The Clue of the Broken Blade

Table of Contents

 

 

FRANK and Joe Hardy become involved in an intriguing mystery which revolves around their fencing master, Ettore Russo. Proof that Russo is the rightful heir to his grandfather's estate hinges on retrieving the guard end of a broken saber lost many years ago in California.

The young investigators' quest is complicated by a bank robbery during which some of their father's important records are stolen. Using Mr. Hardy's recently purchased scientific device, a sound spectrograph, the boys identify the voiceprints of the leader of the masked robbers. A chase ensues that takes Frank, Joe, and their pal Chet Morton to the grape-growing region of California and involves them in a dangerous game of hide-and-seek with the bank robbery gang, who also are searching for the broken saber.

A startling discovery at a movie location leads to the solution of this thrilling, fast-paced mystery.

Copyright © 1977, 1969, 1942 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Pumam & Grosset
Group, New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.
THE HARDY
BOYS
®
is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 73-119043

eISBN : 978-1-101-07635-4

13-Digit: 978-1-101-07635-4
579 1086

 

 

 

FRANK and Joe Hardy, masked and gloved, confronted each other with crossed foils. Ettore Russo, the slim, erect fencing master, was coaching them. He seemed nervous.

“Frank, you attack. Joe, you parry. On guard. Bend your elbow a little bit more, Frank. Now thrust. Lunge!”

While Frank carried out the instructions, he murmured to himself, “Something's bothering Russo. He's not himself today.”

“Look, Frank,” came Russo's voice. “Thrust first until your arm is fully extended, then lunge. Okay. You can take a break now.”

Dark-haired, eighteen-year-old Frank and his blond brother Joe, who was a year younger, removed their masks and gloves. They were about to join a group of friends when Russo called them aside.

“What's on your mind, maestro?” Frank asked as they walked up to him.

“I won't be here for the tournament,” Russo said glumly.

Joe's eyebrows shot up. “How come?”

“My grandfather's will is being probated in Switzerland. I'll have to be there.”

“Your grandfather just died?” Frank asked.

“No, many years ago. It's my step-grandmother who just died. She was in her eighties.”

Russo smoothed his wiry black hair with his hand and continued, “You see, Granddad married a young girl late in life. In his will he left his fortune in trust, the income going to her during her lifetime. But the capital was to revert to his blood heirs after her death.”

“And now you'll get an inheritance?” Joe asked.

“Maybe. My grandfather's will states that upon her death the estate is to be divided according to the terms specified on the sword Adalante.”

“Now what does Adalante mean?” Joe wanted to know.

“Adalante is a championship saber that grandfather owned. Unfortunately it was broken and lost in a duel he had in California in the late eighteen hundreds. The tip end was found and is now in the possession of a cousin in Tessin, the Italian part of Switzerland. But there is no will etched on it, so it must be on the guard end.”

“Do you think your grandfather was playing a joke?” Frank asked. “How could he expect anyone to find the other half of the broken blade?”

“He was eccentric all his life,” the maestro said. “Maybe his idea was to test the ingenuity of his grandsons.”

“Could be. Now what happens?”

“My grandfather often told my father that his first grandson would get three-fourths of the estate, the balance to be divided among his other grandchildren. I'm the eldest grandson.”

“That's terrific!” Joe said.

Russo shrugged. “My father is no longer alive to testify. And my cousin Fabrizio Dente, based on a claim by his mother, who is still living, declares that he is the sole heir.”

Frank shook his head. “It certainly leaves you in a fix. Unless you find the other end of the saber, of course.”

Russo sighed. “Did you ever look for a needle in a haystack? All I can do is go to Switzerland and fight my cousin in court. That means I'll have to close the school.”

The Hardys' friends, Biff Hooper, a blond six-footer, and olive-skinned Tony Prito, joined them.

“Close the school?” Biff said. “That means we can't take part in the tournament!”

Russo nodded sadly. “I've no one to replace me.”

“We could keep the school open for you,” Biff offered. “We can't give lessons, but we can supervise training a few evenings a week!”

Frank grinned. “That's a good suggestion. We'll mind the store for you, maestro!”

Russo looked rather relieved. “Maybe it would work,” he said. “I don't know when I'll be back, and if I close down too long, I might lose most of my students.”

Phil Cohen and rotund Chet Morton, the Hardys' best pals, had joined the group and Chet spoke up. “Stop worrying, maestro. I'll pitch in, too. But I want a handicap from now on!”

Russo looked puzzled. “Why?”

“Well,” Chet explained, “I've got a lot more surface to touch!”

Everyone laughed, and Biff needled Chet about his giant-sized appetite.

“We'll work the extra weight off you!” Russo promised. “Come on. You and Tony have a practice bout.”

The two donned their wire-mesh masks and suede single gloves worn on the weapon hand. They took positions on the salle strip which was quite close to regulation size, six feet wide and forty feet long.

The maestro acted as bout director, taking his place about eight feet from the strip and halfway between Chet and Tony.

“Biff and Frank, start out by watching Chet,” he said. “Phil and Joe, watch Tony.”

Frank and Joe had studied the rules for fencing with foils, which were slightly different from those for épée and saber. In foil, the first to score a total of five touches was the winner. Touches were counted only if they were on the trunk of the body. Those on arms, legs, and head were off target. The latter incurred no penalty, but did not score, either.

If a contestant was hit, the judges would raise an arm and call out
hit or touch.

The boys made a few lunges, bent the blades to the floor to test their flexibility, then saluted each other by raising the blades vertically in front of their masks.

“Ready?” the director said.

Tony and Chet assumed their guard positions, right foot forward, knees slightly bent, sword arm bent into a V, foils crossed and touching. Both boys answered, “Yes.”

“Fence!” the director commanded.

Chet advanced, making a feint as he did. Tony retreated one pace, guessed that Chet's move was a feint rather than a real attack, thrust and lunged instead of parrying.

Biff and Frank raised their right arms and said, “Touch!”

“Halt!” the director ordered and called one against Chet.

The next two touches were off target, one off Chet's right shoulder, the other on Tony's left arm. Although they were not counted as penalties, the director halted the action each time, just as he did for good touches.

At the command “Fence!” Chet immediately moved to attack. Tony retreated, the blades clashing as lunge was met by parry, and parry by counterparry.

Chet scored the next two good touches, then Tony made three in a row. Chet took three more to win!

“Bout!” the director said. “Chet, you don't need a handicap!” He turned to Tony. “You failed to anchor your left foot when you made that last advance lunge. Next time hold it flat on the floor and you'll keep your balance if you're parried.”

“Yes, sir,” Tony said ruefully, “I'll remember.”

The fencing lessons were one hour for each group. Frank and Joe got home in plenty of time for dinner. As they turned into the driveway, they saw a truck backed up to the stairway leading to their laboratory over the garage. Two men were unloading a large crate.

The boys got out of the car and went over to them. The wooden crate was about two feet square and more than two feet high. It was marked “Fragile.”

“What's that?” Frank asked the men.

“Mr. Hardy ordered it,” one of them replied. “He told us to put it in the lab.”