The Secret of the Soldier's Gold (2 page)

“That's terrible,” Joe said. He was trying to imagine what it would be like to leave his house and everything he owned, and never be able to return.

“Oh, it was,” Frau Rilke said. “I cried and cried.”

“Why did you go to Portugal?” Frank asked.

“My father didn't want to leave Europe, and Portugal was politically neutral. He thought we'd be safe there. He also knew other German families who had gone to Portugal before the war started, and he was hoping to make contact with them,” Frau Rilke said. “My mother wanted us to go to
Canada or the United States. She knew that ships still sailed from Lisbon to those countries, and she was hoping to convince my father that ultimately, that was what we should do.”

Catarina arrived with a fresh pot of coffee and two plates of food. After she served her grandmother and Frau Rilke, she told Frank and Joe the Portuguese names of all the food on their plates and made them repeat the words back to her. “Not bad,” she said when the boys were finished. “I think you're going to do very well in Lisbon.”

“Right,” Joe said. “If we only have to order food, then we'll have no problem!”

Joe's joke broke the tension. Everyone laughed.

When Catarina started to leave, Joe said, “Don't go. Join us! This is interesting.” He moved his chair over to make room for her.

Catarina pulled up a chair and sat between Joe and Frank.

“Please continue, Brigette,” Grandmother Otero said.

“After we arrived in Lisbon, several German families we had managed to contact helped us get settled,” Frau Rilke said. “My father was able to obtain work and we eventually moved into our own house. Adjusting to our new lives was hard, but we kept faith that life would return to normal for us again and that the rest of the world would return to
normal too.” Frau Rilke shook her head and gave them a sad smile. “We actually thought back then that one day we could return to our home in Germany and that things would be exactly as they used to be.”

Grandmother Otero patted her friend's hand. “That is what we all wish from time to time, Brigette,” she said, “that we can bring back the happier times in our lives.”

Frau Rilke nodded. “One day, in 1943, we received a visit from Heinz-Erich Lüdemann, the son of family friends in Berlin. He had been an officer in the German Army, but Heinz's father, an important businessman, was accused of plotting against Hitler—and suddenly Heinz's entire family and all their possessions disappeared. Heinz received the news while his unit was in the south of France. At that time his unit had been transporting trucks of gold bars to different Atlantic ports to be shipped to South America. Some of the Nazi High Command could already see the writing on the wall—that they'd be defeated—and by shipping the gold, they were hoping to reestablish themselves in Argentina and Paraguay.

“Anyway, some of his friends warned him that the Gestapo, the dreaded German secret police, planned to arrest him. So he decided to take an amount of gold that he thought would equal the
fortune the Nazis had taken from his family and from ours. He put the gold bars in a metal suitcase and brought it with him to Lisbon. Heinz told my father that half of the gold belonged to him and that we could use it to rebuild our lives. He planned to use his half to finance missions back to Germany to help defeat the Nazis.

“For safekeeping my father decided to bury the suitcase in the backyard garden of our house in Lisbon. We always referred to this garden as our
park
.”

“Why was that?” Joe asked.

“Well, the custom started while we were still in Berlin,” Frau Rilke said. “Hitler said that Jews could no longer go to public parks, so we just started sitting in our garden and telling everyone that we were sitting in the park.” She smiled. “It made us feel better. With our friends, we'd always ask, ‘Do you want to go to the park?' The answer, of course, would be, ‘Yes!' We'd then go to the backyard garden of someone's house and sit in the ‘park.'”

“What a terrible thing to happen,” Frank said, clearly referring to the whole story.

“It was, but the whole experience made us strong,” Frau Rilke said. “When challenged, the human mind can come up with solutions to the most impossible problems.”

“So even after you moved to Lisbon, you still called
your backyard garden the park?” Catarina asked.

Frau Rilke nodded. “It was a difficult habit to break,” she said, “but because of that, I'm hoping the gold is still there.”

“What do you mean?” Joe asked.

“Well, one day my father went to meet Heinz in central Lisbon to discuss a business proposition. Just as my father got there he witnessed Heinz's kidnapping by men whom he knew were Gestapo. There was nothing my father could do but watch in horror. He was sure that Heinz would be taken back to Germany and executed.

“By the time my father got back to our house, he was so scared that he could hardly talk. He knew the same thing that happened to Heinz could easily happen to us. So he immediately obtained passage for us on the next ship to the United States. He decided that it was too dangerous to take the gold.

“Since the Gestapo had ways of getting information out of people, my father believed that in the end Heinz would reveal not only our whereabouts but also the location of the suitcase full of gold bars. My father's hope, though, was that Heinz would say the gold was buried in the
park
.” Frau Rilke picked up her purse, opened it, and took out a piece of paper. She handed it to Frank. “I've drawn a map of the backyard of what used to be our house in Lisbon,” she said. “The X marks the spot
where my father buried the suitcase of gold bars.”

Frank and Joe studied the map together.

“Well, this will certainly be helpful,” Joe said.

“So you'll help me?” Frau Rilke asked expectantly.

“We'll need to talk to our father first,” Frank said, “but Joe and I will do all we can to help you.”

“Does anyone else besides your immediate family and the people in your old circle of friends know about the gold?” Joe asked.

Frau Rilke started to shake her head but stopped suddenly. “Well, yes—but it would not be important after all of these years.”

“What do you mean?” Catarina asked.

“I had a very dear friend in Lisbon. She was a Portuguese girl who lived across the street from us. Rosa Santos was her name. I told her about the gold. You know how children are,” Frau Rilke said. “My parents said never to mention anything about the treasure to anyone, but Rosa and I were always making up stories for each other. So I told her my father had buried a suitcase full of gold bars in the park. I'm not sure if she believed me or not.”

Frank and Joe looked at each other.

“Are you sure you said ‘in the park' and not ‘in our garden'?” Joe asked.

Frau Rilke thought for a moment. “No—I'm
not
really sure,” she said. “It was just a game and I suppose I wanted to brag a bit to Rosa. She was always
bragging to me about things her father did.”

This could certainly complicate matters,
Frank thought. If Frau Rilke had indeed told Rosa that the suitcase of gold bars was buried in her backyard, then after Frau Rilke and her family left, Rosa could have convinced somebody to dig for the gold.

Joe looked at his watch. “We should be going,” he said. “Dad has some chores he wants us to do.”

“Then you will help me?” Frau Rilke asked.

“Yes, we'll do all we can,” Frank told her again.

“You are such wonderful young men,” Grandmother Otero said. “I am so glad you are friends with Catarina.”

Frank and Joe said their good-byes, thanked Catarina's parents for their hospitality, and followed Catarina to the door.

“Well, you didn't learn as much Portuguese as I'd hoped today,” she said. “I'm sorry.”

“But we heard a very interesting story,” Joe said.

“Do you think that's all it is?” Catarina asked. “A story?”

“No, I believe it happened. In fact, I've heard similar stories about families who lived through World War II,” Frank said. “The problem is that this all happened such a long time ago, and somebody could have already found the gold.”

“We'll talk to our dad about it,” Joe said. “I'll call you tonight.”

“Okay,” Catarina said. “And I'll make a list of some of the most important Portuguese phrases to remember.”

“Great!” Joe said.

“You'd better add to that list something like, ‘We're looking for a suitcase full of gold bars,'” Frank said, smirking.

When Frank and Joe arrived back at their house, their father was just coming out of his study.

“How was the birthday party, boys?” Mr. Hardy asked. “Did you learn a lot of Portuguese?”

“No, but we heard a really strange story, Dad,” Frank said. “We need to talk to you about it.”

Fenton Hardy raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Joe nodded. “A friend of Catarina's grandmother's, Frau Rilke, asked us to bring back a suitcase of gold bars from Lisbon. Her father buried the suitcase in the garden of their house during World War II.”

Mr. Hardy gave them an astonished look and glanced down at his watch. “Well, I'm supposed to meet Chief Collig at police headquarters in twenty minutes, but it won't hurt if I'm a few minutes late,”
he said. “Come on into my study—I want to hear Frau Rilke's story.”

After hearing all about the gold and the relocation of Frau Rilke's family, Fenton Hardy spoke. “Fascinating. I knew things like that happened, but I've never known anyone who actually experienced it.”

“That's exactly what I thought too,” Frank said.

“Can we help her, Dad?” Joe said. “I think she's really counting on us.”

“Well, I'm not sure. We'll just have to test the waters once we get to Lisbon. I'll talk to my friends in the Lisbon Police Department about the best way to proceed. I believe that the German people still have a right to claim anything that was taken from them during that time,” Mr. Hardy said, looking at Frank and Joe. “Right now I wouldn't say a word about this to anyone, though. In fact, I think it would be a good idea if one of you called Catarina and told her to relay that to her grandmother and Frau Rilke.”

•   •   •

Two days later the Hardy family—including Aunt Gertrude—boarded a flight from New York to Portugal. After six hours and forty minutes in the air, they landed at Lisbon's Portela Airport.

Inspector Oliveira met them just outside customs. “You may have to shed your coats,” he said. “It's eighteen degrees outside.”

“Oh, it's freezing!” Aunt Gertrude said. “Why would I want to take off my coat?”

“Oh no, I'm sorry. That's eighteen degrees
Celsius,
” Inspector Oliveira said, smiling. “That's about . . . hmm . . . sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Oh my, that sounds nice,” Mrs. Hardy said. “Much warmer than Bayport.”

“If this weather keeps up, and maybe gets a little warmer, I'm going to be spending a lot of time on the beach,” Joe said to Frank. “I need to work on my tan.”

“Great idea, Joe,” Frank agreed. “Right after we take care of business, though.”

On the ride to the Hotel Lisboa Plaza in Lisbon, Inspector Oliveira pointed out some of the landmarks. From time to time Frank and Joe would listen, but they were really thinking about looking for Frau Rilke's gold. On the flight from New York they had continued to discuss the matter with their father. Together they had decided that before they talked to the Portuguese authorities Frank and Joe would check out where Frau Rilke's family had lived. They first had to see if the house and the garden were still there.

“For all we know, the whole place could be a parking lot now,” Frank had suggested on the plane.

Mr. Hardy had agreed.

Joe now had a map of metropolitan Lisbon spread out on his lap and he and Frank were studying it. The address of Frau Rilke's old house was 22 Rua de Francisco de Almeida. Joe could see
that it was actually in Belém, a suburb of Lisbon.

“That's a famous place, Belém,” Frank said. “Vasco da Gama set sail for India from there in 1497.”

“These red lines represent tram tracks,” Joe said. He traced one of the lines from their hotel to Belém. “Getting there should be easy.”

The closer they got to the central part of Lisbon, the heavier and slower the traffic became. Joe folded up the map and looked out the window just as Inspector Oliveira said, “See those young men over there in front of that store? If the government doesn't put a stop to their activities, Portugal is going to have some serious problems.”

“What do you mean?” Frank asked.

“They're members of a local fascist group,” Inspector Oliveira replied. “We have several groups like this in Portugal, but so do almost all of the other countries in Europe. Unfortunately they're cropping up all over the world these days. I just wish any of the fascists in Lisbon would do something illegal so we could lock them up in prison.”

Joe leaned over to Frank. “Does he mean Nazis?” he whispered.

“They probably don't call themselves that,” Frank whispered back, “but yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what he means.”

“I understand how you feel, Manuel,” Fenton Hardy said, “but in a democracy, such things just have to be tolerated.”

Inspector Oliveira shrugged. It was obvious to Frank that he didn't want to get into an argument over the matter with their father.

“I guess none of us should really be surprised, since fascism probably never died out entirely after World War II,” Inspector Oliveira said. “Dr. Salazar ruled Portugal from 1932 until 1968, and he was a supporter of Hitler's Germany and Franco's Spain.”