The Secret Of Skull Mountain Part 13

"Want me to go out in the Sleuth Sleuth with you?" Biff asked. with you?" Biff asked.

"I wish you would, Biff," Joe told him frankly. "It must be pretty monotonous all alone. And two pairs of eyes are better than one."

"It's okay with me," Biff said. "I've fished for everything else in these waters. I may as well try my luck at catching a decoy duck!"

"I'm afraid you wouldn't find a decoy very appetizing!" Joe laughed.

Joe ran Chet back to the boat landing in the Sleuth, Sleuth, towing the skiff behind. They tied towing the skiff behind. They tied the skiff to the landing, and Chet stepped onto the dock.

"Guess it's time for me to go and watch Klenger's shop," he announced importantly.

"Make sure you don't lose it," Joe ribbed him.

The Hardy boy, with Biff sitting in the c.o.c.kpit beside him, again headed the speedboat out into the bay and started back toward the cove where the skiff had been. Chet watched the speeding craft as it bounded over the water, then started for Main Street 130 The Secret 01 Skull Mountain where he was to take up his job of watching the plumbing shop.

As Joe had told him, the shop was closed. But Chet peered through the plate-gla.s.s window, hoping to detect a sign of activity inside.

Finding nothing that aroused his suspicion, he looked for a place where he could screen himself and still watch the store.

Directly across the street was a hot-dog and orange-juice stand. Chet brightened. No one, he reasoned, would suspect him of spying if he was stationed there.

He went across the street, and after exchanging a few pleasantries with the proprietor, he bit happily into a hot dog, washing the frankfurter down with a tall, cool gla.s.s of orange juice.

"This is the life!" he told himself complacently.

Chet envisioned himself as a man of Mr. Hardy's age, or maybe a few years younger.

He, too, was an internationally famous detective-a private eye whose daring deeds were known and respected the whole world over. People clamored for his services, but Chet disdained all cases except those that were a real challenge to his courage and ingenuity.

Chet sighed happily. Then the horn of a pa.s.sing car brought him back to reality.

Ten hot dogs and twelve gla.s.ses of orange juice later, Chet was ready to give up the idea of being a detective.

Nothing exciting had happened at the shop across 131 the street, and the monotony of watching-together with a slight stomach-ache-made the would-be detective wish he had stayed in the skiff.

Chet consulted his notebook. Several people had called at the plumbing shop, rattling the door and knocking on the window when they discovered the store was closed.

He had dutifully written down a description of the callers and the license numbers of the cars in which some of them came. But nothing about them struck Chet as suspicious.

He closed the notebook and looked at his watch. He had been spying on the shop for three hours.

"Golly," he complained. "How much longer am I supposed to stay on this job?"

It occurred to him that neither Mr. Hardy nor Joe had set a time for him to quit, and he perked up.

"Guess I'll have one more hot dog," he decided, "and then break off."

The proprietor looked at Chet as he put the money on the counter.

"What, agjiin?" he said.

He shook his head wonderingly and rang up the sale on the cash register.

Chet bit off a huge piece of the frankfurter, then turned to face the store again. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

A man was unlocking the door of the plumbing shop! He glanced furtively up and down the street^ then disappeared insideJ

CHAPTER XV.

The Dancing Duck.

chet stared at the shop with mounting excitement, and wondered what he ought to do.

He tried to imagine what Frank and Joe would do if they were in his place, but failed.

Putting down the hot dog, Chet walked nervously across the street to the shop. He peered cautiously through the window, but the man seemed to have disappeared into a rear room of the store.

Chet wet his lips, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He tried the door and found with relief that it was locked.

Desperately he looked up and down the street and then sighed in relief. Coming toward him, swinging his night stick as if he didn't have a care in he world, was Patrolman Con Riley!

Chet beckoned to him excitedly. The policeman ttared at the boy placidly, then eyed him with 132.

133 suspicion as Chet dragged him into the doorway of the adjoining store.

"What've you been up to?" Riley demanded.

Chet explained the situation as rapidly as he could. At mention of the Hardys, the patrolman grew sullen. Only recently he had been made to look a fool by one of the boys'

clever deductions, and he still smarted from the experience. But Fen-ton Hardy's interest in the shop made him pause. He did not wish to be accused of not cooperating with the detective.

Riley pushed back his cap and scratched his head.

"We'll just have to wait till the bird comes out," he decided.

After a few minutes, the man Chet had seen reappeared. He was small and furtive-looking, and he walked with a limp. Under his arm he carried a ledger.

Glancing hurriedly up and down the street, the man locked the door of the plumbing shop.

"Let me handle this," Riley said importantly.

He stepped out of the adjoining doorway, swinging his club.

"Here, you," he said officiously. "What were you doing in that store?"

A look of fright came into the man's eyes, and he shrank back.

"No, you don't!" Riley cried, catching hold of his his coat. "You got some explaining to do!" coat. "You got some explaining to do!"

134 Riley fixed the man with a stern look, conscious of the crowd that was rapidly a.s.sembling.

"Now, then," he said. "What's your business?"

"I-I'm a friend of Mr. Klenger's," the man stammered. "He sent me to the store on an errand."

"A likely story!" the policeman sneered. "You'll have to do better than that, my friend-or I'll run you in!"

"It's true!" the man cried.

"Ask him for identification," Chet suggested.

Riley glared at the boy.

"Let's see your wallet," he told the man shortly.

The man reached for his wallet and took out a business card. He extended it to the patrolman with shaking fingers.

"You can see for yourself," he declared. "I'm a bookkeeper. Mr. Klenger gave me the keys to his shop so I could go over his accounts."

Riley read the printing on the card as Chet looked at it over his shoulder. It said: charles martin Certified Public Accountant "Maybe it's not his card," Chet said brightly. "Maybe he got it from somebody else!"

The stout, red-faced patrolman glared at him again.

"I'm handling this!" he declared pompously. He handling this!" he declared pompously. He 135 turned back to the small, frightened-looking man. "Gimme that ledger," he ordered.

The man surrendered it reluctantly. Riley opened the account book and turned the pages. At that moment, a tall, thin man wormed his way through the crowd.

"Pardon me," he said to the small man, with a significant look. He b.u.mped into Riley and knocked the ledger from the policeman's hands. "Oops-sorry!"

Riley fumed as the stranger pushed past him.

"Why don't you watch where you're going?" he shouted.

"Look out!" Chet yelled. "He's getting away!"

The patrolman stared at him. "Who?" he asked.

"The-the bookkeeper!" Chet said, hopping up and down in his excitement.

Riley's jaw dropped. The small man was dodging through the crowd, the ledger clutched under his arm!

"Stop!" the patrolman roared, trying to run after him. "Stop that man!"

A motorcycle stood at the corner of the street just ahead of the two fleeing men. The thin stranger jumped into the driver's seat and the bookkeeper scrambled up behind, then the motorcycle roared away.

Chet's eyes popped as the machine's motor misfired, then leveled off into a peculiar, uneven 136 rhythm. It was the machine Frank and Joe had told him about.

"Hey!" he cried. "That's the motorcycle Mr. Kimball reported missing!"

Riley flung his cap on the pavement, put his hands on his hips and glared at the youth.

"You got me into this!" he shouted, working himself into a rage. "First, you make me lose a prisoner, then you tell me about the motorcycle when it's too late!" He brandished his club threateningly at Chet. "If I ever catch you around this shop again, ni_ni_"

What horrible fate awaited him at the policeman's hands, Chet never knew. He was too busy running down the street.

At the Hardys' house, Chet found Mr. Hardy and Frank deep in conversation.

"Hi!" he greeted Frank. "What happened to you?"

Frank told him, and Chet stared disbelievingly.

"Gosh!" he exclaimed. "And I thought my my experience was exciting!" experience was exciting!"

"What was it?" Mr. Hardy asked.

Chet described his adventure with Patrolman Riley. Chet took it seriously and dreaded meeting the policeman again, but Frank laughed-and even Mr. Hardy could not help smiling.

Then the detective said, "That explains why Sweeper wasn't in his father's office when I went to see Mr. Kimball this morning."

137 Seeing the question in the boys' eyes, lie related the story of his visit to Brookside.

The thin man was definitely Timothy Kimball, Jr., he told them. Sweeper was a nickname that had been given to young Kimball when he was captain of his college crew.

"Mr. Kimball is extremely upset about his son," Mr. Hardy concluded. "Up to now, he's done everything he could to shield Sweeper and cover up for him. But he agrees that his son is too deeply involved in Dr. Foster's disappearance to be protected in the future. I think we can count on Mr. Kimball to give us any information he learns about the gang," he added.

"What about the man with the limp?" Cliet asked.

Mr. Hardy shrugged. "Obviously he's a confed erate," he stated. "We'll check on him later."

He looked at Chet meaningly.

"I've a hunch the plumbing shop is being used for the gang's purpose," he said. "It may pay us to post a regular watch on it."

Chet turned pale.

"You mean me?" he stammered weakly.

"Why not?" the detective queried. "You did a good job today. It wasn't your fault the men got away."

Chet beamed at the unexpected praise.

"You just leave it to me, Mr. Hardy," he said importantly. "Ill keep an eye on everything; that goes on at the shop!"