the interior of the houseboat. Then it crept through the ripped screen and disappeared inside, its tail swishing.

âProbably the old manâs cat,â Chet mused. âI understand that all hermits have some kind of pet. Theyâd go nuts living absolutely alone. Take Robinson Crusoe for example. Heââ

âSh, sh!â Frank commanded.

âWhatâs up?â Chet whispered, stopped short in his philosophical observation.

âI heard something.â

âLike what?â

The three stood still and listened. From inside came a loud noise. This was followed by a shrill high-pitched voice. âGo away! Go away!â

The shriek sent shivers through the boys.

CHAPTER VII

Danger in the Delta

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âIF thatâs old Jimenez, he sounds like a fiend,â Chet whispered.

A cracked voice behind them said, âThatâs not old Jimenez, young man. Itâs Don Quixote.â

The boys turned to face an elderly but straight-backed man with snow-white hair. His deep-set eyes burned at them.

âYou heard Don Quixote,â he said. âGet going!â

âAre you Mr. Jimenez?â Frank asked.

âWhatâs it to you, boy?â

âIâm Frank Hardy. This is my brother Joe, and Chet Morton. Weâre trying to get some information on Giovanni Russo, and his sword Adalante. We heard you know all about it.â

The old man glared at him for a second before saying, âI have no information. Go away.â

âHelp! Help!â the shrill voice shrieked from inside.

âPor dios!â Jimenez exclaimed. âDon Quixote!â

He started up the plank, but moved so stiffly that it was obvious he would not arrive in time to save Don Quixote from whatever danger he was in. Frank leaped past him, jerked open the screen door, and rushed inside.

A large black myna bird was perched on a bookcase, flapping his wings and screeching in terror. The tiger-colored cat crouched on a table, ready to spring.

Frankâs outstretched arm blocked the catâs leap. It dropped to the floor, hissing, then fled between the legs of Miguel Jimenez as the old man pulled open the door.

âYou saved Don Quixote,â he said gratefully. âThank the young man, Don Quixote!â

The bird ruffled his feathers and squawked, âGood-by and good riddance!â Then he cocked his head at Frank and said, âWelcome aboard, mate!â

âThanks, Don Quixote,â Frank replied with a grin.

Jimenez glanced over his shoulder at Joe and Chet, who had paused in the doorway. âCome on in,â he invited them.

The rescue of his bird completely changed the recluseâs attitude. When the Hardys offered to mend the hole in his screen door, he mellowed even more. He produced a piece of wire screening and they patched the hole. As they were working, he told them the true story of the so-called duel in which the sword Adalante had been broken and lost.

âThere never was a duel,â the old man began. âThatâs a story told to conceal what really happened. Giovanni Russo was kidnapped by a bandit and was held for ransom in a secret place in his own vineyard.â

He paused, then continued thoughtfully. âFearing death, Giovanni wrote his will on his saber. Or so he later said, anyway. The blade was broken when he fought his way free. Then he swam from the island on which his vineyard was located to another island.â

âWhere was his property?â Frank asked.

Jimenez explained that it was near a place called Paradise Point, and described how to get there.

As he finished, the myna bird suddenly flapped his wings and shrieked toward a window, âGo away! Go away!â

âSomeone must be out there!â the old man declared. âDon Quixote never says that unless we have a visitor.â

The boys rushed outside to investigate. But there was no sign of anyone around.

When they returned to the houseboat, Joe asked, âHow do you know all about the kidnapping, Mr. Jimenez?â

In a sad voice the recluse replied, âTo my shame the bandit who kidnapped Giovanni Russo was named Miguel Jimenez, too. He was my great-uncle.â

âWe heard thereâs a book about Russo in the Stockton Public Library,â Chet put in. âDo you know about that, Mr. Jimenez?â

The old man nodded. âItâs in the school library of the College of the Pacific in Stockton, not the public library. It has a description of the sword Adalante in it.â

The recluse eyed the boys curiously. âWhy are you so interested in all this?â

Frank quickly told him the reason. Jimenez shook his head doubtfully and said, âI canât imagine how you expect to find the saber. But good luck, anyway.â

The boys thanked him for his information and left. When the skiff chugged out of the lagoon, Frank shifted the motor into neutral and glanced up at the sky. It had become quite overcast.

âLooks as if a stormâs brewing,â he said.

âThe mailman only warned us against fog,â Chet remarked. âRain shouldnât stop us.â

âI guess so,â Frank agreed and headed away from shore.

As they neared the center of the lake, a speedboat emerged from a hidden cove near the mouth of the lagoon and arrowed straight for them.

âThatâs the one that swamped us before!â Chet exclaimed.

âThereâs another boat coming from the opposite direction!â Joe called.

Frank and Chet turned to look. A sixteen-footer with a powerful outboard motor was also heading toward them.

The speedboat reached them first. This time, even though he was crouched low, the boys could see the driverâs face because he was hatless. It was a coarse, brutal face surmounted by red hair!

On the previous occasion Frank had not realized until too late that the man was deliberately trying to swamp them. But this time he was prepared. As the boat zoomed near, Frank cut sharply left to aim the bow at the point he judged the speedboat would swing in front of them.

There was a near collision. The speedboat curved no more than a foot from the skiffâs bow. Then, as it swept past, the skiff nosed over the crest of the wave and plunged down its other side without capsizing.

But just as the water began to calm, the speedboat roared toward them again! By now the other boat had reached the spot, too. The boys recognized mailman Herbert Shay. Realizing what was happening, he came to their rescue. He headed for the approaching craft at full throttle.

Although smaller than the speedboat, Shayâs seventy-five-horsepower outboard motor made his boat just as fast. And the mailman showed reckless courage. He bore head-on at the larger craft, forcing the redhead to spin his wheel in panic to the right.

Then Shay swung sharply left as the speedboat was turning. The two canted side by side, showing their bottoms to each other and almost touching before veering apart again.

The larger boat nearly capsized before its pilot managed to get it back under control. Unable to stomach the dangerous game, he opened his engine wide and roared away.

The mailman pulled alongside the Hardys. âWho was that idiot?â he asked.

âDonât know,â Frank called out. âThe same kook gave us some trouble on the way out to the Jimenez houseboat.â

âItâs getting to be a wacky world,â Shay said, throttling down to keep his boat abreast of the boysâ skiff. âSome people take pleasure in hurting others for no good reason.â

Joe said, âI think thereâs a reason behind this.â

âAnd weâll find out what it is, too!â Chet said emphatically.

âTake care,â Shay said. âBy the way, what luck did you have with Jimenez?â

âWe saved his myna bird,â Frank said with a grin. âThere seems to be a shortage of cat food around here.â He told what had happened.

The mailman grinned. âYour good deed for the day!â Then he glanced up at the sky. âYouâd better get across the lake fast. Itâs going to storm any minute.â

With a good-by wave, he sped off. Frank headed the skiff for the far end of the lake.

A few seconds later there was a light patter of rain, accompanied by a distant rumbling sound. Then came a blinding flash of lightning and almost simultaneously an earsplitting crack of thunder!

CHAPTER VIII

A Library Clue

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THE lightning bolt hit so dose in front of them that they could smell the ozone. Frank instinctively steered around the spot.

This was a lucky move. The lightningâs target had been a nearly submerged log, now split in two by the bolt. Both halves were large enough to drive a hole in the bottom of the skiff.

The trio reached the marina without further incident, turned in their boat, and drove back to Stockton. They checked into a motel on the outskirts of town.

Saturday morning, while breakfasting in the motel dining room, they discussed plans for the day. It was decided that Joe and Chet would check out the vineyard once owned by Giovanni Russo while Frank investigated the book old Miguel Jimenez had told them was in the library of the College of the Pacific. Joe and Chet dropped Frank off at the campus, then drove on to Paradise Point.

The college was coeducational and had an enrollment of only about fifteen hundred students. It had a beautiful campus, with a mixture of ancient vine-covered buildings and recently constructed modem ones. The school was open because summer sessions were being held.

In the library Frank checked the card catalog. Under Russo, Giovanni he found listed a book titled Master of the Vineyards by an author named JosÃ© Flores. It was in the basement stacks, in the rare-book section.

Frank went downstairs. At the end of an alcove formed by floor-to-ceiling shelves he spotted a girl seated at a reading desk. Her back was to him, but there was something familiar about her slim figure and red hair. He walked over for a closer look.

Hearing his footsteps, the girl looked up. It was June Fall from the girlsâ camp!

âWhat are you doing here?â Frank asked in surprise.

âI have a summer job as a research assistant for one of the professors,â June replied with a smile. âHeâs doing a paper on early vineyards in the delta area. But what about you?â

âOh, just looking for a book,â Frank said vaguely. He glanced at the heavy, leather-bound volume open on the desk before the girl. âWhatâs that?â

âItâs called Master of the Vineyards and is about an Italian Swiss named Giovanni Russo, who was once the richest vineyard owner in the delta. Professor Von Stolk is particularly interested in him.â

Was this just coincidence? Frank wondered. Or was the professor also on the trail of the sword Adalante?

Before he could ask any questions, a tall, thin, aesthetic-looking man with a distinguished head of gray hair appeared at the end of the alcove. He wore a sports coat and an elaborately knotted scarf around his throat.

âOh hi, Professor,â June said. âI think Iâve found something.â

The man gave Frank a suspicious look, so the young detective said good-by and discreetly departed. He went into the next alcove and stood with his ear to the shelf. All he could hear was a low murmur of conversation.

Then the professor and the girl left. As soon as they disappeared up the stairs, Frank returned to the first alcove. The book still lay open on the reading desk.

The left page was 254. The right page was numbered 2591 Frank realized four pages were missing!

Checking the index, he discovered that the missing pages contained a description and a photograph of the sword Adalante, plus the story of how the sword had been lost.

Professor Von Stolk must be on the trail of the guard end of the sword, too, Frank thought. Was the girl an accomplice, or merely an unwitting tool? He decided the quickest way to find out was to ask her and hurried outside.

Frank roamed up and down the shaded walks of the campus looking for either the professor or the pretty redhead. Finally he spotted her walking along a few yards ahead of him.

He strode up behind her and called, âHey, wait a minute!â

Halting, the girl turned around, smiled, and said, âYes?â

She was just as pretty as June, but Frank had never seen her before in his life!

âSorry,â he stammered. âI thought you were someone else.â

âI am someone else,â the girl replied, still smiling. âIâm Holly Brewer.â

Frank smiled back. âMy name is Frank Hardy. Can you tell me where the administration building is?â

âIâll show you. I work there. Iâm the faculty records clerk.â

âOh?â Frank said. âThen you are the one Iâm looking for. Where will I find Professor Von Stolk?â

Holly looked puzzled. âWe have no one by that name.â

âAre you sure?â

âPositive. We have a hundred and twenty-three instructors, and I keep the records of all of them.â

Frank described the man, but Holly could think of no one on the faculty that fitted the description. When Frank explained that he had seen the professor in the library, the girl suggested that perhaps he was from another college or university, and merely had been doing research here.

After thanking her, Frank decided to return to the motel. There was a bus stop across the street from the campus.

Frank stood at the curb waiting and idly watching traffic, when a motorcycle approached at high speed on his side of the street.

Just before it reached the corner, someone butted Frank hard in the back. He stumbled to hands and knees, directly into the path of the oncoming cycle!

It swerved in time, missing Frank by inches, and roared on across the intersection.

Leaping to his feet, the boy spun to see a broad-shouldered, thin-hipped man with red hair running down a side street. Frank raced after him.

The fleeing man leaped a fence and dashed across a yard. As Frank cleared the fence right behind him, out of the comer of his eye he saw a cruising police car pulling to the curb. Two officers got out to investigate what was going on.

The redhead vaulted another fence with Frank close at his heels. Halfway across the second yard the boy made a flying tackle and brought the man down with a crash.

He was sitting astride his assailantâs back, twisting his arms behind him, when the two policemen approached. Each grasped one of Frankâs arms and lifted him erect.

âWhatâs going on?â the older officer inquired.

Then the redhead pushed himself to his knees and glanced over his shoulder. When the policemen saw his face, they released Frank and collared his prisoner.

âRed Bowes!â the younger officer exclaimed, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. He turned to Frank. âYou caught yourself a prize. This guyâs wanted for a half-dozen bank robberies.â

âIâm not surprised,â Frank said. âHeâs one of a gang that robbed the Bayport Bank and Trust Company. He tried to push me in front of a motorcycle just now!â

Frank explained who he was and why he was in California. Then he turned to Bowes. âYou were listening outside the window when we talked to old Jimenez yesterday, werenât you?â

âWhat if I was?â the bank robber asked sullenly. âThatâs no crime.â

âWhy did you follow us?â

âThatâs for me to know and for you to find out,â Red Bowes snarled.

The younger policeman said, âWho was with you on the Bayport job, Red?â

âNone of your business!â

âAnd who was your buddy in Somerville when you tried to rob the Voiceprint Lab?â Frank put in.

âYou canât tie me to that.â

âThe Somerville police can,â Frank assured him. âYou left your hat at the scene. A red hair was in it.â

Bowes stared at the boy, fear in his eyes. Then he said defiantly, âIâm not the only guy with red hair.â But Frank knew that Bowes realized his game was up.

The policemen asked Frank to come along to headquarters. Bowes was booked on a number of counts and informed of his legal rights.

âYeah,â he snarled. âI wonât say a word without a lawyer!â

As an officer led him toward the cellblock, Bowes changed his mind, however. He sneered at Frank as he passed him. âHow did you like the shape I left your lab in?â he asked.

âSo it was you, was it?â Frank replied. âWas Zonko with you?â

Bowes walked on without answering.

Frank asked one of the policemen if he could use the telephone, and called the motel.

Joe answered. âDid you find a clue in the library?â he wanted to know.

âYes. Also the guy who played games with us yesterday when we visited Jimenez,â Frank replied, and told his brother what had happened.

âIâve got news, too,â Joe said when he had finished. âBut it can wait until we get there. Chet and Iâll pick you up.â

âIs it good or bad news?â Frank inquired.

âBad. You might even say terrible!â

CHAPTER IX

The Old Map

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JOE was driving the Ford when he and Chet picked up Frank outside police headquarters.

As the car pulled away from the curb, Frank asked, âWhatâs this bad news?â

âThe vineyardâs gone,â Joe said. âPart is already a suburb, and the last of it is being used for a new housing development.â

âAs far as we could find out,â Chet put in, âthe only original building left is a wine storage cellar, and theyâre going to bulldoze it down this afternoon.â

âThat could be the secret place where Giovanni Russo was held prisoner by his kidnapper!â Frank exclaimed. âDid you ask to see it?â

âThe foreman wasnât there,â Joe said. âHe was off trying to hire a bulldozer.â

âDrive out there now,â Frank said.

The island on which the Russo vineyard had been was somewhat north of Paradise Point. Although it was in the delta area, it could be reached by car via a series of bridges. The boys arrived at the planned housing development about twelve-fifteen.

Streets had been laid out in the tract, although they were not yet paved. The unroofed raw wood skeletons of about two dozen houses were in various stages of construction. Work crews sat near them eating their lunches.

Joe parked in front of the contractorâs office, a small prefabricated sheet-iron hut. A short distance away was an ancient one-story stone building.

âThat must be the wine storage place over there,â he said to Frank, pointing.

âRight. And next to it is a bulldozer!â

âJust in time,â Joe said as they got out of the car and walked into the office.

Seated at a desk sipping coffee from a Thermos bottle was a lean, suntanned man. Another fellow had already finished his lunch. He was tall, blond and heavy-set and stood at the far end of the room, lunging with a fencing foil at a rope hanging from the ceiling.

The man at the desk glanced up as the boys entered, but the blond man continued to practice without paying any attention to them.

Frank asked, âAre you the foreman?â

The lean man nodded. âJim Emoryâs my name.â

âIâm Frank Hardy,â the boy replied. He introduced Joe and Chet, then explained that they wanted permission to search the wine storage building before it was bulldozed down.

âWhy?â Emory asked.

Frank told about their search for the broken blade.

âItâs all right with me,â the foreman said with a shrug. âWeâre only going to tear the place down, anyway.â

The blond fellow stopped his practice and came over, still carrying the foil. In a surly voice he said, âYouâd better be out of there by one oâclock. If you arenât youâll be buried under a heap of stones!â

âWhatâs your hurry?â Joe asked, anger rising in him at the manâs attitude.

âThis is Harry Madsen, the bulldozer operator,â Emory said soothingly, and gave the boysâ names.

Madsen made no effort to acknowledge the introduction. Instead he said, âI have another job later this afternoon. So that building comes down at one oâclock whether youâre out of it or not.â

Looking at his watch, Frank said, âLetâs get busy then, fellows. We only have a little over a half-hour.â

On the first floor of the wine storage building there was nothing but some moldering, empty wine casks. They found a narrow stone stairway leading to the cellar. Joe went to the car and came back with a flashlight before they descended the stairs.

The cellar had vaulted ceilings and high, slitted windows which let in only dim light. Cobwebs hung everywhere. Most of the rooms were empty, but a couple contained rotting wooden racks and a few ancient, empty bottles.

The boys searched thoroughly. Finally Chet said, âNothing here.â

âThereâs one more room we havenât checked,â Joe reminded him. They walked through a doorway and noticed a small wooden chest with rusty hinges just ahead of them.

âLetâs have a look in there,â Joe said, beaming his flashlight on the chest while Frank lifted the lid.

At first it appeared to be empty, but then they saw that the dirt in the bottom covered a single sheet of ancient brown parchment paper. Chet took the paper out and blew the dust off it. Then he held it for Joe to shine the light on.

âItâs a map of the island!â Frank exclaimed.

âYouâre right. It shows Giovanni Russoâs home, a barn, and some other structures,â Joe said.

âThis is the place weâre in now,â Chet remarked, pointing. âAnd there are two similar buildings, one on the northern part of the island, the other on the eastern edge.â

âThat means originally there were three wine storage cellars here,â Frank declared. âI wonder if the other two are still in existence.â

At that moment they heard a heavy engine starting outside. Joe turned the light on his watch.

âItâs one oâclock,â he said. âWeâd better get out of here. Our pal means business!â

They heard the bulldozer back a few feet. The motor began to race, and suddenly exhaust fumes poured through one of the slitted windows.

Choking and coughing, the boys ran for the stairs. When they got outside, the bulldozer engine was still running, but Harry Madsen was out of the cab, standing next to it. He threw them a nasty grin.

âYou did that on purpose!â Chet said angrily. âYou deliberately backed up so exhaust fumes would go through that window!â

âSo what, Fatty?â the blond man asked contemptuously. âWant to make something of it?â

Chet took a step toward him. Harry Madsen reached into the cab of the bulldozer and whipped out the foil he had been practicing with. He slashed it at Chet, who leaped back out of the way just in time to avoid getting it across the shoulders.

The foreman, who had come from the contractorâs hut, said sharply, âThatâs enough, Harry!â

Ignoring him, Madsen looked from Frank to Joe. âEither of you want trouble?â he challenged.

âHand me a foil and Iâll give you all the trouble you can handle,â Joe said heatedly.

âYou think so?â Madsen sneered. âIâll meet you any time you say.â

âRight now!â Joe suggested.

âI only brought one foil with me. After I finish work Iâll go home and get another one. Gloves and masks, too. Then Iâll meet you here about four-thirty.â

âThatâs fine with me,â Joe told him.

Jim Emory was dubious. âYouâre letting yourself in for something, young fellow. Harry takes lessons!â

âSo do I,â Joe replied. âIâll be here at four-thirty, Madsen!â

When they left the housing development site, the boys drove to the east end of the island to see if they could locate the second wine storage building shown on the parchment map.

A number of homes had been erected in the area, but there was nothing resembling the storage place. The map had not been drawn to exact scale, so there was no way of telling precisely where it was located.

âNo luck,â Frank said after a while, disappointed.

âLetâs try the other one,â Joe suggested and drove to the north end of the island. This area

Exhaust fumes poured through the window had not been built up because of its steep hills. But they could not find the exact site, and after driving up and down a few mountain roads, they gave up.

âLetâs go somewhere for lunch,â Chet said plaintively. âYou realize itâs after two oâclock?â

Joe grinned. âYou just canât take all that sleuthing, Chet!â

They found a roadside restaurant and stopped for sandwiches.

When they had finished, Frank said, âLetâs try the county clerk. There ought to be some kind of record of the buildings on the property when it was sold by old Giovanni.â

Stockton was the county seat of San Joaquin County. They drove back into town and went to the courthouse. When they walked up the steps, Joe stopped suddenly.

âFrankâtheyâll be closed. Itâs Saturday.â

âYouâre right. Well, since weâre here, letâs try anyway.â

They were in luck. The county clerk was in to catch up on some work. He was a thin little man who wore glasses on the end of his nose. Frank showed him the parchment map and asked if there was a way to check if the other two wine storage buildings were still in existence.

âSure,â the clerk replied. âThey would be on the original plats when the island owner deeded it over to whoever bought it from him. Iâll start from there and go forward through subsequent property transfers.â

He took the map and went into another room, while the boys settled into chairs. About ten minutes later he came back.

Handing the map back to Frank, he said, âTheyâre still extant.â

âWhere?â Frank asked eagerly.

âWell, the one on the north part of the island is on a ski slope. Itâs now used as a hilltop station, and belongs to Carsonâs Lodge off Burns Mountain Road.â

âWhat about the other one?â Joe asked.

âThatâs been converted into a private home.â

âWho owns it?â

âIâm afraid I canât tell you without the ownerâs permission!â

CHAPTER X

A Treacherous Fence

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FRANK said, âArenât these public records?â

âWell, yes,â the clerk admitted.

âThen anyone has access to them,â Frank pointed out.

Reluctantly the clerk said, âThe home is owned by a movie scenario writer named Vincent Steele. The reason I didnât want to tell you is that I happen to know him. Heâs an absolute nut about privacy. Please donât let on that I gave you this information. He might make trouble for me.â

The boys assured him they would not tell Steele and the clerk gave them the address, which was 125 Port Street.

Shortly before four-thirty they returned to the construction site. There was no sign of the bulldozer, but Harry Madsen, Jim Emory, and a small, sinewy man stood next to a car. To the boysâ surprise the wine storage building was still standing!

âHow come this place hasnât been razed?â Frank asked.

âThe contractor phoned,â Emory answered. âHe wants us to postpone the job till Monday.â

âWhy?â

âI donât know. Some archaeologist is supposed to come and talk to Harry at six oâclock.â

Madsen was impatient. âYou ready?â he asked.

âAny time you are,â Joe said coldly.

Madsen had brought a set of foils, masks, and gloves. He pointed to the small man. âThis is my friend Amos Cain. Heâll direct the bout.â

âWhat does he know about fencing?â Joe inquired.

âHe happens to be the maestro of my school!â Madsen replied with a superior air.

Joe suggested that if Madsen was going to have a personal friend act as bout director, his brother and Chet should be judges. When Cain learned that both boys knew the rules, he agreed.

Then he marked an area six feet by forty feet in the dirt street to serve as the arena.

Joe and Madsen donned their wire-mesh masks and gloves and made some parries and counter-parries to get the feel of their blades.

By now the workday had ended. Instead of going home, the construction crew crowded around to watch the bout.

Madsen casually moved nearer to Joe as he began to make parries and thrusts and lunges. Then he swished the blade of his foil through the air.

Suddenly Chet shouted, âLook out, Joe!â

Joe leaped aside just in time to avoid a slash across the legs. Harry Madsen said mockingly, âSorry, Hardy. Accident.â

âThat was no accident!â Chet said angrily, stepping toward the blond man.

Madsen swung the foil back over his shoulder with the evident intention of whipping Chet with it. Instead, Chet threw a rolling block into the manâs knees. His feet were knocked out from under him. Madsen pitched forward over Chet, dropping his foil.

Both jumped to their feet and faced each other. Madsen swung a roundhouse right at Chetâs head. The stocky boy ducked and punched Madsen in the stomach. Harry grunted and doubled over.

Frank pulled Chet away, but the blow had cooled Madsenâs desire to bedevil Chet any more. He blustered and threatened but made no further attempt at violence.

âForget it and pick up your foil,â the foreman ordered.

Eventually the contestants were ready to begin fencing. Amos Cain took up the directorâs position.

Joe and his opponent both raised their foils vertically before their masks.

âReady?â Cain asked.

The fencers got on guard, crossed their foils, and nodded Yes.

âFence!â the director ordered.

The blades engaged, disengaged again. Madsen extended his arm and Joe parried. Then he engaged his opponentâs blade in rapid order in what were called the fourth, sixth, and second positions and executed a filo and patinando with a disengage from the last position.

Madsen parried the blade but not before it struck his mask. The blond man stumbled backward, clutching at his mask with his left hand. Concerned that the tip of his foil might have penetrated and inflicted a face wound, Joe lowered his foil.

Instantly Madsen extended his arm and lunged.

âHalt!â Amos Cain ordered. âFirst touch against Hardy.â

âWait a minute!â Chet protested. âMadsen pretended to be hurt. Anyway, you should have halted the action as soon as Joe made that foul touch.â

âYou judges should have called the foul touch,â the director pointed out. âSince you didnât, and I saw none, no halt was called. Harryâs hit was perfectly legal.â

âLegal, maybe,â Chet muttered. âBut not ethical.â

âOn guard!â the director ordered.

The foils crossed again. After several lunges and parries by both opponents, the blond man suddenly stepped back, lowered his foil, and began to remove his mask. Regarding him inquiringly, Joe lowered his foil too.

Madsenâs blade instantly came up again, he stepped forward, thrust, and lunged.

âHalt!â the director ordered. âPoint two for Harry. Two against Hardy.â

Both Chet and Frank protested loudly.

âI hadnât called a halt,â Amos Cain said reasonably. âHardy shouldnât have dropped his guard.â

âLet it go, fellows,â Joe said grimly. âHe wonât catch me with any more sneaky tricks.â

It was an accurate prediction. Several more times Madsen pretended to be hurt, but each time Joe kept his foil raised defensively when he disengaged. In rapid order Joe made five touches in a row.

Madsen objected to each one as off target, but by now the watching workmen realized what a poor sport Madsen was and booed him down every time.

After the fifth straight touch, Cain said reluctantly, âBout. Hardy wins.â

âOn five fouls!â Harry yelled. âHe cheated!â

âYouâre the cheater,â Chet said. âThe only two hits you made were by dirty play.â

The blond man turned on Chet, his foil raised. Joe stepped forward, his raised also. But Madsen decided not to risk tangling with Joe again.

âIâll get even with you guys,â he muttered as he turned away.

Joe tossed his foil and glove on the ground, dropped his mask next to it, and went over to get his coat from the workman who had been holding it for him.

âCome on. Letâs get out of here,â he said to Frank and Chet.

The boys said good-by to Emory and his men, then Joe slid behind the wheel of the Ford.

They drove in silence for a few moments. Then Frank said, âWe should definitely go back there at six and see who the archaeologist is.â

âYou fellows can go,â Chet said. âAt six I plan to be eating.â

âWe can eat later,â Joe told him.

âNot me,â Chet declared. âI need something to keep up my strength after protecting you guys!â

Frank and Joe left Chet at a hamburger stand and returned to the construction site just before six. They parked a short distance away and crossed through a stand of trees edging the development. Halting near the housing area, they peered toward the contractorâs office.

They were perhaps fifty yards from the sheet-metal shack. No one was around except Harry Madsen, who was leaning against the fender of his car in front of the office.

âNow why would this archaeologist talk to Harry instead of the foreman?â Joe asked in a low voice.

Frank shrugged. âThe whole thing seems fishy to me,â he said.

A sleek sports car drove up and a tall, thin, gray-haired man got out.

âProfessor Von Stolk!â Frank murmured in surprise. âNow Iâm sure his research in the library was not for an academic reason. That guyâs after Russoâs sword too!â

They watched as the professor showed two sheets of paper to Madsen.

âMaybe those are the pages torn from that book!â Frank speculated.

âCould be,â Joe said. âToo bad we canât get closer to see.â

Von Stolk and the bulldozer operator conversed for some time. Then the professor disappeared into the wine cellar. He emerged a few minutes later, handed Madsen something, and left. Harry followed in his own car.

Frank and Joe once more searched the cellar, but to no avail. âWe may as well get Chet,â Frank said.

It was six-thirty when they picked up their pal at the hamburger stand. Chet had consumed two cheeseburgers and a milk shake, and announced that he was now ready for dinner.

The boys found a restaurant and ate. During the meal Frank and Joe described the meeting they had observed between Harry Madsen and Professor Von Stolk. Chet shook his head in despair. âNo doubt this professor is on the trail of our saber,â he said. âBut what possible motive could he have?â

âWhat are we going to do next?â Joe inquired.

âYes,â Chet put in. âNow that Iâve eaten, Iâm ready for action again!â

âLetâs look up this guy Steele,â Frank suggested.

The boys paid their check and drove to 125 Port Street.

When they arrived, Chet said, âThis place doesnât resemble the wine storage building, except for the ancient stone.â

A second story with a peaked roof had been added, and there was a huge picture window in front. The house sat on about an acre of ground, surrounded by a split-rail fence. The driveway leading to a garage behind was blocked by an iron gate, and another iron gate barred the way to a walk leading to the front door.

Joe parked and they all got out. It was nearly eight oâclock, but still light. Drapes on the picture window in the living room were wide open. A woman seated on a couch was reading a magazine.

Joe tried the gate. It was locked.

Chet said, âThe fence isnât very high. Letâs climb it.â

He put one hand on the top rail with the intention of swinging his legs over it. Instead he emitted a gasp and fell to the ground unconscious!

CHAPTER XI

Faked Out

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FRANK pulled Chet away from the fence, while Joe stooped to look up under the top rail. A bare copper wire ran beneath it.

âItâs electrified,â Joe stated. âWhat a dirty trick!â

Frank had been holding an ear to the unconscious boyâs chest. âHis heartâs still working all right,â he said. âI guess the shock just knocked him out.â

Rolling Chet over on his stomach, Frank began to give him artificial respiration.

The front door of the house opened and a middle-aged woman with graying hair came out. She walked to the gate, wringing her hands.

âI didnât know that was switched on,â she said. âIâm terribly sorry. Is your friend hurt?â

Without stopping his rhythmic movements, Frank said, âYou can see heâs out cold. That fence is dangerous!â

âOh dear!â the woman said. âI told my husband he was going too far with his desire for privacy. Are you going to sue us?â

âDepends on how our friend recovers,â Frank replied.

Chet opened his eyes and said, âHey, whoâs that sitting on my back?â

Frank rose to his feet. Chet rolled over and sat up.

âWhat happened?â he asked.

âThe fence was charged with electricity,â Joe told him. âIt knocked you out. This lady wants to know if youâre going to sue her.â

Chet looked at the woman, then lay back down on the grass and put a hand to his forehead. âI think my brain is fried,â he said dolefully. âHow much can you sue for when your brain is fried?â

âFor yours, about fifteen cents,â Frank quipped.

Sitting up again, Chet gave him a reproachful look. He climbed to his feet and regarded the fence darkly.

âItâs shut off now,â the woman assured him. âWonât you come in the house while we discuss this?â

When they agreed, she unlocked the gate and led them inside. While they took seats in the living room, she went into the kitchen and returned with a tray of Cokes and a bowl of cookies.

âHow are you feeling now?â she asked Chet as he reached for a handful of cookies.â

âI think Iâll live,â he said.

It was apparent by the way he attacked the cookie bowl that he was fully recovered from the effects of the electrical shock. The woman looked relieved.

âThen you wonât sue us?â she asked.

âIâll make a deal with you,â Chet said. âYou leave that fence switched off and I wonât sue you.â

âOh, I will,â she assured him. âIâm going to make my husband disconnect it.â

The woman introduced herself as Mrs. Myra Steele, and the boys told her their names. Mrs. Steele explained that her husband was the famous movie writer Vincent Steele, and that he went to such great lengths to maintain his privacy because he was constantly being bothered by aspiring actors who wanted to break into the business.

âI can understand that,â Chet said. âIâd like to be in the movies myself.â

âWhat role would you play?â Joe asked. âA mountain?â

âHe could play the body in murder mysteries,â Frank suggested. âHe put on a pretty good act outside.â

âYou fellows just donât appreciate real talent,â Chet said in a patronizing tone.

Spotting an ashtray in the shape of a skull on a nearby end table, he rose to his feet and picked it up. He stared down at it with a sad expression and intoned, âAlas, poor Yorick. I knew him well.â

Mrs. Steele laughed along with the Hardys.

Joe said, âMaybe you knew poor Yorick, Chet, but you donât know your lines. âIt goes, âI knew him, Horatio,â not âI knew him well.â Donât you remember our English teacher saying that was one of the most commonly misquoted lines in all literature?â

âI was out sick the day we studied Hamlet,â Chet said.

He set down the skull-like ashtray, returned to his seat, and took another cookie.

âAre you expecting your husband soon?â Frank asked Mrs. Steele.

âHe wonât be home tonight at all,â she said. âHeâs away doing research for a script. Actually the script was all finished and the film is already being shot on location, but the director wanted Vincent to rewrite part of it.â

She looked at the boys curiously. âWhy did you come here? Did you want to speak to Vincent about something?â

Before Frank could answer, a car horn started to blow in front of the house. When it continued steadily, Frank stood up and walked over to the window. âHey, thatâs our horn!â he exclaimed.

âIs somebody signaling for us?â Joe asked, moving to his brotherâs side.

âNobodyâs out there!â Frank replied.

âExcuse us please, Mrs. Steele,â Chet said. âWeâd better go stop that awful noise.â

When the woman nodded, Joe said, âWeâll be right back.â

The three hastened outside. By now it was beginning to turn dark. Frank reached the car first. He opened the door at the driverâs side and banged the horn. It still continued to blow.

âThere must be a short in it somewhere,â Chet said.

Joe had already lifted the hood, and Frank got a screwdriver and a flashlight from the glove compartment. He handed them to Joe, who examined the wiring.

Meanwhile people appeared in the windows of several houses across the street, and one man came out to his front steps. âStop that confounded noise, will you?â he shouted impatiently.

âWeâre trying to, sir,â Chet replied.

Finally Joe said, âLook, this is no accidental short. Somebody attached a wire bridge across the connection.â He removed the wire quickly and the horn stopped blowing.

Frank slammed the hood down as Joe returned the flashlight and the screwdriver to the glove compartment.

âNow who do you suppose did that?â asked Chet.

âThere must be a practical joker living in this neighborhood,â Joe said.

âProbably some kids,â Frank declared.

Chet gingerly opened the gate and they started up the walk toward the front door of the Steele home.

Suddenly it dawned upon Frank that the drapes had been drawn tight over the front windows. Not even a crack of light could be seen from the interior.

Frank put his hand on the doorknob and tried to turn it. The door was locked. He pushed the bell, and heard it ring loud and clear, but there was no answer.

Impatiently Joe pressed the bell a couple of more times but to no avail.

âMaybe sheâs on the phone,â Chet said.

âCould be,â Frank agreed.

They waited a few more minutes, then Chet put his ear against the door. âI donât hear anything,â he reported.

Frank wore a worried frown. âYou know, fellows,â he said, âI think we were deliberately faked out of the house by the guy who shorted our horn.â

âBut for what reason?â Chet asked.

âMaybe he wanted to duck in the back way as we went out the front,â Frank replied.

âYou mean a burglar?â Joe asked.

âRight,â Frank said. He imagined the scene as it might have taken place inside. Perhaps Mrs. Steele was bound and gagged and a thief was ransacking her house!

âThe prowler might have closed the drapes, too,â Joe said. âCome on. Letâs see whatâs in back!â

All the drapes in the house had been drawn. The rear door was locked. Frank rang the bell while Chet pounded on the door.

âMrs. Steele,â Frank called out, âare you all right?â

Chet tried to open the kitchen window, but it was locked too. As he tried to force it, a cry came from inside the house.

âShe really is in trouble!â Chet said. âFrank, do you think we ought to break in?â

âMrs. Steele,â Frank called again, as loud as he could.

âListen,â Joe said. âIf someoneâs in there, he might try to escape by the front door. Iâll go around to guard it.â

But before he had a chance, the boys heard a car quietly drive up to the side of the house. Two doors slammed almost simultaneously, then a bright beam of light, like the eye of a giant cyclops, shone on the trio. It blinded them momentarily.

A deep voice said, âHold it right there, you guys. Put your hands on the side of the house, quick!â

Frank started to go forward.

âDonât move or weâll shoot!â

Joe thought, âAccomplices of the fellow whoâs robbing the house!â His natural instinct was to resist, but the men might be armed and it could be a foolhardy move.

All three obeyed. Frank said, âWhatâs your game?â

âWho are you?â Chet added.

âWeâre police officers. And youâre under arrest!â

CHAPTER XII

The Sword Adalante

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THE Bayporters placed their hands against the back wall of the house. One of the officers patted their bodies to see if they carried guns.

âTheyâre clean,â he growled to his companion. âAll right, you can straighten up now.â

Frank and Joe noticed that two more policemen had emerged from the car and were going into the house. Seconds later a floodlight over the garage door went on. Obviously they had switched it on from inside.

The two officers standing next to Frank and Joe holstered their guns. They wore the uniforms of deputy sheriffs.

The back door opened and Mrs. Steele stepped out.

âThese are the ones!â she said. âThanks for getting here so fast, Officers.â

âDid you call the police about us?â Frank asked in astonishment.

âThatâs right!â

âBut why?â

âYouâre thieves, arenât you?â the woman said tartly.

The boys looked at each other, then back at Mrs. Steele. âWhere did you get that idea?â Joe inquired.

âWhile you were outside fixing your horn, the phone rang. It was a man. He wouldnât tell me his name, but he said to watch out for three young thieves who were working the neighborhood. He described you perfectly.â

Frank said to the deputies, âSomeone must be trying to get us in trouble. We were visiting with Mrs. Steele when our horn started blowing. We went to fix it and found it had been shorted on purpose. Probably the same person did it who phoned Mrs. Steele while we were outside!â

The deputy with the deep voice said, âDo you have any identification with you?â

âCertainly,â Frank said, and all three handed over their driverâs licenses.

After examining them, the deputy said, âI see youâre all from Bayport. And two of you are named Hardy. Any relation to Fenton Hardy, the famous detective?â

âHeâs our father,â Joe replied.

The deputy frowned at Mrs. Steele. âI donât think the Hardy boys would steal anything, maâam. Youâve heard of Fenton Hardy, havenât you?â

âYes, of course. They didnât tell me they were his sons.â

âWell, now that you know, how do you feel about it? Weâll run them in if you want to sign a complaint.â

Mrs. Steele hesitated. âCouldnât their identifications be faked? The man who phoned said they were thieves!â

Chet suddenly sat down on the back steps and put his hand to his forehead. âMy brainâs beginning to feel fried again,â he said in a weak voice.

The deputy looked at him curiously. âWhatâs wrong?â he asked.

Frank and Joe both realized Chet was acting. Joe said, âAftereffect of the shock, I guess.â

âWhat shock?â

Mrs. Steele said hurriedly, âI suppose the boys really are who they claim, and whoever called was just trying to cause a lot of trouble.â

She gave Chet a fleeting glance and went on, âPerhaps I acted too hastily in phoning the sheriff. As you say, Fenton Hardyâs sons wouldnât be thieves. Shall we just forget it? Will you boys come back inside?â

âWhatâs wrong with him?â the deputy repeated.

Chet made a miraculous recovery. Standing up, he said, âI had a little too much sun today, Officer, but Iâm all right now. Letâs go in, fellows.â

The deputy still seemed suspicious, but there was nothing he could do except take Chetâs explanation at face value. Since Mrs. Steele had decided to withdraw her charge, the officers left.

The woman switched off the light over the garage door and led the boys into the living room. She left them there while she carried the cookie bowl back to the kitchen to replenish it.

âYouâre some actor,â Frank said to Chet. âMaybe you should be in the movies!â

âMy fried brain sure got us invited back in the house fast, didnât it?â Chet said with a grin. âMrs. Steele didnât want the deputies to know about that electrified fence.â

âIt canât be legal,â Joe said. âThese people would be in real trouble if the police found out about it.â

âWho do you think shorted our horn and then phoned Mrs. Steele?â Chet asked. âCould it have been the same person who eavesdropped on us when we were talking to old Jimenez on the houseboat?â

âNo,â Frank replied. âThat was Red Bowes, and heâs in jail.â

âHow about Jimenez himself?â Chet inquired. âHis great-uncle was a bandit. Maybe heâs one, toolâ

âThatâs silly,â Joe said. âAll that guy wants is to be left alone.â

Mrs. Steele returned with the cookie bowl piled high and with fresh Cokes. When she had seated herself, she said to Chet, âThanks for not telling the sheriffâs men about our electric fence.â

âI didnât want to get you in trouble,â Chet said. âBut you ought to disconnect it.â

âIâll insist that my husband do it,â she promised. âHeâs due home Sundayâtomorrow.â

Frank asked, âWhatâs the name of the movie your husband is working on?â

âItâs working title is The Sword Adalante,â Mrs. Steele replied.

Chet nearly choked on his drink. When he recovered his breath, he sputtered, âDoes he know where it is?â

âWhere what is?â Mrs. Steele asked.

Joe, who was sitting next to Chet on the sofa, kicked his shin and said smoothly, âHe means where is the movie being shot, donât you, Chet?â

âUhâyes, thatâs what I meant,â Chet said.

âOh. The interiors are being done in a San Francisco studio. For the exteriors theyâre using a vineyard.â

Frank asked, âWhatâs the movie about?â

âItâs based on the life of a legendary Swiss swordsman of the last century, Giovanni Russo. In the movie he is called something else, though, because there are living relatives who might object to the use of his name. I forget what they call him in the movie.â

âWhat is the meaning of the movieâs title?â Joe asked.

âThe sword Adalante was a famous saber owned by Russo. In real life it was broken in a duel and lost many years ago. But in the movie this doesnât happen. The hero still has his sword at the end.â

âWeâre interested in old swords,â Frank said. âOne of our teachers is writing a magazine article on the history of swords, and weâre doing some research for him. Perhaps your husband can give us some information about this sword Adalante.â

âIâm sure heâd be willing to,â Mrs. Steele said. âItâs the least he can do in return for your silence about the fence. Why donât you stop by here again tomorrow evening when heâs home?â

The boys agreed to do this. After a few more minutes of conversation, they thanked her for the refreshments and left.

On their way to the car, Chet said, âI thought the reason we came here was to search the cellar for the guard end of that sword.â

âI couldnât think of any excuse to ask to see the cellar,â Frank said. âWhy didnât you think of one?â

âMy brainâs fried, remember,â Chet told him. âYou and Joe are supposed to be the smart ones.â

âWeâll get her husband to show it to us tomorrow,â Joe put in. âI just had an idea about who might have shorted our horn and phoned Mrs. Steele.â

âWho?â Frank asked.

âHarry Madsen.â

âThe bulldozer operator?â Chet asked. âWhy would he want to do anything like that?â

âHe threatened to get even with us.â

In a thoughtful voice Frank said, âCould be.â He looked around in all directions. âI donât see anyone lurking about, but then we didnât notice anybody before our horn was tampered with. Whoever it was may be watching us right now.â

âWell,â Chet decided, âit wonât help to stand here. Letâs go pick up a sack of hamburgers and head for the motel.â

âGetting tired?â Joe queried. âAll that sleuthing too much for you?â

âI almost lost my life!â Chet said indignantly.

He opened the rear door of the car and climbed in. Frank walked around to the driverâs side and slid behind the wheel. As Joe got in next to him, his shoe came down on something soft and live that writhed beneath his foot and emitted a spine-chilling rattle!

CHAPTER XIII

A Blunt Warning

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CAR doors burst open as all three boys jumped out. The dome light blinked on, revealing their uninvited guest. It was a thick rattlesnake, more than two feet long.

Hissing angrily, the reptile coiled and struck at Joe. But he slammed the door in time, severing the snakeâs head from the body.

âWhew!â he said, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief.

Chet leaned weakly on the fender. âYou can say that again.â

Frank came around to look at the headless rattler. âSomebody is starting to play rough,â he muttered. âYou canât pass this off as just a practical joke!â

âSeven rattles,â Chet counted. âDoesnât that mean it was seven years old?â

âI think thatâs a myth,â Joe replied. Lifting a foot, he gingerly scraped the dead snake out into the gutter.

The boys got back into the car. Frank drove toward the bridge that led south off the island. In the rear-view mirror he had noted a pair of headlights that stayed about a half block behind them.

âSomebodyâs tailing us,â Frank remarked.

The other two looked back. Chet said, âMust be whoever planted that snake. Letâs stop and find out who it is.â

âIf itâs that bank-robber gang, theyâre probably armed. Weâd better shake them instead,â Joe said.

âI agree with Joe,â Frank decided.

He increased the Fordâs speed. The car behind them started to go faster, too. By the time they reached the bridge, both were moving at sixty miles an hour.

Fortunately there was little traffic. They roared across to the next island and to the following bridge. Their tail stayed with them.

As they crossed the second bridge, the headlights of two approaching vehicles could be seen driving onto the other end. From the first oneâs size and height from the ground, the boys could tell that it was a large truck.

Passing on any of the bridges was against the law, but the driver of the vehicle behind the truck was impatient. Misjudging the speed of the Hardysâ Ford, he started to swing around the truck.

All of a sudden headlights were glaring right into Frankâs eyes. He hit the brakes hard. At the same instant the truckâs tires squealed as its driver applied his air brakes. The reckless passer squeezed in by a hairâs-breadth.

Frank was furious. âThat idiot!â he said through clenched teeth.

Joe shook his head in disbelief.

Frank bore down on the accelerator again. Until they were out of the delta area, there was no way to shake the tailing car, because there was only one route to take.

On the outskirts of Stockton, however, Frank slowed in order to let the pursuing car get close behind them. Then he suddenly swung into a closed gas station. The other car shot on past.

As Frank circled around the pumps to swing back in the direction they had come from, his headlights shone briefly on the other car. Two men were in the front seat, but the boys could not make out who they were.

Their pursuers made a U-turn at the next intersection, but by then Frank had swung into a side street. After a series of random turns, he pulled over to the curb and cut his engine and lights.

âThat should do the trick,â Chet said, relieved.

âLetâs wait and make sure,â Joe suggested.

When several minutes had passed with no pursuer in sight, Frank drove to their motel.

It was a complex consisting of individual cabins. Frank pulled the Ford around behind theirs so it could not be seen from the road.

As they entered the cabin, Chet said, âWe forgot to stop for hamburgers!â

âDoesnât anything make you forget food?â Joe asked. âA couple of killers are after us, remember?â

âWell, I donât want to die on an empty stomach,â Chet complained.

âThe motel restaurant is open all night. Go over there and get something if you want to.â

After considering, Chet asked, âHow do we know the killers arenât watching the restaurant?â

âWe donât,â Frank told him. âBut itâs unlikely they know where weâre staying. They must have picked us up when we left the construction site after Joeâs bout with Madsen. And we havenât been back here since, until now.â

After weighing the possible danger of running into killers against satisfying his appetite, Chet decided to chance going to the restaurant. He returned with three hamburgers in a bag. Frank and Joe both declined, so Chet ate all three.

Even though they were fairly sure that their tails did not know where they were staying, the boys decided to take no chances. They divided the night into three watches, and each stayed awake for a couple of hours. Fortunately the night passed without incident.

The next morning after breakfast the boys decided to change cars. âThatâll throw our tail off,â Joe said.

They checked the yellow pages of the classified telephone directory and discovered that Stockton had a local branch of the car rental agency from which they had rented the Ford in San Francisco. It advertised twenty-four-hour service, seven days a week.

They drove down to the rental office, turned in their car, and selected a Chevrolet.

As they pulled out of the lot, Frank gave a grin of satisfaction. âThat ought to throw those guys off our trail!â he said.

When they came back to the motel, they found a note under their door, requesting them to come to the office. Frank went.

The clerk said, âThere was a phone call for either Frank or Joe Hardy. The man didnât tell me who he was, but heâll call back at eleven oâclock.â

âHow did anyone know we were here?â Frank wondered aloud, mystified.

âI donât know. He just asked if either of you were registered, and when I told him âYes,â he gave me the message.â

âThanks,â Frank said and returned to the cabin.

When he relayed to the others what he had just heard, Joe said thoughtfully, âThe man must have called all the motels in the neighborhood, asking if we were registered, until he hit pay dirt. Maybe weâd better move and check in somewhere else under false names.â

âThatâs a good idea,â Frank said. He looked at his watch. âItâs five to eleven. So letâs wait for the call before we leave.â

The man phoned promptly a few minutes later, Frank answered, but held the receiver so that the others could hear, too.

A low, obviously disguised male voice said, âIs this one of the Hardy brothers?â

âYes, this is Frank.â

âIf you value your lives, youâll get out of California before itâs too late!â

There was a click as the man hung up.

Joe said ruefully, âToo bad we didnât have a recorder with us to tape the voice.â

âWe ought to pick up a portable job in case anything like this happens again,â Frank suggested.

âAre any stores open on Sunday?â Chet wanted to know.

âThereâs a big shopping plaza a couple of blocks from the car rental office, and the parking lot was crowded when we went by,â Joe said.

âIt wonât hurt to inquire,â Frank said.

The boys checked into another motel a few blocks away. They let Chet register under his name, figuring that if the mysterious threatener called motels again, he would ask for the Hardys as he had before, not for Chet Morton.

Then they left for the shopping plaza. After they bought a pocket-sized tape recorder, they had lunch in a nearby restaurant. Chet suggested that since they were not due at the Steelesâ house until that evening, they had time to check out the third wine storage building.

Frank grinned. âYouâre right on the ball, Chet! I was going to suggest that.â

They drove across the various bridges to the island once owned by Giovanni Russo, and to the mountainous area at its north end.

They had no trouble finding Burns Mountain Road. It wound along about a mile before they came to a narrow gravel road leading off to the right. Chet pointed to a wooden sign that read: Carsonâs Ski Lodge, 300 Yards.

Frank parked in front of the building and they all got out. The lodge was at the base of a long slope, which obviously served as a ski run during the winter months. Their eyes followed the cable up the hill, where the lift ended at a low stone building.

âThat must be the wine storage place,â Joe said.

Frank nodded. âThereâs no other building in sight. But why would anyone store wine at the top of a hill?â

âHey, guys!â Chet called out. âLook at this!â

âVineyards might have covered all the slopes at one time,â Chet reasoned. âBut what a climb!â

âToo bad the lift isnât operating now,â Joe said.

Chet noticed a sign posted on the porch of the lodge and went over to look at it.

âHey, guys! Are we ever in luck!â he called out. âLook at this!â

Frank and Joe hastened over to read the notice. It said that the lift would be in service the following week. For a dollar people could ride up the mountaintop and enjoy the view.

âBring the whole family on a picnic. Upper lodge will be open!â the sign invited.

âNow thereâs an idea just made to order for Chet,â Joe said.

Chet ignored the gibe. âDo we have to climb now?â he inquired.

âI think weâd better wait,â Frank replied. âNo doubt the place up there is locked, so we couldnât get in anyhow. But itâll be open when the liftâs running.â

The boys drove back and had dinner at the same restaurant they had eaten the night before, then they drove to the screenwriterâs house.

Chet glanced up and down the street, looking for anyone who might be a practical joker. But the street was empty.

When Frank rang the bell, Mrs. Steele came to the door. She greeted them cordially and ushered them into the living room.

âMy husband is in his den,â she said. âMake yourselves comfortable while I get him.â

âWhat do you suppose heâs like?â Chet whispered after she had left.

âWeâll soon find out,â Frank said.

âIâll bet he looks like Ernest Hemingway,â Joe said. âYou know, very distinguished, like writers are supposed to look.â

A few moments later footsteps sounded and Mrs. Steele returned. Behind her was a tall, thin, gray-haired man. A yellow scarf with tiny black polka dots was knotted around his neck.

Frank stared at the manâs face in utter astonishment.

âProfessor Von Stolk!â he blurted out.

CHAPTER XIV

The Cellar Museum

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THE man reacted as if he had walked into a brick wall. âYouâreâyouâre the boy who was talking to June at the college library,â he said limply to Frank.

Mrs. Steele spoke up. âWhy did you call him Professor Von Stolk? This is my husbandâVinâcent Steele.â

âSomething needs a lot of explaining,â Frank said. âYour husband called himself Von Stolk when I saw him the first time.â In afterthought he added, âYou used the same initials when you changed your name, didnât you, Mr. Steele?â

Turning to his wife, Vincent Steele said in a placating tone, âDonât let this upset you, my dear. I hired a young woman to do some research for me.â

His wife looked at him slit-eyed. âYes, go on!â

âI knew if I told her who I really was, she and all her friends would be plaguing me to get them into the movies.â

âOh, that again,â she said. âNow I understand.â

To the boys she said apologetically, âVincent is so publicity shy. You can see why, canât you?â

She introduced the boys by name and the screenwriter formally offered a hand to each.

Then Frank asked, âWas it you or June Fall who removed four pages from the Master of the Vineyards book, Mr. Steele?â

âNeither,â he replied, looking uncomfortable. âThey were already missing.â Suddenly he became belligerent, and fired a burst of questions at the boys.

âWhy are you interrogating me like this? What did you come to my house for? What business is it of yours that I go to the library?â

Frank realized that perhaps they had pushed their case too fast. Nothing would be gained by antagonizing the writer, even though he was a suspect. In a calm voice Frank said, âMr. Steele, we came here to ask your assistance.â

âWhat assistance? I donât even know you.â

âItâs about your home. It was once a wine cellar.â

âThatâs right. How did you find out?â

âFrom an old map.â

The Steeles looked confused. Joe felt sorry that the writerâs wife had become involved in the deepening mystery. Would Frank tell them about the sword? Or would he sidestep the real intent of their visit?

When his brother hesitated, Joe said, âYou canât blame us for becoming suspicious when you use two names, Mr. Steele. And about those pages missing from the library book, werenât you showing them to Harry Madsen at the construction site last evening?â

Steele frowned. âWere you spying on me then?â

âOnly by accident,â Joe replied. âWe didnât expect to see you there.â

âWhat were you doing there?â

âWe were watching the bulldozer operator,â Frank put in. âHe had been causing us some trouble. But you havenât answered the question.â

âLook, youâve got it all wrong,â Steele said with a sigh. âThey werenât the pages from that book. I have a hobby of collecting vineyard implements. For some time Iâve been meaning to go through that building at the housing construction site which was once used to store wine. But I never got around to it.â

He stood up, left the living room, and came back with two sheets of paper.

âThese are sketches of a particular type of barrel Iâve been looking for. When I heard that the wine storage place was going to be razed yesterday, I called the contractor.â

âAnd he promised to postpone the bulldozing,â Joe said.

âCorrect. As long as I would pay for the expense. I met with Madsen last night, showed him the sketches, took a look in the building, but did not find what I wanted.â

He put the sketches on a table. âCome,â he offered. âI will show you the museum.â

He led the way to a central hallway and opened a door to a narrow stone stairway leading downward. Flicking a light switch at the top, he descended. Chet went second, then Frank and Joe. Mrs. Steele remained in the living room.

The cellar had been converted into a museum. The rooms were similar in shape to those of the other wine storage building, except there were no cobwebs and the interiors were clean and well illuminated by overhead lights.

âQuite an exhibit,â Frank said, looking around in surprise.

The rooms were crammed with artifacts of grape farming and wine making. There were wooden racks, ancient hand-blown bottles, wine presses, casks of various sizes and shapes, wooden aging vats and many other items.

At the rear of one room the boys spotted an ancient, ornately carved oaken door.

âWhatâs in there?â Joe asked.

âNothing,â Steele replied. âItâs merely an empty storage room. We donât use it. Shall we go upstairs again?â

When they returned to the living room, Steele apologized to Chet for the electric fence incident, and thanked the boys for not getting him in trouble with the police.

âAre you fully recovered?â he asked solicitously.

âExcept for a little dizzy spell now and then,â Chet replied. âBut I donât think itâs anything serious.â

Vincent Steele said worriedly, âIâd be glad to pay for a doctor if you want to see one.â

âIâll be all right,â Chet assured him. Then he had an inspiration. âThereâs something else you could do for me, though.â

âWhatâs that?â

âGet me into the movies!â

The man winced slightly. In a resigned voice he said, âI might have known. Do you have any acting experience?â

âNo, but Iâm willing to start at the bottom.â

âThat would be as an extra,â Steele said. âI might be able to arrange that. This coming Tuesday weâll start shooting some exteriors and weâll need a lot of extras as grape pickers. If you could get there at six in the morning, I think I can fix it for all three of you to get jobs.â

âWe could sure use the money,â Joe said. âWeâre running pretty low. Where do we report?â

âWeâre on location at a farm called the San Mathilde Vineyard a little over a hundred miles southeast of here on Highway 99. Itâs just beyond Fresno. Youâll see the sign.â

âWhom do we ask for?â Frank inquired.

âJason Andrews, the casting chief.â

Mrs. Steele changed the subject. âThe main reason the boys came here tonight is to ask you about the sword Adalante.â

For the second time that night, Steele was brought up short. He stared from one boy to another in dumbfounded silence.

âA teacher of theirs is doing a magazine article on the history of swords,â Mrs. Steele explained. âThe boys are helping with the research. I happened to mention the title of your current movie and they thought their teacher might use something about the sword in his article.â

âOh,â Vincent Steele said with evident relief. âActually I donât know a great deal about the sword. It was broken in a duel and lost many years ago. The tip end eventually was found, and now is in the possession of Russoâs family in Switzerland. The guard end was never recovered.â

A phone on a small table next to Mrs. Steele rang. She answered it.

âSomeoneâs asking for either Frank or Joe Hardy,â she said.

Frank looked perplexed. They had told no one where they were going.

Taking out the pocket recorder, Joe said, âI guess we ought to tape this.â

He took the phone from Mrs. Steele, switched on the recorder, and held it close to the receiver. As Frank and Chet crowded around him, he said, âJoe Hardy speaking.â

âThis is a warning. Get out of California if you want to continue breathing!â a disguised voice said. Then there was a click as the caller hung up.

Joe winked at Chet for silence and Frank, too, betrayed no reaction.

âAnything wrong?â Mrs. Steele asked in a motherly tone.

When Joe shook his head, the woman continued, âWhy did you tape the call?â

âItâs our hobby,â Frank said. âWell, I guess weâd better be going.â

The boys thanked the Steeles for their hospitality and departed. On the way back to their motel, they discussed the second threat.

âProbably the same goon as before,â Chet said.

Joe disagreed. âHis voice was not as deep as the first manâs,â he said.

Frank, who was driving, asked, âAny sign of a tail?â

âNo,â Joe replied. âIâve been watching ever since we left.â

âWhat do you think about Steele?â Chet wanted to know. âHe looks clean to me. His explanations seemed okay.â

Frank and Joe were dubious.

Joe said, âHe was glib enough, but thereâs something about that man I donât trust.â

Frank had a more specific reason. âDid you notice,â he said, âthat Steele never pressed us for the real reason for our first visit?â

âSearching for the broken blade, you mean?â Chet said.

âRight.â

âI never thought of that,â Joe stated. âFrank asked for his assistance at one point, and Steele never came back to it.â

âHe did that on purpose,â Frank said. âDidnât want to raise the issue. I think he suspects weâre looking for the Adalante.â

âThen weâve got to be careful of him,â Chet said.

âVery careful,â Frank agreed.

When they reached the motel, Chet said, âAre we going to move again?â

âWeâve already paid for tonight,â Frank pointed out. âAnd weâre running pretty low on money. Letâs stay here and stand watch again.â

Joe played back the taped conversation. The callerâs voice came over strong and Clear.

âThatâs good enough to make a spectrograph,â Frank said with satisfaction. âTomorrow weâll run into San Francisco and use the police departmentâs machine.â

Again they divided the night into three shifts, but it passed peacefully. Next morning they checked out of the motel and drove to San Francisco.

Chief of Detectives Henry Copeland was glad to see them. They had no trouble getting permission to use the spectrograph. Frank made three voiceprints. They left one with Copeland, mailed the second to Chief Collig, and kept the third.

Instead of returning to Stockton, they decided to drive to Fresno so that they would be near the movie location Tuesday morning. Again there was no sign of a tail, but they took no chances. In their Fresno motel they repeated their night watch. Nothing happened.

Promptly at six the next morning they arrived at the San Mathilde Vineyard. It consisted of several thousand acres. There was a Spanish-style hacienda in which the owner and his family lived, but the grape pickers were housed in a row of tar paper shacks. Row after row of grapevines stretched off into the distance.

A number of trailers were parked near the workersâ shacks. These were being used as dressing rooms for actors. Several Nissen huts had also been set up to serve as offices. One of them had a sign on its door: Casting Office.

The boys went in and found a thin, harried-looking man seated behind a desk. He glanced up from the magazine he was reading.

âMr. Andrews?â Frank asked.

âYes, yes,â the man replied somewhat testily, as if he were annoyed by the interruption. âWhat do you want?â

âIâm Frank Hardy, this is my brother Joe and our buddy Chet Morton. Mr. Steele told us to report to you for extra work.â

The casting chief squinted his eyes as if searching his memory. âOh yes,â he said. âVincent mentioned it.â He looked the boys up and down.

âYouâll need some old clothes,â he added, âbecause youâll be cast as pickers.â

âWhere do we getâem?â Chet inquired.

âMaybe you can borrow some from the vineyard workers. Report back tomorrow at six.â

âTomorrow?â Frank said. âMr. Steele told us shooting was supposed to start today.â

âIt was, but thereâs been a delay.â

The boys looked disappointed and were about to leave when Joe turned to the movie man. âThereâs nothing seriously wrong, I hope,â he said.

âSerious enough,â Andrews grunted.

The Hardysâ curiosity was piqued.

âCan you tell us whatâs wrong, sir?â Frank asked.

âEttoreâs been injured.â

âEttore?â Frank said, puzzled.

Jason Andrews seemed impatient that they did not know whom he was talking about.

âThe fencing master who acts as the starâs double,â he explained. âEttore Rossi.â

âYou mean Ettore Russo?â Chet said weakly.

âOf course not. Trouble is, you young people donât listen. I said Ettore Rossi!â

CHAPTER XV

Star-Struck!

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THE Hardys and Chet were amazed at the similarity of names between Hollywoodâs fencing master and their own coach.

Frank said, âWe know a fencing master named Ettore Russo. Is this man a Swiss?â

âNo. Heâs an Italian.â Andrews replied. âEttore has been a stuntman for years. Also drives race cars.â

âWhere do we find Mr. Rossi?â Frank asked. âWeâd like to talk with him.â

âIn trailer four,â the casting chief said.

As they started out, the door opened and a beautiful blond woman dressed in a Spanish costume came in. The boys stepped aside to let her pass.

The woman gave them a dazzling smile as she swept by.

âDo you know who that was?â Chet said in an awed voice, when they were out of the office.

âSure.â Frank grinned. âBrenda White. She must be starring in the picture.â

Chet halted and stared at his two friends. âArenât you impressed?â

âOf course we are,â Joe replied. âSheâs very beautiful. But weâre not going to go ape over her.â

âYou guys have no feelings,â Chet retorted. âDonât you realize weâre going to be working in the same picture as Brenda White?â

âShe wonât even notice us,â Frank said. âWeâre only going to be extras.â

They moved on to trailer number four. When Frank knocked on the door, a strong voice called, âCome in!â

Inside they found a black-haired man in a half-reclining position on a bunk with a pillow under his back.

âMr. Rossi?â Frank asked.

âYes. What can I do for you?â

Frank introduced himself and the others. Then he said, âWeâve just been hired as extras. Mr. Andrews told us you were hurt, so we dropped by to cheer you up. What happened?â

âA practical joke,â the stuntman said ruefully. âSomeone sprayed banana oil on the trailer floor while I was asleep. When I got up this morning, I slipped and wrenched my back.â

âThat wasnât a very funny joke,â Chet commented.

âNone of them are,â Ettore Rossi said grimly. âIf I ever find out whoâs behind all this, Iâll teach him whatâs funny and what isnât.â

Joe said, âThings like this have happened before?â

âTwice. Once the brakes on my racing car were tampered with, almost causing a crash. Another time a sandbag was dropped from an overhead catwalk on an interior set, nearly braining me.â

âThey donât sound like practical jokes!â Frank exclaimed. âIt looks as if somebodyâs out to kill you!â

All at once the Italianâs expression became withdrawn. âI shouldnât be talking about it anyway,â he said. âMr. Zeller told me not to.â

âWhoâs Mr. Zeller?â Joe asked.

âThe director of the movie.â

âWhy doesnât he want you to discuss it?â

âHeâs afraid itâll give the picture bad publicity. Heâs having a quiet investigation made.â

There was a knock on the door and a short, fat man came in. He looked worried. Rossi introduced him to the boys as movie director Gene Zeller.

After shaking hands, Mr. Zeller said, âI just learned of your mishap, Ettore. How long will you be laid up this time?â

âAt least two or three days, according to the doctor. Youâll have to get someone else to double in the fencing scenes you planned to shoot today and tomorrow.â

âWhere?â the director said, wrinkling his brow. âThereâs no one around here who knows how to fence. Iâll have to send either to Hollywood or San Francisco. By the time we locate somebody youâll be up and around again.â

Frank said, âWe know how to fence.â

The director looked him up and down. âYouâre about the same height and weight as Douglas Clark, our leading man. Makeup can take care of other physical differences. Are you good at fencing?â

Joe answered for him. âHe sure is.â

âAny experience with sabers?â Rossi asked.

âWe know all three weapons,â Joe replied. âSaber, foil, and Ã©pÃ©e.â

âBut these will be real sabers, not fencing sabers,â Rossi told him. âOf course the points and blades will be dulled, but youâll wear no masks or gloves. Before the camera your performance has to look like real dueling. You have to be pretty expert not to hurt your opponent or get hurt yourself.â

âIâm sure my brother and I could put on a good act,â Frank said. âWeâve fenced together so often. I donât know how it would be with some stranger, though.â

âYour brother could work as your opponent in the scenes we shoot todayâand tomorrowâif youâre good enough,â the director said. âIt involves a duel with a bandit who doesnât appear in any other scenes.â

âGene, why donât you get a pair of sabers and let them show what they can do right outside my window?â Rossi suggested.

âGood idea,â Zeller replied and called a prop man. He instructed him to bring the weapons.

Soon the man returned with the sabers. They were thirty-four and a half inches long, the tournament length to which the Hardys were accustomed.

After hefting them, Frank and Joe were sure they could handle the bout.

âOkay, go to it,â Zeller said.

The boys took up positions outside the window next to Rossiâs bunk.

âWeâd better warn each other what to expect before each attack,â Frank suggested. âThis way the defendant will know what type of parry to make.â

âRight,â Joe said. âOn guard!â

âBeat attack!â Frank called out, striking Joeâs blade aside.

Joe parried. âPressure glide.â

Parrying, Frank called, âEnvelopment.â

They continued to attack and parry in turn, the blades clashing and sliding against each other in the cadence of a deadly dance. The audition soon drew a crowd of spectators.

Neither boy attempted to score, knowing it would have drawn blood, but their performance was colorful and convincing. When they finally paused after several minutes of intricate swordplay, the audience applauded loudly.

âTheyâll do fine,â Rossi called out. âSign âem up, Gene.â

âThat solves that problem,â the director said with relief. âI guess weâll be able to shoot today after all.â

While the swordplay had been going on, Chet kept glancing around in the hope of spotting one of the filmâs stars. But neither Douglas Clark nor Brenda White appeared.

Gradually it penetrated Chetâs consciousness that every time he looked over the crowd, the shadowy figure of a man seemed to be just fading out of his range of vision.

When he deliberately looked for the man, the figure immediately drifted behind one of the trailers. Chet noticed that he wore a peaked cap pulled low over his face.

Was he one of the fellows who had been tailing them? Chet wondered. Or the one who had phoned Steeleâs house and threatened them?

Pushing his way through the crowd, Chet circled around to the spot where he had lost sight of the shadowy figure. He was just in time to see the man duck behind the next trailer.

Chet followed. The man quickened his pace and disappeared around the far end. When Chet ran around the corner, he saw the trailerâs door close.

âIâve got him cornered!â Chet muttered. He climbed the steps and flung open the door.

Instantly a yapping ball of fur attacked his ankles, nipping with tiny sharp teeth.

âGo away, dog!â Chet commanded. He backed through the door, tumbled down the steps, and sat in the dust. Someone scooped up the furious little Pomeranian in time to prevent it from leaping at Chet, who looked up ruefully.

Brenda White stood in the doorway, clutching the tiny dog!

âOh, Iâm sorry,â she said contritely. âDid naughty little Fifi hurt you?â

Examining his ankles and finding no trace of blood, Chet said, âNo, maâam.â Embarrassed, he got to his feet and brushed himself off. âIt was my fault, Miss White. I shouldnât have burst in that way. But I was chasing a man and thought he ran in there.â

âInto my trailer?â the movie star said with a tinkling little laugh. âThereâs no one here but me and Fifi. We just came in ourselves.â

âYes, maâam,â Chet said. âSorry I disturbed you.â

âItâs all right,â Brenda White said. âIâm glad youâre not hurt.â She closed the door.

Chet circuited all of the other trailers, the Nissen huts, and the grape pickersâ tar-paper shacks, but he failed to spot the man wearing the cap. By the time he got back to the Hardys, their fencing demonstration was over. The audience had dispersed and the director explained to Frank and Joe what the scene would be.

âYouâll get a better idea when you read the script,â he said. âBefore you go to Wardrobe for your costumes and to Makeup, stop by Production and get a copy of exterior scene four from the script girl.â

âYes, sir,â Frank said.

They started toward the Nissen hut containing the Production Office. Chet fell in at their side.

Zeller called after them, âThe script girlâs name is Laura.â

Frank and Joe waved acknowledgment.

Chet said, âSome man in a cap is sneaking around spying on somebodyâmaybe us. I tried to catch up with him to see what he looked like, but he got away.â

âThink itâs one of our tails?â Joe asked.

Chet shrugged. âHe realized I was after him and took off like a scared rabbit.â

They reached the Production Office and went in. Frank told the brunette at the reception desk that they had been sent by Mr. Zeller to see Laura, the script girl.

âIn there,â the receptionist said, pointing to a door. The boys entered and saw a woman sitting at a desk with her back to them.

Hearing their steps, she glanced over her shoulder.

Frank and Joe stopped dead in their tracks. âMom!â they exclaimed in unison.

The script girl was their mother, Laura Hardy!

âButâbut youâre supposed to be at the Grand Canyon!â Joe said as Mrs. Hardy rose to hug her sons.

CHAPTER XVI

Weird Attackers

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STUNNED by the discovery of his mother on a California movie location, Frankâs next thought was of his father. âWhereâs Dad?â he asked.

As he spoke, a door marked Maintenance Department just beyond Laura Hardyâs desk opened and Fenton Hardy stepped out. He was carrying a cap in his hand.

Joe rushed over to put an arm around Mr. Hardyâs shoulder, while Frank grinned at the famous detective.

âDad, whatâs going on here?â Joe asked.

Mr. Hardy smiled at them without the least sign of surprise. But before he could reply, Chet exclaimed in amazement, âThat was you I was chasing, Mr. Hardy! Why didnât you let me know?â

âI was testing your running ability, Chet.â Mr. Hardy looked at his sons. âTell me, what are you doing here?â

âAfter you, Dad,â Frank insisted.

Fenton Hardy explained that he and his wife had met Zeller at the Grand Canyon, where the director had begged him to investigate the attempts on Ettore Rossiâs life.

âGene was so upset that I agreed,â Mr. Hardy said, âand we cut our vacation short. As a cover-up I was hired as a maintenance man and your mother is here as a script girl.â

âThatâs a neat idea,â Chet stated. âYou get to meet all the important stars!â

Joe laughed. âMom, Chetâs ga-ga about Miss White.â

âSheâs gorgeous,â Chet said dreamily.

Frank changed the subject. âI was wondering about those planned accidents plaguing Mr. Rossi. Maybe the people responsible for them have the wrong man. It could be that theyâre really after Ettore Russo.â

âYour fencing instructor in Bayport?â the detective asked in surprise. âWhy would anyone be after him?â

The boys explained about their maestro being one of the grandsons of Giovanni Russo; about the will written on the sword Adalante; and how Russo had paid their way to California to search for the guard end of the broken blade.

When they finished their story, Mr. Hardy said thoughtfully, âFrank, your deduction is sound. That must be the explanation. Ettore Russoâs greedy cousin in Switzerland probably hired these criminals to dispose of him, and they picked the wrong man because of the similarity in names. Besides, I remember Russo telling me that he lived in California before opening the school in Bayport.â

The boys told their father about the Bayport bank robbery and the theft of his voiceprint file. But he already knew, because he had been in touch with Chief Collig. However, the capture of Red Bowes was news to him. Frank and Joe related everything else that had happened since their arrival in San Francisco.

âOh dear!â Mrs. Hardy said. âIâm glad you werenât hurt.â

Mr. Hardy said, âIt sounds to me as though the answer to all this lies in Stockton, not here. You canât leave Zeller in a spot after agreeing to act in those sword-fighting scenes, but as soon as your work in the movie is finished, weâll all go to Stockton.â

âHow about Mr. Rossi?â Mrs. Hardy asked. âShouldnât you stay here to protect him from danger?â

âHe wonât be in any if we let his tormentors know theyâre bugging the wrong man,â Mr. Hardy replied. âIâll suggest to Gene that he issue a publicity release about his stuntman. Mention can be made that his name is very similar to Giovanni Russoâs grandson.â

âThe newspapers would like that,â Laura Hardy said.

âNot to mention radio and TV,â Frank added. âItâs a good feature story, and the goons will be sure to hear it.â

âIt wonât place Mr. Russo in any danger either,â his father went on, âbecause heâs out of the country.â

Mrs. Hardy smiled at her sons. âHowâs your money holding out, incidentally?â

âTheyâre almost as broke as I am,â Chet volunteered.

Frank and Joe frowned at him. âWeâre earning plenty for our movie work,â Joe said. âWe donât need any money.â

âIâm going to see Gene about that publicity release,â Mr. Hardy declared. âWell talk about Stockton later.â

Joe said, âCome on, Frank. Weâd better get out of here, too. We have to go to Wardrobe, then to Makeup, and weâre due on the set in an hour.â

Mrs. Hardy gave them a copy of the exterior scene script and they left with their father.

Chet lingered behind to talk to Mrs. Hardy. She opened her purse and took out some bills.

âPut this away in case of emergency,â she said.

âThanks, Mrs. Hardy,â he replied with a grateful grin. âIf we donât need it, Iâll return the cash in Bayport.â

The sword-fighting scene went well. Zeller told Frank and Joe that they would be needed for a similar scene the next morning. After that they would be through.

That afternoon the vineyard scene was shot. The boys played grape pickers. They had borrowed suitable clothing from some of the workers on the farm, who had all been hired as extras, too.

By noon the next day they were finished and had been paid. Mr. and Mrs. Hardy took them to lunch at the Golden Gate Restaurant near the vineyard, where all the motion-picture personnel ate. During the meal they discussed their next move.

âI think weâd better drive to Stockton separately,â Mr. Hardy said. âIf your enemies pick up the trail again, thereâs no point in their knowing about Mother and me.â

âSuppose we meet somewhere in Stockton for dinner tonight?â Joe suggested.

âAll right. Where?â

âSwansonâs Drive-in Restaurant on the north side would be a good place,â Chet said. âWe could park our cars next to each other and talk without being overheard.â

It was decided to meet at Swansonâs at six oâclock that evening.

The boys went to Stockton and checked into a motel near the restaurant. Promptly at six they drove to the drive-inâs parking lot and waited.

A carhop had just taken their orders when a black Plymouth slid into the next spot. In it were Mr. and Mrs. Hardy.

Mr. Hardy did not even say hello until their order was taken, too. Then he said, âAny sign of a tail on you?â

âWe didnât see any,â Joe replied.

âWhere are you staying?â

âAt the Delta Motel.â

âWeâre at the Northside Plaza,â Mr. Hardy said. âWhen do you plan to search that old wine storage building at Carsonâs Ski Lodge?â

âAccording to the sign they had up last week,â Frank said, âthe lift should be in operation till eight oâclock. So letâs do it right now.â

âIâm all for that,â Mr. Hardy agreed. Turning to his wife, he said, âIâll go in the boysâ car, Laura, and you can drive back to the motel in this one.â

âAll right, Fenton.â

When they had finished eating and paid their checks, Mr. Hardy slipped into the back seat of the Chevrolet with Chet. Mrs. Hardy moved over to take the wheel of the Plymouth.

At that moment a green Buick drove in on the other side of her car.

âOh, oh,â Frank said in a low voice. âThereâs Harry Madsen and his friend Amos Cain.â

After a quick look, Joe and Chet averted their faces so that the pair would not recognize them. Joe whispered, âDonât back out yet, Mom. Wait until we leave.â

Mrs. Hardy nodded.

Frank started the engine and pulled out. Joe and Chet kept their heads turned, but Mr. Hardy got a good look at the two men as Frank drove off.

âIâm pretty sure they werenât tailing you,â Mr. Hardy said. âIt must have been a coincidence that they came in.â

âProbably,â Chet agreed. âItâs a popular place.â

Nevertheless Frank kept one eye on the rear-view mirror whenever he could, and the others watched out, too. But there was no sign of pursuit.

Soon they reached the ski lodge. No one was in sight. The place was no longer boarded up, but it was closed for the day. Frank parked in front of the lodge and they all got out.

Joe looked at his watch. It was a few minutes after seven, and still light. âThey must have closed early,â he remarked.

Pointing to the stone building atop the mountain, Frank said to his father, âThatâs it up there, Dad.â

They went to look at the chair-lift engine. To their surprise it was not locked. After examining it for a few moments, Fenton Hardy started it.

Joe got a flashlight from the car and thrust it under his belt. Then he and Frank took seats on the lift. Mr. Hardy shifted the engine into gear, and with a slight jerky motion the boys started the long trip upward.

They rose higher and higher over the slope, until halfway up they were more than thirty feet above the grade. Then the distance to the ground diminished as they neared the peak.

They stepped off the lift only a dozen yards from the oaken door of the stone building. Their double seat continued on, took a hundred and eighty degree turn around a stanchion, and headed back down the hill on the moving cable.

Frank tried the door of the lodge. It was locked. They walked around and discovered that a window had been broken.

âSomebodyâs been in here!â said Frank.

âI wonder how long ago,â Joe mused.

âIt must be since the place closed today,â Frank replied. âOtherwise the operators would have noticed the break and boarded it up.â

Joe snapped his fingers. âIâll bet thatâs why the lift engine wasnât padlocked! Whoever broke in here, probably busted the lock and used the lift to get up and down again.â

âWell,â Frank said, âas long as the windowâs broken, we might as well take advantage of it.â He climbed inside, careful to avoid the jagged pieces of glass jutting from the frame. Joe followed.

As they stepped onto the floor, Frank grabbed Joeâs arm and put a finger to his lips.

âWhatâs the matter?â Joe whispered.

Frank sniffed. âSmell the smoke?â

âFrom a cigarette!â

âRight. Someoneâs in here!â

The young sleuths tingled with a mixture of fright and excitement. If somebody had just preceded them, why? How many were there? And where were they hiding?

As the odor of cigarette tobacco drifted out through the broken window, the boys surveyed the dim interior. The room they were in was small and rimmed with benches. At one end was a potbellied stove for the skiers in winter.

In addition to the locked front door there was another door. What lay beyond? they wondered. Somebody was there, they felt sure.

After a whispered consultation the boys decided to climb out, circle the building, and spy into the mysterious room from a window on the far side.

Frank had one foot through the broken windowpane when a bloodcurdling yell sounded behind them.

Immobilized by surprise, the Hardys froze for a moment, then turned to see two weird faces, grotesquely flattened by nylon stocking masks. One man was tall and thin, the other burly.

The tall man held a pistol in his hand. âLook what weâve caught, Homer!â he said.

âThe Hardy boys! What a catch, Charlie!â

The voices sounded familiar in spite of the slightly muffled tone.

âPretty far from New Jersey, arenât you?â Frank asked.

For a moment there was stunned silence, then Joe delivered his shot. âYou wonât find any spectrographs here, Charlie!â

With that the men ripped off their masks. âOkay, so you recognize us,â Charlie said. âLittle good itâll do you.â He waved his gun at the boys. âCross your hands in front of you!â he ordered, and pulled two cords from his pocket.

CHAPTER XVII

Treasure in the Dust

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FROM down below, Mr. Hardy and Chet watched Frank and Joe climb through the broken window. Suddenly the sound of a breaking twig made them turn around.

A squat, muscular man had stepped out from behind the ski lodge. He pointed a revolver at them.

âUp with your hands!â he ordered.

Mr. Hardy and Chet obeyed. Commanding them to turn their backs, the man checked them for weapons.

âWho are you and what do you want?â Mr. Hardy asked.

âNever mind,â the man replied. âJust keep quiet!â

He kept his gun on them while he periodically peered up at the mountaintop. Several minutes passed, then four people emerged from the stone building. Frank and Joe were first, their wrists bound together in front of them.

Charlie got on the lift with Frank.

âAll right,â the squat man with the gun told Mr. Hardy. âBring the next seat into position so the other two can get on.â

Perspiration stood out on the detectiveâs forehead as he obeyed. When everyone was on the lift, he started the engine again, furiously trying to think of a way to escape.

When the four were halfway down, the cable stopped moving. Mr. Hardy attempted to get the lift operating again, but could not.

âWhatâs the matter?â the gunman asked gruffly.

âDonât know. Give me a minute to check it out.â

Up on the lift, meanwhile, Homer and Charlie became impatient. âIf he canât get it going,â Charlie called to his accomplice, âweâll have to reduce the weight and throw these kids overboard.â

âYou canât do that!â Frank cried out.

âOh no?â Homer sneered. âIt would save us a lot of trouble. Letâs not waste any time!â

He lifted Joeâs safety bar and pushed him off the seat. Frantically the boy grasped the bottom of the chair and hung on for dear life. His captor pulled out a gun and smashed it on Joeâs fingers. Joe winced in pain. Desperately he swung one foot around and kicked his adversary in the shin.

All at once the ski lift started moving again. While Homer grabbed at his legs with both hands, Joe quickly pulled himself back into the seat.

As the lift neared the base of the hill, Frank and Joe saw their father and Chet held at bay by the thug.

Homer chortled, âKellâs got the kidsâ old man and the fat boy!â

When they reached the ground and had stepped down, Charlie turned to Kell. âWhat now?â he asked.

âYou take the two boys with you,â Kell replied. âIâll follow with these two birds in their car.â

Frank and Joe were marched a distance from the lodge to a small parking area concealed from the road by trees and bushes. They were forced into the back seat of a dark sedan. Homer slid behind the wheel and Charlie climbed in next to him. Seconds later they pulled out and roared away.

Meanwhile, Kell ordered Mr. Hardy and Chet into the front of the Chevy. âYou drive!â he growled at the detective and took his position in the back seat, gun trained on his captives.

Slowly Mr. Hardy eased the car onto the gravel road.

Joe hung on for dear life!

Chet turned halfway around. âYou think youâre real smart, eh?â he said, fuming.

âOh, shut up, Fatso,â Kell replied. He leaned forward, and rested his gun hand on the back of the boyâs seat. âYouâre so stupid you walked right into our arms!â

âYou mean you knew we were coming?â Chet demanded.

âNaw. But you made so much noise before the two kids even got on the lift that we had plenty of warning. Weââ

Suddenly Chet whirled and smashed his fist into the manâs ear. The gun dropped on the front seat. But Kell instantly recovered his wits. He hit Chet in the side of his neck, opened the back door in a lightning move, and threw himself out of the car.

Before Mr. Hardy had skidded to a halt and taken up pursuit, he had melted away in the darkness.

Chet, who had been stunned for a few moments, looked dejectedly at the detective as he came back to the car. âSorry about that, Mr. Hardy. I was hoping we could reverse roles and take this jerk to headquarters!â

Mr. Hardy put a hand on the boyâs shoulder. âListen, Chet, you were great. You may have saved both our lives!â

âNow weâll have to rescue Frank and Joe.â Chet sighed.

âRight. Only we havenât any idea where they are!â

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Frank and Joe were in the back seat of the sedan, unconscious. A slight odor of chloroform hung in the air.

An hour later Joe awakened. He found himself on his back in pitch darkness, his hands still bound in front of him. The air was chilly. It felt as though he was lying on loosely packed dirt.

The sound of deep breathing came from his right. As he sat up, he felt the flashlight still tucked under his belt. Their captors must not have noticed it. He took it out and flicked it on.

Playing it around, he realized they were in a cavelike chamber about twenty feet across. The walls and the domed ceiling were of solid stone. The floor, as he had suspected, was dirt. The only entrance was blocked by a heavy oaken door.

The deep breathing had been coming from Frank who was lying next to Joe. Now it quieted. Frank opened his eyes and sat up.

âWhere are we?â he asked.

Shrugging, Joe said, âI havenât the faintest idea. Letâs get these ropes off our wrists.â

Setting down the flashlight, he struggled to his feet. It was difficult without the use of his hands.

Frank managed to get up, too. He worked at his brotherâs bonds until he got them loose, then Joe untied him.

He picked up the light again and shone it on the door. Frank tried it and found it locked. He threw his weight against it, but it did not budge. It was far too thick to break down.

Joe shone the light on the hinges. They were made of thick leather, rutted and dry from old age. These were attached to the door by huge brass studs.

âWow!â Joe said. âThese hinges were made to last an eternity.â

âDonât say that,â Frank muttered. âWe might be in here that long.â

The boys felt the thick leather. Joe said, âIf we had a knife, we could cut through them.â

âBut we donât have one,â Frank said. âAny other suggestions?â

Joe shone the flashlight all around. âThe dirt on the floor is fairly loose, Frank,â he said. âMaybe we could dig our way under the door with our hands.â

âItâs worth a try,â Frank conceded.

Joe put the light on the ground, pointing at the door. Both boys dropped to their knees. They began to scoop handfuls of dirt away from the doorâs base. Joe worked furiously. Under the first layer of soil, the earth was powdery dry. Particles filled the air, making them cough violently.

âJoe! Not so fast. Donât scatter the dust!â Frank warned.

They tied handkerchiefs over their nostrils and Joe dug more cautiously. But the bottom of the door was so far down in the earth, it would take considerable time to make an opening large enough to crawl through.

After they had excavated a hole of about six inches, Frankâs hand touched something solid.

âHey, Joe, whatâs this?â Pushing the dirt away from the object on either side, he pulled out a rusty blade about a foot and a half long. At one end was a moldy saber handle.

Excitedly Joe focused the light on his brotherâs find. âHoly crow! It canât be!â he exclaimed. The letters A-N-T-E were dimly visible on the blade.

âItâs the sword Adalante!â Joe cried.

âIs the will engraved on it?â Frank asked eagerly.

After peering at the blade, Joe said, âWeâll have to wait until we get it in a better light. And weâll have to clean it up a little. Itâs pretty tarnished. Probably weâll be able to see the engraving after we shine it up a bit.â

âIs the blade sharp enough to cut those hinges?â Frank asked.

Joe tested it with his thumb. âI think so.â

He began sawing at the lower hinge while Frank held the light. It took ten minutes to penetrate the hardened leather, but eventually both hinges were cut.

Joe used the blade to pry the hinge side of the door inward a couple of inches. Then he shoved the broken sword under his belt. He and Frank grasped the edge of the door with both hands. They gave a strong pull, then stepped aside to let it crash inward.

It hit with a loud plop. Instantly a cloud of dust filled the air, half blinding the boys. They stum bled out, but were unable to see where they were. The air, however, smelled fresh.

Frank and Joe coughed and wiped their tearing eyes. Finally they could see. To their utter amazement, they realized that they were in Vincent Steeleâs cellar museum!

CHAPTER XVIII

Cool Steele

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FRANK led the way up the stairs. The door at the top was unlocked. Quietly they stepped out into the central hall, where lights shone from the living room.

Tiptoeing on the soft carpet, they peered into the front room of the house. Two lamps were burning, but no one was there.

âWeâll have to be careful,â Frank said. âLooks as if nobodyâs down here. Letâs go upstairs.â

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.

âLetâs take a good look at that saber,â 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.

âShall we leave by the front way?â Joe asked.

âWe can handle Steele,â Frank said. âLetâs see what he has to say about our kidnapping. But weâd better get that saber out of sight.â

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.

âWhatâs this?â 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, âFor goodnessâ sake, be quiet!â

She stopped as abruptly as she had begun. There was a long moment of silence. Then the woman said in a high voice, âI knew all along these boys were thieves and werenât really Fenton Hardyâs sons. I should have let the sheriffâs men take them in!â

âWeâre not thieves,â Frank said. âAnd we are Fenton Hardyâs sons.â

âThen why did you break in here while we werenât home?â she demanded.

âWe didnât,â Joe told her. âWe were kidnapped and brought here.â

After staring at them for a moment, Mrs. Steele said, âI donât believe that!â She strode into the central hallway and picked up the phone.

âWait a minute!â her husband called after her. âLetâs find out what this is all about before you go calling the sheriff again.â

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

âWhat do you boys want here?â she inquired.

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

Steele stirred. âDo you mind letting me go while we discuss this? I assure you I wonât run away.â

Frank and Joe released their grips on the screenwriterâs arms, but watched him closely.

Fastidiously brushing both coat sleeves where he had been touched, Steele said, âNow what was that about kidnapping?â

âTwo men captured us at Carsonâs Ski Lodge,â Joe said. âYou must have been in on it, or they wouldnât have brought us to your house!â

âI know nothing whatever about it,â Steele stated indignantly. âAnd I havenât the slightest idea why you were brought here.â

âHow could they get us in without your knowing?â Frank asked. âWe must have been carried through the house. Unless your cellar has a secret entrance. Has it?â

âNot that I know of.â

âWho else has seen that cave in the cellar?â Joe asked.

Steele shrugged. âAs I told you before, itâs supposed to be a storeroom, but weâve 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?â

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

âOkay, Mr. Steele,â he said. âBut youâd better go first. Your wife, too.â

âYou donât trust me,â Steele said flatly.

âNo,â 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, âSorry about that, but we had no choice.â

âWhat did you cut them with?â Steele asked.

âA knife,â Frank said vaguely.

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

âWeâve both been gone all evening,â Steele declared. âIf you were brought in through the house, your kidnappers must have picked the lock. They had no permission from us to enter the place.â

âThe back door was open,â Mrs. Steele reminded her husband. âWe donât usually lock it.â

âI still donât see why anyone would use the house of an innocent person,â Joe declared.

Steele shrugged. âItâs an ancient building. Many people could know about the storeroom. Perhaps they figured we wouldnât have discovered you there until long after you had died of starvation.â

Mrs. Steele shuddered. âHow awful!â

Joe said, âFrank, I guess weâll have to presume that theyâre innocent, since we canât prove otherwise. Letâs get out of here.â

In a courteous voice Steele said, âYou donât have any transportation. Iâll drive you wherever you want to go.â

âThanks, but weâll call a cab,â 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.

âWhat in the world is this?â she asked in astonishment. âWhere did it come from?â

âUnder my belt,â Frank said.

âYou mean you had it all the time? Or did you find it in the cellar?â

âIt was buried in your so-called storeroom,â Joe said. âWe found it while trying to dig our way out.â

âThen it belongs to us,â the woman declared.

Her husband interceded. âMy dear, I think the law on treasure trove says that it belongs to the finder. But letâs take a look at it in a better light before we all get excited.â

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.

âIt isnât worth arguing about,â he said. âWhat good is half a sword?â

Frank said, âItâs worth something to us. Our teacher may be able to use it in his magazine article.â

âYes,â Joe agreed. âIâm sure heâll be interested in it. May we use your phone to call a taxi?â

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, âDid it strike you as strange that Steele gave up the sword so easily? He must have known what it was!â

âWhat choice did he have?â Frank said. âWe were two to one. He knew that if he didnât give it up voluntarily, we could take it away from him.â

âNo doubt heâs in with Homer and that bunch,â Joe said. âBut what on earth would he have to do with the spectrograph gang?â

Frank shrugged. âItâs a puzzle all right.â

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.

âFrank! Joe!â she exclaimed with relief. âIâm so glad youâre safe! How did you get away from those kidnappers?â She put an arm around each boy. âCome inside and tell me all about it.â

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

âDad phoned from the sheriffâs office. He and Chet are out with the deputies and city police searching for you two.â

âThen they escaped from that goon who took them in the car!â Frank exclaimed.

âYes,â Mrs. Hardy replied and told how Chet had outwitted their captor.

âWeâd better call and let the police know weâre safe,â Joe said.

âIâll do it right now,â 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. âNo wonder Steele let us have this without a struggle. Thereâs no will inscribed on this blade!â

CHAPTER XIX

Shadowy Figures

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MRS. HARDY hung up the phone and said, âYour father and Chet are out in a patrol car. The sergeant I talked to said he would inform them by radio that youâre safe.â

âGood,â Frank said. âBut I donât think we should wait for them to get back here. Iâm sure Steele is in with the thugs who captured us. Chances are heâs called them to his house for a conference. Joe and Iâll go back there to listen in.â

âWe could use one of Dadâs bugs for that,â Joe said. âDid he bring any with him, Mom?â

âHe always does, no matter where he goes,â Mrs. Hardy replied. âIâll check his suitcase.â

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, âWeâll have to take your car, Mom, because Dad and Chet have ours.â

âAll right,â Mrs. Hardy said. âBut be careful. If Mr. Steele is part of the gang, prowling around his house could be dangerous.â

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 oâclock when the boys neared the Steelesâ 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. âSuppose Steele lied about disconnecting the electricity?â

âWeâd better check,â Frank agreed. âGive me the receiver for the listening device.â

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.

âWell,â Joe said, taking the box and putting it back in his pocket, âwhat now?â

âWe hurdle the fence,â 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.

âGive me the other mike,â 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. Steeleâs voice came through. âIf your friends are coming here tonight, Iâm going to my sisterâs. I canât stand them.â

Vincent Steele said patiently, âTheyâre not friends, merely business associates. And they wonât be staying long.â

âEven five minutes is too long to suit me,â his wife replied sharply. âWhen they arrive, I leave!â

Just then five shadowy figures moved past the garage. Obviously the other gate was not electrified. It was too dark to see the menâs 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, âWhy didnât you keep the blade, once you had your hands on it?â

âThere were two of them,â Steele replied. âBesides, I examined it carefully. There was no will inscribed on it!â

âThen it canât be the Adalante,â a familiar voice spoke up.

Joe whispered, âI think thatâs Charlie.â

âRight,â Frank replied. âListen.â

âYes, it is the Adalante,â Steele insisted. âThe letters A-N-T-E were clearly visible. But there was nothing else.â

âWhy did you let them escape from the cellar?â Homer asked.

âMe?â Steele said. âI wasnât even here. You locked them in. You canât seem to do anything right. First you caused poor Ettore Rossi all that trouble for nothing, because you thought he was Russo. Then you canât even lock up a couple of kids so they stay locked up!â

âShut up!â It was Kell speaking. âYou havenât done so hot either.â

âI did what I was hired to do. I found the broken blade. So Iâll take my payoff now.â

There was a derisive laugh, then the man with the accent said, âYou have not delivered the blade.â

âI only agreed to locate it,â Steele said. âIâve done that. I walked the boys outside when they left here and got the cabâs number. Then I phoned the taxi company and found out from the dispatcher that he took them to the Northside Plaza Motel in Stockton. Youâll find the blade there.â

The man with the accent said, âHugo, I wish to speak to you alone. Come with me in the kitchen.â

There was a short silence, then the man said in a whispering voice, âIf Steele is right and there is no inscription on the saber, we could put our own on it once we get the blade!â

Hugo replied, âNot a bad idea, Hans. We could have it engraved so as to leave everything to Fabrizio Dente. Shall we pay off Steele?â

âNot until we have the sword!â

A door shut. Apparently they were returning to the others in the living room.

âI wonder who those two are,â Joe said in a low voice.

âMaybe the leaders of the gang,â Frank ventured.

They listened attentively, but nothing more of importance was said. Hans announced they were leaving and promised Vincent Steele he would get his money as soon as the Adalante was in their hands.

âWeâll get it tomorrow,â Hans said. âIt should be no problem to find out which room the Hardys are in. Weâll watch until they leave, then break in and steal the blade.â

The five men left by the back door. Joe switched off the receiver and the boys slipped around the comer to the far side of the garage until the shadowy quintet had gone past them and into the alley.

As the back gate clicked behind them, Frank and Joe followed. A car was parked about twenty yards from the house. The men climbed in and drove away without lights. It was impossible to see the license number.

âToo bad we couldnât get a look at their faces,â Joe said.

âYes,â Frank agreed. âBut we still learned a lot. Now back to the motel and report to Dad.â

âOkay,â Joe said. âBut letâs stop at Swansonâs and pick up some hamburgers. Iâm hungry.â

âAll right,â Frank consented.

They left by the driveway gate and made their way back to where they had parked the car. It was nearly midnight when Frank pulled into the drive-in restaurant and gave their order. As they were waiting, a green Buick drove in next to them.

Both boys turned to look. âWell, well,â Frank said. âIf it isnât our buddy Harry Madsen!â

âAre you guys still hanging around here?â Madsen snarled.

âHave you been following us?â Frank demanded.

âNone of your business,â the bulldozer operator snapped. âYouâd better just watch your step.â

The carhop came with their sack of hamburgers. Joe paid and Frank started the car.

As they backed out, Madsen called after them, âRemember what I said! Watch out!â

The boys did not reply and Frank drove toward the Northside Plaza.

âYou think heâs in with that mob?â Joe asked.

âI donât know. He could have stayed outside Steeleâs house tonight and kept watch, then followed us here.â

Joe thought about this for a moment, then said, âI doubt it. If he was tailing us, why did he make himself known?â

âTrue, too.â

As they neared the motel, they saw the blinking red lights of three police cars parked in front.

âHoly Toledo!â Joe exclaimed. âMore trouble!â

Frank parked the car in front of their parentsâ room. Three policemen were standing there, guarding the door!

CHAPTER XX

Duel in the Dumps

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âWEâRE Mr. Hardyâs sons,â Frank said to the patrolmen. âWhat happened?â

âYour father can tell you,â one of the officers replied. âHeâs inside.â

They found the motel room crowded with peopleâMr. and Mrs. Hardy, Chet, two more policemen and four handcuffed prisoners.

Frank and Joe identified Charlie, Homer, Kell and the fake Signor Zonko, mastermind of the Bayport bank robbery.

âHis real name is Hugo Hausner,â Mr. Hardy said. âHeâs a Swiss citizen and an international thief, according to the police here.â

âHow did you catch them?â Joe asked.

âChet and I arrived just after five of them entered to steal the sword Adalante,â Mr. Hardy replied. âWe rushed in when we heard your mother scream. I knocked out Charlie with a karate chop. Chet got Homer with an uppercut and your mother banged Kell on the head with the telephone. Then Chet and I subdued Hausner. Unfortunately, in all the confusion, the fifth man escaped taking the broken blade.â

âWeâll catch up with him,â one of the officers declared. âFrom your description, he must be Hugoâs brother Hans. Heâs got an Italian accent. Hugo sometimes speaks with an accent, too, but his is phony. Weâve put out an all-points bulletin on Hans.â

The other policeman said, âLetâs get these guys down to headquarters. Maybe one of them will talk.â

The suspects were hustled into a police car. Mr. Hardy and the three boys followed in the Plymouth. Mrs. Hardy remained at the motel.

At headquarters the bank robbers were informed of their legal rights to consult a lawyer, then were put in separate cells. It was not long before Charlie agreed to turn informer in return for a recommendation of leniency when he came to triaL

âHans Hausner came to the States because some guy in Switzerland had hired him to locate the guard end of the sword Adalante,â Charlie began. âAlso, he was supposed to prevent Ettore Russo from going to Tessin to claim his grandfatherâs estate.â

Joe said, âBut Hans chased the wrong man at first!â

âRight. Then a publicity story on Ettore Rossi appeared in the newspaper and pointed out the similarity in names,â Charlie said. âSo he realized his mistake.â

âWhat about Hugo Hausner?â Frank asked.

âHe pulled a number of bank robberies. The last one was in Bayport. Somehow his voice was taped, so he cut out. Came to the Coast and worked with Hans.â

âAnd how does Steele fit into all this?â Mr. Hardy inquired.

Charlie said Hans had contacted the writer to help him locate the sword because Steele knew a lot about the area that had once been Russoâs vineyard. Steele agreed, for a price, to try to find the blade.

Charlie added, âI understand Steeleâs wife didnât know anything about this.â

The story continued to unfold. After the Bayport robbery, Red Bowes was ordered to shadow the Hardys. Two more of Hugoâs men had gone to Chicago, where they successfully shook down a top racketeer for a large sum by selling him his own voiceprint from Mr. Hardyâs file. From there they had continued on to New Orleans for the same reason.

Homer, Charlie, and Kell had come to San Francisco to work on gang boss Rocky Morgan. But instead of paying off, Morgan had sent his gang after them, with the resulting gunfight in Chinatown.

âDo you know anything about the three hundred thousand dollars the gang stole in Bayport?â Mr. Hardy asked.

âThatâs hidden at our motel, the Sundance,â Charlie replied.

A police team was dispatched immediately to recover the loot.

âWhat do you know about Harry Madsen?â Frank asked.

âWho?â Charlie looked blank. âNever heard of him.â

When the boys explained to the police who Madsen was, they decided to bring the bulldozer operator in for questioning. But since it was now long past midnight, they agreed to wait until the morning.

Mr. Hardy and the three boys drove back to the Northside Plaza, where the boys picked up their rented Chevrolet and headed for their own motel. It was not until they were almost there that Joe remembered something.

âHey!â he said. âThat sack of hamburgers we bought is still in the Plymouth!â

âYou forgot our food?â Chet said in an outraged voice. âAnd I havenât eaten since dinner-time!â

âForget it,â Frank told him. âUnless you like cold hamburgers!â

Next morning the trio was up early.

âLetâs drive to the Northside Plaza and have breakfast with Mom and Dad,â Frank suggested.

âGood thought,â Chet agreed.

As soon as they were seated in the motel restaurant, Mr. Hardy reported that he had already talked to the police by telephone.

âSteele has been arrested for allowing his property to be used by kidnappers,â he said. âAlso they questioned Madsen but released him.â

âThey should have held him for attempted murder!â Joe said, eyes blazing.

âWell, he had no connection with the Hausner gang. He was merely teed off because you beat him at fencing,â Mr. Hardy replied.

âDidnât he put the rattler in our car?â Joe demanded.

âHe did. But it was not venomous because its poison sacs had been removed,â Mr. Hardy replied. âHe just wanted to scare you. He told us where he got the snake and the police checked out his story.â

âAnd he shorted our horn and called Mrs. Steele telling her we were thieves, right?â Frank said.

âYes.â

âI just love that guy!â Joe grumbled.

âWe ran into him a couple of times at the drive-in restaurant and last night he told us to watch our step!â Frank said.

âThat was coincidence,â Mr. Hardy stated. âHe stops there for a sandwich now and then, and the threat was just talk.â

âDid he phone our motel one time and tell us to get out of the state?â Joe asked.

Mr. Hardy nodded. âBut he was not the one who called you at the Steelesâ house.â

âThen who was it?â Frank wanted to know.

âHugo Hausner. I found out from Chief Collig. He had the voiceprint you sent him checked against the ones you made in Bayport. Mr. Dollinger let him have the whole set. It matched Hausnerâs.â

Mr. Hardy went on to say that the police had also informed him that his voiceprint file, minus the two spectrograms that had been peddled in Chicago and New Orleans, had been recovered from the gangâs motel. The Bayport bank loot had been found there intact, too. Hugo Hausnerâs two hoods who had sold the spectrographs were arrested in New Orleans.

âThere will be a good-sized reward for recovering the bank money,â Fenton Hardy said. âAnd you boys are entitled to most of it.â

After breakfast they discussed the problem of the missing Hans Hausner. The police had not found a trace of him yet. Suddenly Joe recalled something.

âFrank, remember when Hans took Hugo into the Steele kitchen for a private talk? He said once they got hold of the blade, they could have a will engraved on it!â

âOf course!â Frank exclaimed. âIf we check local engravers in the classified telephone directory, we might get a lead on him!â

Quickly they made a list from the yellow pages of places where engraving was done in the Stockton area. Then they divided the list, Mr. Hardy and Chet taking half, Frank and Joe taking the rest. They agreed to meet again at the motel around noon.

The Hardy boys went to engraver after engraver with no luck. At eleven oâclock, with only a couple of places remaining on their list, they entered a small jewelry store.

When they told the middle-aged proprietor who they were and what they wanted, he said, âA man with an Italian accent? Why, you just missed him. He left no more than a minute ago, as soon as I finished the work. He had me inscribe on a broken blade that the Russo fortune would go to somebody named Fabrizio Dente.â

âWhich way did he go?â Joe asked eagerly.

âHe said he wanted to catch a noon plane, so I imagine he headed for the airport. I noticed him getting into a dark sedan parked out front.â

âThank you,â Frank said. âLetâs get moving, Joe.â

Joe took the wheel of the Chevy, started the engine, and shot away from the curb. He took the most direct route to the airport, reasoning that Hausner, who had plenty of time before his plane took off, would not be hurrying. The boys spotted the dark sedan halfway to the airport.

âThatâs his car,â Frank said. âI recognize it. The one they used to transport us to Steeleâs after the kidnapping.â

âRight,â Joe said and poured on the gas.

The fugitive gave a startled look when the Hardysâ car pulled up alongside of him. Joe slowed, cut in, and forced the sedan off the road onto the shoulder. Hausner panicked.

He jumped out and started to run across the city dump which stretched to the right. Frank and Joe took after him, scrambling across mountains of trash. They gained steadily.

âHausner! You canât get away!â Frank called out.

The fugitive turned his head to utter an oath, but kept climbing over the mounds of debris.

The gap narrowed with each step, however. Now Hausnerâs labored breathing could be heard by his pursuers.

âHalt! Stop!â Joe cried. The Swiss was nearly in his grasp.

Hausner spun around. In his right hand he held the broken saber, with which he lashed furiously at Joe while making guttural noises.

Frank spied a stripped umbrella lying in the junk. He picked it up and leaped in front of Joe, brandishing the handle like a sword.

The Swiss turned and slashed at him with the saber. Nimbly skipping aside, Frank thrust and lunged. Hausner let out a grunt as the tip of the umbrella poked him in the stomach. Then Frank cracked the umbrella frame across Hausnerâs wrist and knocked the saber from his hand.

Frank and Joe subdued their quarry without any further resistance. After they turned him over to the police, they drove back to the motel.

They found their father, mother, and Chet waiting. Quickly they told what had happened.

âGreat job!â Mr. Hardy praised his sons. âNow letâs have a look at that saber.â

He examined the hilt under a powerful magnifying glass. Nothing besides the letters A-N-T-E and the inscription was on either side of the stubby blade.

âCan I see it, Dad?â Frank asked. He studied the hand guard carefully. It had a leather protective lining. Frank pulled it out. Nothing was hidden beneath it.

Suddenly Joe said, âHey, whatâs that?â

âWhere?â Frank asked.

âSomethingâs written on the underside of that piece of leather.â

Frank examined it. âItâs the will! Dad, weâve found it!â

Mr. Hardy took a close look. âIt sure is,â he confirmed. He read the tiny inscription. It left three-fourths of Russoâs fortune to his first grandson.

âThatâs Ettore Russo!â Chet exclaimed. âWeâve solved our case!â

The boys sent a cable to the fencing master, telling him the good news. They included the information that Mr. and Mrs. Hardy would personally deliver the saber to Russo in Bellinzona, Switzerland.

âYou havenât finished your vacation,â Frank said to his parents. âThis way you can tour Switzerland.â

Mr. Hardy smiled. âWe might just do that!â

âThereâs still one loose end that bothers me,â Joe said. âI wonder if it was June Fall who tore those pages from the book about Giovanni Russo.â

âWhy donât you phone the college library and ask if they know the pages are missing?â Mr. Hardy suggested. âNow that the big mystery is solved, youâve got plenty of time.â

Joe went to the telephone, little knowing that more excitement would soon come their way in The Flickering Torch Mystery. When he had finished the call, he grinned.

âGuess what?â he said. âThose pages have been missing for three years!â