The Apeman's Secret by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US

11

Another Amulet

Frank pulled out pencil and paper and hastily wrote down directions.

“Thanks, Aunt Gertrude. We’ll go see him as soon as possible,” he said and hung up.

Turning to his brother, Frank said, “Something’s come up, apparently urgent. Sam Radley wants to see us.”

Sam was Fenton Hardy’s top operative and had often worked with the Hardy boys on previous cases.

Finishing their dessert hastily, the boys apologized to Vern Kelso for the untimely interruption, and after thanking him for the lunch, left the restaurant.

“Any idea what’s up?” Joe asked as he and Frank headed east on foot.

“Not a clue. But I do know Sam’s been working on that stolen art-goods case for Dad.”

In the case Frank was referring to, Mr. Hardy had been hired by an insurance company to help break up a traffic in stolen paintings and other art objects.

They found Sam Radley waiting unobtrusively in a doorway on East Fifty-ninth Street. The detective was on stakeout, keeping watch on the shop of a shady art dealer across the street.

“Sorry it took us so long to get here, Sam,” Frank apologized. “We figured walking would be quicker than trying to buck the crosstown traffic in a cab.”

“No sweat,” Sam replied. “Actually, you made it sooner than I expected. Your aunt must have gotten in touch with you right away.”

As the boys already knew, their father made it a practice to circulate pictures of any suspects or wanted persons among whatever operatives were working for him at the time. One such person was Paul Linwood’s missing daughter, Sue.

“I just spotted her,” Sam reported, “a few minutes before I phoned your home in Bayport.”

The Hardys were startled. Did this mean that the girl they were trying to find had not joined the Children of Noah cult?

“Are you sure it was Sue Linwood you saw, Sam?” Joe asked.

“Positive—or else it was her double. She delivered a package to that art dealer’s shop. Then she left in a taxi. Luckily I got the number.”

“Great! Let me have it and I’ll check it out.”

“You won’t have to. I’ve already done that.” Radley explained that, while waiting for the Hardy boys to arrive from the restaurant, he had called the New York Police Department from a telephone booth down the street and had gotten a quick trace of the cab’s owner-driver over the police computer system. “There’s his name and address.”

Frank grinned as he took the slip of paper from the operative. “Sam, you’re terrific!”

In the lobby of a nearby office building, the Hardys found directories for the various New York City boroughs and got the phone number of the driver, who lived in Brooklyn. His wife answered Frank’s call.

“Vinnie isn’t here,” she replied. “He’s working days now. Try him after seven.”

“This is fairly urgent, ma‘am. Is there any way we could reach him?”

“Well, let’s see. It’s about a quarter after two. He usually eats between one and two, but sometimes if he’s real busy, he won’t have lunch till later. You might try the diner where he always goes.

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