The Jungle Pyramid (16 page)

 

 

 

 

THE guard who had been standing at the gate was looking through the sight of his rifle. The Hardys were caught! The man lowered his weapon and gave them a wolfish grin. “Okay, wise guys. We'll take care of you. We don't like snoopers around here. Get going and keep your hands where I can see them. Move!”

Frank and Joe started walking. The guard prodded them with his rifle. “Reach for the sky and hurry up. No funny business!”

He forced the boys around the corner of the barn to one of the doors and knocked three times in rapid succession. The peephole opened. Jake peered through suspiciously. “What's up?” he growled.

“We got visitors.”

“Well, well. Bring them in!”

Jake opened the door, and the man with the gun forced the Hardys inside the barn.

“I found them eavesdropping at the window,” he explained. “Figured you might want me to introduce them to you.”

“You figured right!” Jake snapped. “How long have they been there?”

“Long enough!”

“Good going, Sam. If anybody else sneaks up to the barn, bring them in too. These guys may have confederates.”

“Right.” Sam left. Jake bolted the door.

The two men in plaid shirts were armed. They glowered at Frank and Joe while Jake started the interrogation.

“All right,” he snarled. “What do you mean by sneaking around here?”

The Hardys tried to bluff their way through the predicament in which they found themselves.

“We were hiking through the woods near here,” Frank said. “We didn't know about the barn until we saw the light through the trees.”

“We were hungry,” Joe added, “and came to see if we could grub a meal.”

The three men laughed in a sinister manner. “Oh sure,” Jake sneered. “You just happened to be spying on us through the window. You punks had better talk—and fast!”

Frank and Joe remained silent. They were playing for time. Their captors scowled at them.

“Talk won't do any good,” one of the plaid-shirted men said. “We've got to do them in. They've seen the gold.”

The other supported him. “They know too much. Let's deep six ‘em, now!”

Amazement gripped Frank and Joe. Those were the words on the note Joe had found in the abandoned car at the airstrip!

The speaker misunderstood their reaction. “So, that scares you, does it? Well, it should. We mean business!” He moved toward Joe, and his companions walked up to Frank. The Hardys braced themselves.

Then Jake stopped. “We have to wait for Mr. Big. Maybe he'll want to talk to them. Let's tie these guys up and sit tight until he gets here. It won't be long.”

The men pushed the Hardys into a corner, made them sit down with their backs to the wall, produced rope, and tied their hands behind their backs.

The crooks returned to their card game. Frank and Joe sat side-by-side with the ropes chafing their wrists and conversed in whispers.

“Joe, nobody knows we're here,” Frank said. “Too bad we didn't have a chance to alert Dad before we followed the beard.”

“Right. We'll have to get out of this on our own,” Joe replied.

Three quick knocks sounded on the door, followed by three slow ones, then the three fast ones were repeated. The men at the card table leaped to their feet.

“Mr. Big!” Jake exclaimed. “That's his signal. Get ready, and don't talk out of turn.”

He unbolted the door without looking through the peephole, and swung it open. Mr. Big entered.

The Hardys gasped.
John Armstrong,
the administrative assistant of the Wakefield Mint walked into the room!

“Everything in order, Jake?” he asked.

“Sure thing, boss. Except a couple of prowlers came sneaking around the barn.”

“Prowlers?” Armstrong sounded alarmed.

“Don't worry, boss. We caught ‘em and we've got 'em.”

“Where are they?”

“Over there.” Jake pointed to the comer where the two captives were tied up.

Armstrong threw up his hands in astonishment. “Don't you know who they are?” he demanded.

“Should I?” Jake queried.

“Well, maybe not. They're Frank and Joe Hardy!”

“Fenton Hardy's sons?” Jake squinted uneasily. “That means the gumshoe is on to us.”

Armstrong shook his head. “Hardy doesn't know anything about our operation. And these two don't matter any more.” He advanced toward Frank and Joe. “Fooled you, didn't I?” he asked slyly.

“You sure did,” Frank admitted. “First you steal the gold. Then you send us on a wild goose chase to Switzerland by spreading the rumor that the gold will be sold there.”

“It would have been sufficient if my friend Rudolf Kling hadn't picked a loser like Pfeiffer to do the talking,” Armstrong growled.

Frank nodded. “Pfeiffer was caught in a burglary. And when we left Zurich after that, you sent us to Mexico by dreaming up the clue of the airplane, then insisted on traveling to Palango with Dad to get us and him as far as possible from Wakefield. The gold was here all the time.”

Armstrong agreed. “The guy I had hired to fly it out gave me trouble on the time schedule. That's why I had to keep you occupied in distant places. Then the idiot got himself arrested in Mexico City just before we came back. But I got a replacement for him, who'll do the job tonight and—”

Frank interrupted him. “Your pilot was arrested? Is his name Hank Corda?”

“Right. I didn't know about his connection with Murphy. He had Corda's name and address on him, and when he was booked the cops found it. That was all I needed! But I fixed it. This is the final case for Frank and Joe Hardy. We're going to drop you into the sea from our plane and this time tomorrow you'll be playing with the fishes in the Caribbean!”

The ringleader turned toward his henchmen. “Forget about these boys,” he said. “Our plane arrives around midnight. The pilot wants this to be a quick job. So do I.”

“Everything is ready, boss.”

Armstrong walked over to the gold bars, picked one off the top, and looked at it. It glittered in the glare of the overhead bulb.

“That's a beautiful sight,” he said. “I haven't seen these since they were in the vault at the mint. I was at home when the theft took place, if you recall.”

Jake grinned. “Best alibi anyone ever had.”

Armstrong looked pleased. “I think so. Well, these bars have come a long way to get to this barn. From Siberia to Moscow to Zurich to Wakefield. Next stop—an uninhabited island in the Caribbean. We divide the loot there and go our separate ways. If we ever meet again, we don't know one another.” Armstrong put the bar back on the pile. “Say, how have you fellows been killing time out here?”

“Playing cards,” Jake replied.

“How about dealing me in?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Armstrong occupied the fourth chair at the table. Jake dealt the hands and the game began.

Frank gently tried to pull his wrists apart. He felt a slight give in the ropes. Tapping Joe's foot with his, he leaned toward his brother. “I may be able to untie myself,” he whispered. “How about you?”

Joe tested his own bonds. “Not a chance.”

Twisting his right wrist against his left, Frank felt the rope stretch. He explored with his fingers until they closed over the knot. Using his escape technique, he figured out how the knot had been tied and rubbed it between his thumb and finger. Gingerly he tugged at the shorter strand.

It moved. Little by little, in an agonizingly slow process, Frank drew the shorter strand loose. His hands were free! He sat still for a moment, watching the card game. All four players were intent on the betting as the pot grew larger and larger.

Frank pressed his shoulder against Joe's to hide his fingers, which were working on his brother's bonds. The second rope fell away and Joe was released.

“They may not notice us,” Frank whispered, “if we sneak up into the haymow, go out the window, and shimmy down the drainpipe.”

“What about the guy at the gate?” Joe asked.

“We'll worry about him when we get there. The first thing is to get out. Come on!”

The Hardys rose slowly to their feet, never taking their eyes off the card game. They tiptoed over to the stairs. Frank led the way up step by step. As he placed his foot on the top rung, it creaked loudly.

The noise cut through the stillness of the huge barn, setting up echoes in the rafters. Startled, Armstrong swiveled in his chair and looked for its source. He spotted Joe's feet at the top of the stairs.

“The Hardys are loose!” he cried angrily. “After them! Don't let them get away!”

The other three men scrambled to their feet, tipping over the chairs in their haste. They pounded across the floor to the stairs.

Now that their escape had been discovered, Frank and Joe plunged forward into the haymow. The atmosphere was hot, the air was dusty, and the hay was slippery. The boys leaped to the right behind a high pile of hay. Staying low, they ran toward the opposite end of the haymow, slipping and sliding all the way.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and Jake and his two henchmen climbed into the loft.

“Where are they?” Jake bellowed.

Seeing no movement, he led the way to the left side, where clear boards offered easier footing. Frank and Joe saw them go past, and jumped into the middle of the hay, believing they could cross over and reach the stairs.

But Joe's feet shot out from under him. He skidded on the hay—right into Jake, who had doubled back. The unexpected collision caused Jake to tumble into a large haypile. He coughed, wheezed, and sneezed, then came up with wisps of dry weeds sticking from his hair. Before he could extricate himself, Frank and Joe ran down the left side while the other two pursuers came up on the right.

A tall pole near the stairs at the far end of the loft reached up to a crossbeam. Frank shimmied up the pole onto the crossbeam, and Joe followed instantly. The brothers perched where they could look all the way across the haymow.

“I hope they think we went downstairs,” Frank muttered.

The three men gathered beneath them, panting, swearing, and looking around furiously. “They got to be up here!” Jake snarled. “We don't go down till we find where they're hiding!”

“Which way?” said a plaid-shirted searcher. “Left or right?”

“Left, right, up, and down! Look everywhere.”

The Hardys were sure to be discovered. Frank signaled Joe. Balancing themselves on the crossbeam, they hurtled down simultaneously, hitting the three men across the shoulders and knocking them down in a heap. Then the boys dived for the stairs, and jumped down three steps at a time. When they reached the bottom, however, they ran straight into the muzzle of a gun!

“Okay, wise guys,” Armstrong said. “The jig is up!”

 

 

 

 

As Armstrong gave his command, the Hardys froze in their tracks and raised both hands over their heads. Footsteps pounded down the stairs behind them.

“Nice going, boss,” Jake called out.

“Tie them up again,” Armstrong ordered, “and this time see that they stay that way!”

Frank and Joe were hustled over to a corner and bound with ropes around their wrists and ankles. Jake tested the knots.

“Don't worry,” he said. “These guys will stick around till we move them.”

“Good,” Armstrong said. “All we have to do is take them with us and unload them from the plane at five thousand feet. By the way, you'd better bolt the barn door again.”

Jake walked to the entrance and reached for the bolt.
Wham!
The door burst open, the edge striking Jake and knocking him off his feet!

Fenton Hardy stepped into the barn, followed by the Wakefield chief of police and a number of officers. “Drop the gun, Armstrong!” the detective commanded.

Armstrong hesitated for a second, then the rifle clattered to the floor. The police disarmed his henchmen, who sullenly refused to say anything.

“We'd like to join the party,” Joe called out, “but we're tied up.”

Fenton Hardy walked over and unfastened the ropes. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Fine,” Frank replied. “But we wouldn't have been for long. These men were going to let us take a long-distance swan dive into the Caribbean.”

“You got here just in the nick of time,” Joe said, relieved.

Armstrong swung around at the words. “Hardy,” he grated, “how did you figure out my little scheme?”

“It hit me while I was keeping the front gate of the mint under surveillance. The guards at the mint had been hypnotized. And from the way my sons described Carlos Calderón, he, too, must have been in a trance.”

“We wondered who did it,” Frank put in, “but never guessed the truth.”

“Neither did I, Frank,” Mr. Hardy said. “For the longest time I suspected a third person who might have tailed us to Mexico. Yet Armstrong had the opportunity to hypnotize both the guards and Carlos! Of course, the theory seemed ridiculous. The administrative assistant to the director robbing his own mint! Nevertheless, I decided to shadow him, and it paid off.”

“Dad, why didn't you let us know?” Joe asked.

“By the time I realized all this, you two had left your post at the rear gate of the mint. I presume you had good reason?”