The Jungle Pyramid (12 page)

“Why did you take a chance with us so close by?” Tony asked.

“I didn't know you were still here,” Murphy said glumly. “I thought you had left with the others.”

By now the sun had begun to rise and a soft mist hung over the jungle.

“What'll we do with him?” Chet asked.

“Murphy must have a jeep around,” Frank replied. “We'll have to deliver him to the nearest police station in Chichén Itzá.”

Rumble Murphy looked at them with squinting eyes. “Do you have to be that drastic? Look, I could cut you in on the loot. This stuff is worth a bundle of money. If you don't want to handle it yourselves, I'll pay you in cash. Fifty-fifty. What do you say?”

“No,” Frank said laconically.

“All right. I'll give you seventy-five percent. That's robbing me, but what can I do?”

“Forget it, Murphy,” Joe said. “We're not thieves.”

“You're crazy! Do you realize what you're turning down? Listen, I'll give you everything, but don't take me to the cops!”

Frank ignored the plea. “Where's your jeep?”

Murphy realized that he had lost and started to scream at the top of his lungs. Suddenly he fell silent and would not utter another word.

“I'll go find the jeep,” Frank offered. “It has to be around here somewhere. Hey, look!”

He pointed to a stranger entering the trampled area around the pyramid. He was a man dressed in the white suit worn by modern Mayas, with a wide-brimmed straw hat on his head. He edged around the pyramid in a suspicious manner.

“So, there's your accomplice, Murphy!” Joe exclaimed. “Let's meet him, gang. Biff, want to guard our friend again?”

“Sure thing,” Biff replied as Frank, Joe, and Chet took the steps down as fast as they could, followed by Tony. They circled the pyramid, taking the direction opposite that used by the man in the white suit.

They met him at the corner. He had the light-copper coloring of an Indian. Lank black hair extended down to his shoulders. His cheeks were round and a scar ran across the right side of his face. He looked startled when he saw them.

“Are you looking for Rumble Murphy?” Joe asked.

The man responded in a rapid flow of Spanish. Though the boys had studied the language in high school, they could not follow him because he spoke so fast and with a strange inflection. Joe asked him to repeat slowly what he had just said, but the man stared at him blankly.

Chet had an idea. “Let's try sign language,” he suggested. “I'll take it from here.”

He touched the man on the shoulder, turned, and pointed into the jungle. He made a long sweep with one arm toward the pyramid.

“What does that mean?” Joe wondered.

“I'm asking him where he comes from, and how he got here,” Chet explained.

“Well, you could have fooled me,” Joe said.

The man smiled, shrugged, and spoke again.

“We're getting nowhere fast,” Frank protested.

The boys decided to bring the man face to face with Murphy. One of them might give something away. They were discussing the best way to arrange the confrontation when the man suddenly spoke English.

“Bayport seems to be on the ball!”

 

 

 

 

T
HE boys gaped. The voice was unmistakably that of their father!

“Dad!” Frank cried out. “I don't believe it!” He scrutinized the coppery face closely. Then he grinned. “I should have known. The color of your eyes doesn't fit your make-up!”

Mr. Hardy chuckled. “A bit of make-up and cheek pads can do a lot to change one's appearance. And I can always squint when necessary.”

“But, Dad, we thought you were investigating the case in Wakefield,” Joe said. “What's up?”

“It's a long story,” Mr. Hardy said. “And it was John Armstrong's idea.”

“You mean he doesn't trust us?” Frank asked.

“Well, he thought you could use some reinforcement. Actually, he decided all of a sudden that I was wasting my time in Wakefield. Since he had some business in Mexico City, he asked me to come along. We left the day after you did. When we arrived, John took care of his appointment in the city, while I asked questions around the airport about the mysterious plane.”

“Same as we did,” Joe said. “And that's how you found out about Palango?”

“Palango? What's that?”

“An archaeological dig near here,” Frank said. “That's where we ended up.”

Mr. Hardy shook his head. “No one mentioned Palango to me. But I was tipped off that Rumble Murphy was smuggling gold, so I hid in his plane all the way to Mérida.”

“Wow!” Chet looked at the detective in admiration. “Neat sleuthing!”

“Well, I almost lost him when we arrived,” Mr. Hardy continued. “I had to rent a jeep while his was already waiting. But I caught up with him and followed him here.”

“Did he stop on the way?” Frank asked.

“Yes, in the jungle, for about an hour. He got out of his jeep and disappeared into the woods. Then another car came along the trail, nearly ran into a hole, and barely escaped a falling tree. I saw it from a distance.”

“That car was ours!” Frank cried out.

Mr. Hardy stared at the boys. “You'd better tell me all that's happened to you,” he said gravely.

The boys described their adventures for their father, then Joe asked, “Dad, what did you do when you saw the pyramid?”

“There wasn't much I could do,” Mr. Hardy said. “I pitched a tent nearby and kept observing Murphy so I could be sure he didn't have a gang of people working here with him. Yesterday he left the place and I followed him into the jungle. There were people close by and he shot at something, maybe to scare them off.”

“He shot at me!” Joe declared. “But he didn't scare us away!”

Mr. Hardy nodded. “I was hoping he'd leave for a while so I could search the pyramid, but he went right back.”

“Did you see the lights last night?” Frank asked.

“No. I must have dozed off. This morning I decided I'd better do something. So I disguised myself and was on the way to confront Murphy when I met you.”

“We've taken care of Murphy already, Mr. Hardy,” Chet announced and they reported their adventure of the previous night.

“Murphy admits he's a smuggler,” Biff said. “We found his loot. Great stuff-gold by the sackful!”

“Unfortunately it wasn't the Wakefield gold, or the Scythian figurine, either,” Frank said.

Mr. Hardy tried to cheer his son. “Even if Murphy and Palango were false leads, you discovered an illegal smuggling operation. The Mexican government will be very grateful to you, and Murphy deserves to be put out of business.”

Frank nodded. “You're right. We were just about to take him to Chichén Itzá and hand him over to the police. If necessary, we'll take him to Mérida.”

“Good thinking. We can use his jeep and mine. Let's go get him,” Mr. Hardy said.

The group walked up the steps of the pyramid to where Biff was guarding Murphy. Biff marveled at Mr. Hardy's disguise, and the thief glowered at them. “I want to see a lawyer,” he snarled.

“You'll see one in town, Murphy,” Mr. Hardy said. “First we'll take you and your loot out of here.”

The boys untied Murphy's ankles and led him to their father's jeep. He was put in the front seat, while Tony and Biff rode in the back to make sure the smuggler would not try to escape.

The others had soon located Murphy's vehicle and Frank climbed behind the wheel with Joe and Chet as passengers. The jeeps took a long detour that Murphy had discovered was the easiest route through the jungle. Arriving in Chichén Itzá, they turned the man and his gold over to the authorities.

The police deputy was gratified. “We knew a smuggler was operating in this area, but we never could catch him. You have done us a great favor!”

After Murphy was led away, Frank said. “I don't see any reason to go back to Palango. What do you think, Dad?”

“I agree. Let's drive to Mérida and get a flight from there to Mexico City. Then we can see what Armstrong has in mind.”

In Merida, Mr. Hardy called John Armstrong at his hotel to tell him when they would arrive. He picked them up at the airport. Looking harried, he mopped his brow with his handkerchief.

“What's new, Fenton?” he asked.

“No news of the mint thief, John. We didn't find the stolen gold in the jungle,” Mr. Hardy replied, “but the boys nabbed a smuggler.” He told Armstrong about their adventure.

Armstrong sighed. “While you were away, I checked with the police on Zemog. Nothing positive there either. But I'm sure the answer—”

“Look!” Joe interrupted and pointed to a small plane with the words “Mexico City” on the fuselage. It was just taking off on the runway.

Joe memorized the craft's number, and the excited boys went to check with the control tower. They found out that the plane belonged to Carlos Calderón. According to the pilot's flight plan, he was bound for Mérida.

“I think he's going to Palango,” the official in the tower told them.

“Results at last!” Joe said jubilantly as they went back to tell their father and Armstrong what they had just heard.

Armstrong was enthusiastic. “You see? We'll have to go there right away!”

They took a flight the following morning. Mr. Hardy would stay in Mexico City to testify against Murphy, who was being transferred for his hearing the next day. Armstrong and the boys flew to Merida, where they rented two jeeps and once more drove to the dig. When they arrived, their archaeological friends greeted them with loud shouts.

“Thank goodness you're all right!” Rose cried out. “We thought you were lost in the jungle! Frank Pendleton went out looking for you but had no luck!”

“We ran into an unexpected adventure,” Frank said. After introducing John Armstrong, he told about Rumble Murphy and the pyramid.

Steve Weiss was incredulous. “This is absolutely fantastic!” he said.

“Well, we didn't find what we were after,” Frank said. “But the plane we were looking for has supposedly flown to Mérida and its owner, Carlos Calderón, was planning to come here.”

“Carlos!” Steve exclaimed. “He's a good friend of ours, an archaeology student who visits once in a while. He does graduate work at the University of Mexico. Right now he's out in the jungle with a couple of our men. Should be back any minute, however.”

“Why didn't you tell us his plane had ‘Mexico City' on it?” Joe asked.

“I didn't know. He told us he bought a small plane recently, but I never saw it.”

Just then three men appeared at the excavation site. Two were Mexican workmen, the third a handsome young fellow with wavy black hair and a bright smile.

“Hey, Carlos!” Steve called out. “These people want to meet you.”

He introduced everyone, then Frank asked Carlos if he had ever been in Wakefield, U.S.A.

The young man was surprised. “No, I have never been out of Mexico. Why do you ask?”

“We're trailing a private plane marked ‘Mexico City' that took off from an airstrip near Wakefield.”

“When was that?” Carlos asked.

Frank gave him the date.

“Wait a minute,” Weiss intervened. “At that time Carlos was here at the Palango dig with us.”

Melville Courtney had been listening. Now he slapped his swagger stick against his boot and addressed the boys. “My dear chaps, you will have to look elsewhere for your culprit. My goodness, how suspicious you are!”

“I realize you have a case to solve,” Steve Weiss said. “But I hope you'll stay and lead us to the lost pyramid. We'll go out tomorrow and do a preliminary survey. After that we'll take a work gang and begin clearing away the vegetation.”

Frank and Joe looked at Armstrong, who nodded vigorously. “Of course we'll stay. We'll be glad to guide you to the place.” To Frank he said in a low tone, “I don't believe Calderón is as harmless as he seems. Maybe someone else flew his plane. We'll stay here and keep him under surveillance.”

Steve Weiss and his group were excited about the lost pyramid, and they could hardly wait to explore it. “We're glad you caught that smuggler,” Steve told the boys. “We just dug up a lot of artifacts, and he might have stolen them. Look here.” He showed them small statues, images of the Mayan gods, an assortment of weapons and knives, and some tablets bearing petroglyphic inscriptions.

“This is our masterpiece,” he declared, holding one up for all to see. “It's an image of the Aztec war god. The Aztecs traded with the Mayas of Yucatán, you know.”

The image was a shining gold mask. The features were contorted into a ferocious scowl, and the jade eyes reflected the sunlight in shimmering blue-green.

Weiss handed the mask to Frank, who examined it and passed the piece around the circle. Everybody was thrilled by the Aztec war god. Chet and Carlos were fascinated.

Armstrong hefted the mask. “Feels like solid gold,” he announced. “I'd say it's as valuable as one of our larger bars in the mint.”

He began to speak with Chet, Carlos, and Pendleton about the quality of gold. Later that evening, the four sat up after the others had gone to bed. Just before he fell asleep, Joe heard Chet retire to his tent.

A rattling noise woke Joe up hours later. It came from the tent where the artifacts were kept. Somebody was banging them together as if searching for something! Silently Joe crept toward the tent, straining his eyes to see in the darkness. A figure stole out and walked toward the jungle.