The Secret Agent on Flight 101 (3 page)

“Maybe we can find out who or what Dell is,” Frank said. “That might give us a lead.”

But their efforts were of no avail until Frank examined the books on his father's desk. A torn envelope flap was sticking to the back cover of one. On it was the notation, “Kenneth Dell, Great Circle Airways, Westboro, 789-1010.”

“You found it!” Joe exclaimed.

The boys surmised that their father had put the book down on the gummed paper and failed to notice later that it had stuck to the cover.

Quickly Frank dialed the Westboro number. A man with a deep, commanding voice answered and identified himself as Kenneth Dell. Frank explained why he had called, and Dell revealed that he was chief of security for Great Circle Airways.

Amazed to hear about the disappearance of Mr. Hardy, Dell said it was imperative that he talk to the young detectives and he would fly to Bayport the following day.

“Meet me outside the airport restaurant at twelve-thirty,” Dell said. “I don't want to come to your home for fear we're being watched by Hexton's men. I'll explain everything when I see you.”

After church the next day, Frank and Joe drove through the heavy Sunday traffic to the airport and anxiously awaited the security chief's arrival at the restaurant. Soon they were approached by a tall, stocky man, with distinguished features and slightly grizzled hair. Accompanying him was a thin, gray-haired man in a dark suit.

“You're the Hardy boys, I take it,” said the stocky one. “I'm Dell. This is Mr. Smith.”

Both men shook hands and Dell added, “Your father has told me a lot about you two. He's very proud—says his sons are great detectives.”

The four entered the restaurant and seated themselves at a table by a front window. Mr. Smith kept looking down at his hands.

“Who is he?” Frank wondered.

Both boys noticed that Mr. Smith was twisting a crested gold ring on his finger.

“Looks like a school emblem,” Frank thought, then suddenly realized what the man was telling him.
“He's from SKOOL!”

Joe got the message at the same time and threw a quick glance at his brother.

Dell smiled. “I felt sure you would understand. It is safer if some things are not said aloud. Mr. Smith and I work together.” So Dell was also a member of SKOOL, working under the guise of security officer for Great Circle Airways!

He went on to say that Mr. Hardy had come to him some weeks before and asked for dossiers on all employees and the passenger lists for the past two years. “I supplied the information.”

Dell was interrupted for a minute while a waitress took their orders. Smith gave none. Then the security chief leaned closer.

“Your father found out that Hexton owns a castle in the north of Scotland. It's a retreat, the magician claims, where he rests and devises new tricks for his show. He goes there several times a month on our planes.”

“Sounds like a great setup for smuggling secrets out of this country,” Frank said softly.

“That's just what your father concluded,” Smith said. “But he disappeared before he had a chance to give me a detailed report. So far nothing has been proved.”

In turn, Frank and Joe quickly told about the information they had gleaned from Mr. Hardy's file on Hexton.

“Where is Dad” Frank asked urgently. “Have you any idea??”

“I had a reliable tip that Hexton has taken him to South Africa,” Smith replied. “My organization will move in on the situation there.” He glanced at his watch and abruptly stood up. “If you need me, contact Mr. Dell. Good luck.” He walked off quietly.

A few moments later the food came. As they were eating, Joe suddenly exclaimed, “Look!” He clutched his brother's arm and pointed toward the large front window of the restaurant.

“What is it?”

“A man just peered in here! I'm sure he's Stony Bleeker!”

The boys darted outside, followed by Dell. But Bleeker was not among the passers-by.

“Maybe he ran around back!” Joe suggested.

“Quick!” Frank ordered. “Let's split up and check the building on all sides! Joe, you stay here in front! Mr. Dell, I'll take the east side, if you'll take the west!”

“Let's go!” the security chief agreed.

Frank raced along the east side of the building. Carefully he rounded the corner, but did not spot Bleeker. Just then he heard sounds of a scuffle coming from around the far side.

“Uhff!”
someone groaned.

Frank ran to the spot to find Dell lying on the ground. He bent over the prostrate man.

“Are you all right?” Frank asked worriedly. He helped the security chief to his feet.

“I almost had him,” Dell said, breathing heavily. “But he got in a fast punch.” Dell pointed. “There he goes now!”

Frank turned and saw Bleeker dashing into the airport parking lot. The boy bolted after him. The man had too big a lead, though. Before Frank could reach him, Bleeker scrambled into a car and sped away. Disappointed, Frank returned to the restaurant. Dell was already there.

“Any luck?” Joe asked his brother.

“No. Didn't even get the license plate number.”

“Bleeker's thin,” Dell commented as he rubbed his chin, “but he packs a lot of power.”

“What'll we do now?” Joe asked.

Frank thought for a moment. “We'll check the list of cities scheduled on Hexton's tour. If we can trail him without his knowing it, we might trap him into revealing where he took Dad.”

“I still have a copy of the playbill from his last show,” Joe recalled. “I believe his tour schedule is listed in it.”

“Good thinking,” Dell remarked. He instructed the boys to call him if they wanted help. Then he boarded a plane to return to the Great Circle Airways base at Westboro near New York City.

“Let's go home and check that playbill right away,” Frank said.

“Hexton knows that we're on to him and his gang,” Joe remarked. “Do you think he'll continue with his tour?”

“Probably not,” Frank answered. “But right now it's our only chance to find him.”

When they returned to their car, the Hardys were surprised to see a pencil-printed note attached to the steering wheel. Frank removed it and read the contents aloud:

“‘Mind your own business! Or you'll never see your father again!'
”

“BLEEKER must have left the warning here!” Joe exclaimed.

“That's for sure,” Frank agreed. “And it's no idle threat. Besides, I have a hunch Dad wasn't taken to South Africa. Otherwise, Hexton wouldn't be so determined to keep us off the trail.”

The Hardys were more eager than ever to get their investigation under way. Upon arriving home, they examined the playbill which listed the cities on the magician's tour.

“According to this list,” Frank observed, “Hexton is scheduled to appear at the Tivoli Theater in Darville tomorrow.”

Joe paged through the atlas and pinpointed the location of the city. “Here's Darville. It's about four hundred miles from here.”

The boys telephoned Jack Wayne, pilot of Mr. Hardy's twin-engine plane, and arranged to fly to Darville the following day. Frank and Joe had private pilot licenses, but thought it wise to have Jack along. “He's a tough man in a fight,” Joe said.

When they invited Chet, he eagerly accepted. “I'll meet you at the field.”

The next morning Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude nervously prepared breakfast for the young detectives.

“Now don't do anything foolish,” their mother cautioned. “This Hexton fellow sounds terribly dangerous to me.”

“I fear the worst!” Aunt Gertrude said, shaking her head. “Detective work involves taking too many chances. No good will come of this. I can feel it in my bones.”

“Don't worry about us,” Joe assured them. “Hexton might be a clever magician, but we have a few tricks of our own.”

After receiving more admonitions at the doorway, the boys drove to the airport. Jack Wayne, the tanned, lean-faced pilot, was waiting for them at the plane. Chet came puffing up a few moments later. Soon they were airborne and streaking toward Darville. Two hours later they circled it and set down.

Frank rented a car and they drove directly to the theater where Hexton was scheduled to appear. As they approached the Tivoli, the boys were amazed to see a man standing on a tall ladder against the marquee, removing the big black letters which spelled out the magician's name.

Frank pulled up in front of the theater, and Joe called out, “What's going on? Hexton's first show is scheduled for tonight!”

The man on the ladder shrugged. “I only follow orders. Sorry.”

He pointed to the box-office window. A cancellation notice was spread across a large poster advertising the show.

“Let's have a talk with the theater manager,” Frank suggested. He parked and they hastened to a door marked “Manager L. Sardella.” Joe rapped loudly.

“Come in!”

When the four entered, a small, thin man with a waxed mustache removed his feet from a desk and glowered. “Yes?”

“Mr. Sardella, where is Hexton?” Joe asked tensely.

The man arose and eyed them sharply. “You want refunds?”

“No. We're private detectives,” Chet said importantly. “Where is he?”

“Hexton? That's what I'd like to know. The skunk! I'll spend the rest of the day giving refunds on my advance ticket sale, and still have no show tonight.”

“Why didn't he come?” Frank asked.

“Search me. He phoned long-distance. Gave no reasons. I'll sue him!”

Sardella said that the magician had mentioned he was canceling the remainder of his tour with the exception of one last performance.

“Where?” Frank asked.

“Some little place called Granton. Don't ask me what state, because I don't know. Said they pushed up the date to tonight to accommodate him. Accommodation—bah!”

The Hardys and their friends thanked the manager and hurried back to the car. They returned to the airport and hastened to the operations room to consult a large aeronautical chart mounted on the wall.

“Here's Granton,” the pilot said, pointing. He quickly plotted a course. “It's a little bit more than a thousand miles from here.”

“Good grief!” Chet exclaimed. “We'll never get there in time.”

Frank glanced at his watch. “We ought to be able to make the trip in under seven hours, wouldn't you say, Jack?”

The pilot manipulated a small flight computer, which he had taken from a jacket pocket. “With the present winds, I'd say we could do it in seven hours easily.”

“If we take off right now,” Frank said, “we can be in Granton before Hexton's show ends.”

“I'm game, fellows,” Chet piped up, “if you'll let me get some chow for the trip.” He trotted toward the airport cafeteria and returned a few minutes later with a bag of sandwiches and milk.

Soon the four companions were in the air, speeding toward Granton. They set down late that evening at an airport thirty miles from the town, rented a car, and started off. Fortunately, the speed limit was generous. Also, Granton had only one theater, which Frank found easily.

It was nearly time for the show to end. Frank parked the car across the street from the lighted marquee.

Joe walked down an alley to the rear and reported that there was only one other exit besides the front. “It's on the side.”

“Keep a sharp lookout for Hexton and his men after the performance,” Frank instructed the others. “Also, remember that they mustn't spot us or our chance to follow them might fail.”

Twenty minutes later the show ended and people spilled out through the doors. Presently a green sedan drove up in front of the theater.

“Look!” Joe said in a loud whisper. “The driver is Stony Bleeker!”

Four men appeared from the alley exit. “There's Hexton!” Chet whispered.

“And Vordo with two short men!” Frank observed.

“They look like twins!” Joe exclaimed.

“I'll bet that's how Hexton works the vanishing bit,” said Chet. “One twin disappears in the box and the other appears from the wings! From the audience, who could tell they weren't the same man?”

The magician and his assistants got into the car and sped off. Frank and his companions followed at a safe distance. Several blocks farther on, the green car passed a high wall surrounding a garden back of a hotel, then pulled around the corner and stopped in front of the Granton Inn. The men got out and entered, while a doorman drove the car into the hotel's underground garage.

Frank parked a short distance from the entrance. “Let's stay out here and see what happens,” he said. “We'll take turns keeping watch. Good thing there are no exits except to this street or the garden.” The foursome settled down for a long vigil.

As they waited, Joe noticed that Chet seemed preoccupied. His stout friend was staring at something high on the side of the hotel.

“What are you looking at?” Joe asked.

“That window up there near the top. The room light is going on and off.”

The young sleuths watched the light for a time before noticing that it was following a definite pattern.

“Dit-dit-dit dah-dah-dah dit-dit-dit,” mumbled Frank in tempo with the light.

“An SOS!” Joe cried. “In Morse code!”

“No doubt about it!” Frank exclaimed. “Maybe it's from Dad! He could be a prisoner in Hexton's room!”