The Clue of the Broken Blade (9 page)

She looked at the boys curiously. “Why did you come here? Did you want to speak to Vincent about something?”

Before Frank could answer, a car horn started to blow in front of the house. When it continued steadily, Frank stood up and walked over to the window. “Hey, that's our horn!” he exclaimed.

“Is somebody signaling for us?” Joe asked, moving to his brother's side.

“Nobody's out there!” Frank replied.

“Excuse us please, Mrs. Steele,” Chet said. “We'd better go stop that awful noise.”

When the woman nodded, Joe said, “We'll be right back.”

The three hastened outside. By now it was beginning to turn dark. Frank reached the car first. He opened the door at the driver's side and banged the horn. It still continued to blow.

“There must be a short in it somewhere,” Chet said.

Joe had already lifted the hood, and Frank got a screwdriver and a flashlight from the glove compartment. He handed them to Joe, who examined the wiring.

Meanwhile people appeared in the windows of several houses across the street, and one man came out to his front steps. “Stop that confounded noise, will you?” he shouted impatiently.

“We're trying to, sir,” Chet replied.

Finally Joe said, “Look, this is no accidental short. Somebody attached a wire bridge across the connection.” He removed the wire quickly and the horn stopped blowing.

Frank slammed the hood down as Joe returned the flashlight and the screwdriver to the glove compartment.

“Now who do you suppose did that?” asked Chet.

“There must be a practical joker living in this neighborhood,” Joe said.

“Probably some kids,” Frank declared.

Chet gingerly opened the gate and they started up the walk toward the front door of the Steele home.

Suddenly it dawned upon Frank that the drapes had been drawn tight over the front windows. Not even a crack of light could be seen from the interior.

Frank put his hand on the doorknob and tried to turn it. The door was locked. He pushed the bell, and heard it ring loud and clear, but there was no answer.

Impatiently Joe pressed the bell a couple of more times but to no avail.

“Maybe she's on the phone,” Chet said.

“Could be,” Frank agreed.

They waited a few more minutes, then Chet put his ear against the door. “I don't hear anything,” he reported.

Frank wore a worried frown. “You know, fellows,” he said, “I think we were deliberately faked out of the house by the guy who shorted our horn.”

“But for what reason?” Chet asked.

“Maybe he wanted to duck in the back way as we went out the front,” Frank replied.

“You mean a burglar?” Joe asked.

“Right,” Frank said. He imagined the scene as it might have taken place inside. Perhaps Mrs. Steele was bound and gagged and a thief was ransacking her house!

“The prowler might have closed the drapes, too,” Joe said. “Come on. Let's see what's in back!”

All the drapes in the house had been drawn. The rear door was locked. Frank rang the bell while Chet pounded on the door.

“Mrs. Steele,” Frank called out, “are you all right?”

Chet tried to open the kitchen window, but it was locked too. As he tried to force it, a cry came from inside the house.

“She really is in trouble!” Chet said. “Frank, do you think we ought to break in?”

“Mrs. Steele,” Frank called again, as loud as he could.

“Listen,” Joe said. “If someone's in there, he might try to escape by the front door. I'll go around to guard it.”

But before he had a chance, the boys heard a car quietly drive up to the side of the house. Two doors slammed almost simultaneously, then a bright beam of light, like the eye of a giant cyclops, shone on the trio. It blinded them momentarily.

A deep voice said, “Hold it right there, you guys. Put your hands on the side of the house, quick!”

Frank started to go forward.

“Don't move or we'll shoot!”

Joe thought, “Accomplices of the fellow who's robbing the house!” His natural instinct was to resist, but the men might be armed and it could be a foolhardy move.

All three obeyed. Frank said, “What's your game?”

“Who are you?” Chet added.

“We're police officers. And you're under arrest!”

 

 

 

THE Bayporters placed their hands against the back wall of the house. One of the officers patted their bodies to see if they carried guns.

“They're clean,” he growled to his companion. “All right, you can straighten up now.”

Frank and Joe noticed that two more policemen had emerged from the car and were going into the house. Seconds later a floodlight over the garage door went on. Obviously they had switched it on from inside.

The two officers standing next to Frank and Joe holstered their guns. They wore the uniforms of deputy sheriffs.

The back door opened and Mrs. Steele stepped out.

“These are the ones!” she said. “Thanks for getting here so fast, Officers.”

“Did you call the police about us?” Frank asked in astonishment.

“That's right!”

“But why?”

“You're thieves, aren't you?” the woman said tartly.

The boys looked at each other, then back at Mrs. Steele. “Where did you get that idea?” Joe inquired.

“While you were outside fixing your horn, the phone rang. It was a man. He wouldn't tell me his name, but he said to watch out for three young thieves who were working the neighborhood. He described you perfectly.”

Frank said to the deputies, “Someone must be trying to get us in trouble. We were visiting with Mrs. Steele when our horn started blowing. We went to fix it and found it had been shorted on purpose. Probably the same person did it who phoned Mrs. Steele while we were outside!”

The deputy with the deep voice said, “Do you have any identification with you?”

“Certainly,” Frank said, and all three handed over their driver's licenses.

After examining them, the deputy said, “I see you're all from Bayport. And two of you are named Hardy. Any relation to Fenton Hardy, the famous detective?”

“He's our father,” Joe replied.

The deputy frowned at Mrs. Steele. “I don't think the Hardy boys would steal anything, ma'am. You've heard of Fenton Hardy, haven't you?”

“Yes, of course. They didn't tell me they were his sons.”

“Well, now that you know, how do you feel about it? We'll run them in if you want to sign a complaint.”

Mrs. Steele hesitated. “Couldn't their identifications be faked? The man who phoned said they were thieves!”

Chet suddenly sat down on the back steps and put his hand to his forehead. “My brain's beginning to feel fried again,” he said in a weak voice.

The deputy looked at him curiously. “What's wrong?” he asked.

Frank and Joe both realized Chet was acting. Joe said, “Aftereffect of the shock, I guess.”

“What shock?”

Mrs. Steele said hurriedly, “I suppose the boys really are who they claim, and whoever called was just trying to cause a lot of trouble.”

She gave Chet a fleeting glance and went on, “Perhaps I acted too hastily in phoning the sheriff. As you say, Fenton Hardy's sons wouldn't be thieves. Shall we just forget it? Will you boys come back inside?”

“What's wrong with him?” the deputy repeated.

Chet made a miraculous recovery. Standing up, he said, “I had a little too much sun today, Officer, but I'm all right now. Let's go in, fellows.”

The deputy still seemed suspicious, but there was nothing he could do except take Chet's explanation at face value. Since Mrs. Steele had decided to withdraw her charge, the officers left.

The woman switched off the light over the garage door and led the boys into the living room. She left them there while she carried the cookie bowl back to the kitchen to replenish it.

“You're some actor,” Frank said to Chet. “Maybe you should be in the movies!”

“My fried brain sure got us invited back in the house fast, didn't it?” Chet said with a grin. “Mrs. Steele didn't want the deputies to know about that electrified fence.”

“It can't be legal,” Joe said. “These people would be in real trouble if the police found out about it.”

“Who do you think shorted our horn and then phoned Mrs. Steele?” Chet asked. “Could it have been the same person who eavesdropped on us when we were talking to old Jimenez on the houseboat?”

“No,” Frank replied. “That was Red Bowes, and he's in jail.”

“How about Jimenez himself?” Chet inquired. “His great-uncle was a bandit. Maybe he's one, tool”

“That's silly,” Joe said. “All that guy wants is to be left alone.”

Mrs. Steele returned with the cookie bowl piled high and with fresh Cokes. When she had seated herself, she said to Chet, “Thanks for not telling the sheriff's men about our electric fence.”

“I didn't want to get you in trouble,” Chet said. “But you ought to disconnect it.”

“I'll insist that my husband do it,” she promised. “He's due home Sunday—tomorrow.”

Frank asked, “What's the name of the movie your husband is working on?”

“It's working title is
The Sword Adalante,”
Mrs. Steele replied.

Chet nearly choked on his drink. When he recovered his breath, he sputtered, “Does he know where it is?”

“Where what is?” Mrs. Steele asked.

Joe, who was sitting next to Chet on the sofa, kicked his shin and said smoothly, “He means where is the movie being shot, don't you, Chet?”

“Uh—yes, that's what I meant,” Chet said.

“Oh. The interiors are being done in a San Francisco studio. For the exteriors they're using a vineyard.”

Frank asked, “What's the movie about?”

“It's based on the life of a legendary Swiss swordsman of the last century, Giovanni Russo. In the movie he is called something else, though, because there are living relatives who might object to the use of his name. I forget what they call him in the movie.”

“What is the meaning of the movie's title?” Joe asked.

“The sword Adalante was a famous saber owned by Russo. In real life it was broken in a duel and lost many years ago. But in the movie this doesn't happen. The hero still has his sword at the end.”

“We're interested in old swords,” Frank said. “One of our teachers is writing a magazine article on the history of swords, and we're doing some research for him. Perhaps your husband can give us some information about this sword Adalante.”

“I'm sure he'd be willing to,” Mrs. Steele said. “It's the least he can do in return for your silence about the fence. Why don't you stop by here again tomorrow evening when he's home?”

The boys agreed to do this. After a few more minutes of conversation, they thanked her for the refreshments and left.

On their way to the car, Chet said, “I thought the reason we came here was to search the cellar for the guard end of that sword.”

“I couldn't think of any excuse to ask to see the cellar,” Frank said. “Why didn't you think of one?”

“My brain's fried, remember,” Chet told him. “You and Joe are supposed to be the smart ones.”

“We'll get her husband to show it to us tomorrow,” Joe put in. “I just had an idea about who might have shorted our horn and phoned Mrs. Steele.”

“Who?” Frank asked.

“Harry Madsen.”

“The bulldozer operator?” Chet asked. “Why would he want to do anything like that?”

“He threatened to get even with us.”

In a thoughtful voice Frank said, “Could be.” He looked around in all directions. “I don't see anyone lurking about, but then we didn't notice anybody before our horn was tampered with. Whoever it was may be watching us right now.”

“Well,” Chet decided, “it won't help to stand here. Let's go pick up a sack of hamburgers and head for the motel.”

“Getting tired?” Joe queried. “All that sleuthing too much for you?”

“I almost lost my life!” Chet said indignantly.

He opened the rear door of the car and climbed in. Frank walked around to the driver's side and slid behind the wheel. As Joe got in next to him, his shoe came down on something soft and live that writhed beneath his foot and emitted a spine-chilling rattle!

 

 

 

CAR doors burst open as all three boys jumped out. The dome light blinked on, revealing their uninvited guest. It was a thick rattlesnake, more than two feet long.

Hissing angrily, the reptile coiled and struck at Joe. But he slammed the door in time, severing the snake's head from the body.

“Whew!” he said, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief.

Chet leaned weakly on the fender. “You can say that again.”

Frank came around to look at the headless rattler. “Somebody is starting to play rough,” he muttered. “You can't pass this off as just a practical joke!”

“Seven rattles,” Chet counted. “Doesn't that mean it was seven years old?”

“I think that's a myth,” Joe replied. Lifting a foot, he gingerly scraped the dead snake out into the gutter.