Read The Flickering Torch Mystery Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Flickering Torch Mystery (5 page)
“Good idea,” Frank agreed. “And we'll take turns standing guard so we don't get taken by surprise. Suppose Tony takes the first watch, Biff the second, Joe the third, and me the last, okay?”
They found a good hiding place not far from the wharf and soon everyone but Tony was sound asleep. When his watch was over, he woke Biff, who did his turn and was succeeded by Joe.
The younger Hardy settled himself for his stint. Suddenly, in the stillness of the night, he heard a board creak. Rising to a crouching position, he peered through the darkness.
Dimly he could see someone slipping stealthily across the wharf toward the powerboat. The stranger carried a steel bar in his hand.
Joe had no time to wake the others. He raced forward on tiptoe, and jumped the intruder from behind. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs. The steel bar clattered onto the wharf.
Joe and his adversary rolled over and over. For a moment they teetered at the water's edge. Joe felt the man's hand under his chin, forcing his head back. Desperately he broke the hold. They wrestled wildly back over the boards.
By now the others were wide awake. Seeing Joe locked in combat with the intruder, they scrambled to their feet and came charging forward. But the stranger managed to break away from Joe. Jumping up, he dashed across the wharf and vanished.
They went down in a tangle of arms and legs
The boys took up the chase, but finally had to give up and returned to the wharf.
“We lost him!” Biff complained disgustedly.
“At least he didn't have a chance to sabotage the
Napoli,”
Frank remarked. “Did you get a good look at him, Joe?”
Napoli,”
Frank remarked. “Did you get a good look at him, Joe?”
“No. It was too dark.”
Frank stooped and picked up the steel bar. “Imagine what that guy could have done to Tony's boat with this!”
Tony shuddered. “I don't know about you,” he said, “but I won't get any more shut-eye now!”
“Well, it's almost daylight,” Frank noted. “Since I didn't have to stand watch, I'll go for coffee and buns.”
He trudged to an all-night diner on the road to the airport. Half an hour later Frank was back. The boys eagerly munched the rolls and drank the coffee.
Afterward, Biff gathered the cups and waxed paper, put the debris in the bag, and deposited it in a litter basket on the wharf. He and Frank then returned to the top of the cliff, while Joe and Tony boarded the
Napoli
for a run back to the beach.
Napoli
for a run back to the beach.
The tide was out. Tony jumped out into the wet sand. Joe followed with the Geiger counter. After a search of about twenty minutes, Tony suddenly ran toward a couple of rocks at the water's edge.
“Joe, here it is!” he called out excitedly.
An airplane engine was wedged in the sand between the rocks. Joe scraped the number clean.
“Scott's engine, all right,” he said. “Let's get it out.”
“How about taking a reading on the Geiger counter first to make sure it isn't dangerous?” Tony suggested.
“Okay.” Joe ran the instrument over the battered metal and the needle showed a small amount of radioactivity. “That's not enough to be harmful,” he remarked.
They dug the sand away. Hauling and straining, they rolled the engine up the beach toward the cliff. Here Joe took another test.
“The vacuum pump shows the highest reading,” he said.
“Why's that?”
“Search me. Let's take a closer look.”
They examined the vacuum pump housing at the rear of the engine. The vacuum line was broken off, allowing a view of the interior.
“That's funny,” Joe exclaimed, “the housing's empty! The works have been taken out. Now why would an experienced pilot like Jack Scott be flying without a vacuum pump? He should have known that without it he would lose control of the plane when flying on instruments in bad weather.”
“Maybe it fell out during the crash,” Tony theorized.
“Could be,” Joe admitted. “But why is the housing radioactive? That's the real puzzler. Anyway, we might find some answers when we put the engine through the lab test.”
“How are we going to get it home, by boat or car?” Tony asked.
“I think it'd be easier by car,” Joe said. “It might be rather heavy on the boat, especially if we hit rough water.”
He called up the cliff to Frank and Biff, announced the discovery of the engine, and told them to drop a rope.
Biff did so, attaching the other end of the rope to the bumper of the station wagon.
The boys below wrapped the rope around the engine, fastened it securely, then signaled to Biff. He started the car. The rope tightened, lifting the burden clear off the ground. Foot by foot it rose toward the top of the bluff.
Halfway up, however, the rope frayed, then snapped! The heavy airplane engine plummeted!
CHAPTER VI
The Stolen Fuselage
JoE and Tony scrambled for safety as the engine hurtled down. It struck a jutting rock, ricocheted off, and flipped over the boys' heads into deep water.
Chips of stone and a heavy shower of powdered rock enveloped the two boys. Coughing and sneezing, they stumbled away and collapsed onto the sand. There they lay gasping for breath.
“I nearly choked,” Joe said when he was able to speak.
“Me too,” Tony wheezed, wiping dust from his eyes. “Boy, that engine didn't miss us by much!”
“You guys all right?” Frank called anxiously.
“We will be, soon as we can breathe again,” Tony replied.
“What about the engine?” came Biff's voice.
“It's underwater. We'll need a stronger rope.”
“Don't have one.”
“Then we'll have to leave it until later,” Joe said.
Frank agreed. “We might as well make tracks for Bayport. Let's have a powwow at our house.”
He and Biff got into the car and drove off. Joe and Tony took the
Napoli
out into deep water for the run down the coast.
Napoli
out into deep water for the run down the coast.
Later in the day they all gathered at the Hardy home. Frank phoned Chet to come over. Mrs. Hardy served refreshments in the living room.
Frank and Tony occupied the sofa. Joe and Biff took the easy chairs. Chet sprawled on the floor, propping himself on one elbow. He had a tall glass of milk and a big plateful of crackers within easy reach.
“How about giving out with some info,” Chet said, downing a long gulp.
The others described their adventures at Marlin Crag.
Chet whistled softly under his breath. “Wow! You're lucky to be in one piece!”
Biff nibbled on a cracker. “Somebody's out to change that. But who? Mudd? If so, why?”
“Whoever it is has a good spy system,” Tony said. “They knew we found Scott's engine!”
Joe nodded. “That's why that roughneck tried to stave in our boat. They thought we were taking the engine out by sea!”
Frank considered the whole problem. “Since it's too late to take the
Napoli
back to Marlin Crag today, our best bet now is to start a search for Chet's missing fuselage.”
Napoli
back to Marlin Crag today, our best bet now is to start a search for Chet's missing fuselage.”
Chet swallowed the remains of a cracker and reached for another. “I'm with you on that, Frank!”
Frank chuckled. “I knew you'd be. Anyway, the fuselage is pretty big. The gang would have trouble hiding it.”
“They hid it from the police quite successfully,” Chet muttered.
Biff and Tony had to go home, so it was decided that the Hardys and Chet would scour the area between Bayport and Marlin Crag by car.
Frank wanted to check with the police first and called headquarters. He asked the sergeant on the desk whether any sign of the fuselage had been reported.
“You'll have to talk louder,” said the sergeant. “This is a bad connection. I can hardly hear you.”
Frank repeated his question.
“Oh, yes,” came the reply. “Take the highway north past the bridge, turn right, and continue a mile. You'll find it right there.”
“What luck!” Frank exclaimed as he hung up. “Let's go!”
He, Joe, and Chet hurried out of the house and piled into the Hardys' family car. Frank headed north at speed limit.
Spotting the bridge, he turned right. “Must be a dump we're looking for. Keep your eyes open. I'll clock the speedometer at exactly one mile, as the sergeant said.”
Frank slowed down when they covered that distance. “See anything?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Joe reported.
They continued on until they saw a motel ahead.
“Might as well turn around there,” Frank decided. “We must have missed it.” He drew up in the motel driveway. The words on a large bright neon sign glared: HUGHIE'S LODGE.
The truth hit the trio at the same time. Despite their disappointment, they burst out laughing.
“Frank,” Joe chortled, “when you said fuselage the sergeant must have mistaken it for Hughie's Lodge!”
After discussing their predicament, the boys decided to look at the big dumps northward from Bayport to Marlin Crag. At the first three they drew a blank.
“This plan isn't working,” Joe said, discouraged.
Chet sniffed. “Looking is better than doing nothing, Joe!”
“Let's try one more,” Frank proposed. “If we score another goose egg, maybe we'll come up with a new plan.”
The next dump was approximately halfway between Bayport and Marlin Crag. Frank drove in and circled past mountains of debris, some of it smoking from spontaneous combustion.
They were nearly at the exit when Chet called out, “Hold it, Frank. I see something!”
As the car stopped, Chet scrambled out in great excitement. He ran behind a pile of broken furniture and other discarded household items. A moment later he exclaimed, “I've found it!”
Frank and Joe ran over to see the lost fuselage, which looked none the worse than when Chet had bought it. All three began to drag the cumbersome load out onto level ground.
The Hardys examined what had once been the cockpit of the airplane. “Here's the number,” Frank said. “Looks pretty well smudged, but I can make it out. Chet should make a note of it.”
He called off the number, one figure at a time. Suddenly he stood up straight. “Joe! You know whose plane this is from?”
“The one Martin Weiss was flying when he cracked into the Marlin Crag cliff!” Joe said in a strained voice.
Frank circled around the rear, where he paused for a longer inspection. “Something bothers me,” he said.
“What's that, Frank?” Chet asked.
“The tailpost and the rear wheel are missing!”
“So?”
“It was there when you bought the thing.”
“Well, maybe it fell off in transport. What's a tailpost, anyway?” Chet asked.
“A hollow metal tube,” Frank explained. “It controls the movements of the rear wheel.”
“First we find Scott's engine, with a missing vacuum pump, then Weiss's fuselage with a missing tailpost,” Joe mused. “And Mudd doesn't want us to have either.”
“We have no proof that Mudd stole the fuselage,” Frank objected.
“No proof, but I don't have any doubt.”
“I'm with you,” Frank said. “Well, let's get this thing back to the farm, okay?”
The boys hired a local trucker to cart the fuselage to Bayport. Chet could hardly wait for his bulky prize to be unloaded.
Joe winked. “Suppose you fly us to Marlin Crag next time. We could use a crack pilot.”
“Sorry, Joe,” Chet replied. “I'm off your case. This baby will take up all my time.” He patted the fuselage affectionately.
“You'd better lock it up,” Frank suggested, “so it won't disappear again.”
He and Joe helped Chet move the fuselage into the barn, then they left. At home they found Sam Radley, who had just come from the oil refinery at Marlin Crag.
“The Gamble Oil Company, which operates the refinery,” he reported, “is a reputable firm. They burn off their excess gas at odd times, and I've been told that no one can manipulate the flame. Also, the pilots know about the stack and its location and could hardly be lured off course by it.”
Frank was disappointed. “Not much to go on,” he said glumly.
“No. And I drew another blank,” Sam went on. “Tried to get hold of Martin Weiss's parents, but they weren't home. Neighbors tell me they'll be back tomorrow. Suppose you fellows ride down to Pittston and interview them?”
“Glad to,” Frank said.
“What about the radioactive engine?” Joe queried.
“We'll pick that up on the way home. Let's take a block and tackle this time.”
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