Danger on Vampire Trail (2 page)

“What's up, Biff? You look worried,” Frank said.

“Something wrong?” asked Joe.

“Could be.” Biff hesitated, and Aunt Gertrude stepped out of the kitchen, realizing the boys wanted to talk in private. “It's about Chet,” Biff added.

Chet Morton, the Hardy boys' closest friend, lived on a farm on the outskirts of Bayport. He was on the high school's grid squad by virtue of his ample bulk, which could plug a hole in the team's forward wall like a truck. Neither Frank nor Joe had seen Chet in several days.

“What's the matter?” Frank prodded. “Did something happen to Chet?”

“Oh no,” Biff replied. “At least not yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe I'm imagining things,” Biff said with a frown. “But I noticed Chet coming out of the bank—”

“You think he robbed it?” Joe quipped.

“Don't be an idiot,” Biff retorted. “I saw him coming out of the bank holding an envelope—I mean
clutching
it!”

“Go on,” Frank urged.

“So I said, ‘What do you have there, Chet? The key to Fort Knox?' ”

“What did he say?” Joe asked.

“He wouldn't tell me anything,” Biff replied. “Chet seemed awful mysterious. He looked up and down the street and hurried off to his jalopy. I thought you fellows ought to know about it, seeing you're such buddies.”

Joe said, “Do you think someone's after Chet's hard-earned money?”

“Possibly.”

Just then the phone rang. Joe picked up the kitchen extension.... “Chet? We were just talking about you!”

The voice on the other end was curt. “Joe, I haven't got time to gab.”

“How come?”

“Never mind. I've got to see you and Frank right away.”

“Where are you?”

“Home.”

“We'll come right over.”

Joe hung up and turned to the others. “Your hunch seems to be right, Biff. I think Chet's in trouble. Let's go, Frank!”

 

 

 

 

AFTER bidding good-by to Biff, the Hardys jumped into their car. Minutes later they arrived at the Morton farm and drove up to the comfortable rambling house.

As they parked, a dark-haired, pixie-like girl came to the door. She was Iola Morton, Joe's “special friend.” She and Joe often double-dated with Frank and his girl friend, Callie Shaw.

“Why the frowns?” Iola said breezily as she hooked an arm through Joe's.

“We think your brother's in trouble,” Frank said. “He phoned us to come out.”

Iola laughed. “That was just a trick to get you here in a hurry. He's over there behind the barn,” she said, pointing.

“I'm glad to hear he's okay,” Joe said, “but I ought to sock him for worrying us!” He and Frank trotted around the barn. To their amazement, they saw Chet standing beside a brand-new trailer tent. It was opened up and ready for occupancy.

“That's a beauty!” Frank said. “Where'd you get it, Chet?”

“And where'd you get the green stuff to buy it?” Joe asked. “This outfit's worth more than a thousand bucks!”

Chet beamed. “One question at a time,” he said with a matter-of-fact air. “First, let me show you around this camper paradise.”

Frank and Joe stepped inside. The smell of newness pervaded the air, and the interior was bright and spotless. Fold-out arms of the compact little trailer provided two bunks, sleeping four. Other facilities included a lavatory, refrigerator, and a three-burner gas stove.

“Chet, this is simply the greatest!” Joe exulted. “How did you know that Frank and I were going on a camping trip?”

“Cut it out,” Chet replied. “I've been trying to persuade you for a long time. Thought I'd take the bull by the horns and do something about it.”

“Honest,” Frank said. “We
are
going on a trip.”

Chet's eyes narrowed. “Business or pleasure?”

“Business primarily,” Frank replied. “Dad's given us a new case.”

“When I go camping,” Chet said, “I want to go for fun. None of this dangerous detective stuff.”

“But we'd chip in expense money,” Joe said. “Dad would help finance us.”

“And then there's the two-thousand-dollar reward,” Frank said evenly, watching Chet's face for a reaction.

Chet's eyebrows shot up.

“There's a reward for catching some credit-card counterfeiters,” Frank explained.

“Where do we go?”

“Out West.”

“Now you're talking!” Chet said, putting a hefty arm around Frank's shoulder.

As they stepped out of the camper, Joe said, “Chet, where'd you buy this? And if you don't mind my asking, how much?”

The stout boy put one foot on the trailer step and assumed an attitude of casual superiority. “My astute business acumen,” he said, “culminated in a most beneficial purchase.”

“Come on,” Joe said, annoyed by Chet's pretentious air. “Give us the straight facts.”

“All right. To put it in language you understand, I put an ad in the newspaper and landed a great bargain.”

“Go on,” Frank prodded.

“A man came to me,” Chet said, “and offered this beauty at a reduced price. After he had purchased it, his wife became ill and their camping trip was called off.”

“What do you call a reduced price?” Frank asked.

“How about four hundred dollars?” Chet replied, arching his eyebrows.

“Wow!” Joe exclaimed. “That's a steal!”

“Was everything legal?” Frank wanted to know, recalling what his father had told them about the credit-card gang.

“All in order,” Chet assured the boys. “I'll get my plates tomorrow.”

Joe laughed and told Chet how Biff had seen him coming from the bank with the money.

“Sure, I was holding onto it tight,” Chet said. “That four hundred dollars was my entire fortune.” He added, “Hey, maybe Biff would like to come along, too!”

“It's your camper,” Frank said. “Why don't you invite him?”

Chet said he would, and the Hardys departed for home. Mrs. Hardy, who had been out shopping, was delighted to hear of their plans. “Be sure to take your heavy sweaters, and raincoats, and—”

“Our rubbers,” Joe finished the sentence.

“Of course not,” Laura Hardy said with a pretty smile. “I was about to say take your waterproof boots.”

As Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude busied themselves preparing dinner, the boys told their father of the camping plans. “If Biff can go, it'll really beef up our forces,” Joe concluded.

Later that evening Biff Hooper phoned. “I think I can join you on that trip, Frank. But I'll have to bring my hound along.” Biff explained that he had been training the bloodhound and did not want to break the routine.

“Not a bad idea,” Frank said. “Having a dog named Sherlock on a detective case might bring us luck.”

Preparations for their trip occupied the Hardys and their friends for the next two days. Frank and Joe had installed a trailer hitch on their car and had gone to Chet's house to pick up the camper.

The outfit presented a sleek silhouette, low enough for the driver to have clear vision to the rear.

On the morning of departure the Hardy family got up at five o'clock. At six Biff arrived with the sad-eyed hound and got in the back seat with Chet. Frank took the wheel and Joe sat alongside of him. With shouts of good-by and wishes of good luck from the elder Hardys, the quartet set off.

Fenton Hardy had briefed his sons the night before. He wanted them to check out sports resorts in the Rocky Mountains area for evidence of Magnacard swindles and try to track down the perpetrators. They were also to quiz merchants who had been duped. Their father had given them a typed list of the dealers' names and addresses.

As they drove out of town, Joe remarked, “I wish we had more concrete clues to start with.”

“Hah!” said Chet. “If I know you guys, you'll fall into a mess of them soon enough!”

The day was pleasant and traffic was light at that early hour. The car hummed along, with the camper gliding behind. Frank followed Shore Road for several miles until it joined a superhighway leading west. The speed limit was higher, so Frank accelerated.

The boys were about fifty miles from Bayport when they heard the wailing of a siren.

“You've got a heavy foot,” Biff said to Frank. “Must have gone over the speed limit.”

Chet moaned. “Here's trouble even before we get started!”

A trooper moved alongside and motioned Frank to pull over to the shoulder. Frank complied, then stepped out of the car. The officer, who had parked up ahead, strode up to him.

“What's the trouble, sir?” Frank asked.

“Let's see your license and registration.”

Frank pulled out the papers. The trooper studied them, then eyed the camper. “Do you own this?” he asked Frank.

“No. Our friend Chet Morton does.”

“Where is he?”

“Right here, Officer,” Chet said, getting out. The dog yelped as Chet stepped on his foot in the process.

“We weren't speeding, were we?” Frank inquired.

“No.”

“But then why—?”

“It's the trailer I'm interested in. I'll have to take you back to Bayport.”

“You must be kidding!” Joe exclaimed. “What's the charge?”

“Possession of stolen property.”

“Stolen property!” Chet exclaimed. “But I paid cash for this!”

“Tell that to the police captain.” The trooper gave Chet a suspicious look, then ordered Frank to turn about and follow him.

For several miles they traveled in glum silence. Finally Frank said, “I thought you got the camper pretty cheap, Chet.”

There was no reply. Chet was crushed by the thought of losing his bank account and of being involved in a shady deal.

Biff tried to be helpful. “I don't think they can arrest you, Chet. You were an innocent victim.”

Finally Chet spoke. “Am I stupid!” he muttered, then sat silent again.

The trooper pulled into the State Police barracks on the outskirts of Bayport. Chet was interrogated by the captain in charge.

When the boy had finished his story, a man was called in from an adjoining room. He was introduced as George Browning, owner of the Bayport Sports Equipment Company. The Hardys had heard of him. Mr. Browning identified the trailer tent as the one he had sold to a man who had given his name as Cyrus Kogan.

Chet perked up immediately. “That's the man I got it from. Isn't that perfectly legal?”

“Kogan bought the goods with a fake credit card,” Browning replied. “One of those counterfeit Magnacards!”

The Hardys were thunderstruck. A fake Magnacard operator in Bayport! Frank pulled out his wallet and showed the photo clue to Chet and the merchant.

Both identified the man as Kogan!

Biff said, “This crook's been under your nose right in town, fellows!”

The camper was left at the police barracks. Mr. Browning refused to press any charges against Chet, and even offered to sell him the camper at a reduced price because it was now considered a used one.

When the boys returned home, the elder Hardys were shocked and dismayed to learn of the discouraging turn of events. They all consoled Chet, and much to the relief of Frank and Joe, Aunt Gertrude did not say “I told you so.” Instead, she offered to bake him any kind of pie he desired.

“Humble pie,” Chet said, downcast.

“Now you just erase that long face, Chester,” Aunt Gertrude said. “You'll have a deep-dish apple pie tomorrow!”

That afternoon the Hardy boys and their father went to Bayport Police Headquarters to have a conference with Chief Collig. He was a ruddy-faced man, who cooperated fully with the detective and his sons whenever they were working on a case.

“I was sorry to lower the boom on Chet,” he said, “but it was my duty to notify the State Police of any trailer tents I saw around Bayport.”

The chief explained that he had warned merchants to beware of the fake Cyrus Kogan. “However,” Collig added, “I think he's skipped town by now.”

Mr. Hardy spoke up. “Bayport's a pretty big place with many shops, Chief. I think the guy might hang around to swindle another dealer or two. His success at Browning's may feed his ego.”