“What's this all about?” Frank protested. “We're not crooks.”
“Identify yourselves.” Frank and Joe pulled out their wallets and produced the necessary cards.
“Our father is Fenton Hardy,” Frank said. “He used to work for the New York Police Department.”
“I've heard of him. Good cop,” said Mulvey. Then he apologized for the mistake. “But we have to follow up every tip we get.”
“Tip?” Joe asked.
Detective Mulvey said a man had telephoned the police, saying that two dangerous criminals had registered in Room 306 at the hotel.
“Somebody sure has a tail on us,” Joe commented. “Who do you suppose he could be, Frank?”
“Beats me.”
The detective spoke up. “Whoever it is, you obviously have an enemy. This is a rough neighborhood. I advise you to return to Bayport.”
“We've got to find a man named Milo Matlack,” Joe said. “Do you know of anybody in this neighborhood by that name?”
The three officers, who had just recently been assigned to cover the area, shook their heads. “But that doesn't mean a thing,” said the detective. “A lot of the characters around here use aliases.”
After the police left, Frank and Joe flopped down in the decrepit, overstuffed chairs, half angry, half amused.
“What a joke!” Joe burst out. “We're trying to catch an ex-con and we almost get nabbed instead. I feel as if I'm in left field without a glove.”
“At least we've been alerted,” Frank said. “We'll be on our guard every second.”
After supper in a nearby restaurant the Hardys decided to turn in early. “Tomorrow we'll investigate that house first thing,” said Frank.
As a precaution against prowlers the boys stood guard in four-hour shifts. The night passed uneventfully, however.
After an early breakfast, the boys walked to No. 47. They climbed the steps and rang a rusted bell. Several minutes went by. Finally the door opened just enough to disclose a woman in a faded pink housecoat peering out over the safety chain.
Frank introduced himself and Joe. “We'd like to talk to you about Milo Matlack, please.”
“Milton who?”
“MiloâMilo Matlack. He lives here with his sister.”
“Never heard of him.” The woman's eyes, close-set in her pudgy face, regarded the Hardys blankly. She brushed her straggling hair back from her forehead. “You boys got the wrong place. Ain't nobody with that name lives here, and I know all my tenants.”
“But did Mr. Matlack live here at one time?” Joe said, growing impatient.
“Maybe yes, maybe no.” The woman was about to close the door when a sudden noise from above made Joe glance up.
“Frank, look out!” he cried out. A metal trash can was hurtling down toward the boys. They leaped aside, but the can grazed Frank's shoulder, clattered on the steps, and rolled down to the sidewalk.
“Let us in!” Joe demanded. “Someone on your roof is trying to kill us!”
The safety chain clicked open. The Hardys dashed past the startled woman and ran up four flights of stairs to the roof. They glanced about in all directions.
“Over there.” Frank pointed.
The small, monkeylike figure of a man was poised on the roof edge. He gave a flying leap and landed nimbly atop the next building.
“After him!” Joe urged.
Frank and Joe had to spring with all their might to equal the monkey man's leap across the five-story-high chasm. In doing so, they both sprawled on the tar roof of the adjacent building. By the time the boys had pulled themselves up, the small man had slithered down the fire escape and jumped to the ground.
Long before Frank and Joe had descended the iron ladder, their quarry was out of sight.
“Great horned toads!” said Frank, rubbing his bruised shoulder. “Who was that nut?”
“Just somebody trying to knock us off,” Joe said angrily, and the boys hastened back to pursue their inquiry. The landlady now stood at the bottom of the front steps, having retrieved the trash can.
“You hurt?” she asked Frank.
He nudged Joe, then replied, “I hope not, ma'am. But that was a close call. I could've been killed.”
“You won't sue me or nothin'?” the woman said, wringing her fat hands.
As if debating with himself, Frank did not reply. The woman grew more nervous by the second. Joe now looked her squarely in the eye.
“We won't make any trouble for you, if you tell us about Matlack.”
“Oh, all right,” she said, unhappily beckoning the boys to step closer. “I don't want nobody to hear what I'm tellin' you,” she whispered. “And don't you say I told you.”
After Frank and Joe had promised not to betray her confidence, the woman admitted that Matlack and his sister had lived there. “They're gone now,” she added, gesturing with her hands. “I can't tell you nothin' more.”
“Okay,” Frank said. “Thanks.”
The boys walked slowly down the street, conjecturing about the strange actions of the monkey man.
“I bet he's in cahoots with Matlack,” said Joe.
“It's possible. Say, now that we know Matlack lived here,” Frank went on, “let's question some of the other people on the block.”
“Okay.”
They entered what seemed to be primarily a hardware store, but which also contained a jumble of miscellaneous articles.
“Boy, what a junk shop!” Joe murmured as they approached the short, squat man behind the counter. He peered gravely at the Hardys through thick-lensed glasses.
“We're looking for a man named Matlack,” Frank said. “We understand he used to live in this neighborhood. Do you know anything about him?”
The stout man stared unblinkingly at the Hardys, first at Frank, then at Joe, as if sizing them up. Then, suddenly, he broke into raucous laughter.
“Can't you answer our question?” asked Joe, annoyed.
The man stopped laughing. “Are you kiddin'?” he said gruffly. “If you guys don't want to buy nothin', get out!”
He stalked to the back and disappeared through a doorway. The Hardys shrugged and left.
Joe grumbled, “He must have had raw meat for breakfast!”
The boys continued down the street. Both were so engrossed in their quest they were unaware that two tough-looking youths were trailing them, until one roughly elbowed Frank.
“Move over!” he snarled. “You own the whole street?”
“Excuse us,” Frank said calmly.
“Oh, excuse us,” the youth echoed mockingly. “Hey, Spike! A couple of real polite country boys!”
Joe turned on the pair, but his brother restrained him. “Come on, Joe. Let's not waste our time. These two are spoiling for trouble.”
The Hardys started on, but the second tough clamped a hand on Joe's shoulder, spinning him around. This was too much for Joe. He seized his assailant, and with a flying mare sent him over his shoulder. The fellow landed on his back with a grunt. His pal, meanwhile, had tried to grapple with Frank, but his success was no greater. Frank applied a half nelson, until beads of sweat stood out on his opponent's forehead. Then, with a shove, Frank sent him sprawling. The two thugs, muttering threats, retreated into an alley. The Hardys headed straight toward their hotel.
“Listen, Joe,” Frank said, “we've got to plan some strategy. We're getting nowhere in a hurry.”
They were about to mount the steps to the hotel's front door when a grizzled, gaunt, shifty-eyed man approached them. “Ohâoh, this bum wants a handout,” Joe said in a low voice. “He must be king of the down-and-outers.”
Despite the warm weather, the man wore a long, threadbare overcoat which nearly touched the ground. His brown hair was streaked with gray and slicked back. A dead cigarette dangled from one corner of his mouth.
“Whatcha say boys, whatcha say!” mumbled the man. “How about a dime for a cup o' coffee?”
“Oh, we might as well,” Joe whispered. “It'll be worth it to get rid of him.”
“Wait a minute.” Frank addressed the pan-handler.
“Have you been around this neighborhood long?”
The beggar's long, sharp nose twitched and his foxy-looking eyes nearly closed with mirth as he said with a chuckle, “Long! I'll sayâI was born here.”
“Then you must know the people on this block, right?” Frank queried.
“Sure do. You lookin' for somebody special?”
“Yes, a man named Milo Matlack.”
Frank and Joe watched closely for the stranger's reaction. His brows furrowed deeply and his eyes rolled from side to side, as if searching his memory.
“Yeah, I know Matlack,” the man finally said.
âCan you tell us where he is?” Joe put in eagerly. “It's important.”
The tramp rubbed his fingertips over the moth-eaten labels of his coat with evident satisfaction.
“Soâyou wanna know where Milo Matlack is, eh?”
“That's the idea,” Frank said somewhat sharply, realizing the man was purposely delaying an answer.
“Well, I can tell you.” The tramp thrust his grizzled chin at Frank. “I can tell youâfor a price!”
CHAPTER V
Dead End
JOE HARDY could barely control his irritation. He opened his mouth to protest, but his brother muttered, “Cool it.”
Frank then calmly turned to the man. “What is your price, Mr.â”
“Prince. Mortimer Prince is my name, and my price is a hundred dollars.”
“No. That's out!” Frank said in disgust, and began to mount the steps.
Mortimer Prince tugged at Frank's arm. “We can bargain, can't we?” he said with a shrug. “So you ain't got a hundred dollars. How about fifty?”
“I wouldn't give you even a dime,” Frank said icily, shrugging off the grimy hand.
“All right, all right, don't get mad,” the bum said hastily. “Tell you whatâI'll settle for some grub.”
“It's a bargain,” Frank said quickly. “All you can eat if you tell us where to find Milo Matlack.”
Mortimer Prince grinned cheerily and beckoned the boys to follow him. Halfway down the block he ushered them into a dingy place called “Jack's.” The three took seats at a small round table.
The vagrant blithely ordered six hamburgers and a double plate of baked beans. As he dived into the food, the boys plied him with questions, but Mortimer did not reply.
“Can't talk while I'm eatin',” he mumbled through a mouthful of meat.
The Hardys waited with growing impatience. With a huge sigh of relish, Mortimer swallowed the last of the beans, wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve, then asked the boys for pencil and paper.
“I'll keep my promise,” he said. “I'll show you how to find Matlack.”
Frank produced a pencil and Joe a piece of paper, which the derelict took into his grubby hands. “I'll draw you a map where theâerâtreasure is,” he said.
“You mean Milo Matlack?” Joe said quizzically.
“Yeah, he's the treasure you're lookin' for, ain't he?”
“Go ahead. Write,” Frank said.
The Hardys watched as the pencil moved, outlining a diagram of streets. Mortimer Prince sniffed and rubbed his nose. “Look, you fellows follow the arrow to this place marked X, see? That's where Matlack is.”
“Okay.” Frank folded the map and tucked it in his shirt pocket.
“Now I'd like some dessert,” Prince said. “Three scoops of ice cream'll do me.”
When he was served, the vagrant ate the ice cream with gusto, but paused occasionally to complain that it was too cold for his teeth. To the Hardys' great relief, he finished soon and stood up, proffering his hand to the boys. “No hard feelin's. We're fair an' square.”
Frank paid the bill, and the young detectives and their strange guest parted company.
“Leapin' lizards!” Joe exclaimed as he and Frank set off down the street. “They say you can meet any and all kinds in New York. And boy, I believe it!”
Frank laughed. Then suddenly he wheeled and grasped his brother's arm. “Joe, look!”
Reflected in a store window, next to them, was the monkeylike figure of their rooftop assailant! Both boys swung around. The monkey man, on the other side of the street, stood staring at them!
Impulsively Joe dashed across the road. A horn blared. Brakes screeched. A taxicab, bearing down on Joe, stopped a hairbreadth from his flying legs. The driver, red-faced, leaned out the window and shook his fist at Joe.
“You birdbrain! That's a quick way to get to the graveyard!”
Frank hastened to his brother's side, glancing about for the monkey man, but he had disappeared again.
“Joe, next time watch it!” Frank chided him.
“I'll say,” the angry taximan agreed. “Guys like you make it hard for a man tryin' to earn an honest livin'.”
“Okay, okay, I'm sorry,” said Joe. “We'll give you some business, anyhow.”
The Hardys hopped into the taxi and Frank showed the driver the map drawn by the tramp. “Can you take us to the place marked X?”
“It's over on Long Island,” the man said. “Cost you a fat fare.”
The driver sped off uptown, through a tunnel, and finally emerged onto a broad highway. Presently he turned off and half an hour later slowed down at a small cemetery. To the Hardys' astonishment, the driver turned into the cemetery entrance, stopped, and pointed to the X on the map.
“This is it, fellers.” With a wink at Joe and a chuckle, he added, “You got to the graveyard after all, didn't you?”