The Mystery of the Aztec Warrior

Table of Contents
 
 
THE MYSTERY OF THE AZTEC WARRIOR
The handwritten will of a deceased world-traveler is strange and mysterious. Its cryptic instructions are to deliver “the valuable Aztec warrior to the rightful owner, a descendant of an Aztec warrior.” What is the valuable object and where is it? What is the name of the owner and where is he? Frank and Joe Hardy have only one slim clue to work with: the name of a complete stranger who can help find the answers.
Despite the harassments, the threats, and the attacks made upon them by an unknown, sinister gang, Frank and Joe unravel clue after due in their adventure-packed search for the living descendant of the mighty Aztec nation which once ruled Mexico. The hunt leads to a market place in Mexico City, to the Pyramids at Teotihuacan, to the tombs of Oaxaca—where Chet Morton, the Hardys' pal, is nearly buried alive by foul play.
It takes as much high courage as clever deduction for the young detectives to defeat their ruthless foes and to decipher the fascinating secrets of the strange and mysterious will.
“We must get to that courtyard!” Frank yelled
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Copyright © 1992,1964 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.
Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam & Grosset
Group, New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.
THE HARDY BOYS
®
is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.
eISBN : 978-1-101-07656-9
2007 Printing

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CHAPTER I
The Injured Intruder
FRANK and Joe Hardy followed their father into the law office of Otis Weaver, a Bayport attorney.
“Hello, Fenton!” said Mr. Weaver, getting up to shake hands with the tall, athletic-looking detective. “Frank—Joe—how are you?”
Tall, dark-haired Frank said, “We're fine and ready to tackle a case, Mr. Weaver.”
His brother Joe, blond, seventeen, and a year younger, smiled in anticipation.
The four sat down. “I have a really mysterious one for you to solve,” the short, balding lawyer began. “You probably read in the paper recently of the death of Mr. Jonathan Moore.”
The three Hardys nodded, and the boys' father added, “He was a bachelor, I believe. Rather eccentric and not in town for very long periods.”
“That's right,” said the attorney. “He traveled a great deal. Mr. Moore had no relatives closer than cousins. There are a number of beneficiaries mentioned in his will, but none of them can receive any money until a certain mystery is cleared up.”
Mr. Weaver revealed that although Mr. Moore had handwritten his will, it was quite clear, and legally acceptable. There had been two witnesses.
“But these two men are deceased and therefore cannot answer any questions that might help to solve the mystery.” The lawyer smiled. “I'm sure you three sleuths are eager to hear what the mystery is. I will read you certain paragraphs in the will.”
From a drawer he pulled out a document and read: “ ‘I direct that the valuable Aztec warrior be given to the rightful owner, who claims to be a direct descendant of an Aztec warrior.' ”
“Is that all?” Joe queried, as Mr. Weaver stopped speaking. “The person isn't named?”
“No,” the lawyer answered. “There are two other notations which concern you three.” He turned to the last sheet of the will and read aloud:
‘I direct that Fenton Hardy, detective of Bayport, and his sons Frank and Joe find the Aztec warrior and deliver his property to him. All expenses are to be paid from the corpus of my estate, and no monies are to be awarded to my beneficiaries until the Aztec warrior's property is returned to him.' ”
Mr. Hardy asked that the two sections in the will be read again. After hearing them, he frowned, puzzled. “Have you any leads, Otis?”
“Not one. I've questioned each of the beneficiaries and other people who knew Mr. Moore, but none of them can offer a solution. There's one more item concerning you detectives. This sentence reads: ‘The Hardys must find Roberto Hermosa.' ”
Mr. Weaver handed a copy of the will to Mr. Hardy, asking if he would like to read it to see if there were any clue the lawyer had missed. The detective studied the document, then commented, “The rest of the will is quite clear. I'll just copy the parts which concern the boys and me.”
While Mr. Hardy was busy writing in his notebook, Joe remarked, “Roberto Hermosa sounds Spanish. I wonder who he is.”
“I don't know,” Mr. Weaver said.
Frank asked the attorney if he had any idea what the Aztec warrior object was.
“No, none.”
“Maybe it's a statue of an Aztec warrior,” Joe remarked.
“There's none in Mr. Moore's house,” the lawyer answered quickly.
“Could it be some kind of stuffed bird or animal?” Frank queried. “The winged serpent was sacred to the Aztecs.”
“I didn't find any on the premises—or any paintings of birds or animals,” Mr. Weaver replied. “In fact, I didn't come across any object which might have even a remote connection with an Aztec warrior.”
Mr. Hardy, recognizing an interesting challenge, said enthusiastically, “Otis, my sons and I will start working on the case very soon.”
Frank and Joe were thrilled and asked if they might begin at once. Their father said he had an appointment and must leave.
“Suppose Frank and I go out to the Moore estate,” Joe proposed. “Maybe if we look around the house we'll find a clue to the mysterious object.”
The lawyer said he would take them. He drove out of town along a road where there had once been large estates which were now developments. He remarked that as soon as the Moore mystery was solved, the deceased man's property would be sold to a development company. “That will add a nice sum for the beneficiaries.”
Presently Mr. Weaver turned into a driveway lined with stately old pine trees and pulled up to a large Victorian house, with grounds bordered by trim hedges. The lawyer parked the car and led the way up the high steps of the large porch. He unlocked the door, and the three entered.
The interior was attractive, with highly polished mahogany furniture. Heavy red draperies hung the full length of the living-room windows, which reached almost from ceiling to floor. A large desk stood at one end of the room just beyond an enormous stone fireplace.
“As you search for clues here,” said Mr. Weaver, “you will find that this is typically a bachelor's home. Housekeepers whom Mr. Moore employed from time to time were not permitted to add any feminine touch to the furnishings.”
Frank and Joe made a quick tour of the first floor to decide where to start their search for the Aztec warrior object. There were many objects standing on pedestals and on tables—gladiators, cowboys, and figures of athletes in action.
“Well, what do you think, boys?” asked Mr. Weaver, who had waited for them in the main hall. “I suppose you'll start tapping walls and—”
At that instant there was a terrific crash upstairs.
“What was that?” Frank asked.
“I have no idea,” Mr. Weaver replied.
He and the boys dashed up the stairway, two steps at a time. Quickly they separated and looked in the various bedrooms. There was no sign of anything having fallen.
Mr. Weaver opened the door leading to the attic stairway and started up, with the boys crowding close on his heels. As they reached the attic, the three gasped. Amid a conglomerate of boxes and old furniture was a large mahogany bureau. It had fallen face forward.
Pinioned underneath it was a man! He was struggling to free himself.
“Wow!” Joe exclaimed, as he and Frank and Mr. Weaver dashed forward.
In a few moments they had raised the bureau to a standing position, then turned their attention to the thin, middle-aged man who had been caught under it. He had ceased to struggle and now lay on the floor, unconscious. He had a nasty gash on his head, was extremely pale, and his pulse rate was very slow.
“We'd better call an ambulance and have him taken to the hospital,” Mr. Weaver spoke up. “I can't understand what he was doing here.”
“Do you know who he is?” Joe asked.
“I think so,” the lawyer replied. “We'll look for some identification to be sure.” He opened the man's jacket and pulled a wallet from his pocket. “Yes, this is John Brower. He's one of the beneficiaries named in Mr. Moore's will.”
“One of the benenciaries!” Frank exclaimed. “He must have been looking for something special.”

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