Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The boys gave their craft a stiff push into deep water. Then they scrambled onto it and began paddling toward the middle of the Amazon.
The strong current caught the raft, propelling it along at a rapid rate. “No use fighting this,” Joe panted. “The best we can do is travel on a diagonal line downstream.”
Dipping their makeshift paddles rhythmically into the water, the boys managed to guide their raft toward the lanes followed by river traffic.
Frank ceased paddling and looked around at
the bare expanse of water, sky, and jungle. “We seem to have the Amazon all to ourselves.”
Joe also shipped his paddle. “Well, we're far enough out, Frank. There'll be boats coming by and we'll be able to hitch a ride back to Manaus.”
He rose to his feet, shaded his eyes with his hands, and squinted up the river. A dot on the horizon grew larger. The outline of a substantial vessel took shape.
“Tour ship coming,” Joe announced jubilantly. “I'll flag it down.” Taking off his shirt, he fastened it to his paddle by the cuffs. Then he began to wave his improvised flag at the ship, which slowed down and eased alongside.
A rope ladder swung down over the railing. The boys quickly mounted to the deck. In the captain's cabin, they told him that they had become lost in the jungle on the previous night.
“Where do you wish to go?” the captain asked.
“To Manaus,” Frank answered.
“We will be glad to take you.”
“Thank you very much, sir.”
Frank and Joe freshened up and had a second breakfast. “Good thing we still got our money,” Frank said with a grin. “It got soaked, but it'll still buy us what we need.”
“How about a plane trip back to Belem?” Joe asked.
“Good idea. The only thing is, who's going to take us?”
Joe shrugged. “We'll just have to make it to the airport and play it by ear.”
It was about noontime when the Hardys arrived in Manaus. After getting their bags, they took a taxi to the airfield and Frank inquired if Rico Armand happened to be there.
The airport manager, a rotund Brazilian with a bald head, shrugged. “If you know his plane, go out and look around. There are many small planes coming in here and I do not know all the pilots by name.”
The boys made a methodical search of the field.
“Hey, Frank,” Joe said, “doesn't that crate look like the one we came on?”
“Sure does. I recognize the number. Wow, are we in luck!”
“Tell you what,” Joe said. “I'll stay here by the plane while you try to locate Armand.”
“Okay.” Frank left. He returned a half hour later without the pilot. “Somebody told me he'd be flying out about three o'clock,” he said. “But no one knows where he is now.”
“We'll wait right here,” Joe said. “It's our best bet.”
The boys squatted down beside a hangar from where they could keep the plane under surveillance. Rico Armand appeared about a half hour later. He was surprised to see the boys, who quickly asked for a ride back to Belem.
“Sure, get in,” the pilot said. “I'll be glad to take you.”
They arrived in Belem in the evening and found a small hotel to spend the night. After dinner they discussed the situation.
“What next?” Joe asked, stifling a yawn.
“Obviously the Brazilian angle was nothing but a wild-goose chase,” Frank said. “We were lured here by San Marten and his gang to be eliminated.”
“Suppose Retson had come instead of sending us?”
“Then no doubt he would have run into the same difficulties.”
“Too bad we didn't learn where Graham really is,” Joe said with a sigh.
“Back north most likely meant the United States. I vote we return to Granite City and work on the case from there,” Frank said.
“I'm with you. Maybe we can get our papers tomorrow.”
At the American Consulate the next day the Hardys were greeted by the same man they had spoken to before. “Your passport problem is solved,” he told them. “The lost ones have been canceled. Here are a couple of identification cards that will enable you to return home.”
“Thank you, sir,” Frank replied.
The young detectives made plane reservations
and sent a cable to their family, saying they would be on a late-afternoon flight from Belem to New York. Then they taxied to the airport, bought tickets, and boarded a jet.
Before they left the ground, Joe, who was at the window, nudged his brother. “Frank, look at that!”
They saw a crate with a howler monkey being lifted into the hold of a plane operated by another airline. The animal stood on its hind legs, grasping the bars, and peered through with sharp black eyes.
“Would you say that's Diabo?” Joe asked.
“Hardly. This one has a pleasant face, not at all like the leering monster we tangled with.”
They landed at Kennedy Airport the following morning. After they made their way through customs, they found Chet Morton waiting for them with a big grin.
Joe clapped their freckle-faced friend on the shoulder. “Chet, how did you know we were coming?”
“I had something to do for my dad in New York. Before I left, your mother called me. She got your cable and asked me to let you know your father's coming in on the shuttle from Washington just about now. He'll join us for the connecting flight to Bayport.”
The three youths went to the shuttle terminal coffee shop to kill time while waiting for Fenton
Hardy. They took a booth near a window where they could see the planes coming down for a landing.
After the waitress had served them, Frank sipped his coke. “How's business, Chet? Last we knew Phil and Tony were joining forces with you in the golf ball project.”
“Anvone drown in a water hazard yet?” Joe needled their rotund pal.
Chet downed a bite of doughnut. “You guys don't take scavenging seriously enough,” he said. “Business is booming. We've recovered about a thousand balls. At least a hundred bucks apiece for each of us.”
Frank brought the conversation around to the mystery. “Chet, what's going on in Whisperwood? Everything quiet out there?”
“Quiet!” Chet exclaimed. “Are you kidding? Mrs. Retson has disappeared!”
Frank drew a sharp breath. “Disappeared!” he repeated incredulously.
“Gone! Scrammed! Vamoosed!” Chet replied.
“Give us the facts,” Joe said grimly.
“First I learned about it was when I went up to the house the day after you left. Mr. Retson blew his top. Told me his wife had vanished from her room.”
“What about Hopkins the nurse?” Frank put in. “She must have been on duty.”
“Says she heard nothing. She was eating her
lunch in another room. When she returned, she found the bed empty. She's been having hysterics. Claims you two upset Mrs. Retson so much she just up and ran away.”
“So we have two mysteries,” Frank said. “First it was Graham, now it's his mother.”
“There must be some connection,” Joe observed. “I'll bet San Marten is behind this too.”
“Maybe Mrs. Retson received a secret message from Graham,” Chet ventured. “He might have let her know somehow where she could find him.”
“It's possible,” Frank replied. “Joe and I failed to locate Graham in Brazil.” He told Chet about their trip.
Suddenly Chet said, “Do you know a guy who wears a Panama hat?”
Frank shook his head. “I can't think of anyone.”
“Me either,” Joe chimed in. “Why?”
“There's a man standing in the doorway who seems awfully interested in you!”
J
OE
casually turned around for a look. The doorway was empty!
“Whoever it was, he's gone,” Joe said.
“Well, he sure gave you fellows the once-over,” Chet stated. “Kept staring at you as if you were his long-lost cousins.”
A sudden thought caused Joe to sit bolt upright. “What if this character followed us from Belem, Frank! Maybe it was San Marten!”
“What did the man in the Panama hat look like?” Frank asked.
“Small, scrawny. Has blond sideburns. Wears steel-rimmed spectacles.”
Joe breathed a sigh of relief. “It wasn't San Marten, thank goodness.”
“Could be one of his gang,” Frank stated. “On the other hand, maybe the man thought we were somebody else and realized his mistake.”
“Well, I watched him for a while to make sure,” Chet said. “He never took his eyes off this booth till Joe turned around.”
“Listen, they're announcing Dad's plane,” Frank said.
Joe nodded. “Let's go outside and meet him.”
The boys quickly paid their check and went to the gate. The detective came through shortly and shook hands with all of them.
“How much time do we have before our flight leaves for Bayport?” he asked.
“An hour, Dad,” Joe replied.
“Then let's park ourselves somewhere and compare notes about our investigations.”
“Okay, Dad,” Frank said.
They went to the airline waiting room, where they settled themselves in easy chairs around a low table. Mr. Hardy kept a firm grip on his black briefcase.
“This is loaded with vital documents,” he said in an undertone. “I'd be in big trouble if a thief grabbed it and got away.”
“Have you had any breaks in your investigation of the passport gang?” Joe asked.
“Yes. A man carrying one of the stolen and doctored passports was apprehended at Kennedy Airport.”
Chet looked glum. “Then there's nothing for us to do, Mr. Hardy. You solved the case without us.”
The Bayport detective smiled. “Not quite, Chet. Our suspect clammed up. I'll have to run down more clues before I collar the ringleader. You fellows and your pals may come in handy before we round up the gang. By the way,” he continued, “how's your own case progressing? Have you found Graham Retson?”
Frank described their fruitless quest for Graham in Brazil and Joe told about San Marten's attempts to eliminate them, including an account of the hideous Diabo.
Mr. Hardy frowned. “I didn't think the Retson case was going to be that dangerous,” he said, sounding worried.
“That isn't all, Dad,” Joe went on. “We haven't found Graham, and now Mrs. Retson is missing.”
“Come again?”
“Chet can explain. He was there.”
Chet repeated the story of how Mrs. Retson had vanished from her room.
“As I understand it, Chet, you, Phil and Tony were supposed to keep Whisperwood under surveillance,” Mr. Hardy said mildly.
“Correct, sir,” Chet said. “But we were out golf ball scavenging when Mrs. Retson got away.”
A voice over the loudspeaker announced that the plane for Bayport was ready to board. Gripping his briefcase firmly under his left arm, Mr. Hardy led the way to the ramp. Once on board,
he retired to the back of the lightly loaded plane to examine some papers. Frank and Chet took two seats together, while Joe sat in the same row across the aisle. There was nobody behind them. Only a few passengers were scattered around the rest of the cabin, and several went to sleep as soon as the plane became airborne.
Chet unbuckled his seat belt and returned to the subject of golf balls. “You want to know the system I've worked out so we don't miss any?” he asked.
“Sure,” Frank said.
“Well, Phil and Tony work as my divers.”
“What do you need them for? I thought the suction pump did the trick,” Joe said.
“It does, in most cases. But some of the water holes and lakes are too deep and my hose doesn't reach down. So I hold a bushel basket on a long rope and let Phil and Tony fill it up. We've brought back quite a haul every time.”
“And that way
you
don't get wet,” Frank noted.
Chet assumed a hurt look. “You guys know me better than that. I'm the brains of the operation. I've got to direct traffic topside.”
Frank and Joe kept needling their pal. Suddenly he jarred them by saying, “Something mysterious is going on at the Olympic Health Club!”
“I thought you couldn't get a contract there,” Joe said. “How did you get in?”
“Oh, I didn't,” Chet admitted. “But I have an agreement with the golf course next door. During the night I saw strange things over at the Olympic. So did Phil and Tony. They'll back me up.”
“What kind of strange things, Chet?” Frank asked.
“Flickering lights on the roof. They flashed on and off, then went out for good. We never saw that happen before. Couldn't figure out what it meant.”
“Was that all?” Joe inquired.
“No. There were peculiar noises, too. Like someone shouting. At first I thought I was hearing things. But when Phil and Tony came up from their dive, they heard it too.”
“Did you investigate?”
“We climbed over the fence and sneaked into the golf course. But whoever was there had gone by the time we made it.”
As the boys talked, Fenton Hardy looked up from his papers. He noticed a man rise and walk slowly down the aisle. The passenger then eased himself into a seat behind Frank and Chet, who never noticed him.
Sensing something sinister about the man, Mr. Hardy strode down the aisle and paused to observe the stranger a few steps to the rear.
Covertly the man drew something from his pocket. Shielding his hands with his body, he
fiddled with the object until a metallic clicking sound occurred. He hunched over, feeling for the space between the seats in front of him, where Frank and Chet sat. With the other hand he guided a long slender tube into the space.
“Just a minute!” Fenton Hardy said sternly. He grabbed the man by the collar and hauled him out into the aisle. As he did, the plane hit some turbulence, jostling the passengers. Fenton Hardy was thrown to one side. The other man fell to the floor heavily, with the tube under his hand. He lost consciousness!