The Sign Of The Crooked Arrow Part 7

"What is it?" Joe asked quickly.

Creech held a little capsule between his fingers, It was about an inch long. At one end was a tiny stem.

"What the d.i.c.kens is that?" Chief Collig thun. dered.

"Sort of a little bomb," the technician explained. "It could hold a liquid or a gas."

"What's the stem for?" Frank queried.

"That," Creech answered, "is a plunger. The end of the plunger was flush with one end of the cigarette."

"Would it release the stuff inside the capsule?" Joe asked.

"Right," came the reply. "Pressure on the plunger trips a spring inside the tiny vial to free whatever is in it."

"What was in the capsule?" Collig asked 68 "That I can't tell," Creech answered, "but I think it might have been some sort of gas."

Then he smiled at the boys and added, "Is this gadget for a party prank?"

"No, sirree," Frank replied. "I think the chief knows what it is. If he wants to tell you, that's all right with me."

Creech glanced at the chief, whose furrowed brow indicated he was battling with a tough problem. He looked at the Hardys.

"You boys have done Bayport a great service," he said. Then he turned to Creech. "This cigarette," he said, "is being used by criminals to knock out their victims."

Immediately it dawned on the technician. "I get it!" he exclaimed. "The crook holds the cigarette near the intended victim and presses the plunger. Then the gas, or whatever it is, knocks the person out long enough to be robbed!"

"Exactly," Frank said. "When I pressed the plunger by accident, I saw spots before my eyes and keeled over."

"This must be kept secret," Collig said. "Aside from telling Mr. Hardy and Sam Radley, you boys must keep this quiet."

As the three agreed, Frank added, "Wonder what kind of gas the crooks use? It had no lasting effect on me. I feel fine now."

6S; Again Collig pressed a b.u.t.ton on his desk. "Al's shop will be raided at once," he told the boys, as the door opened and a sergeant entered. "Want to come along?"

"You bet! And we'll have to hurry. Bearcat's probably tipped off Al by now," Frank said.

The police, led by the chief and the three boys, speeded to the shop. Their sirens were muted, so as not to advertise their arrival to Al or any of his confederates.

Chief Collig's aide deftly steered the big black police sedan through the downtown traffic and headed for the water front. Then, with tires and breaks squealing, it pulled up in front of Al's. In a moment two other carloads of police joined them.

Frank and Joe were told to stay in the rear, in case there should be trouble. Chet lingered at the sidewalk, fascinated by the squad of bluecoats who issued from the police cars.

"n.o.body's here!" exclaimed Collig in the lead.

"Hey, smells like something's burning," Frank cried out, joining him.

He ran to the back door and looked into the alley, just in time to see Al hotfooting it away. A smoldering package lay by the door.

"Stop!" Frank shouted at him.

As he called, two policemen appeared at the end of the alley, cutting off the man's escape. They 70 collared Al at once and brought him to Chief Collig.

Frank stamped out the fire in the package, most of which had been reduced to black char.

"Look here, chief!" Frank exclaimed, kicking what was left to one side and opening a a cigarette at arm's length. "They're Arrows!"

"What does this mean?" Chief Collig growled, addressing the surly Al.

"I ain't done nuthin' " came the reply. "Just burned some stale cigarettes."

Joe took one of them in his fingers. It had been burned halfway through. Nothing was left but half the capsule, which smoldered with a peculiar odor.

"The capsule burns!" he cried out. "It's made of some sort of plastic!"

"That's probably why we haven't found any evidence before," Collig said. "The thieves burn up the cigarettes and leave no evidence."

He ordered handcuffs slipped on Al. "Come on!" he said. "You've got a lot of explaining to do at headquarters."

"I ain't explainin' a thing," the man declared stubbornly.

While this was going on in the alley, other police officers had searched the store. They had found nothing but a meager stock of popular brands of tobacco. He had burned all the telltale evidence!

"We'll take this man in my car," said Collig.

71 When the Hardys arrived at the station, they bade the chief good-bye, took Chet to a bus that stopped at his farm, and then hurried to the hospital.

Mr. Hardy, who was improving slowly, listened with admiration to his sons' account of the discovery of the Arrow cigarettes.

"There's one thing we must do soon," he said.

"I think I know what you mean," Frank put in to keep his father from overexerting himself.

"Rout out all the Arrow cigarettes in this area, and see if we can pick up any clues to what is used or where the cigarettes come from."

"Right." Mr. Hardy smiled. "Without the loaded cigarettes, the crooks won't be able to commit such bold robberies." Then he added, "Meanwhile, suppose you boys get ready to go to Cousin Ruth's. You ought to make reservations on the train before the end of the week."

Next morning, Frank and Joe got in touch with Sam Radley, and the three set out to locate more Arrow cigarettes. While the local police undertook to do the job in Bayport, Sam and the boys drove to near-by towns, which also had experienced an outbreak of holdups.

They stopped in all sorts of shops where cigarettes might be sold, asking the same question: "Have you any Arrows? Al sent us to get some."

Time after time the boys, working apart from 72 Sam, were met by vacant stares and, "Don't know what you're talking about!"

But in Green Point, a village near Pleasantville, a tobacco shopman replied, "Al sent you?"

"Yep," Frank answered, his pulse quickening.

"Got anything to show?" the man asked.

"Crooked arrow!" Joe said, hoping that might be the pa.s.sword.

"Good enough for me," came the reply.

With that the man gave the boys two cigarettes, for which they paid twenty dollars. The shopkeeper leaned close to the boys.

"Tell Al those are my last two," he whispered. "Have him send Arrow Charlie around with a new lot as soon as he gets back from Mexico."

Frank and Joe looked as casual as they could, though their pulses were racing.

"Oh, sure," Frank said. "Arrow Charlie. Say, did he get that name from selling Arrows or is he a good archer? We never heard."

The man smiled crookedly. "You boys ought to know," he said. "A fellow in Bayport got shot by an arrow the other day!"

That was enough for the Hardys. They hurried to their car and whizzed back toward the city to report the Green Point tobacconist and turn over the cigarettes for a.n.a.lysis.

As they hummed down the road which ran past 73 the Morton farm, they saw Chet on the porch. When they tooted their horn, he waved frantically. Frank jammed on the brake and Chet puffed up to them, a worried look on his face.

"Your mother phoned here a few minutes ago, wanting to get hold of you," he panted.

"What's up?" Joe asked. "Not Dad?"

CHAPTER IX.

Chet, Rope Thrower.

KIs dad worse?" Frank gasped.

"I don't know," Chet replied. "All your mother Said was to come to the hospital and hurry."

"Thanks," Frank said, starting the motor again. "We'll let you know if anything's wrong."

The coupe's speedometer hovered at the speed limit as the boys, fearful of what they might learn at the hospital, raced toward Bayport General Hospital.

When the boys arrived, they did not wait for the elevator, but took the stairs, three steps at a time. The brothers hastened down the corridor into their father's room.

Much to their surprise, they saw the detective propped up with pillows. He greeted them cheerfully.

"h.e.l.lo, boys," he said. "Hope I didn't worry you by bringing you here so quickly."

"To be honest, Dad, you did," Frank panted. "It sure is good to see you so chipper, though."

Joe went to the far side of his father's bed and put his arm around the detective's broad shoulders. "Gosh, Dad, you look like yourself again. Doesn't he, Mother?"

Mrs. Hardy smiled in agreement. She was pouring water for one of the many bouquets her husband had received.

"I think your splendid detective work has helped your father immensely," she said. "He's very proud of you."

As Frank and Joe exchanged pleased glances, Mr. Hardy spoke up.

"The reason I called you boys," he said, "is this." The detective held up an air-mail letter.

"It's from Cousin Ruth. She wants me to come immediately. Things at the ranch are going from bad to worse. You two had better not delay any longer. Forget the train reservations. I want you to fly out there at once."

"If those are orders, we'll go today," Frank said, smiling. "But Joe and I just got a hot lead on the crooked arrow mystery. We'd like to follow it up."

Fenton Hardy, knowing that his son was a born sleuth, understood the boy's reluctance to leave Bayport now. But the situation out West was pressing, too.

76 "I'll put Sam Radley to work on your new lead," Mr. Hardy said. "If the Arrow cigarette probe isn't complete by the time you get back, you can take it on again. Now tell me what you've learned."

Frank told about the Green Point tobacco dealer, then about Arrow Charlie and how he was expected back from Mexico soon. Mr. Hardy did not interrupt. At the end, he said: "You know, I believe there is some connection between the case here and the one at Cousin Ruth's."

"How could there be?" Joe asked, amazed.

"Well," his father replied, "in the first place, that man who told you about Arrow Charlie may have misspoken. He may have meant that Arrow Charlie was coming here from New New Mexico, instead of Mexico. But what's even more likely, someone may have been sent here from New Mexico to shoot me so I couldn't go out there. It may or it may not have any direct connection with Cousin Ruth's hard luck, but I'm sure now somebody doesn't want me in that vicinity."

"Well, we'll fool 'em," Frank said with determination. "Come on, Joe, we'll see about plane reservations."

The brothers hastily made their way to the Bay-port airfield. Striding up to the ticket office, Frank 77 and Joe approached the clerk at the window.

"We'd like three reservations to New Mexico as soon as we can get them," Frank said.

The clerk examined his schedule. "Sorry," he said. "Everything's booked up for a week."

"A week!" groaned Joe. "How about a plane to another point and a transfer?"

The clerk shook his head. "Not a chance," he said. "Schedule's full."

"All right," Frank said with a sigh. "Put us on the list for a cancellation."

As the boys walked out of the building, Joe's eyes suddenly lighted up. "I've got it. Why don't we charter a private plane, Frank?"

"Good idea," his brother agreed. "Let's inquire."

The boys saw a policeman at the side of the airfield and asked him about private planes. He directed them to a sleek two-engine job, where a man, astride the plane's nose, was tinkering with a motor.

"He might do it," the policeman said.

As the beys approached, the man climbed down a light metal ladder. "Something I can do for you?" he asked.

"We'd like to fly to New Mexico," Frank said. "Could you take us?"

"Sorry, I'm flying a businessman to South Amer78 ica, but I think maybe a fellow who came in today can help you out."