"We'll bring along a picnic basket," Joe suggested. "Then there'll be no danger of having you die on our hands through starvation."
"Now you're talking! The voyage is on."
The boys made up a substantial basket of lunch in the kitchen of the Hardy home, with Chet lending so much assistance that Aunt Gertrude finally chased him outside. He managed to scoop up a slab of pie on his way, however, so that the others found him whistling happily when they joined him a few minutes later.
Sandy MacPherson had done his work well, and the motorboat showed little evidence of the previous day's accident when the boys inspected it at the boat-house. Frank and Joe questioned him, hoping that he might be able to give them a clue concerning the stranger's destination when he rented the powerboat. But Sandy insisted that the man had told him nothing.
"I found this in the boat, if it's of any interest to ye," he said, taking a colored folder off a nearby shelf.
The moment Frank and Joe examined the sheet they realized that it might be an important clue. It was a time-table of the Coastal Air Transport Company, an aviation firm that had just constructed a new airport on the bank of the Willow River, some little distance down the bay.
"First port of call!" said Frank, and put the folder into his pocket. "We'll see if the airport people know anything about him."
The boys got into the boat, Chet carefully carrying the lunch basket, and in a few minutes the Sleuth was speeding down the bay. The day was clear and sunny, the water was calm. Chet busied himself trying to find a safe place for the lunch basket, which seemed to be his chief concern. He was still hunting for a satisfactory spot when Frank took a highly-colored document from his pocket.
"Like to buy some oil stock, Chet?" he asked.
Frank had persuaded Mrs. Smith to lend him one of the certificates Vincenzo had given her, in the hope that it might help him trace the Mexican.
"What have you there?" asked Chet, resting the lunch basket against the side of the boat.
"Bio Oil. One thousand shares. Good for starting the fire in the morning."
"Let's have a look." Chet reached for the stock certificate.
Unfortunately, Joe chose that particular moment to alter the course of the motorboat.
The craft swerved suddenly, Chet lurched off balance, lost his grip on the handle of the lunch basket, and staggered wildly.
"Look out!" he roared. "The lunch!"
He made a frantic grab for the basket as it slid overboard, and leaned far over the side with an anguished yell when he saw the appetizing food splash into the water. Then there was a louder yell, for Chet had leaned over too far. He went tumbling headlong into the waves.
CHAPTER IV
The Trail to Texas
Tony Prito and the Hardy boys whooped with laughter when they saw Chet's sudden and inglorious tumble over the side. As the fat boy came popping to the surface, his eyes wide, his mouth open, he uttered a strangled yell.
|
|
"Help! Hey-come back, you fellows! I'm drowning."
Joe was already swinging the boat around.
"You couldn't sink if you tried," jeered Tony Prito. "You 'd float.''
Frank and Tony between them managed to haul the dripping Chet back into the boat.
He was still clutching the stock certificate that he had taken from Frank's hand just before he went overboard, but his chief grievance was that the lunch was gone.
"What are we going to do?" he wailed. "Every bit of food we had in the boat is now at the bottom of Barmet Bay. We'll starve."
"Why did you fling the basket overboard?" asked Joe innocently.
"Me!" howled Chet. "I flung it overboard? Are you crazy? Do you think I would throw the lunch basket into the water?"
Chet was in a bad state. The thought of the lost food seemed to worry him more than his soaked clothing. Joe, with a wide grin, steered the motorboat toward an island not far away.
Chet would have to be dried out before they could go on to the airport.
"How about that stock certificate?" inquired Frank. "I hope it wasn't damaged."
"That lunch was worth a lot more than the stock certificate," Chet howled. "Here I am, soaking wet and the food all gone, while you talk about stocks that aren't worth the paper they're printed on."
Joe brought the boat in to the island, which was uninhabited, and they got out. In a short time they had a fire blazing, and Chet's clothes were drying before the flames. He was all for returning to Bayport at once, but the others would not hear of it.
"You won't starve before we get back from the airport," Tony Prito assured him. "Get Into your pants and let's be on our way."
Chet was in a better frame of mind after his garments were dried. When the trip was resumed, he actually managed to be cheerful.
"There might be a frankfurter stand at this airport," he remarked.
The motorboat sped down the bay until the mouth of the Willow River came into view. Joe guided their craft into the stream, and in a few minutes the boys came in sight of the flags that marked the boundaries of the airport.
There was a small dock, where they tied up their boat. Then they followed a path that brought them to a long, low building upon which "was the sign: "Office-Coastal Air Transport Company."
"Good!" exclaimed Frank. "This is the place we want."
"I'd rather see a sign reading 'Office-Hot Dog Company of America,' " said Chet plaintively.
An alert, keen-eyed man was writing at a desk when they went in. He glanced up.
"Hello, boys! What can I do for you?"
|
|
Joe nudged Frank.
"Do the talking," he whispered.
Frank leaned on the counter.
"Did a man by the name of Pedro Vincenzo book passage on one of your planes within the past few days?"
The official wrinkled his brows, glanced at a book, then shook his head.
"No one by that name," he replied.
"He was a Mexican," said Frank.
"A Mexican, eh? Tall, swarthy, good-looking in a way–"
"That's the man."
"There was a chap of that description in here yesterday morning. But he didn't book passage for himself. He wanted a ticket for another man."
"Do you know that person's name?" asked Joe, eagerly.
"He is registered here as Peter Smith. He was an elderly chap, as far as I can remember."
A sudden droning that grew into a roar interrupted them. The airport official glanced at his watch.
"Crawford is just coming in now," he said. "He is the pilot who made the flight. The foreign looking man booked passage to New York for a friend of his, but that's all I can tell you. If you're looking for information, maybe Crawford can help you."
The Hardy boys thanked him and left the office. Chet Morton and Tony Prito were very curious.
"What's it all about?" asked Tony. "Are you working on another mystery?"
"We don't know yet," Joe told him.
A big passenger plane was just settling to earth. Mechanics ran forward to take charge of the big machine. When the ship came to a stop the pilot clambered out, removing his helmet and goggles. He strode up toward the office.
"Are you Pilot Crawford?" asked Frank.
He grinned at them. "At your service!"
"The inspector has just told us that you took an elderly gentleman to New York. Would you mind giving us a description of him?"
Crawford laughed.
"I won't forget him in a hurry," he said. "I never saw such a nervous man in the air in all my life. It was his first flight and I think he "was quite sure it was going to be his last."
"Was his name Tremmer?"
The pilot shook his head.
"He didn't tell me. He was a short, quiet little fellow–about fifty, I'd say. Wore hornrimmed glasses, and had a gray mustache."
Frank and Joe looked at each other. They knew Elmer Tremmer by sight, and the pilot's description exactly fitted the missing bookkeeper.
"We're rather interested in him," Frank told the pilot. "Did he go to New York?"
"Yes, I landed him with my other passengers and he took off in another plane right away. A fellow met him–"
"Did you see the man who met him?"
"Yes. Foreign looking man. Black mustache and beard. But I'm afraid that's all I can tell you."
"You have helped us a lot," Joe assured the pilot. He turned to Frank. "Let's call up that New York airport."
|
|
''Did he take a Coastal plane?" Frank asked Crawford.
"Sure. But I don't know where he was headed for. Perhaps the officials in New York can tell you."
As the boys hurried back to the office Chet remarked:
"I just love being a detective. What is this all about, anyway?"
"We don't know ourselves," Joe told him.
The Hardy boys put through a long distance call to the Coastal Air office at Roosevelt Field. The connection was soon completed and Frank asked if a passenger by the name of Peter Smith had been booked out the previous night.
"Just a moment, please." Evidently the company's filing system was efficient, for the information was soon forthcoming. "Mr. Smith is booked to Brownsville, Texas."
"Thank you."
Frank turned to his brother with a whistle of amazement.
"Brownsville, Texas!" he exclaimed. "Elmer Tremmer is traveling far and fast."
Chet stared at him.
"The missing witness! Do you mean to tell me that you fellows have picked up Elmer Tremmer's trail?"
Frank nodded.
"I think so. But it's a trail that leads to Texas. And it's all mixed up with a man who ran into our boat, and a hairless dog and a few oil certificates and a mark on a door."
The Hardy boys were highly elated that their hunch had been correct. At least, they would have some valuable information for their father. They lost no time hastening back to the motorboat and making a quick run to Bayport.
"What's the hurry?" Chet wanted to know. "If Tremmer is in Texas you'll never be able to catch him."
"As long as he is on United States territory Dad may be able to have him brought back. But if he ever gets across the border into Mexico it will make a big difference," Frank pointed out. "There is no time to lose."
When the boys returned home, however, they found that Fenton Hardy was out. Greatly disappointed, they waited impatiently for him. An hour passed before they heard their father's familiar step in the hall. Frank and Joe rushed out to meet him.
"We've picked up Tremmer's trail!"
"He's flying to Texas!"
Fenton Hardy stepped quickly into his study and sat down at his desk.
"Really?" he asked. "Tell me about it."
The boys hastily gave their story. Fenton Hardy was astounded.
"I can hardly believe it," he said. "The man seems to have gone of his own free will. But why did he offer the authorities his help and then clear out just when he was needed?"
The boys' father reached for the telephone and called the District Attorney. In a few words he acquainted that official with the news. After a brief conversation he replaced the receiver.
"We're going to Texas!" said Fenton Hardy abruptly.
The boys stared at him. They were incredulous.
" We!" they cried.
Their father smiled.
"Don't you want to go?"
"When do we start?" demanded Frank.
"Just as soon as we can. I think you boys deserve the trip, seeing you located Tremmer for me."
Joe did a little step dance in the middle of the floor.
"But it will take two or three days to get to Texas, won't it?" asked Frank. ''By that time who knows where Tremmer will be?"
"He didn't waste any time. Neither will we," Mr. Hardy said. "We're going by plane."
The boys were almost speechless with excitement. They rushed ma4Jv from the room.
"We'll be packed up and ready in five minutes," shouted Joe.
Fenton Hardy was using the telephone again. He was calling the airport, inquiring about the flying schedule.
Frank and Joe were halfway up the stairs when the doorbell rang.
"Bother!" muttered Frank. "Just when we're in a hurry." However, he hastened downstairs and opened the door.
The visitor was Mrs. Smith, the erstwhile landlady of the mysterious Pedro Vincenzo.
"I hope I'm not troubling you, Frank," the old lady said, "but I found something I thought you might like to see. It's part of a letter that I discovered under the carpet in Mr. Vincenzo's room. I can't understand it myself. Besides, it's partly burnt, but perhaps it will help you find the rascal."
CHAPTER V
A Stowaway
The Hardy boys were in a state of great excitement over the thrilling prospect of an airplane flight to Texas, and impatient to be on their way. But when Mrs. Smith stated the object of her visit they knew that it might have an important bearing on their own mission.
"Won't you come in, Mrs. Smith?" Frank invited.
"No, thanks. I just brought this letter over in case you might be able to make use of it. I can't make head nor tail of the thing myself."
The landlady handed Frank a crumpled envelope with charred edges. Then, remarking that she had a great deal of work to do if her boarders were to have supper on time, she took her departure.
"What's all this about a letter?" Fenton Hardy called out from his study.
The boys brought in the missive to him and told him about their investigations of the stranger known as Pedro Vincenzo.
Mr. Hardy was deeply interested, particularly as it was evident that the man was connected in some way with the Bio Oil Company and Elmer Tremmer's disappearance.
"Let me see the letter," he suggested.
Both the envelope and the page within had been badly burned; more than half the letter had been destroyed. When Frank carefully removed the charred sheet he saw that the message had been written in a foreign language.
Fenton Hardy examined it carefully.
''Spanish,'' he remarked. "I used to know a little of it. Let me see–'a rogue and a rascal. I have nothing but contempt for you and in answer to your impudent proposal that you marry my daughter Dolores I warn you that I shall never give my consent'– And that seems to be all that's left of the letter."
"Is it addressed to Vincenzo?" Joe asked.
"Isn't there a name signed to it?" said Frank.
"Both signature and address are missing. I'm afraid we can't attach much importance to this document. However, keep it in your pocket. It may be useful some day."
Mr. Hardy gave the letter back to Frank.
"The airport tells me that we can make connections with a night plane from a Jersey field if we leave here at seven o'clock," he told the boys. "I've made the arrangements. We'll travel light, and if we're in the south for any length of time we can buy what extra clothing we need down there."
For the next two hours the Hardy boys were in a frenzy of excitement as they prepared for the trip. Their mother was a little dubious when she was told of the projected journey, but as Fenton Hardy explained that the boys had really earned the trip by their clever detective work in tracing Elmer Tremmer, she gave her consent. Aunt Gertrude, however, was against the idea from the moment she heard of it.
"Airplanes!" she snorted. "Traveling by airplanes! Well, I may as well say good-bye to you now, for I'll never see you again, not in this world. It's bad enough to have the man of the house traipsin' off halfway around the world without ten minutes' warning, without the children going along, too."
"Children!" exclaimed Joe indignantly.
Aunt Gertrude always treated her nephews as if they were still in rompers.
"Yes, children!" she answered. "Flying to Texas! Now in my day–"
Aunt Gertrude was off on one of her familiar monologues to the effect that in her day boys were much better behaved than they were in the present generation.
Finally, however, Fenton Hardy and his sons took their departure. They reached the airport by taxi in good time to take their places in the big passenger plane that was to carry them to the Jersey field. It was not their first experience in flying. Frank and Joe had been involved in some thrilling air adventures on a previous occasion when they solved the mystery of a series of mail thefts, described in "The Great Airport Mystery," one of the earlier volumes of this series. But this was to be their first long flight, and they were agog with anticipation of adventures that might await them at the end of it. They were not destined to be disappointed. Stranger experiences than any they had ever had before lay in store for them.
The big night flying machine to which they transferred when they reached New Jersey was a revelation to the lads. It was a veritable liner of the air, a roomy, luxurious craft that carried them swiftly through the night, high above the scattered clumps of lights that marked the locations of towns and villages. Frank and Joe were so excited that they could not sleep.
Their father, to whom air travel was an old story, settled himself comfortably and was soon slumbering peacefully.
The plane landed at a southern airport during the night. The boys got out to stretch their legs while the machine was checked and re- fuelled. Daybreak found them drumming steadily over the farm lands, lakes, rivers and valleys that lay far below in the first rays of the rising sun. The big craft was eating up the miles. Frank caught sight of a train in the distance. It looked like a toy, with a tiny line of white smoke streaming from the funnel of the locomotive. In a few minutes they had left it far behind them. Frank realized how hopelessly they would have been outdistanced by Tremmer should they have traveled by rail.
They changed to another plane that morning, and it was shortly after they took off on the fourth leg of their flight that they had their first taste of adventure. There were several other passengers; every seat was taken, and the baggage capacity of the ship was within a few pounds of the safety limit. The big machine lumbered down the field, taking off sluggishly, finally to gain altitude and roar off into the south.
"This machine doesn't fly as smoothly as the others," Frank remarked to his father.
"It's carrying more weight, I suppose."
However, it soon became evident that the pilot was having trouble. The tail of the ship dipped constantly. After a while the mechanic came back and conferred with the steward, who disappeared into the regions at the rear of the ship. The plane gave a sudden lurch, the nose went up sharply, and the Hardy boys glanced at each other in alarm. The pilot had his ship well in hand, however, and in a moment had it once again on an even course.
There was a sudden scuffle at the back of the passage, as the steward emerged, dragging by the collar a ragged, olive-skinned boy.
"A stowaway!" shouted Frank.
The steward's face was flushed with anger. He shook his captive vigorously.
"How did you get in there?" he cried. "Don't you know you might have caused a crash? We're overweight. What's your name? Where do you come from?"
The captive, who was about Frank's age, merely shrugged his shoulders helplessly and shook his head as if to indicate that he didn't understand.
"You understand me all right!" declared the steward angrily, wagging his finger under the youth's nose. "What do you mean by stowing away in this ship? Speak up, boy!"
The lad refused to do so. He merely continued to shake his head, with an expression on his face which indicated he could not comprehend a word the steward was saying.
"We'll attend to you at the next stop," the steward declared. "If you can't speak English we'll find someone who knows your lingo."
He made the boy sit on a small folding stool.
There the stowaway crouched, his arms encircling his knees, looking all the while very wretched.
Darkness had fallen, and the gleaming lights of the airport that marked the end of their journey came in sight. The big plane swooped down, descended in a great spiral, and finally settled to the ground in a perfect landing. Then, with motor open, it taxied across the level field toward the hangars.
The steward was so busy attending to the passengers that for the moment it seemed he had forgotten about the stowaway. The youth, got out of the plane close behind the Hardy boys but made no attempt to escape. He stood there, a lonely and dejected looking figure.
Suddenly from out of the gloom there came a stranger. His face was obscured by the broad brim of his hat. He stepped up to Fenton Hardy and bowed politely.
"Senor Hardy?" he inquired in a low voice with a foreign accent.
Mr. Hardy was surprised.
"Yes," he admitted. ''How do you know my name?"
"Ah," replied the man, "we have been expecting you. I have a message–"
With that he thrust a folded note into the detective's hand, turned away, and vanished into the darkness.
There was a cry of alarm from the stowaway. He grabbed Frank's arm.
"Don't let Mm see me!" cried the boy. "Oh, don't let that man see me!"
"So you can talk English?" remarked Frank.
Under the airport lights the Hardy boys could see that the stowaway's face was white with fear.
"What's the matter?" asked Joe.
"That man! I'm afraid of him. I'm glad he's gone now."
The stowaway still clung to Frank's arm, as if in terror lest the stranger return.
"Well," Frank remarked, "I must say that this is a queer sort of reception."
"It is indeed," said Fenton Hardy, who had been reading the note the foreigner had thrust into his hand. "We don't seem to be welcome, if I'm to take this note seriously." He turned to the stowaway. "You know that man?"
"Yes, Senor," returned the boy in English which was perfect, but had a foreign accent. I know him only too well. "
"Perhaps you had better come with us," Fenton Hardy suggested. "I'd like to know something about the fellow myself."
CHAPTER VI
Juan’s story
"What was in the note, Dad?" asked Frank.
"It might possibly be a practical joke, but I'm afraid it's serious," returned Mr. Hardy. "Listen–"
He read aloud the following extraordinary communication:
"To Senor Fenton Hardy, Private Detective from the United States:
"This is to warn you and your sons that you must not set foot upon Mexican soil. If you disregard this warning there will be but one penalty and that penalty will be– Death!"
Joe whistled solemnly.
"That's straight from the shoulder. We aren't to go to Mexico, eh? But if Tremmer is still in Texas there will be no need of our crossing the border."
Mr. Hardy shook his head.
"Our mission is known. This letter means that Tremmer is no longer in Texas." He turned to the stowaway. "You say you know the man who gave me the letter?"
The boy nodded. "His name is Senor Bario. I am very much afraid of him. He kidnaped me from my home.''
"Kidnaped you!" cried the Hardy boys in astonishment.
"It is the truth. I am trying to return to my home. That is why I hid myself in the airplane. If Senor Bario had discovered me, he would have kept me from reaching my home again."
"Not while we're around," declared Joe confidently.
"He is a bad man, and he has helpers who are as wicked as he is."
"What is your name, my boy?" asked Fenton Hardy.
"Juan Marcheta, Senor."
"Then come with us to our hotel and let us hear more about this Senor Bario. Perhaps we can help you and perhaps you can help us."
The Hardys got their baggage and climbed into a waiting taxi. The airport was on the outskirts of a thriving town that boasted a third-rate hotel. Mr. Hardy engaged connecting rooms for himself and the three boys.
After they had eaten they settled down to listen to Juan Marcheta's story. The boy, who devoured a tremendous meal, confessed that he had not eaten in twenty-four hours.
"You see," he said, "I have come all the way from New York. For part of the way I begged rides on automobiles–what is it yon say?–hitch-hiking. Then, when I saw my chance to hide in the airplane, I took the risk."
"You are a Mexican?" inquired Mr. Hardy.
" Si, Senor! My home is in Mexico."
"How did you happen to be in New York, so far away from home? You said something about being kidnaped."
"It happened in this manner, Senor. There was a man by the name of Senor Pancho who came often to our hacienda. I have a sister, you understand, by the name of Dolores. She is very beautiful. Senor Pancho wished to pay respects to her but my father said he is not welcome. Ours is a very old family and we have an honored name, but this Pancho–bah–he is a low-caste fellow. He has money, yes, or so he said, but that matters not. One who marries my sister Dolores must be of her own station in life."
"And what did Senor Pancho do when he was told that his attentions weren't welcome?"
"He was very angry. He say that my father will regret it. Then he went away and we did not see him again. We were told that he had left the country. Nevertheless, I am sure that senor Pancho had something to do with the kidnaping."
"How did that happen?" asked Mr. Hardy.
"I was studying my lessons in the garden one afternoon when a man called to me from the gate. He say there had been an accident on the road and that his friend had been hurt. Of course, I went out to see if I could help him. No sooner had I stepped out of the gate than a blanket was thrown over my head and I was carried into an automobile. I was bound hand and foot and gagged."
"What happened next?" asked Frank eagerly.
"We drove for many miles. They had taken the blanket from my head but they blindfolded me so that I could not see where I was going. Later I was carried into an airplane and we flew for a long time. After that I was taken into another automobile. The men gave me food and later on removed the bandage from my eyes. But they warned me that it would mean my death if I cry out or try to get help. That was when I first did see my abductors. And one of them was the man who met you at the airport.''
"Senor Bario?"
"One of his friends called him by that name. Well, to go on with my story. I was brought all the way to New York, and there I was turned over to three other Mexicanos who kept me a prisoner in their house. At first I did not make any attempt to escape, so gradually they became careless and one night I managed to flee through a basement window. A stranger offered me a ride in his automobile and I got out of the city. I have been making my way home ever since."
"Do you know if anyone made a demand on your father for ransom?" asked Mr. Hardy.
"I do not know. The men, they told me nothing and answered none of my questions."
"Perhaps that was Senor Pancho's way of getting revenge," Joe suggested.
"I am sure Senor Pancho had something to do with it," returned Juan.
"You are still a long way from home," Mr. Hardy reminded the boy.
Juan smiled. His predicament did not seem to cause him a great deal of anxiety.
"I have come so far," he said. "A few hundred miles more, they will not matter."