The Ghost at Skeleton Rock (16 page)

A sudden cry from his brother made Frank snap bolt upright. “Look!” Joe gasped.

From a nearby pit a huge phosphorescent figure was emerging. It was the Indian chieftain's ghost, glowing weirdly in the moonlight!

“It's some kind of plastic balloon covered with phosphorescent paint!” Frank exclaimed. “What a stunt for scaring the natives!”

“Well, that gang won't do it any longer!” Joe declared. Taking out his pocketknife, he darted forward and ripped the bag wide open.

There was a rush of escaping air. With a weak, moaning sound, the ghost balloon collapsed sideways in a brightly shining heap. As Frank watched it sink beside the pit, he cried out excitedly, “Joe. There's a trap door in that pit! I'll bet there's something else down there besides the balloon and gas machine.”

“Loot, you mean?”

“Perhaps.”

Together, the boys raised the door. A flight of stone steps led downward into the coral rock.

Frank flicked on his pocket flashlight, and the boys descended cautiously. At the foot of the stairway, the passage opened into an underground room.

Three familiar voices cried out, “Frank! Joe!”

The Hardys stared in astonishment. Before them, trussed up, were Mr. Hardy, Chet, and Tony!

“Thank goodness you came! We must get out of here before those killers seal us up for good!”

Quickly Frank and Joe untied them, telling of their own narrow escape. The group rushed up the stone steps. They had just reached the beach when Hamilton and his attackers swarmed into view through the shrubbery.

“We're outnumbered three to one!” Tony cried in dismay.

Mr. Hardy suggested that if they could subdue Hamilton, the suspected leader, perhaps the others would give up. As the smugglers closed in on them, he maneuvered his way toward Hamilton, who had stepped to the side.

Hamilton was ready. He was about to strike the private detective with a heavy stone, when Chet came to the rescue. Throwing his voice, he yelled, “Look behind you, Hamilton!”

The gang leader whirled in surprise, expecting an attack. Fenton Hardy acted instantly. He delivered a punch that knocked Hamilton backward and sent his weapon flying through the air.

Meanwhile, the four boys had gone into action. Blows were exchanged right and left as they ripped into the mobsters.

“Keep it up!” Tony shouted excitedly.

But the tide of battle was turning in favor of the gang. Outnumbered, Mr. Hardy and the boys were being battered into defeat.

Then, just as the end seemed near, the fighters heard wild war whoops above the din. Through the darkness swooped a mob of Carib Indians! Fernando was with them.

“Femando! Help us—the Hardys!” Joe shouted. “We are fighting your
real
enemies!”

The natives needed no urging. With clubs and sticks, they beat Hamilton's followers into howling panic.

When the battle was over, Frank rushed up to Fernando. “Thanks!
Muchas gracias,
Fernando!” he panted. “You sure saved the day!”

Among the captives the boys spotted Abdul and Hugo, and pointed them out to their father. Then they plied Mr. Hardy with questions as to what had happened to him in Tropicale.

The detective smiled. “Now the story can be told. I was working on a case involving subversives in the United States friendly to a gang of rebels in Tropicale who hoped to take over the government. Those in our country have been rounded up with the exception of a few, like Abdul and Hugo, who escaped down here.

“Unfortunately, in uncovering a hideout in Tropicale, I was captured. Two men flew me here last night,” he explained, “but apparently something went wrong. The plane couldn't land.”

Joe snapped his fingers. “No wonder! Frank and I showed up here and Hamilton didn't want us to see you. Matter of fact, Frank and I read the plane's signal—‘Okay H.' That must have been to let Hamilton know they'd captured you!”

The detective nodded. “The men finally brought me over this morning. I guess you two had left by that time.”

“That's right,” said Chet. “Then they tied Tony and me up and brought us to the dungeon. They planned to kill all of us and blame it on the Caribs. I'll say one thing, though,” he added, chuckling. “Made me so mad I forgot all about my stomach-ache!”

At that moment powerful searchlights began to sweep the island.

“Patrol ships!” Joe exclaimed. “Must be the police arriving from San Juan!”

Soon a boatload of armed bluejackets and officers hit the beach. After Mr. Hardy had given a brief account of the affair, the officers escorted the prisoners, including Beppo, back to Hamilton's villa. By this time, Jack Wayne had revived and was assisted there by the boys.

At the house Captain Valdes of the San Juan police held an official hearing. Mr. Hardy cleared up the mystery.

“It was not until today that I learned who was masterminding a diabolical plot to overthrow the government of Tropicale. This man Hamilton is the one,” the detective explained. “He organized an air-freight theft ring to seize various articles useful to his cause. Among these were isotopes to build an atomic weapon. Once completed, this would have given him and his gang absolute power over Tropicale. On the side, the men smuggled diamonds in dolls' or dummies' heads to help finance their crazy venture.”

“It wasn't so crazy!” snarled the handcuffed Hamilton. “We might have pulled it off if that important Hugo dummy hadn't been sent to the very town where the Hardys live. Those nosy detectives and their pals upset our plans!”

“Tony and me?” Chet's eyes widened and his face glowed with pride.

“Yes, indeed,” Captain Valdes praised them. “You all helped preserve peace in the Caribbean!”

“But how does the stolen drug, Variotrycin, come into the picture?” Frank asked his father. “And what about the brief case we found in the public locker in Eastern City? It was filled with the drug! In fact, after the man, who posed as Shanley, snatched it from us, we never saw him or the brief case again.”

“The gang thought that stealing and selling the new drug would supplement their income in addition to the diamonds,” Mr. Hardy explained. “However, not enough of it was being manufactured to make it profitable. After the man impersonating Shanley snatched the brief case from you boys, he suddenly got greedy. He was arrested in New York City trying to sell the stuff.”

Numerous other facts were brought out. “Skeleton Rock” was the gang's identification, and they had used the same device on their revolutionary pirate flag. The pineapple tattoos helped the members recognize one another.

“So that's why the cook at
El Calypso Caliente
got so upset when he spotted my tattoo!” said Joe. “He thought for a moment I was Beppo.”

Mr. Hardy nodded. “The restaurant was a regular meeting place for the gang.”

Abdul, Hugo, and many of Hamilton's island retainers now talked freely in the hope of getting light sentences. They revealed that a new red motorboat had been switched overnight for the blue one which Hamilton had tried to disguise with a fresh coat of paint. They also admitted that some mild poison had been put in the lobsters served at dinner.

“Too bad we didn't make the dose twice as strong,” growled Hamilton.

The mysterious “doctor friend” was just a ruse to send Frank and Joe to their doom. Abdul also admitted that he lived in the old pink stucco house in San Juan, and that the basket device had been used to pick up loot and messages.

“How about the Hugo dummy?” Frank asked his father. “Was the Mexican manufacturer involved?”

“No,” his father replied. “Hamilton's gang put the purple turbans on the dummies, inserted the glass eyes, and acted as distributors. Radley discovered this and notified me shortly after I saw you boys last.”

Frank snapped his fingers. “I get it now! As distributors, Hamilton and his gang substituted the old-fashioned glass eyes for the original plastic ones in the Hugos and concealed the contraband and messages inside.”

“The changed instruction sheet, too!” Joe chimed in.

“Right!” Mr. Hardy said. “That code in Spanish was an extra precaution!” The detective added that the Hugos were shipped to bona fide customers in the United States, such as Mr. Biwen in Bayport. “Gang members were on hand,” he said, “to purchase the purple-turbaned Hugos immediately and get the diamonds.”

“Then why,” Chet burst in, “did those hoodlums snatch the red-turbaned dummy at Mr. Bivven's place?”

Hearing this, Hamilton snapped, “Biwen, the old goat, fouled up the whole plan. He said that was his only Hugo, so my men figured I must have made a mistake in the color of the turban.”

At this point, a seaman from one of the patrol boats brought a radio message to Mr. Hardy. It was a report from the Tropicale police, saying they had rounded up the remaining gang members from information relayed by Fenton Hardy before he was captured.

“Well, boys, I guess we can now get a good night's sleep!” The detective sighed.

“Believe me, you have earned it, senores!” Captain Valdes congratulated them. “I give you permission to use the villa. Mr. Hamilton won't need it tonight!”

In a few days the Hardys' damaged plane was repaired, and they took off for San Juan. Jack Wayne urged Frank and Joe to demonstrate their flying skill to their father.

After watching them, the detective grinned. “Looks as if I have a couple of budding air aces in the family!”

His grin grew wider as Joe made a beautiful landing. A crowd of officials and newsmen were waiting on the field to greet the passengers.

An envoy of the Tropicale Government stepped forward and pinned a medal on the private investigator. “In token of your distinguished efforts for the cause of peace and justice!” He beamed.

“Thank you,” Mr. Hardy said, smiling, “but these boys here deserve it more than I do!”

“We know the part your sons played,” said an airline official. “As a reward, my company is presenting them with this DME—Distance Measuring Equipment unit for the Hardys' private plane!”

“And for their friend Tony,” said the Tropicale official, “we have a special boat trip in Caribbean waters.”

With a broad smile Tony accepted, unaware of the next exciting role he would play in helping the Hardy Boys solve
The Mystery at Devil's Paw.

One more gift was presented and unwrapped—a whole family of ventriloquist dummies for Chet!

“Without diamonds, however,” the official said, laughing.

Excitedly Chet seized one of the dummies and put on an impromptu act.

“Who cares about diamonds!” the largest one squawked. “When do we eat?”