Mystery at Devil's Paw (3 page)

“Sure,” Chet agreed. “We can take a train.”

“Okay,” Joe said. “Let's go back to town.”

As they left, Chet kept an eye on the man, who followed them closely.

“That creep's tailing us,” he warned the Hardys.

“He's up to no good,” Joe said. “I'd like to clobber him.”

“Easy,” Frank advised. “We can snare the snoop another way.”

“What do you have in mind?” Chet asked.

The trio stopped to confer, while the stranger lolled against a phone booth trying to look nonchalant.

Joe pulled his wallet from his pocket and all
three boys pretended to examine some papers. They talked in low voices and nodded as if in full agreement about what was being said. The man intently watched their reflection in the glass door of the phone booth.

Joe moved as if to return the wallet to his pocket. But instead it fell to the concrete floor, apparently unobserved by the boys.

As the Hardys and Chet hastened out one of the doors, the man picked up the wallet. He looked about to see if anyone had noticed. But the passers-by paid no attention.

The man opened the wallet and took out the papers. But he did not have a chance to read them, because Joe came racing back. The fellow took off like a flash.

“Stop, thief!” Joe cried out. He ran after the man, followed closely by Frank and Chet.

Frank yelled, “Get him!”

People in the terminal craned their necks to see what was happening.

As the fugitive passed the Bayport Airways counter, Joe caught up to him. He tripped him neatly from behind and sent him sprawling. The stranger hit the polished terrazzo floor and slid along for a few feet, coming to a halt near a policeman who had rushed to the scene.

Frank and Joe collared the man and pulled him to his feet. He still held the wallet in his hand.

“That belongs to me!” Joe said.

The officer relieved the fugitive of the wallet. “What's going on here?” he asked.

Out of breath and stunned by his belly landing, the man said:

“I don't know who this belongs to. I found the wallet on the floor and wanted to take it to Lost and Found. These kids ran me down!”

The policeman opened the wallet and Joe readily identified it as his.

“Here, take it,” the patrolman said. Then his eyes narrowed as he looked at the man. “Who are you? What's your name?”

“Henry Smith,” the man replied.

“Well,” the officer said, “next time you find a wallet—the Lost and Found office is in the other direction.” He pointed to the far end of the terminal building.

Before the Hardys had time to quiz the stranger further, their names came booming over the loudspeaker.

“Will Frank and Joe Hardy and Chet Morton please report for standby seats!”

After a quick thank-you to the policeman, the boys left.

“I wonder what happened,” Frank said as they walked to the ticket counter.

“You fellows are pretty lucky,” said the clerk. He explained that a passenger had become sick and was being taken off the plane. “Now there are three seats available. Do you still want them?”

“Sure,” Joe said. They hastily paid for the tickets and ran out to the airplane just as the jet motors whined into life.

“That was a piece of luck,” Chet said as they took their seats.

Frank nodded. “But I still wish we could have interrogated Mr. Snoop.”

“Well, he won't bother us for a while,” Joe said.

The first leg of their trip proved uneventful. They landed in Chicago, and after a twenty-five-minute wait, boarded the Seattle flight. All three napped as they winged across the prairie states and the Rocky Mountains.

It was brisk and cool when they landed at Seattle-Tacoma airport. Frank, Joe, and Chet strolled into the passengers' lounge.

Glancing at the wall clock, Joe remarked, “An hour to go before we board the plane for Juneau.”

“Look,” Frank put in, “I think we should call Dad and tell him what happened back at Bayport just before we took off. He might be able to check on that man.”

A row of telephone booths lined one wall of the waiting room. Frank stepped into a booth and put through a long-distance call to the Hardy home. Much to his amazement, his father knew all about the Bayport episode.

“I drove out to the airport to see if you boys had taken off yet,” Mr. Hardy explained. “I
reached the outside gate just as you were embarking. The guard, Dick Harper, is a friend of mine. He told me about the man who grabbed Joe's wallet. He was still there waiting for a passenger. A plane came in from the coast and he kept looking at the arrivals. Obviously the passenger he was to meet did not show, so he left. Anyhow, he looked familiar, so I played a hunch and followed him.”

“Did you find out who he was?” Frank asked eagerly.

“Yes. He's a wanted spy named Romo Stransky,” the detective replied. “I had him arrested and was hoping he'd talk, but he didn't.”

“Too bad.”

“You boys might be in real danger. Be careful.”

“We'll watch out, Dad,” Frank promised.

After hanging up, he stepped out of the booth. Joe was waiting outside. Chet, who had wandered away, came running toward them with a wild-eyed look.

“Hey, fellows, guess what! The guy we saw in Bayport this morning is here at the airport!”

“That's impossible, Chet,” Frank declared. “Dad had him arrested!” Hastily he reported his telephone conversation with Mr. Hardy.

“Then Stransky must have a double,” Chet insisted.

“Where did you spot him?” Frank asked.

“Right over there by the magazine stand.” As Chet turned to point, his eyes widened in surprise. “He's gone!”

“Maybe we can still find him!” Joe urged.

The three boys made a fast circuit of the building. They also checked the parking lot and the outside gates that led to the flight apron. But Stransky's double was nowhere in sight.

“What a way to start this trip!” Chet wailed. “Here I was just going along for some nice salmon fishing. Now you've got me all mixed up with a bunch of spies and even seeing double!”

“Cheer up,” Joe said. “You leave the spies to us, and we'll still get in some fishing.”

Within an hour, a voice boomed out over the loudspeaker, “Flight for Juneau, Alaska, now loading at Gate Ten!”

The three boys trooped aboard and fastened their seat belts. Minutes later they were soaring high above the Pacific coast.

After winging over Vancouver Island, the jet flew steadily northward up the rugged Canadian coast. Majestic green-clad mountains towered up to snowy peaks, and the blue waters offshore were dotted with rocky islands.

“Boy, what vacation country!” Frank said enthusiastically.

Even Chet was relaxed now. “I'm sure glad that Tony sent for us,” he said, beaming.

Favorable tail winds speeded their trip, and in
a few hours the boys sighted Juneau. The city lay nestled at the foot of a steep mountain.

“Where do we land?” Chet wondered aloud.

His question was answered a few minutes later as the plane came down on an airfield several miles to the north. From there, they were whisked by car back to Juneau along the beautiful Glacier Highway. Frank and Joe watched, but noticed no one trailing them. Soon the forested slopes of the mountain gave way to the outskirts of town.

“Jeepers, it's a real city,” Chet remarked, eyeing the modern buildings.

“What did you expect—log cabins?” Joe chuckled. “Juneau is the capital of Alaska.”

Chet whistled in amazement as they entered the attractive lobby of their hotel.

“I sure never expected anything like this!”

As soon as the bellhop had taken them to their rooms, Chet sank down on his comfortable bed. “Think I'll catch forty winks,” he yawned. “That meal on the plane made me sleepy.”

The Hardys grinned. “Okay,” Joe said. “Frank and I will look up Ted Sewell.”

Chet's heavy breathing indicated that he had drifted off to sleep even before the Hardys had unpacked their luggage.

“Well, Chet's in good country for sawing logs,” Frank quipped as they slipped on sweaters and left the room.

At the desk in the lobby Joe asked directions
to the seaplane base. It was a five-minute walk. When the boys arrived there they were surprised to see a huge floating dock which lay low in the water. Two seaplanes were alongside it at the foot of a steep wooden ramp. Behind the floating dock was a large stationary one, set on tall wooden pilings.

“Wow!” Joe remarked. “The tide here must rise to about twenty feet. It's at ebb now.”

“Right. And at flood tide these docks must come about level.”

Walking briskly, they descended the ramp and talked with a mechanic servicing one of the seaplanes.

“Is a fellow named Ted Sewell around?” Frank asked. He was told that Ted had been there the day before, but so far that day had not shown up.

“We'll come back later,” Frank told the mechanic.

They walked along the waterfront, where rows of fishing boats thrust up a forest of masts.

“I guess that people in Alaska either sail or fly,” Joe said.

“They have to. Roads are scarce,” Frank pointed out. “You can't very well drive a car into the bush.”

The boys made several more inquiries about Ted Sewell, but no one had seen him that day. They also asked a dock guard about renting a
motorboat to take them to Tony's camp on the Kooniak River.

“Sure, you can rent one easily,” the guard told them. “But you'll have to wait till morning and talk to the owners.”

After walking up a steep hill the Hardys found themselves in front of the Alaska Historical Museum, which was open that evening. They went inside and studied the exhibits. Besides mounted birds and animals, there were Indian and Eskimo jewelry and wood carvings, bright-colored blankets, and baskets woven of fine rye grass.

“Look at this!” Joe said, pointing to a paper enclosed under glass. It was a photostat of the United States Treasury check made out to Russia for $7,200,000 for the purchase of Alaska.

“And think of all the gold that has been mined here since then,” Frank remarked. “Some bargain!”

They left the museum and wandered about the city for a while, then returned to the dock.

“Eight o'clock and the sun is still high,” Joe mused.

“We're almost in the land of the midnight sun,” Frank said. “The clerk told me the sun won't set until eleven
P
.
M
.”

The air was quite cool and held a faint aroma of fresh-caught fish mingled with the tang of mountain pines. As they stood on the dock, a
motorboat came put-putting toward them. Its lone occupant was a grizzled old man. His face was heavily whiskered and he wore a sea captain's cap.

“You fellers lookin' for a boat to rent?” he shouted up to them.

Frank nodded. “That's right. How did you know?”

“Dock guard told me,” the old man explained. “I'll hire this ‘un out cheap. Come on down an' look it over. I'll even take you out for a spin.”

The Hardys eagerly climbed down the nearest ladder to a pile of rocks near the water line. As they were about to board the boat, two shadowy figures loomed out from under the dock, grabbed the boys, and pinioned their arms in a viselike grip.

“A trap!” Joe shouted.
“Help!”

His outcry was silenced by a blow on the head. Both boys were knocked unconscious.

F
RANK
was the first to revive. His feet were numb with cold, and he was biting on a wad of cloth. When he tried to move, his muscles ached.

As his mind cleared, Frank realized he was bound and gagged. Then he remembered the old boatman and the sudden assault. His attackers had roped him to one of the wharf pilings!

A few feet away Joe was gagged and tied to another dock timber. He moaned as consciousness returned.

Suddenly Frank realized their feet were in the icy water. Already the waves were lapping above their ankles. The tide was rising, and the slimy dock pilings showed the high-water mark was more than a foot above their heads!

Frantically the two boys scanned the harbor. The only movement was a fishing boat far beyond
the breakwater. No one would notice their plight in the semidarkness under the dock.

Some time later, back at the hotel, Chet awoke from his nap.

“Getting dark out,” he noticed, switching on the bedside lamp and glancing at his wrist watch. “Wow! Five after eleven! Wonder if Frank and Joe are back yet.”

Chet opened the connecting door and peered into the Hardys' room. Their beds were empty.

He hurried to the lobby and inquired at the desk. After checking the key rack, the clerk told him that the Hardys had not returned.

“Now what do I do?” Chet asked himself. The next moment he decided that the most likely place to pick up their trail would be the waterfront. Perhaps they had met Ted Sewell there.

Striding along quickly, Chet made his way to the docks and paced along the seaplane base and rows of fishing boats.

“Frank! Joe!” he called. There was no answer.

Then Chet noticed a guard lounging against a shed, smoking his pipe.

“Have you seen two young fellows around here?” Chet asked.

The guard scratched his jaw. “Oh sure! I remember now. There was two lads here a couple o' hours ago. Asked me about rentin' a boat.”

“Any idea where they went?”

The man gestured with his pipe. “The last I seen of 'em was on the dock.”

Chet walked out on the pier to scan the harbor. Perhaps, he thought hopefully, his friends had hired a boat for a spin. But there was no craft in sight on the darkening waters.

As he stood wondering what to do, he heard a muffled noise.
Bump! Bump!

The sound seemed to come from under the dock. Getting down on his hands and knees, Chet peered over the side, but he could make out nothing in the heavy gloom.