The Mystery of the Black Rhino (9 page)

“Someone went into Robert Namanga's room and turned off all of the life-support machines,” the secretary said. “I'm afraid he's . . .”

Frank and Joe looked at each other. They knew this wasn't an accident. Somebody had deliberately made sure that Robert wouldn't be able to identify the men who had beaten him.

“This isn't just a case of poaching anymore, is it, Dr. Malindi?” Frank said. “This is a case of murder.”

Dr. Malindi nodded. “Nothing is sacred to these people.”

Joe stood up. He was almost unable to contain his anger. After all that had happened yesterday, after they had reached the tourist minibus in time for the driver to radio Cheetah Gate, after the police helicopter had rescued Robert and taken him to the hospital—just in time to save his life—someone had slipped into the hospital and ended everything with a flick of a switch.

Dr. Malindi stood up. “I'm going to arrange for around-the-clock protection for Frank and Joe,” he said to Mr. Hardy. “My people will get a description of this man Jackson. I assure you of this: If one of the poachers would do this to Robert Namanga, they wouldn't hesitate to do this to your sons.” He turned to Frank and Joe. “I know that being protected will mean that you won't have as much freedom of movement for the remainder of your stay, but I think everyone in the Kenyan government would agree with me that your lives are in danger. We shouldn't take any chances.”

The Hardy boys glanced at their father, to see his reaction to Dr. Malindi's pronouncement. It was exactly what they had hoped it would be. Fenton Hardy would never expect his sons to stay in a hotel room when there was detective work to be done.

As the Hardy boys followed their father and Dr. Malindi to the police car that had been summoned to take them back to the New Stanley Hotel, Frank and Joe were already plotting their next move.

It wasn't easy getting out of the hotel. Dr. Malindi had been serious about police protection for the Hardy boys. There were men and women stationed at every exit and even patrolling the interior of the hotel itself.

“With our pictures in the newspapers on a daily basis, everybody in Nairobi knows what we look like. It's going to be hard slipping past any of the guards,” Frank complained. “But we have to check out Mombasa Curios again. I have a hunch that the shop holds the key to this.”

“I agree, Frank. We have to be creative if we're going to get out of this hotel,” Joe said.

It didn't take them long to think of a way out.

One trip to the gift shop in the lobby, ostensibly
to buy some African clothing for friends, allowed them to come away with two
vikoi
—loose-fitting saronglike wraps with hoods, which were worn by both men and women.

Back in their room, the Hardy boys plotted their strategy.

“We'll take the elevator up to the fifth floor, where the swimming pool is, talking louder than we need to about how relaxing a few laps will be,” Joe said. “Then, after we get up there, we'll change into the vikoi, and look for the nearest exit.”

Frank agreed that it was probably the most feasible plan of action.

Joe put the vikoi in a duffel bag that looked like something people would take with them to a pool, and he and Frank left the room. They nodded to a couple of police officers who just happened to pass them in the corridor.

The police officers stopped, waited to see which button the Hardy boys pushed on the elevator, and, when Joe pushed the up arrow, continued on down the corridor.

“That was easy,” Joe whispered.

“Don't jinx it,” Frank said. “We haven't gotten to the hard part yet.”

When they reached the fifth floor, the elevator doors opened to a waiting police officer—giving both boys a momentary shock.

“We were thinking about going for a swim,” Frank managed to say.

He didn't want to lie to the man. They actually
had
been thinking about swimming—earlier that morning.

The police officer smiled. “It's a nice pool,” he said.

As the boys stepped out of the elevator, the policeman stepped into it.

“For a minute there,” Joe said, “I thought he was going to call our bluff.”

“Well, let's not wait around to see if he changes his mind,” Frank said. “Let's get this show on the road.”

Frank and Joe were glad that no one else in the New Stanley Hotel had decided to take a swim. They were alone in the pool area. They made a complete circle of the deck, looking for the right exit, and finally decided that the best idea would be for them to dress in the vikoi, take the stairs down one floor, and then take the elevator back down to the ground floor.

“They won't be expecting that,” Frank said.

They hurriedly put the vikoi on over their regular clothes and set the empty duffel bag on top of one of the lockers. Mr. Hardy's name was on a tag attached to the handle, so whoever found it would know who it belonged to and would surely return it to their room.

Disguised, the Hardy boys quickly made their
way to their chosen exit, opened the door slowly, and peered into the stairwell. No one was in sight. Frank and Joe slipped through the door and headed to the fourth floor. When they got to the fire door, Joe opened it slowly and looked out. Two police officers were in the corridor, walking the other way.

“Well, it'll either work or it won't, Frank,” Joe whispered. “Let's see what happens.”

The Hardy boys slipped into the corridor as quickly and as quietly as they could. They didn't want the two police officers to turn around and see them coming from the stairwell. If they turned around, the boys hoped the police officers would just think they were coming from one of the rooms on this floor.

Frank and Joe made their way to the elevator without being noticed.

Joe pushed the down arrow.

By then the police officers had turned a corner in the rambling corridor that would take them into another wing.

“So far, so good,” Frank whispered.

“I just hope that the lobby is crowded as usual,” Joe whispered back. “Maybe there will be other men dressed the way we are.”

Luck was with them. Nobody paid any attention to the two men dressed in vikoi who made their way through the crowd toward the exit onto Kimathi Street.

Outside, they turned left, which took them to Kenyatta Avenue, then right for two more blocks, until they were on Moi Avenue.

Joe looked at his reflection in some of the shop windows they passed. “I don't recognize myself,” he said to Frank.

“Let's hope the man in the curio shop won't recognize us from the other day, either,” Frank said.

When they reached the front of Mombasa Curios, they pretended to look at the wares in the window.

“Do you see anyone we know inside?” Joe whispered.

“It's hard to tell. The shop is too dark, and what I'm mostly seeing is the reflection of the passing cars,” Frank said. “We'll have to take a chance and go inside.”

“If we keep our faces away from the shopkeeper as much as possible, maybe we can find out what we need to know without being exposed,” Joe said.

“On three, then,” Frank said. He counted to three, took a breath, and opened the shop door.

The bell jangled.

“May I help you?” a woman's voice asked.

Frank tried to disguise his voice. “We just want to look, thank you,” he said. “We're not sure what we want to buy.”

The woman went back to reading a magazine.

Frank and Joe made their way slowly through the shop. From time to time they'd pick up a carving, examine it, then replace it.

They were at the rear of the shop when the bell on the front door jangled again. Two elderly American couples had entered, talking rather loudly about what they had seen in the previous shop.

“They were much too expensive,” one of the men said. “Let's see what this place charges for the same thing.”

The woman at the counter had laid down her magazine and was approaching the couples with a smile. She had a hard time keeping up with them, because they were moving quickly through the store.

“Oh, these prices are wonderful,” one woman said. “I can get twice as much here as I could in that other shop.”

“Yes, and the quality is just as good, too,” the other woman said. “Why do you think he charged so much?” She turned to the woman who was showing one of the men a mask. “Why does that shop two doors down charge so much? It's outrageous. Your things are just as good—probably better.”

The woman gave her a weak smile.

“What do you call those?”

Frank turned to see one of the men looking at him.

“Excuse me?” Frank said, trying to maintain
the accent he had used with the shopkeeper.

“That hooded robe thing you have on,” the man repeated. “What do you call that?”

“It's called a—,” Frank started to say.

But one of the women said, “Dear! Dear! Come here! You're not going to believe this! Don't you think Bob and JoAnn would just love to have one of these in their den?”

The man didn't wait for Frank to finish the answer to his question before he departed to see what his wife was looking at.

“Good. That was close. Maybe they'll be occupied for a while,” Frank whispered to Joe. He nodded to the door that led to the back of the shop. “It's not closed. Did you notice that?”

Joe nodded. “Let's get close while we can. Maybe we can overhear something.”

At that moment the bell on the door jangled again. This time it wasn't tourists looking for gifts to take back home with them. It was Jackson.

Frank and Joe ducked behind one of the shelves.

Without looking at anything or anyone, Jackson barged into the storeroom. He closed the door, but left it slightly ajar.

Immediately Frank and Joe hurried to the door to listen.

“He just called me from New York,” Jackson said.

“Why did he call you? I'm the one in charge of
his business operations in Kenya. And
you
report to
me.”
Frank and Joe recognized the voice. It was the shopkeeper they had talked to on their previous visit.

“He said your line was busy,” Jackson explained. “He wanted to tell us that he's not happy about what happened in the park yesterday.”

“Why would he be?” the shopkeeper said. “That cheetah's skin lost a lot of value because of your carelessness. You can't drag them or drop them and expect people to pay top prices.”

“It's those Hardy boys,” Jackson said. “He blames them for trying to destroy his business.”

“He needs to forget about those boys and take care of what's really important,” the shopkeeper said.

“Such as?” Jackson said.

“The black rhino!” the shopkeeper said. “My men have located one for him.”

“A black rhino! That's perfect,” Jackson said. “He's always wanted a black rhino. He'll pay a fortune for it! That'll make up for our other losses.”

“I know,” the shopkeeper said. “We can arrange for him to kill it in the wild himself.”

“How?” Jackson asked.

“It's all in knowing the right people,” the shopkeeper told him.

“Well, maybe he can take care of two things at once,” Jackson said.

“What do you mean?” the shopkeeper asked.

“When he comes from New York in two days,” Jackson said, “he can kill both the Hardy boys
and
the black rhino.”

The Hardy boys were barely able to hide before the door to the stockroom flung open and Jackson rushed out.

“Come on, Frank! We have to follow him,” Joe whispered. “If we find out where he's staying, we can inform the police, and maybe they'll take him in for questioning.”

Frank hesitated. “You're not forgetting that he wants to kill us, are you?” he whispered.

Joe shook his head.

The Hardy boys started for the front door of the shop.

“Hey, you never did tell me what you call that thing you're wearing,” the American tourist called to them.

“Vikoi,” Frank called back without looking at the man.

“What?” the man asked.

But Frank and Joe were already out the door and hurrying down Moi Avenue, trying to keep up with Jackson.

“I hope where he's going isn't too far from here,” Frank said. “I don't want to chase him all over Nairobi!”

As Jackson neared the corner of Moi Avenue and Biashara Street, he began to slow his pace. Finally he halted in front of a bus stop.

The Hardy boys stopped near a shop two doors down.

“Do you have any money for a bus ride, Joe?” Frank asked.

Joe nodded.

Just then a Kenya Bus Service vehicle pulled up to the stop. Frank noticed that the sign on the front indicated that it went to River Road.

“I read about that area. It's not the best part of Nairobi,” Frank said. “What do you think we should do?”

“We don't have a choice, Frank,” Joe said. “This guy is doing some serious damage.”

“You're right,” Frank said as Jackson stepped onto the bus. “Come on!”

The Hardys ran toward the bus. Just as the doors
began to close, they jumped on and took seats at the back.

Jackson was sitting two seats behind the driver. He hadn't even looked up when the Hardy boys passed him. Joe thought that his mind was probably still on the conversation he had just had with the shopkeeper in Mombasa Curios.

As the bus lumbered along River Road, Frank tried to memorize some of the landmarks. He knew that bus service in Nairobi was almost nonexistent at night, and that if they had trouble finding a taxi, they might have to walk back to the New Stanley Hotel.

As the bus was nearing Munyu Road, Jackson pulled the cord—to signal the driver that he wanted to get off—and started walking toward the front of the bus. Frank and Joe stood up, too, but stayed where they were on the bus until Jackson was on the sidewalk. The boys then discreetly followed the man off the bus.